#he was SO YOUNG compared to time skip steve

[things-arent-what-they-seem66]

Adam really wanted to catch this guy: Thanks.

Alastor: How sure are you that this Steve guy didn't lie to you?

Angel: Yeah, David even had all his fingers intact.

Adam cursed, he looked over at the victim board, they were all young blonde women that lived alone. Angel handed Adam Steve's file, the one that's more in depth.

He's 30, he was married with two kids but recently got divorced.

Around the time of the first murder.

Adam: What does his ex wife look like?

Angel grabbed a laptop and looked up Steve's ex-wife, he showed Adam the picture.

She's 24, with blonde hair and blue eyes, she looked like all the victims. And she apparently had a restraining order against Steve since he wouldn't leave her alone, stalking her. She didn't press charges so it wasn't on his record.

Adam: Son of bitch. Get that fuckers DNA and compare it, yeah?

Angel took out his phone: They should already have it. I'll have them compare to the crime scene.

Angel and Alastor stepped out to make that call, Adam sighed that fucker lied to him.

Adam: Fuck.....

Lucifer: It's okay, it's not the last time a suspect will lie to you to save their ass.

Adam: I know but he just seemed so genuinely scared of this David guy you know? Very convincing.

Lucifer: Psychopaths are incredible liars. They can even convince themselves that their lies are true.

Their hands touched slightly on the bed, making Adam's heart skip a beat.

Lucifer: And you're doing great give yourself some credit.

Adams skin felt warm, all this praise and from Lucifer was getting to him and in the best way.

His phone dinged and it was Angel.

Steve's DNA was a match.

Serial Killer x FBI Agent

Bonus points: Lucifer is the senior agent training Adam and is also the killer he's training Adam to find.

Stalking

Possessive behavior

He would (and will) kill for Adam

How did you know I love problematic!Lucifer?

Poor Adam just wants to do his job, and now he has a serial killer after him.

[nostalgicatsea]

Last Words of WIP Meme

Tagged by @ishipallthings who destroyed me with her response to this meme. The actual last words I wrote are incomprehensible unless you have the whole picture, so here’s the last thing I wrote for another WIP only a few days before (my post-Endgame soulmate AU that I need to actually sit down and finish one day):

“What?” he asked Tony.

“You��ve aged. And I missed it. Last time I saw you, you were so young.” Tony smiled at him in a way Steve couldn’t decipher, neither fully happy nor sad. “I still see you like that.”

And a bonus line for fun that’s cryptic due to lack of context:

“And you think you know what’s best for me, don’t you?” Tony said contemptuously.

Tagging: @oluka​, @sineala​, @kiyaar​, and anyone who wants to do this!

[listofwhyyouloveher]

Alright hear me out with both ears. Gang with a friend who's a girl that's always been the duff, she's seen as ugly by others and them. So basically gang with a ugly girl friend/platonic/

Summary: Outsiders with a friend who's considered a duff

Warnings: Beauty standards (blargh)

Author's Note: IK UR LYING CUZ ALL OUTSIDERS STANS ARE PRETTY FYM. also beauty is sooo subjective that it might as well be studied in a phsychology class, you guys all are pretty idgaf

PONYBOY would never consider you as ugly, but he understands that you might have trouble with your looks. He's always trying to be reassuring and kind, he'll make sure no ugly gossip comes around to you and tries to stop it if he can. He think's of you as a friend only because he's too young to really be thinking about serious dating, never take that personally. He likes to be the person who says 'beauty is on the inside', plus he genuinely believes it because he sees how the greasers are considered the 'duffs' of society.

JOHNNY generally does not give 2 shits about your looks. In his society he's also considered 'a duff' and he takes it with pride. He's glad he's able to have a title that makes him stand out like his ultimate icon, Dally. You've relied a lot on personality to get you places, which Johnny finds to be amazing, he thinks you're so pure and kind that he's genuinely kind of jealous of your attitude towards life. He thinks that you don't deserve any of the cards you've been played, that you're destined for more than Tulsa.

SODAPOP has always been centered around looks. He's gotten away with so much because he's attractive and he knows it. He knows that girls like and he knows what he needs to do and who he needs to hang out with in order to maintain that. However, he finds your likeness and perception of everything to be really immaculate. He'll often skip work just to sit by you and watch the people go by. Sodapop will never talk about looks around you, he doesn't know if it's a touchy subject or not but he wants to refrain from thinking shallowly.

STEVE has always been a little insecure, whether it be his teeth, his nose, or how big his biceps are. He's always seceretly in a competition with Soda, comparing himself to him all the time. He doesn't hang out with you because he "relates" to you, but because he thinks that's he's rather adept at seeing past the thin layer of skin. He's always been rather good at reading people, your entire being screamed "beautiful" whether or not some fake standard says it or not.

TWO BIT is also somewhat insecure, but it's because of his constant comparison to the soc life versus his. He knows his clothes aren't as stylish and his hair is damaged from the grease and he frowns when he's alone looking at the mirror, but he thrives on the niche compliments you two give each other, "you're personality is amazing,", "You're an amazing caretaker, im sure your sister is so happy," etc. To him those are the things that really count.

DARRY pretends like he knows where his life is going, he pretends he likes it too, but secretly he cannot wait for Pony and Soda to grow up and take care of themselves so he can relaxed, and maybe even live like a soc. He knows he's attractive, he gets compliments all the time, but he's used to them and they don't mean anything. He likes to spend time with you because he gets a glimpse into the life of someone who actually has their hands on the wheel, someone who knows what to do next. He comes to you a lot when he's stressed, he's never even thought about how you look, that doesn't matter to him.

DALLAS had always been about looks. He had his first girlfriend when he was 10, she was 13 and the prettiest girl on the block. You? The hours spent in front of the mirror wondering whether it was worth it or not could delegate where you fell in the social pyramid. Dallas saw that, but for some reason he also saw your whip like smart, your immaculate talent for everything, and your coolness in the face of anything that could oppose you. He learned that no matter what he tried to do, get you to wear make up, doing your hair differently, even truing new clothes, that you always looked and felt the best with your usual self, just happy.

[orangesunsets12]

Steve remembered, as a kid, being the only one that was never taken out of class. His parents never had to have him leave class early for appointments, trips, surprises, or even special lunches. He remembered being jealous as all of his peers came back from these getaways, sometimes with a frown, especially when they had to leave for the dentist, sometimes with a smile, always holding a fancy lunch that their parents got them, some even bragging about what they did. Some visited the city, some went bowling, some left early for trips to tropical islands. Steve never experienced anything like that, but he always felt a pit of despair sink in his stomach, like he was missing something. Like his parents never cared. 

As time went on, and Steve got older, he realized that he didn’t need his parents to take him out of class. He could just skip, and it would be the same, wouldn’t it? 

He couldn’t have been more wrong. 

For one thing, his teachers hated it, and he always had their sharp glares staring at him as he walked through the halls. His parents hated it, too, and he didn’t get special lunches that made everyone jealous. He got punished. 

So, he wasn’t sure how to go about this whole “leaving class early” now. He didn’t want to encourage skipping class, but he didn’t want to make other kids jealous. Nonetheless, he needed to get her out of class somehow. Unless he passed the speed limit, but that in itself was a risk that he didn’t want to take. An example that he didn’t want to set for his little girl. 

Steve took a deep breath as he walked into the elementary school, making sure he looked like the responsible father that he tried to be. He made his way to the front desk, where a young man was typing away at the computer. 

“Hi, I’m here to pick up Aviva Harrington?” 

“Name?” The man asked, his voice monotone, and Steve pulled out his ID.

“Steve. Steve Harrigton. I’m her father.” 

The man only took a quick glance at the plastic before continuing. 

“What’s the reason you have to see her? Did she forget her lunch again?”

Steve chuckled, shifting awkwardly on his feet. “No, I’m here to take her out of class. I emailed the school about it yesterday?”

A few clicks of a keyboard resulted in a positive hum. “I guess you did. An appointment?”

If he meant an appointment of fun, absolutely. 

But Steve wasn’t about to say that. 

“Yup. As much as I don’t want to drag her out of class I have no choice.”

Yeah. Because Eddie and Dustin would kill him. Brutally. 

The man took Steve’s words without complaint, and soon took the phone and called what Steve assumed was Aviva’s class. After a minute or so he was done, and gestured to the chairs nearby. 

“She’ll be here shortly with all of her stuff. First sign this and have a seat.”

“Umm, thanks.”

Steve hesitantly signed the paper and took a seat, knowing that Aviva was going to be here in an instant. She was always shimmering with energy, talking a mile a minute, her hands always gesturing wildly. He could see her in his mind, her brown, long hair waving back and forth as she talked, her blue sneakered feet jumping up and down when she got excited. He didn’t really know where she got all of her energy from, maybe her mother, who could never stay in one spot for long, but Steve wasn’t sure. The thing about her mom was that she knew when to slow down, to calm down when the situation called for it, and Aviva hadn’t learned that fully yet. 

Robin, or Auntie Robin for Avi, always seemed to think that Steve had a lot of energy too, especially in his Family Video days, so Avi’s energy could be from him. He couldn’t really see it, though. His level of social butterfly-ness was nothing compared to Liv’s. Well, until it wasn’t. But he didn’t want to think about that today. 

Moments later, like he predicted, Aviva comes bounding down the hallways, beaming as she waved goodbye to the teacher that led her here. Her brown hair waved behind her, despite Steve’s encouragement to put it in a braid or something. 

“Bye Mrs. McKinney! Bye Mr. Thomson!”

Her teacher and the receptionist waved goodbye, the receptionist rolling his eyes, but Steve ignored him, instead choosing to take Avi’s bag and accept the hug that she offered him. 

“Hey, Dad! You never do this, what are we doing?”

He smiled fondly at her as he herded her out of the door. “An appointment, remember?”

Her green eyes bore into his with confusion. She opened her mouth to reply, no doubt questioning his statement, but he put his finger to his lips in a secretive way, one that made her smile. 

“Oh, right, the appointment! How could I forget?”

“Exactly my question! How could you?”

As soon as they were close to his car, far away from the overhearing ears of the school staff, Avi broke out into a fit of giggles, tossing her bag into the back. Steve couldn’t help but laugh along with her, hopping into the driver’s seat as she hopped into the passenger seat. 

“Okay, what are we actually doing?”

“An appointment, like I said.”

“Dad!”

He laughed, ruffling her hair despite her protesting and pulled out of the parking lot. 

“Okay, maybe I have a special birthday gift for my little girl.”

Avi gave him a big smile, brighter than Steve could ever understand. “I’m not a little girl anymore, Dad, I’m fourteen.”

“You’ll always be my little girl.”

She groaned, rolling her eyes and crossing her arms. “You’re such a dad. All you’re missing is a dad bod and a crappy ballcap and you’d be the cover of the Old Men’s magazine.”

“Hey! No gifts for you then, I guess.”

“No! No, I was kidding!”

“Check in the glovebox.” Steve said with a chuckle, “It’s not much, but…happy birthday, Aviva. I know I haven’t been the best father on your birthdays, but I want this year to be different.”

“I don’t blame you.” She replied softly. “It’s not your fault that Mom died on the same day I was born. I mean, I don’t even know whether to celebrate or grieve today.”

“Celebrate. Today’s a celebration, alright? That’s what she would want.” Steve ignored the sadness in his chest at her words, about how this cruel world decided that this young girl should suffer like this, taking her mother away on her birthday, and giving her so much weight on such a happy day. Steve felt like he’d failed. He didn’t want her carrying pain like he did. 

Taking a deep breath, he reached over and opened the glovebox, taking out the small box while keeping one eye on the road. She took it, studying the wrapping paper and flipping it over, as if trying to discern what it was. 

“Open it. I promise it’s not magic wrapping paper that will unwrap itself.”

She shook her head, a small smile returning to her face as she opened it. Her eyes widened, and the smile grew, lighting up the vehicle. She laughed, her eyes shining with so much joy, and Steve knew that he had picked the right gift. 

“You got me the new Corroded Coffin CD? Dad, this has been sold out for weeks!”

“I know, I know, I’m the greatest dad ever.” Steve said, chucking, and giving a slight bow from where he was seated. She shoved his shoulder in response, laughing, and he shoved her back. “Okay, but turn it over. Look at the back.”

“Dad, I already know all of the songs off heart, I don’t need to see the song list.”

“Just turn it over! What are you waiting for? You just can’t listen to me, can you?”

“Get a crappy ballcap and I’ll reconsider my actions.”

“Turn it over!”

He could hear her flip the disk over, her breath hitching, and he smiled, waiting for the realization to hit. She was a pretty observant girl, he knew that it wouldn’t take her long. 

“Dad…? Are these��are these what I think they are?”

“Yup. Two tickets to Corroded Coffin, for tonight's showing. Front row.”

“How did you get these?” She asked, waving the tickets at him after gently taking them off of the gift. “How?”

“I told you, I’m friends with Eddie Munson.”

“I told you, I’m friends with Eddie Munson.” She mimicked in a teasing tone. “No, you’re not! How did you get these?”

“I already told you, but you don’t seem to believe me!”

“Because it’s a lie! It’s a stupid, crazy, obvious lie!”

“We both lived in Hawkins, went to school together, and became friends after I graduated. You go to the same school he did. How is it so hard to believe?”

“I’m sorry, but forgive me if I can’t see my father, a lowly mechanic, knowing the world renowned musician and singer Eddie Munson.”

Steve scoffed, “You know what? After that stupid comment I’m convinced that I should drive back home and take you back to school. You might be able to make it back for English…”

“No! No English! I’m kidding! I’m kidding!”

He shrugged. “Okay…I guess I'll keep on driving, then.”

She smiled, turning back to the CD and the tickets, basically quivering with excitement. And Steve just couldn’t wait for the moment that she saw that they were VIP tickets, and to see that Eddie Munson himself was going to give her a tour backstage. 

He may not have been the best dad ever, but at least he could make his daughter happy, and that was all that he cared about.

[jedijesi]

Biblichor: Chapter 2

Javier Peña x F!Librarian!Reader

Chapter 1

Warnings: Pinch of Angst, FLUFF! cursing, age-gap (nothing crazy), She/Her Pronouns

Chapter Summary: Javier sneaks back to the Library to spend some quality time with him favorite Librarian

Word Count: 1,200+

A/N: Thank you everyone so incredibly much for reading and supporting the series🤍This week has been crazy and I’m so overwhelmed with love I can’t express how great full I am🤍 Please let me know if you catch any mistake🤍 I can’t wait to here what you all think🤍

Javier practically skipped into the office that morning, leaving his co-workers perplexed as they were not accustomed to seeing him so preppy and punctual.

"Morning, Javier," Steve greeted as he entered their shared office, surprised to find Javier sitting at his desk.

"Yeah, morning. Come on, you're already 10 minutes late; let's go," Javier urged.

"What? Go to the library? I just got here. Why are we going so early?" Steve questioned.

"Because... we should get it over with so that we can go back to our normal jobs again. Come on," Javier quickly concocted a reason, hoping Steve wouldn't see through his eagerness.

Javier had barely slept the night before, with thoughts of you constantly occupying his mind. It was a bittersweet feeling. He hated that he was behaving like a teenage boy again—obsessed, giddy, and overwhelmed by desire. Although he enjoyed having something to wake up for, these emotions were new and foreign compared to the constant frustration and sadness he had learned to bury deep down every day. It was still a bit scary. Javier knew that wherever he went, destruction tended to follow. The thought of hurting someone as innocent and precious as you worried him. He didn't want to crush you the way he had already done to himself. It created a nervous pit in his stomach, but his selfish desires took over, and he couldn't help but want to explore this newfound connection further, albeit with caution.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When Javier parked the car, he quickly checked himself out in the mirror, ensuring he looked his best before heading inside. His heart sank when he didn't see the beautiful young woman he had flirted with the day before at the front desk. Concern surged through him, accompanied by a twinge of disappointment. Had he gone through all this trouble just to miss you?

The two men made their way to the back of the library, finding a table and sitting across from each other with their newspapers. Javier felt increasingly grumpy that he couldn't find you. Every few minutes, he slyly slid a newspaper from his pile into Steve's to keep his partner occupied as he scanned the library. After about 30 minutes, Javier finally spotted you walking past a corridor behind Steve.

"Hey, I'm low on newspapers. I'm going to find some more. I'll be back in a bit," Javier hastily informed Steve as he stood up and exited the room in search of you.

Steve nodded, somewhat puzzled by the growing stacks of old newspapers on his table. He furrowed his eyebrows, wondering why he had gathered so many, but he dismissed the thoughts, attributing it to his own absentmindedness. He made a mental note to ask Connie for a check-up when he got home. Steve then returned his attention to the newspapers, determined to make some progress while Javier was gone.

.             .             .                .           .

As Javier rushed through the maze of bookshelves, he finally spotted you with a trolley loaded with returned books. A mischievous smirk played on his lips as he stealthily approached you, his footsteps as light as a whisper.

You walked down the aisles, your mind occupied with the task at hand, methodically placing the books on their designated shelves. Each book found its home, and you continued your work with a sense of tranquility. As you extended your arm to position yet another book, a face suddenly materialized from behind the books, causing you to jump back and emit a startled squeak.

"Javier! Oh my god! Don't do that!" you chided him, your voice a whispered yell. Javier couldn't help but chuckle at your reaction, relishing the way you become flustered when he was around.

"Sorry, pretty lady," he replied with a playful grin, moving around the corner to join you.

"Can I help you with anything, Javier? Need any book recommendations? Another romance, perhaps?" you teased, knowing well of his affinity for romance novels.

"No, no. I just came to admire," Javier confessed, his gaze deliberately traveling up and down your form, his eyes lingering on your outfit.

"Oh, is that all?" you said with a sly smile, resuming your work as Javier continued to follow you like an intrigued shadow.

After a few minutes of Javier silently watching you in admiration, he began asking you seemingly inconsequential questions, his curiosity about your life piqued. In response, you started sharing tidbits about your upbringing and childhood. Javier didn't understand why, but every word that flowed from your lips felt like the most captivating and beautiful thing he had ever heard. He didn't dare interrupt you, afraid that he might never hear your sweet voice again. You had captivated him, and he hungered for more of your presence and the stories you had to tell.

As your story came to an end after about fifteen minutes, the cart had been emptied of books. You knew you had to return to your next task, but you found it difficult to walk away just yet.

"I'm all out of books; I'm going to have to go back," you said, your voice carrying a tinge of regret. You noticed a dimming of the spark in Javier's eyes when you shared the news.

"Do you have to?" he inquired, a hint of disappointment evident in his tone.

"Well, I already took longer than I normally do. My boss will come looking for me if I'm not back soon," you explained, your gaze still fixed on Javier.

"Javi? Damn it, are you over here?" Steve's voice suddenly rang out, startling Javier.

Panicking, he swiftly scanned the area, trying to determine Steve's location. Through the narrow gaps between the bookshelves, he spotted Steve a few aisles away. Without hesitation, Javier reached for your hand and led you into another aisle where you would remain hidden from Steve's view.

Confused and caught off guard, you were about to speak when Javier hushed you. The two of you stood still, waiting for Steve to pass. However, in the confined space of the aisle, you became acutely aware of the proximity between you and Javier. Or rather, the lack of.

"Sorry about that. That was my co-worker. He'd kill me if he knew I was ditching him right now. I guess it would be best if we both get going, huh?" Javier said, reluctantly taking a step back, contrary to your wishes.

You sighed softly, feeling a pang in your chest. "Yeah, that would probably be best," you replied, your voice filled with longing. "When can I see you again?"

Javier hesitated for a moment, then started to say, "Well, maybe if I got your numbe-"

You interrupted him gently, "Next time. I'll see you, I promise. That is if you're able to see me another time."

"I'll try my best tomorrow, but don't worry I'll be back as soon as I can, Princess, I promise," Javier reassured you with a playful smirk. 

Your heart fluttered at his words, and before you could fully process it, your body acted on its own. You jumped onto your toes and planted a quick peck on the corner of Javier's lips.Javier stood there in stunned silence, his entire body flushed with a sudden rush of warmth.

"See you soon, Javi," you whispered, giving him a shy smile before scurrying away, leaving him speechless.

After a moment, a wide grin spread across Javier's face as he watched you disappear into the labyrinth of wooden shelves.

"God, Javi! I've been looking for you everywhere! What the hell!" Steve's exasperated voice broke the spell, bursting Javier's moment of joy.

Javier quickly regained his composure. "What? I decided to take a smoke break, and then I got lost." He attempted to provide an explanation, though Steve seemed uninterested in the details.

"First of all, that was the longest smoke break ever, and second, you got lost in the kids' aisle?" Steve shook his head in disbelief before continuing, "Well, I couldn't find anything in those newspapers, and now I've got a migraine. I'm done; let's go." Steve tugged at Javier's leather jacket.

"Alright, alright! I still think we should come back here tomorrow, though. This library has everything we need…”

Chapter 3

A/N: Ahhh! Thank you all for reading this far. If the people want a part 3 a part 3 they shall get🤍 I can’t wait to here what u think🤍Let me know if you want to be add or removed from the tag list🤍

Series Tag List: @lordabovehelpme @agingerindenial @radiowallet @otherthingsinhead

[sherrybaby14]

Moral of the Story

Summary:  Steve’s girl likes to party all the time and he’s at his wit’s end.  Then he meets you.

Pairing:  Steve Rogers x female reader.

Warnings:  Alcohol, Smut, ANGST

Words:  5k

A/N:  This is for the wonderful @captain-rogers-beard​ challenge. Congrats Doll!  My prompt was “Party all the Time” by Eddie Murphy.

   The music was a bit louder than you would have liked, but at least the song was catchy.   You sipped on your drink as you watched the dance floor, your friend’s waving you over.  

   With a smirk you shook your head and lifted your drink, far too sober to dance.

   “I think they want you to join them?”  A voice boomed in your ear.

   You did a jump as you turned to see a gorgeous blonde next to you.  

   “I don’t want to spill my drink.”  You ran your hands down your now wet dress.

   “Oh Jeez, I’m so sorry ma’am.”  He reached for some cocktail napkins. “Let me buy you another.”

   “It’s okay.”  You began to pat your dress dry.  “It’s probably better on my clothes than down my throat.  I don’t drink often.”

   “Me either.”  He gave a warm smile.  

   “Then why are you in a nightclub?”  You turned to the bar, trying to block out the loud music and not have to yell so much. “Here to pick up women?”

   “A friend invited me.”  His gaze went to the dance floor.

   You followed it and saw he was looking at a dark haired man.  You couldn’t see his face because it was being covered by a gorgeous brunette.  She pulled away and you blinked a few times, she had to be a model, a perfect ten.  

   “I think your friend is going to get lucky.”  You turned back to see his jaw clench up.  

   “Yeah, it looks like it.”  He looked away, there was a pain in his eyes.  “If I can’t buy you a new drink how about a cup of coffee?”  

   “Oh, I don’t think they sell coffee here.”  You shrugged.

   He erupted in laughter and you glanced around, not noticing the punch line.  

   “There’s a diner a block away.”  He leaned against the bar.  “Open twenty four hours.  I know I’m a stranger, but I could get out of here and by the looks of it so could you.”  

   “I’m game.”  You put your glass on the bar and started walking to the door.  

   “I’m Steve by the way.”  He held out his hand.  

   “I know who you are.”  You smiled.  “I think the whole world knows who you are.”  

   A confused look spread across his face.  The brisk nighttime air made your arm get some goosebumps, but you let out a sigh of relief when the music died down.  

   “That’s not the reaction I get from most people who know who I am.”  Steve grabbed his chin.  “Maybe I should grow a beard again.”  

   “Would you rather I asked for an autograph and a selfie?”  You raised an eyebrow, then put the back of your hand to your forehead.  “Oh Captain my Captain?”

   “Alright, I get it.”  Steve laughed.  “So what’s your story?  I guess your the one whose the stranger here.”

   “It’s not like I know everything about you, just the headlines.”  You winked.  “Workaholic, I love my job, it keeps me busy.  In my free time I do the basics,  read, watch movies, attempt and fail at the newest workout craze.”  

   “Pilates man.”  Steve pulled the diner door open.  “It’s a lot harder than it looks.”

   “I fall in every yoga position.”  You followed Steve as he slid into a booth.  “Zumba was fun, but I’m lacking in rhythm.”  

   “You?”  Steve’s eyes went wide.  “You look like you would be a great dancer.”

   “I’m great at a lot of things.”  You flipped over your mug.  “But bad at more.”  

   “I’m really bad at board games.  I flipped the board last time I played Monopoly.”  Steve leaned back in the booth.  “But I am amazing at tic-tac-toe.”  

   “Oh yeah?”  You reached in your purse and pulled out a pen, drawing the lines on a napkin.  “Prove it?”

~~

“Even with all this coffee and stimulating conversation.”  You brought your hand to your mouth to stifle the yawn.  “Exhaustion is setting in.  I’ve got to get to bed.”

“How far do you live from here?”  Steve reached for his wallet.  “It’s almost 4 am.  Can I walk you home?”  

“Four am?”  You hadn’t checked your phone since you told your friends you were safe after vanishing, that was five hours ago.  

Sure enough the device read 3:56.  

“Damn.”  You grabbed a menu.  “Might as well order breakfast then.”  

Steve looked shocked, but then nodded in agreement, not pulling a menu. The server took notice and came over.  

“I’ll have a meat lovers skillet, side of country gravy, sub American cheese, eggs over easy, wheat toast?”  You but the menu back.  

“I’ll have the same.”  Steve leaned forward.

“Really?” The waitress was confused. “Not the usual?”

“I’m being adventurous tonight.”  Steve winked.  

“Okay.”  She walked away.

“I like the way you know what you want.”  Steve leaned back.  “Kind of no nonsense.  It’s refreshing.”  

“I wouldn’t say that.”  You laughed.  “Maybe when it comes to diner food at 4 am.  I’ve been eating my whole life after all.”  

“So why isn’t there anyone special in your life?”  Steve almost seemed fidgety.  

“There’s lots of special people in my life.”  You smiled.  “I’m very close with my parents, my siblings, have some great friends I’d call family, my coworkers are amazing too.”

“That’s not what I meant.”  Steve’s eyes showed a strange wave of vulnerability.  

“No reason.”  You wished you had a better answer.  “I’ve dated plenty, had some serious partners, some not so serious.  I guess I’m picky? What about you?”

“The friend who invited me to the club tonight, it was the girl.”  Steve gave a pressed smile.  “We were very serious, she broke it off about two months ago.  Wanted to try being friends.  I agreed to give it a go.  I don’t see how it’s going to work.”  

The perfect 10 brunette.  Your heart started to ache for the man.  He was heartbroken.  It was all over his face, body language.  Everything clicked.  

“What a bitch.”  You brought your hand to your mouth and looked at him with wide eyes.  

He laughed and you relaxed.

“There you go, being honest and direct again.”  Steve put his elbows on the table.  “I don’t think people can be friends with exes.  It’s not in the cards.”  

“I’ve never tried.”  You were more of the it’s done it’s done type.  “My philosophy is look forward.  The future.  Thinking about the past, it’s a dangerous trap.”  

“I’m starting to think the same thing.”  Steve’s eyes lit up.  “She is a big party girl, I mean, she’s a model so sometimes its a networking thing.  But I never really fit into her life.”  

“Wait, were you guys like a tabloid couple?”  You tilted your head. “Can I read all about your breakup on instagram?”  

“No!” Steve rolled his eyes.  ��That was part of the problem.  I think she wanted that.  Being with me could elevate her career and it made me feel used, so I wouldn’t allow public photos. There’s a few that leaked, but nothing confirming our relationship.”

“Wow, you celebrities are a different breed.”  It never once crossed your mind to post about who you were having coffee with.

“I am not a celebrity.”  Steve wagged a finger at you.  

“Oh I’m sorry.”  You brought your hand to your chest.  “Historical figure.”

Steve cracked up.  His laugh was infectious and you joined, chuckling away.  

“Without being too forward young lady,” Steve reached out and grabbed your hand, sparks shooting down your arm.  “Could I have your telephone number?”  

You knew he was bating you for a joke.  But you preferred the natural type.  

“Yes.”  You reached for your phone, breaking the hand touch.  “You can have my number.”

~~

Noon hit and you forced yourself out of bed, six hours of sleep was doable.  You began to make your mental checklist of projects for the day while you brushed your teeth.  

There was a giddy ness in the back of your mind over last night.  He was a cool guy and it was a fun time.  Your brain started to think about work.  You had to call your parents and check in, probably explain to your friends about where you went, you would leave out the Captain America angle.  

You grabbed your phone and your jaw about hit the floor.  There was a text from Steve already.  

Are you going to say good morning?  

You didn’t think you would hear from him for at least a few days.  It made you smile and wiggle as you sat on the bed.  

Good morning!  Or afternoon?  

Before you set the device down the reply bubbles started to form.   You parted ways seven hours ago.  It was a Saturday.  This was unexpected.   The bubbles disappeared and then reappeared several times.   You were on the edge of your seat.  

Then your phone started to vibrate.  You almost threw the thing, seeing Steve’s name pop up. Instead your smile grew as you slid it to answer.

“Was good afternoon not appropriate?  Technically it’s 12:15, that is literally after noon.”  You tried to stifle the excitement.

“You want to have a beer with me tonight?”  Steve’s voice was just as sexy over the phone.  “I would say dinner, but I know you had some things to take care of.  There’s this sports bar I love,  I promise I won’t spill anything on you and coffee keeps us up too late.”  

“I’d love to.”  You didn’t see a point in trying to act coy.  

“Great, nine o’clock?  I’ll text you the address.”  Steve’s smile carried over the phone.  

“Sounds like a plan.”  You ran your hand over your hair and wondered if you could get away without washing it.  

“Have a great day.  I”ll see you tonight.”  

“Bye.”  You clicked off the phone and did a little happy dance.  

You didn’t see that one coming.  

Your phone lit up with Steve’s message right away.  You sent a thumbs up emoji.  To your surprise, Steve responded:

Emojis, it’s like hyrogliphics are coming back?  Why did we skip the sonnets?

You didn’t even think before responding.

You: Shall I compare thee to a Summer’s Day?  Thou art more lovely and temperate.  

Steve: Sonnet 18, one of the greats.

You: I stole it from Clueless.  

Steve: What’s Clueless?

~~

You woke the next morning, at your normal 8 am.  Even more thrilled with the date from the night before.   It was fun.  It was a fantastic time.  Of course the texting all day long made the conversation flow right to person-to-person.  

“I can’t sleep until noon tomorrow.”  You stood up from the bar stool.  “Plus I hit my three beer maximum.  Maybe once I know you better you can meet four beer me.”  

“You’re guarded in the strangest ways.”  Steve beamed at you.  

“Me?”  You were shocked.  “I’m an open book. Nothing to hide.”

“Well would this bother you then?”  Steve cupped your cheek and before you could react his face leaned in.

Warm lips met yours.  You melted into him, your body felt like it was floating.  Nobody in the bar paid you any attention as his tongue slid into your mouth before pulling out.  A little moan came forward when he pulled away.  

There was a devilish grin on his face as he grabbed your hand and kissed your knuckles.  

“Let’s get you an Uber.”  

All you could do was nod in a numb state.  This amazing man kissed you.  It was like a dream.  

You were all smiles as you rolled out of bed, straight to the bathroom.  Sundays were your lazy day, but you missed too much yesterday that you had to squeeze some work in.  It wouldn’t be too much.  

When you left the bathroom you grabbed your phone.  Your heart exploded when you saw there was already a text from Steve.  

Today you can say good morning.  I have faith.  

~~

Steve Rogers was perfect.  Three dates in a week, not including coffee night.  Every other day he wanted to see you.  He made you laugh, listened to you, was always available.  Sent you little comics you found funny.   You giggled at the last gif he sent you of a puppy eating bubble.

You: I’ve got to head into a work meeting.  I’ll text you later.  

Steve: Knock ‘em dead.  

Supportive too.  You smiled as you slipped your phone into your pocket.  It had only been a week, but you couldn’t remember the last time you connected with someone this way, if ever.

“You’re smiley.”  A coworker bumped you with her arm.  “It’s almost like you have a glow.”

“Just a happy person.”  You shrugged.  “How is your son doing? Any luck on that math test?”

“Oh he did much better!”  Your coworker dropped her shoulders in relief.  “That tutor was worth every penny.”

She continued to talk and you tried to listen, but your thoughts kept drifting to Steve.  This was the best week of your life.

~~

The meeting got your adrenaline pumping.  You left and went straight to your office, typing away the e-mails, ready to get the new project off the ground.   It was almost time to call it a day, the sun was starting to set.  

That was when you picked up your phone.  Two messages from Steve.  Fuck.  Guilt set in.  

How was the meeting?  

Everything okay?

You grabbed your phone and started typing.

You: Sorry work got crazy.  Major project.  Just leaving now.  

Steve: Do you want to over to my place for dinner?  Unwind?  I can have a meal and some wine for you, straight away?  

Unwinding with Steve sounded perfect, plus you were more interested in the version that didn’t involve a meal.  

You looked down at your work clothes, your makeup probably long smeared off,  but did that matter?  Steve didn’t seem to care about your appearance.  He wanted you for who you were.   And right now that sounded perfect.

You: Do you have ice cream?  

Steve: Oh my freezer is overflowing.  Any flavor you like.  Popsicles too.  

You: I’m in.  Text me your address?  

~~

Every other time you arrived at a paramour’s place for the first time you were nervous.  Not this time.  Your brain played a slide show of the last week.  The way Steve listened, hung on your words, followed up with questions.  He made you feel like the most important person in the world.  

Your past experiences taught you that people were either fantastic talkers or listeners.  You prided yourself on being both, but Steve seemed to fall in that same category.  

With a strange confidence you hit the buzzer for his apartment.  The door unlocked and you walked up the stairs, speeding up with each step.  

When you got to his floor you spotted him hanging out the door, waving at you.  This was going to be the hard part.  

“Before I step inside, I have to let you know something.”  You rehearsed this in your head a few times.  “Work was insane today, and I know tomorrow is Saturday, but I have to put in a few hours.  This happens about twice a year, not a common occurrence.  But as much as I want to, I can’t spend the night.”  

“Okay.” Steve nodded and held the door open.  “Again I love your honesty.”  

You walked in to see all the only lights on in the apartment two candles on the clothed kitchen table.  Your heart started to sink at the thought he’d put into it, but then you noticed the meal set out at each end and began to laugh.  

“Full disclosure,  all I had was some TV dinners.”  Steve came behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist.  “And there’s no ice cream or popsicles.  But I can think of something I want for dessert.”

You spun around and put your arms around his neck, pulling him in for a deep kiss.   He reached underneath you and scooped you up.  You wrapped your legs around his waist as he carried you, deepening the kiss.  

Nothing had ever felt so right in your life.  It was as if the cosmos had brought you together.  

“You’re too perfect.”  You pulled away as he dropped you on the bed.  

“You’re a one-in-a-million.”  Steve’s breath was heavy as he started to pull at your clothing.  

Hands were everywhere, lips randomly touching whatever skin they could.  Shoes and socks flying off with pants and shirts.  You shoved his boxers down as he unhooked your bra, the feeling of your bare chests pushed together making you shudder.  

Steve grabbed your panties and yanked them down as you settled back on his bed.  On your back, legs spread, knees up.  His arm encircled your thigh as he began to kiss.  You moaned and fisted the blanket, lifting your pelvis up inviting his mouth.  

He wasted no time and began to devour you. You tried to pay attention to what he was doing, but you couldn’t keep up.  Was that his tongue? His lips?  You cried out when something slid inside of you.  

“FUCK!”  Your body convulsed around his mouth.  

Your chest heaved while your brain tried to keep up with the pleasure.  Steve kept licking, touching, working you.  Everything was frenzied.   Your head collapsed to the side and you tried to regain control.  

“I knew you were primed.”  Steve kissed up your stomach.  “But you have one more in you.”  

He climbed until he was over you, his cock lining up with your entrance.  Never had you came that fast from another person.

Steve pushed forward and filled your aching pussy.  You squealed and grabbed onto his shoulders.   Rolling your body against his.  

“That’s it.”  He nipped at your neck.  “You were meant for me.  Never felt this way before.”  

You grabbed his face and pulled his lips to your own, enjoying the taste of yourself on him while he railed into you.  He returned the kiss and sped up.  Slamming his cock, teasing your clit while your g-spot came to life.  

There was no hiding your moans and his grunts as your bodies melded together.   Your breath started to tighten, and then your muscles started.  The edge came fast and you flung yourself over.  

Your head went back into the pillow as your screamed,  it was impossible to tell if your vision went black since the room was too dark.  But Steve let out a grunt and pulled out of you.

Instead of blowing all over your stomach he pushed your head down.  You slid down the bed and opened your mouth.  

His aim was perfect and for the second time you tasted yourself, enjoying the way he finished in your mouth, letting your lips wrap around his tip.  Drinking him all down while your body shook.  

“I think I’m falling in love.”  Steve pushed forward before pulling out and landing on his back.  

You nodded, breathless as you curled up to him.   He wrapped an arm around you and pulled you close, kissing the top of your head.  

You ignored the tears forming in your eyes, fighting them away.  If pure happiness existed, this was it.  How did you get so lucky?

~~

Steve: I’m going to hug my pillow all night wishing it was you.  

You glanced at the clock, it was already approaching midnight.  

You: I’m sorry I couldn’t stay.  Thank you for a wonderful night and a gourmet meal.

Steve: Get some sleep.  I miss you.  

You: I miss you too.

You grabbed your pillow.  If Steve was pretending his was you, maybe you could do that same.  A huge smile on your face as you drifted off.

~~

You woke with a smile.  Maybe Smiley could be your new nickname.  You grabbed your phone eager to see what Steve had sent. To your surprise, there was no message.

All week long you’d woken up to messages.  You smiled even bigger, maybe you’d finally worn him out and the man needed more sleep than you did.

You rolled out of bed to brush your teeth, thoughts filled with nothing but Steve.

~~

Work was so intense, you turned your phone off.  No distractions.  When the team broke for lunch you flipped it on, your heart racing to see Steve’s messages.  When the screen came to life you saw nothing.  

Maybe it was wrong?  Messages glitched sometimes.  You clicked the app open, all you saw was your last message.  It said read at 12:03 am.  

You shrugged it off.  Steve knew you had a big work day.  He was being respectful.  You thought about texting him, but you had to get back to it and didn’t want to come off as needy.  It wasn’t like you could text him all afternoon.  

~~

The project finished an hour early, 4 pm on a Saturday.  Everyone gave themselves a round of applause and you did a lazy golf clap as you reached for your phone.  

Your heart exploded when you saw a message from Steve.

Steve: How was your day?

You: Good.  I have so much to tell you!

There was no bubble response, or read receipt.  You stared at your phone.  Maybe turning it off had been a bad idea.  

After saying goodbye to your colleagues and walking to you subway stop your phone dings with a message.

Steve: Can we meet for coffee?  

You giggled.

You: Why not dinner?  The real kind this time.  It was a big day for me!  I want to celebrate, you can supply dessert again.  

Steve: Coffee.  Now?  First night?

Maybe he had a big day too.  He’d been so supportive of you, it was due to return the favor.

You: Sure.  I’ll be there in twenty.  

You headed to the other subway line, more than eager for a sleepover tonight.  

~~

When you arrive at the diner you scan it, not seeing Steve anywhere.  Maybe you beat him here.   You were about to grab a random booth when a man in a black hoodie, baseball hat, and sunglasses sticks his hand in the air.  

You smile, wondering if this is some Avenger’s mission.

“Are you going as the Unabomber for Halloween?”  You slide into the booth.  “I couldn’t even recognize you.”

“There’s no easy way to say this.”  Steve cracked his jaw.  “Ashley called me last night.  Very upset.”

“Whose Ashley?”  You blurted out the first thought that came to your mind.

“My ex.”  He let out a huge sigh.  “She’s a mess.”

“The bitch from the club?”  You were a little interested in the drama.

“She’s not a bitch.”  Steve put his hands on the table and your blood ran cold.  “She has some problems.  She is working on them.  And we have a lot of history and she needs my help.”

“Oh.”  You felt like your soul floated out of your body.

“You’re so perfect.”  He reached out and grabbed your hands.  “But she needs me.  You don’t need me.  We have a lot of history and I owe it to her to try.”  

“Oh.”  Everything went numb.

“I wanted to let you know in person and before things got too serious.”  Steve squeezed your hand.  “If I could take back last night, I wouldn’t.  It was perfect,  you’re perfect.”

“You already said that.”  Your voice was getting tight.  

“But I mean it.”  He pushed the hood off his baseball cap.  “I can’t leave her.  Without me, I mean, you saw her at the club that night.  She’s a disaster.”  

The tears started to boil in your throat they were so deep.  You yanked your hands away, thoughts flying to wild to speak clearly.  You didn’t know if you wanted to scream at him or plead with him to pick you.  

“I hope we can stay friends?”  He let out a sigh.  “I mean, you’re amazing and you made me so happy this past week.  Probably the happiest I’ve been in my entire life.  You’re smart, and witty, and beautiful, and you’re everything.”

The way he said week hit home.  It was only a week.  Not a month, not a year.  Just a week.  A lot of digs ran through your mind, ways you could make a joke, ways you could state your feelings.  But instead you said one thing.

“Sure.”  Your brain started to scream at itself.  

“That’s such a relief.”  Steve dropped his shoulders.

“I had a really long day.”  You stood up from the booth.  “Talk soon?”

You didn’t look back as you ran to the door, the tears spilling over. With a shaky hand you pulled out your phone, screaming at yourself for being so stupid to develope feelings, but smart enough to do one thing.  You highlighted his contact and clicked delete.  

~~

Friends, family, whoever would talk had to listen to you cry.  You didn’t hold back for them.  You made sure they alternated duty.   You even took a week off of work.

“If I would have stayed that night, would he have ignored her?”  You sobbed to your best friend.  

“No hunny.”  She ran a hand through your head.  “No.  You got caught in a weird game.”  

~~

Steve: How do you kill a circus?

It’s a random number not saved to a contact, but you know that’s the first text you get from Steve.  You know the punchline, but rather than responding you delete it.  The last thing you want is to memorize his number.  

You would’ve broken down and sent some very dumb stuff you would’ve regretted.  It’s only been five days.  He should send his girlfriend those jokes, not you.  

~~

Three days later you get  another.

Steve: How are you?

You think about deleting it, you think about screaming you broke my heart, acting cool like you’re busy, or just gushing about how much you miss him and what a great guy his is.  

You: Fine.

Steve: Glad to hear.

You don’t hesitate to delete the thread.

~~

Steve: I miss you.

Your heart races.  It’s been two weeks since the night you had the best sex of your life.  The tears sting your eyes.  You’ve been apart longer than you were together.   Did he realize he made a mistake?  Was he coming back to you?

You start typing: I miss

But then you stop.  No.  You had to frame this right.  State it right.  But what was there to do? Yell at him into loving you?  Did you love him?  Your heart hurt like it had, but this was wrong.  

With a shaky finger you highlighted the number and moved it to block.  The sobs came again and you cuddled your phone, regretting your choice.

~~

The day you hit the month mark you were trying not to think about Steve, but then the celebrity hit:  CAPTAIN AMERICA ENGAGED!  It ran all over the headlines.  

Him and his fiance were plastered everywhere.  You couldn’t escape.  It hit you then.  You were a rebound.  You were nothing.  A temporary step on his life path.  It hurt.  It hurt more than anything.  No ice cream could repair the hole one week with Steve Rogers had created.

~~

“I’m glad we got you out tonight.”  Your friend poked you in the side as she screamed in your ear.  “What’s it been, months since you’ve been in a club?”

“Yep.” Two, but you tried not to think about how your last time in a nightclub ended, how it could derail your life.  “But I’m here.”

You still hated the loud music.  Memories of a sports bar with Steve tried to come forward, but you buried them before they could.  

“Let’s dance!” She grabbed your hand.  

“Not yet.”  You yanked it away.  “In a few drinks.”

“I’ll wait with you.”  She settled next to you.  “But that dance floor is inviting.”

The bodies were moving and you scanned the area.  Your eyes bulged when you spotted a familiar face, tongue down a mouth.  

“Is that…..is that Captain America’s fiance?”  Your friend grabbed your arm,  you never told them the mysterious Steve’s last name.   “She’s not kissing Cap.”

She pulled out her phone ready to take a picture, but you put your hand out and lowered her arm.  

A wave of clarity rushed over you.  

“His girl wants to party all the time.  He buys her champagne and diamonds.”  A weird smile settled over you.  “He thinks he can fix her.”

That was the problem.  You didn’t need fixing.  And if you ever did you would figure it out for yourself, with the support of people around you.  Steve hit the nail on the head when he said you didn’t need him.  You never would.

“Go dance.”  You gave your friend a playful spank on the ass.  

For the first time in two months you felt like yourself and turned back to the bar hoping to block the music.  

A finger tapped your shoulder and you looked up with no jump.

“It’s loud in here.”  A handsome man with dark hair looked down at you.

“There’s a coffee shop a block away.”  You stood up.  “Can I buy you a cup?”

“Yes.” He nodded and set his drink down.  

“What’s your name?”  You yelled over the music.

“Stephen.”  He was right behind you.  

“Do you go by Steve and what are your thoughts on needy women?”  You pushed open the door to the club.

The air was hot and you rolled your shoulders back, embracing the lack of obnoxious music.

“If I went by Steve I would have introduced myself that way.”  His intense eyes glared at you.  “And I am a surgeon.  Everyone I encounter is needy.  I don’t have time for it in my personal life.”

You stifled your laughter at the response.   At least Steve had taught you to speak your mind.  Having a flashback to leaving the bar with him.  

“Well Mr. Stranger,  I will never need you.”  You grinned at him.  “Except for good conversation and occasional support.”

“It’s actually Doctor Strange.”  He chuckled.  “I think that’s the first time I laughed in months.”

“Tell me about it...literally.” You kicked at the sidewalk.  “How do you kill a circus?” 

The man scoffed at you and then wiped off his sleeves.  

“You go for the juggler of course.”  

[lokislittlesigyn]

// loki spoilers

This is basically a huge infodump on my thoughts about the first episode, because I doubt y’all want to sift through my trauma-ridden ramblings. I’ll make another post for the rest. This is just everything not related to the IW stuff/my reaction to that. It’s general thoughts, theories, musings.

1. When Loki gets first taken into the TVA. Is that Peggy Carter in the background? Others have suggested it might be. What would that mean??? Will we see the TVA fix the mess the Russos made with Steve/Peggy (not likely) or is it just a lookalike? Who knows..

2. A skrull at the main intake desk! Idk not super relevant just interesting!

3. I’m kind of glad they changed the... uncomfortable scene... with the robot burning his clothes off. He gets more time to react to seeing the machine itself, and he seems more shocked (”Now.. H-hang on just a minute.”) than angry (”Now hang on just a minute!”) i still feel.. horrible for him, i’m glad nobody Saw him and that the machine didn’t grab the clothes off, but still. Ehhh.. uncomfortable.

He is beautiful though, don’t get me wrong - I’d just prefer a shirtless Loki scene where he wants to be shirtless? let him do what he wants with his body?? he’s probably felt so out of control of his body, from being jotun to falling through space that any invasion of privacy like that hits extra deep...

That being said, I recognize the utility of the scene for the narrative - his lack of control, his literally being stripped of what he was before.

4. WHO IS THE MAN WITH THE CAT. What is his name. I love that he has a mug with his cat on it. But I want to know more. Who is he?

4.1 WHY DIDNT YOU LET LOKI PET THE CAT Please,,, I am begging you,,, let loki pet the cat and have something react kindly to him and purr all happily at his scratching behind their ears plea s e

5. The info sheet. Now this is just a little nitpicky tidbit, but in a previous promo they listed Loki’s height as 6′4 ft and weight as 525 lbs. This is taken directly from the comics if I’m not mistaken. However, in the actual show he’s listed as  6′2 (Tom’s height and Loki’s presumed height) but I don’t remember if his weight is the same. Is Loki 6′2? 6′4? please let me know i want to know how smol i am in comparison

6. His little aggressive shaking of the ticket at the guard makes me giggle each time.

7. The fact the turnstile hits so low on him reminds me,, I am short compared to him. Those things hit my stomach/waist. That one hit his legs. I am once again asking Loki to pick me up.

8. The cartoon with Miss Minutes introducing the TVA is wonderful, I love the art style especially. But it raises questions about Variants... I guess Variants can just, pop out of nowhere? Any action could be the wrong one? And then once you commit the wrong action you either get returned or pruned? Yikes??? And THIS ties into another thing later!

9. The trial scene. I have a hunch - a feeling, a suspicion. That one of three things may be true.

A. The Time-Keepers never actually existed. They’re fabricated, and now whoever runs the TVA is actually using the excuse of “The Time-Keepers decree it so!!!” to carry out whatever They think is right. The fact we haven’t seen the Time-Keepers makes me.. suspicious...

B. The Time-Keepers existed, but they have since passed on, however that may have happened. Now someone is doing the same as above, using the excuse of the Time-Keepers apparent dictations to run things.

C. The Time-Keepers do exist, and do run the timeline/TVA, but maybe they’re not infallible? Maybe the TVA info video is lying or incomplete in some way? Idk I just feel like, something about the TVA and how they run things has to be wrong. It has to? Something is off. Again, this will tie into another thought later...

I have no idea if any of these are actually true! But Loki’s questions of “Who’s in charge here? What do they do? What do you do?” punctuated by laughter leads me to believe he’s suspecting something too, or perhaps just trying to figure this mess out.

10. Seiðr/Magic. We see in this scene, Loki’s magic (”powers”) don’t work in the TVA. (and a quick side note, did he have to Flex like that? do you have to make me see Loki’s bare arms Flex like that? be still my heart. anyway please get that collar off of him and let him rest for five minutes) This makes me wonder.. Why isn’t Loki in his Jotun form? His pale skin and blue eyes are decided by magic, are they not? I suppose this is 2012, so perhaps Odin’s magic is keeping Loki looking like that. But if magic doesn’t work in the TVA, why would his spell reach so far? Clearly Loki’s magic isn’t what’s doing it. How is Loki not appearing as a Jotun? Is his Jotun form repressed - is pale skin his default now, rather than something hidden by magic? I need answers!

11. he sounds so scared about being “reset” please dont hurt him,,

12. cALLING LOKI A PUSSYCAT? (lokitty confirmed) I think Mobius was goading him (Mobius strikes me.. As extremely clever. He’s trying to push Loki’s buttons to see who he’s dealing with. At least, I hope so. Because if he really meant that “You were born to cause pain and suffering and death... All so that others can achieve the best versions of themselves.” and that line about killing Frigga??? No no no he is not guilty. He had no way of knowing what would happen. It wasn’t right to send Algrim up to Asgard (i think algrim wouldve found the way up anyway) but there was no intent to hurt Frigga. I really hope you’re trying to goad him, Mobius, because if you believe that I trust you much less. anyway i digress) but wow is he pushing Loki’s buttons a lot. I can’t... Blame him entirely, I understand he’s trying to make sure Loki’s on his side, maybe I’m just too soft for Loki idk. But some of that was very cruel to say. /:

12.1 AND ANOTHER THING ABOUT MOBIUS. That scene with the girl in the church?? Did that little girl kill the men? Is that young Sylvie? Or is she using an illusion to make herself look young and innocent? What’s going on!!!!

13. LOKI SNATCHING THE LITTLE TIME-TWISTER DEVICE AND STOWING IT IN HIS POCKET.... POCKET....... sorry sometimes i get so caught up about loki that i just say random words in between little noises and squeals,,, i am a silly thing

14. CASEY. CASEY??? That whole exchange is funny. Poor Loki, just trying to intimidate this guy so he can escape but - Casey doesn’t know what a fish is. to be fair.... thor doesn’t seem to know what a raccoon is... right?

15. That bit with the infinity stones is kind of funny until you realize

A. Natasha died for a paperweight

B. Tony died from paperweights

C. Loki was tortured for paperweights

D. Oh, and Gamora died for a paperweight too. And Vision. Need I go on?

Then it becomes less of exclusively “haha funny” and now it’s a mix of funny and pain and gosh, is that a good way to sum up being a Marvel/Loki fan sometimes...

16. Loki gazing at the timeline all “Is this the most powerful thing in the universe?” or something, i’m sorry i don’t remember exactly... made me think of a meme and i shall make it presently.

17. I love that Loki got to see examples of how his family loves him but the fact he’s all “I can’t go back.” really just breaks me. It’s like he can finally see they love him after all of this mess, and now he doesn’t have the chance. Please, please let him be happy. Give him some relief. This is the Loki that just came off finding out about being Jotun, falling from the Bifrost, encountering Thanos, attacking Earth, facing defeat, and now he’s being thrashed around in this wild place and has just found out he inadvertently caused Frigga’s death (he did not kill her: his actions, by mistake, lead to her murder, let me be very clear) AND Odin will die AND all the rest... And he wants to be with them.

18. Loki’s reaction to Thor suggesting the hug makes me soft. Please I want to hug this little mischief man so so so bad-

19. Skipping over the iw parts! That’s for another post because this one will be grossly long anyway.

20. “I don’t enjoy hurting people.” and “It's part of the illusion. It's the cruel, elaborate trick conjured by the weak to inspire fear. A desperate play for control.” was all so, so validating. I’ve been trying to argue on Loki’s behalf for almost a solid decade. Seeing the show recognize that Loki’s not all just violence and hurting for “fun”, that he’s not unhinged and bloodthirsty.. Is so nice. It’s just so, so comforting. and it gives me hope for future episodes that they won’t go the route of “oh haha loki bullied and mistreated and stabbed thor for years!!! :)” loki cries during basically every fight with Thor and you want me to believe he stabs Thor for fun? absolutely not.

21. Theory.. Just another hunch.. So we know a fugitive variant, aka Loki, is running amok. Refer back to 8 and 9.C. What if the Time-Keepers never actually fixed the timeline into a single timeline? What if there are other timelines, and these different Loki variants have hopped over to the current one? Or, maybe the Time-Keepers did fix the timeline into a single one, and these Lokis are remnants from that huge time-war at the beginning? Time runs differently in relative spaces, they may have Just Left that war from their perspective!

I say Lokis and not Loki because we’re pretty sure there’s Female/Lady Loki, Old Man/King Loki, and possibly Young/Kid Loki. That’s at least three. From the peeks of Asgard and NYC we’ve seen from the trailers, I think we’re also getting an Asgardian King!Loki and Midgardian King/Vote!Loki. (unless our dearest variant is hopping into timelines and situating into them, but I doubt Mobius would let that happen..?) That’s five.

To further support this, keep in mind, I believe recently six (i think 6 regular and 6 rare...) different funko pops were announced for the series? I’m not sure if they’re in addition to the Loki and Mobius already released. If they are, there’s enough room for each Loki and maybe a TVA agent. One of the pops is supposed to have a buddy/companion I think? Maybe they’re making the cat guy into one, or maybe there’s something else (Throg, anyone?).

22. That is totally Lady Loki/Sylvie at the end by the way. Has to be. But why does she want the reset devices? Why did she snatch that TVA Hunter? Again, WHAT’S GOING ON

ANYWAY this was a very long post if you made it this far, I commend you.

[fallencomrade]

                                                 ━━  𝟑s

                                                     please repost, don’t reblog.

𝟑 𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐆𝐓𝐇𝐒

   ▘  LOYALTY   ➺   a  shining  trait  of  james  barnes  that  ( somehow )  survived  the  passing  of  time  and  tribulation.  since  his  early  brooklyn  days,  bucky  barnes  displayed  a  steadfast  loyalty  and  dedication  towards  those  he  loved  and  cherished.  growing  up  during  a  time  when  there  was  a  heavy  emphasis  on  duty  and  responsibility,  james  understood  his  role  as  the  eldest  and  only  male  child  of  george  and  winifred  barnes  -  and  assumed  that  role  with  ease  and  enthusiasm.  this  loyalty  extended  beyond  blood  though,  as  was  proven  by  james’  devotion  to  close  friends,  the  most  notorious  being  his  everlasting  friendship  with  steven  rogers.  hydra  had  tried  to  weaponize  this  gleaming  trait,  hoping  to  mold  it  to  their  liking  and  use  it  to  instill  a  unquestionable  loyalty  to  their  cause.  they  were  pathetically  unsuccessful  -  and  the  chair  and  cryochamber  were  fashioned  as  a  result.  after  his  time  spent  with  hydra,  TRUST  is  something  barnes  deeply  struggles  with.  his  trusted  inner  circle  has  certainly  grown  smaller  and  much  more  exclusive,  but  james  still  harbors  this  same  dedication  to  those  selected  few.  given  his  past  and  his  current  afflictions,  those  bonds  he  does  manage  to  forge  prove  all  the  more  stronger  and  resilient.

  ▘  TENACITY   ➺   the  serum  only  enhanced  that  which  already  existed  within  him.  childhood  was  spent  surviving  the  rough  and  tumble  of  brooklyn  city  streets,  made  all  the  more  grueling  with  steve  rogers  as  a  best  friend.  as  such,  barnes  learned  at  a  very  young  age  how  to  assess  a  situation,  adapt  to  his  surroundings  and  ( most  importantly )  how  to  survive.  dance  hall  skirmishes  and  back  alley  brawls  were  nothing  though  compared  to  the  brutalities  of  war.  still,  it  was  this  grit  that  helped  the  young  man  not  only  survive  but  excel  as  a  sergeant.  the  army  soon  discovered  that  this  notorious  flirt  from  brooklyn  exhibited  a  certain  aptitude  for  sharpshooting.  this  impressive  talent  along  with  james’  natural  charisma  helped  to  build  him  a  trusted  reputation  within  the  ranks  and  respect  among  his  comrades.  these  talents  were  also  what  made  the  man  such  a  formidable  soldier.  the  bastard - serum  amplified  these  strengths  and  hydra  WEAPONIZED  them.  years  blurred  into  decades  and  his  skills  were  hellishly  refined  thanks  to  rigorous  and  ruthless  training.  the  winter  soldier  program  reconstructed  the  man  into  a  living,  breathing  weapon  capable  of  handling  any  firearm,  blade,  explosive,  advanced  weaponry,  artillery  or  blunt  object.  &&  if  he  truly  found  himself  limited  and  weaponless,  the  cybernetic  arm  soldered  to  his  body  proved  a  more  than  capable  alternative.  in  combat,  the  soldier  proved  a  devastating  force  and  hydra  was  quick  to  take  the  credit  and  reap  the  benefits,  but  this  staggering  ability  to  adapt  without  pause  and  utilize  his  surroundings  for  his  advantage  stemmed  not  in  the  dirty  lab  of  one  arnim  zola  but  began  on  the  street  corners  of  the  city  james  barnes’  called  home.    

 ▘  VIRTUE  /  ETHICS   ➺   growing  up  during  the  depression  was  not  easy  for  anyone  and  neither  was  spending  the  beginning  of  young  adulthood  surviving  the  second  world  war.  his  childhood  was  marked  by  some  of  the  worst  and  most  difficult  times  in  history  -  and  yet  james  never  allowed  hardship  or  misfortune  deter  his  regard  for  hard  work,  nor  did  he  allow  it  to  pollute  his  idealistic  outlook  on  life.  both  his  parents  worked  hard  to  support  the  family  and  that  same  work - ethic  was  imparted  onto  james,  who  assumed  the  role  eagerly  and  naturally.  luckily,  during  this  time  of  strife,  his  family  always  had  enough  to  provide  both  him  and  his  two  sisters  a  comfortable  lifestyle,  with  various  opportunities  to  explore  and  take  advantage  of  -  which  was  more  than  some  families  could  boast  at  that  time.  after  the  death  of  sarah  rogers,  james  made  the  decision  to  move  into  an  apartment  with  his  best  friend.  as  young  bacherlors,  they  did  not  have  much  but  together  they  managed  to  scrape  by  and  make  an  honest  living.  despite  steve’s  skepticism,  james’  choices  were  never  made  out  of  pity  or  some  disgruntled  sense  of  obligation.  he  worked  tirelessly  and  did  what  he  had  to  because  that  was  what  he  grew  up  believing.  a  man  takes  care  of  the  people  he  loves,  no  matter  what.  whatever  the  cost  -  working  two  jobs,  skipping  a  meal  here  and  there,  some  months  spent  without  heat,  selling  unnecessary  belongings  -  bucky  would  do  whatever  was  necessary  -  and  did  so  without  complaint.  in  fact,  he  woke  up  each  morning  with  a  smile  on  his  face  and  a  quip  on  his  tongue.  for  him,  there  was  no  better  reward  or  greater  comfort  than  knowing  the  ones  he  loved  were  taken  care  of.  he  believes  himself  unrecognizable  when  compared  to  that  willful  man  now,  but  certain  traits  of  the  old  james  barnes  can  still  be  found  within  him.  there  is  a  payout  for  hard  work  and  the  man  that  he  is  today  is  slowly  remembering  those  feelings�� of  satisfaction  and  fulfillment  in  honest  labor.  

𝟑 𝐖𝐄𝐀𝐊𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐒

▘  RUTHLESSNESS  ➺   𝑡𝘩𝑒 𝑠𝑒𝑟𝑢𝑚 𝑡𝑎𝑘𝑒𝑠 𝑡𝘩𝑎𝑡 𝑤𝘩𝑖𝑐𝘩 𝑎𝑙𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑦 𝑒𝑥𝑖𝑠𝑡𝑠.  𝑔𝑜𝑜𝑑 𝑏𝑒𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑠 𝑔𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑡.  𝑏𝑎𝑑 𝑏𝑒𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑠 ...    before  the  horrible  truth  was  unmasked,  the  history  books  painted  james  barnes  in  a  favorable  glow.  he  was  known  for  being  the  young  jovial,  dashing  side - kick  of  captain  america.  A  PATRIOT  -  dedicated,  noble,  brave,  honorable  ;;  an  honest,  hardworking  man  who  cared  about  family,  duty,  honor  and  sacrifice.  &&  he  was  many  of  these  things.  no  one  could  deny  james  barnes  of  his  genuine  heart  of  gold.  the  man  was  willing  to  do  anything  for  those  he  loved.  anything.  such  love  was  a  truly  powerful  thing,  capable  of  cultivating  great  beauty.  it  could  also  prove  to  be  equally  as  DISASTROUS.  at  its  purest  form,  it  inspired  strength,  selflessness,  kindness.  twisted,  it  became  a  deadly  incentive.  the  BRUTALITY  of  the  winter  soldier  was  not  born  solely  from  the  torture  inflicted  upon  him  or  the  serum  he  was  infected  with.  beneath  his  buoyant,  sprightly  exterior  existed  a  side  of  james  barnes  that  was  seldom  exposed,  unless  provoked.  there  was  a  violence  that  lived  within  the  darker  parts  of  his  heart,  a  ruthless  determination  to  protect  the  things  which  were  important  to  him.  &&  if  anyone  dared  to  threaten  those  things ?  well ...  those  details  are  far  less  known.  if  needed,  james  had  no  qualms  about  getting  his  hands  dirty  or  splitting  open  his  knuckles  to  send  a  very  clear  message.  he  had  an  ability  to  separate  himself  from  his  own  subconscious  and  used  this  talent  to  become  someone  almost  unrecognizable  from  his  more  charming  counterpart.  this  austerity  deepened  into  something  even  more  callous  during  the  war  -  when  the  enemy  became  much  more  larger  and  far  more  deadly.  to  switch  back  and  forth  between  these  personas  became  even  more  fluid  and  then  -  it  became  frighteningly  easy.  it  was  a  duality  that  many  were  forced  to  adopt  in  order  to  survive  the  TRAUMAS  of  war.  it  was  only  a  glimpse  of  what  he  was  truly  capable  of  though.  the  extent  of  his  CRUELTY  reached  its  full  potential  once  he  was  injected  with  zola’s  serum.  bucky  barnes  was  capable  of  great  horror,  even  before  he  became  the  winter  soldier  -  but  with  the  serum,  the  torture  &&  captivity  -  this  capacity  was  exposed  and  steadily  becoming  the  CRUX  of  his  entire  character.  despite  the  size  of  his  heart  of  the  pureness  of  his  intentions,  there  still  exists  a  violence  inside  of  him.  ruthless  and  efficient,  it  has  grown,  survived,  thrived  and  matured  over  the  years,  and  still  sits  within  his  core  today  -  its  potential  just  as  deadly  and  just  as  horrifying.

▘  DISSOCIATION / DETATCHMENT  ➺   an  extension  of  the  adverse  trait  described  above,  james  started  to  display  this  ability  to  separate  himself  from  his  more  repugnant  qualities  early  on.  he  was  never  known  for  being  VIOLENT.  that  brutality  was  extracted  and  molded  once  hydra  got  their  hands  on  him,  it  was  assumed.  the  historians  will  tell  you  the  winter  soldier  was  a  product  of  inhumane  warfare,  experimentation,  abuse  and  indoctrination,  but  james  knows  the  truth ...  in  the  beginning,  james  did  what  he  had  to  to  protect  the  ones  he  loved.  during  his  captivity,  he  did  what  he  had  to  to  survive.  &&  now  -  he  does  what  he  needs  to  to  live  with  himself.  &&  what  was  necessary  in  all  these  occasions  required  the  man  to  separate  himself  from  his  empathy  -  and  later  on,  his  HUMANITY.  he  relied  so  heavily  on  this  mechanism  during  his  time  as  the  soldier  that  the  disconnection  became  more  common  than  not  and  breaking  free  from  that  impulse  is  something  he  continues  to  struggle  with  today  -  and  something  he  is  hesitant  to  even  relinquish.  dissociation  makes  it  easier  to  exist  ;;  to  move  forward  -  as  is  expected  of  him.  one  day  bleeds  into  another,  into  another,  into  another ...  and  he  moves  with  it,  no  longer  a  phantom  existing  outside  of  time.  instead,  an  active  presence.   —  but  his  continued  reliance  on  this  crutch ?    he  exists.    but  is  james  barnes  living ?    IS  HE  REALLY  ALIVE ? 

▘  INDECISION  ( current day )  ➺   a  weakness  that  only  manifested  after  his  captivity,  barnes  deeply  struggles  with  the  burden  of  choice.  freedom.  autonomy.  ambition.  purpose.  all  the  small  ( yet  crucial )  decisions  and  preferences  that  define  a  person’s  character  oftentimes  feels  absent  from  his  makeup.  james  buchanan  barnes  used  to  have  strong  opinions,  about  anything  and  everything.  his  favorite  flavor  of  pie,  best  subject  in  school,  favored  season,  blondes  -  brunettes ?  hell,  he  even  had  a  favorite  color.  if  someone  were  to  ask  this  james  barnes  about  those  same  sentiments,  if  they  lasted  and  endured  the  years  along  with  him  or  if  they  had  changed  with  the  time,  james  would  falter  and  stare  back  with  vacant  eyes.  individuality  feels  like  a  withered  gravesite  inside  of  him,  a  bottomless  pit  of  nothing.  every  so  often  he  may  hear  the  flickering  echoes  of  what  once  was,  but  the  enthusiasm  -  the  passion  -  feels  distant,  far - away.  for  decades,  he  had  been  deprived  of  free will.  he  was  a  WEAPON  and  weapons  did  not  feel  or  think.  weapons  did  not  make  noise  unless  fired  by  the  hands  authorized  to  use  them.  unbounded,  given  a  NAME  once  again,  a  voice  -  and  he  knows  he  should  feel  grateful.  &&  yet,  the  only  thing  he  feels  is  overwhelmed.  his  mind  does  not  hesitant  when  it  comes  to  battle  ;;  TO KILLING.  his  hands  know  exactly  which  gun  to  reach  for  given  a  situation,  how  much  pressure  to  apply  to  snap  a  bone.  he  no  longer  needs  to  run  the  numbers  in  his  head  to  calculate  a  bullets’  trajectory  given  distance  and  wind  speed.  he  fires  without  thought  and  never  misses.  he  is  an  expert  of  wartime  tactics.  violence  is  second  nature  to  him,  right  behind  DEATH.  now,  alive  -  a  free  man ...  they  ask  him  what  he  wants  and  barnes ...  does  not  know  -  and  he  inadvertently  still  finds  himself  looking  to  others  to  supply  those  answers  (  that  instruction. )

𝟑 𝐒𝐄𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐒

▘  SHAMEFUL INCLINATIONS  ➺   to  admit  such  whims  out  loud  would  flood  him  with  repugnant  shame.  he  knows  it  is  wrong  to  reminisce  and  crave  the  inertia  of  subjection,  but  he  cannot  deny  the  nostalgic  longing  that  twists  inside  of  him  on  his  darkest  days.  to  think  such  things  ;;  to  feel  such  things  disgraces  the  efforts  and  sacrifices  that  were  made  in  order  to  free  him  from  those  chains.   —  but  james  barnes  has  always  been  selfish  like  that.  it  is  easy  to  brush  off  accountability  and  blame  hydra  for  everything.  𝗂𝗍  𝗐𝖺𝗌𝗇'𝗍  𝗁𝗂𝗆,  𝗍𝗈𝗇𝗒 !  𝗁𝗒𝖽𝗋𝖺  𝗁𝖺𝖽  𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗍𝗋𝗈𝗅  𝗈𝖿  𝗁𝗂𝗌  𝗆𝗂𝗇𝖽.   ▪    𝚑𝚢𝚍𝚛𝚊 𝚍𝚒𝚍 𝚞𝚗𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚔𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚢𝚘𝚞.    ▪   🇾​🇴​🇺​  🇦​🇷​🇪​  🇹​🇭​🇪​  🇱​🇴​🇳​🇬​🇪​🇸​🇹​  🇸​🇪​🇷​🇻​🇮​🇳​🇬​  🇵​🇴​🇼​.    ▪    𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚞𝚏𝚏𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚒𝚗𝚑𝚞𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚎 𝚒𝚗𝚍𝚘𝚌𝚝𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗.    ▪   𝗐𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖽𝗂𝖽 𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗌𝖾 𝗒𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗌,  𝗂𝗍 𝗐𝖺𝗌𝗇'𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎.    𝗒𝗈𝗎  𝖽𝗂𝖽𝗇'𝗍  𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾  𝖺  𝖼𝗁𝗈𝗂𝖼𝖾.  NO CHOICE.   they  had  absolute  control  over  his  body,  his  mind. (did they?)  he  could  not  refuse. (couldn’t he?)   the  grim  reality  is  that,  as  years  bled  into  decades,  the  leash  hydra  had  chained  around  his  neck  started  to  loosen  considerably,  until  the  pull  barely  existed  at  all.  rarely  did  his  handlers  need  to  rely  on  the  early  tactics  to  keep  him  in  line.  he  COMPLIED  without  resistance.  both  masters  and  soldier  fell  into  an  agreeable  rhythm,  following  a  trusted  routine.  it  made  activation  less  agonizing,  muffled  the  scratching  of  chaotic  thoughts  into  soothing  white  noise.  it  made  his  orders  simpler  ;;  made  killing  easier  ;;  made  existing  with  himself ...  easier.  it  was  a  gift  ( they told him )  to  be  relieved  of  the  burden  of  choice  and  there  are  times  when  he  still  ( shamefully ) agrees  with  this.  to  feel  nothing  at  all,  after  having  felt  so  much ... ?  it  is  a  very  dangerous  thing.  the  numbing  high  of  indifference,  apathy,  inertia  -  can  feel  like  FREEDOM. 

▘  LIKELIHOOD OF RECOVERY  ➺   the  harrowing  truth ...  he  has  lived  more  of  his  life  as  a  WEAPON  than  he  has  a  person.  after  everything  he  has  gone  through,  james  feels  more  machine  than  he  does  human.  he  feels  the  corrosion  of  rust  spreading  through  him.  his  body  does  not  feel  like  flesh  and  bone,  but  more  akin  to  gears  and  wires  and  metal.  thoughts  are  mere  embedded  programming ...  implanted,  artificial.  his  heart  feels  like  a  gnarled  knot  inside  his  chest.  his  soul  feels  absent.  morality  is  faint,  compassion  -  oftentimes  hard  to  find.  to  choose  requires  great  effort  ;;  to  think  requires  effort  ;;  to  care  requires  effort  -  and  james  is  exhausted.  those  on  his  side  tell  him  he  deserves  a  chance  to  recover,  to  heal  -  but  he  sometimes  thinks  that  the  best  thing  they  could  do  given  the  situation  is  to  take  this  body  that  feels  more  like  a  weapon,  decommission  it,  place  it  in  storage  under  lock  and  key  and  allow  it  to  gather  dust.  can  he  heal ?  can  he  recover ?  can  he  exist  as  anything  other  than  a  weapon ?  after  all  this  time  and  after  everything  he  has  gone  through ?  he  isn’t  sure.  optimism  hasn’t  been  his  forte  since  1942.  he  considers  himself  a  realist.  &&  if  his  chances  follow  his  rotten  history  of  luck,  the  odds  do  not  appear  to  be  on  his  side.

▘  DRAFTED SOLDIER  ➺   he  will  never  admit  it.  ever.  &&  how  befitting  -  this  dark  secret.  how  it  reveals  the  nature  of  his  character ...   all  the  blood  on  his  hands,  all  the  lives  he  has  stolen,  the  atrocities  he  has  committed  -  and  this  is  the  one  thing  he  is  most  ashamed  of.  his  head  is  filled  with  dark  secrets  -  hydra’s,  his  own.  all  of  them  are  shameful,  ugly,  brutal  and  yet  this  one  secret  stands  out  the  most  in  his  mind.  this  is  the  one  that  GUTS  him  the  most,  because  it  was  before ...  everything.  before  the  war,  before  hydra,  before  the  soldier.  this  reveals  james  barnes  at  his  core.  this  is  his  blemish  ;;  his  most  reproachable  trait.  this  destroys  his  character  more  than  hydra  or  the  soldier  ever  did.  it  is  a  truth  he  will  never  admit  to,  to  anyone.  he  will  even  go  as  far  as  denying  it,  lying  to  his  dying  breath.   —  but  how  could  he  admit  such  a  thing ?  after  witnessing  the  bravery  and  determination  he  saw  in  others,  in  his  best  friend  -  to  serve,  to  protect  -  without  the  slightest  pause  or  hesitation.  all  the  while  he  tried  to  hide  from  the  call  of  duty,  hoping.  praying.  james  barnes  never  signed  up  to  serve  the  second  world  war.  it  is  a  secret  he  has  never  admitted  to  anyone.  not  to  his  friends,  his  father  or  sisters.  not  to  the  other  commandoes.  not  even  ( especially  not )  steve.  &&  it  is  a  secret  he  will  take  to  the  grave.   

𝟑 𝐅𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐒

▘  LOSING AUTONOMY  ➺   while  freedom  has  proven  tumultuous,  he  still  prefers  the  struggle  when  compared  to  the  alternative.  while  under  hydra’s  control,  james  barely  surfaced,  but  the  rare  times  he  did  he  saw  the  world  though  a  murky  sheet  of  ice,  drifting  in  the  inertia  of  the  soldier’s  compliance.  existence  felt  more  like  an  out  of  body  experience  -  a  resultant  of  trauma,  he  was  later  told.  he  witnessed  his  torture,  his  brutal  crimes,  the  creeping  advancement  of  hydra’s  power,  more  as  an  onlooker  than  an  active  participant.  it  made  certain  things ... easier  to  stomach.  the  torture,  the  experiments  ;;  stasis,  the  chair.  it  made  following  orders ...  simpler.  he  hardly  blinked  when  exposed  to  his  own  potential  for  DEVASTATION.  the  violence.  the  breaking,  rebuilding  and  training  of  more  soldiers,  the  little  spiders.  torture.  murder.  during  his  less  lucid  states,  he ( selfishly ) welcomed  the  disconnect,  but  every  so  often  -  his  old  sense  of  morality  would  give  a  kick  and  he  would  stare,  wide - eyed  and  horrified.  he  would  honestly  try  with  every  bit  of  strength  he  had  left  inside  of  him  to  stop  himself,  to  control  himself,  but  even  his  hardest  endeavors  failed  miserably  against  the  soldier’s  rigid  conditioning.  nothing  more  than  the  occasional  hiccup  in  his  code,  a  sudden  half - second  hesitation  -  quickly  roped  back  into  submission  by  screaming  static.  to  exist  in  such  a  way  -  condemned  to  watch  as  your  shadow  destroys  every  bit  of  light  within,  fated  to  feel  the  rot  putrefy  your  soul,  slowly  -  slowly ... it  is  a  terrible  thing.  &&  it  will  continue  to  haunt  james  for  the  rest  of  his  life.  he  may  struggle  to  find  purpose  after  his  liberation,  the  motivation  and  energy  to  pursue  a  meaningful  life,  but  the  last  thing  he  ever  wants  ( what he fears )  is  to  be  used  as  a  PUPPET  again.

▘  LIVING  ➺   he  existed  in  a  definite  state  for  a  very  long  time,  long  enough  for  him  to  find  comfort  in  routine,  monotony  -  THE EXPECTED.  there  was  an  equation  to  surviving  hydra  ( surviving himself )  -  and  hydra  proved  they  would  be  true  to  their  word  if  only  he  obeyed.   COMPLIANCE WILL BE REWARDED.   orders  were  clear  and  exact  and  non - negotiable.  missions  were  organized  and  coordinated,  objectives  defined  well  before  he  was  even  pulled  from  stasis.  he  knew  what  to  expect  -  how  much  pain  he  would  need  to  endure,  what  followed  activation,  what  proceeded  mission  completion  -  and  he  knew  what  he  needed  to  do  in  order  to  make  the  process  bearable.  ( ready to comply )  the  soldier  did  not  like  it  when  things  did  not  go  according  to  plan.  like  hydra,  he  did  not  like  surprises.  lose  ends.  it  required  him  to  make  decisions, to  think ...   orders  were  simple.  all  he  needed  to  do  was  complete  them  as  quickly,  as  cleanly  and  as  efficiently  as  possible,  AS INSTRUCTED.  any  deviation  from  the  expected  leads  quickly  into  CHAOS  and  chaos  can  be  as  dangerous  and  as  deadly  as  an  explosion.  after  the  failure  of  project  insight,  the  soldier  was  forced  to  adapt  to  his  situation  in  order  to  survive.  the  upheaval  of  sudden  liberation  almost  destroyed  him.  he  spent  those  first  few  months  in  a  mad  attempt  to  regain  some  semblance  of  order.  he  hid  out  of  sight,  living  as  a ghost  while  struggling  with  whiplashing  whims:  the  rigid  impulse  to  return  to  his  surviving  handlers  ( for  orders )  or  the  luring  urge  to  continue  to  run  and  observe  this  new  form  of  reality  he  had  abruptly  been  exposed  to.  it  was  a  constant  strife  between  soldier  and  man  ;;  compliance  and  curiosity.  the  longer  he  was  exposed  to  clean  air  though,  the  more  james  barnes  settled  to  the  surface,  the  stronger  his  voice  became.  the  soldier  slowly  started  to  come  to  terms  with  some  truths.  he  did  not  miss  the  chair  -  or  hydra’s  drugs.  he  did  not  miss  the  violence.  it  was  enough  to  justify  his  decision  to  run  -  and  slowly,  the  man  started  to  live.  to  be  alive  ( human )  opened  the  door  to  many  things  he  did  not  mind.  music,  knowledge,  the  warmth  of  a  blanket,  pizza ...  but  there  was  a  price.  james  learned  in  bucharest  that  he  could  not  continue  to  live  as  a  ghost.  he  could  not  continue  to  reap  the  benefits  of  living  without  also  bearing  its  obligations.  the  more  he  is  dragged  back  into  the  land  of  the  living,  the  more  responsibility  is  placed  on  his  shoulders.  he  is  forced  now  to  make  decisions  that  not  only  impact  his  life  but  others  as  well.  it  also  brings  into  focus  his  past,  forcing  him  to  start  coming  to  terms  with  his  crimes  -  and  his  guilt.  to  live  a  life  involves  many  things  james  is  not  yet  comfortable  with.  he  is  forced  to  move  forward,  to  make  choices,  to  collaborate  and  trust  others,  to  heal ...  all  new  waters  the  man  is  deathly  afraid  to  wade  into,  because  it  leads  to  uncertainty,  leads  to  the  unexpected.  cause  and  effect.  there  is  no  equation  to  guarantee  success  ;;  no  trusted,  proven  procedure  to  follow.  to  live  a  full  life  means  making  decisions  and  then  being  brave  enough  to  live  with  those  decisions.  barnes  still  deeply  struggles  with  the  fear  of  the  UNKNOWN,  and  when  overwhelmed  by  crippling  indecision,  finds  himself  clinging  to  old  comforts.  that  same  sickening  desire  to  exist  once  more  beyond  the  bounds  of  time,  a  chimera  relieved  of  the  burden  of  choice  all  together.    

▘  HIMSELF  ➺   his  potential.   his  mind,  body  -  everything  contained  within  this  cage  of  blood  and  bone  terrifies  him.  for  him  ( &&  those  made  like  him )  freedom  is  nothing  more  than  a  far - fetched  pipedream.  zemo  shattered  all  illusions  of  freedom,  and  all  it  took  was  the  whisper  of  ten  choice  words.  regardless  of  the  small  progress  he  made  in  the  years  following  his  defection,  all  of  it  was  reduced  to  rubble  the  moment  he  was  dragged  back  into  the  plane  of  the  living.  he  was  careless,  ignorant,  sloppy  -  allowing  himself  to  be  curious,  hopeful  -  and  six  agents  paid  the  price  for  it  in  germany  when  the  soldier  was  reactivated.  the  great  fist  of  hydra  is  indeed  a  terrifying  sight  to  behold,  but  james  understands  the  soldier  is  simply  a  byproduct  of  himself  -  and  that  is  what  truly  horrifies  him.  even  before  the  serum  was  introduced  into  his  body,  his  potential  was ...  concerning.  the  things  he  was  willing  to  do  back  home  ;;  the  things  he  was  willing  to  do  during  the  war ...  the  disconcerting  ways  he  was  able  to  manipulate  his  own  morality.  his  malleable  ethical  code.  the  serum  only  heightened  that  which  already  existed  inside  of  him,  but  it  did  pave  a  space  for  corruption  to  thrive.  it  made  him  even  more  dangerous,  even  more  LETHAL.  his  potential  for  destruction  was  exemplified.  his  ability  to  survive,  his  tolerance  for  pain  -  expanded.  the  serum  allowed  hydra  the  opportunity  to  find  that  seed  of  ugliness  which  existed  inside  of  him  and  feed  it,  cultivate  it.  they  helped  it  grow  and  thrive,  and  then  sowed  the  deadly  fruits.  the  things  he  found  himself  capable  of  -  the  violence,  the  brutality.  the  things  he  learned  to  stomach  ;;  the  horrors  he  found  himself  able  to  commit ...  revolutionists.  bright  minds.  visionaries.  humanitarians.  entire  families.  innocent  bystanders.  good  people.  children.  he  killed  without  blinking  ;;  without  flinching  -  and  then  returned  to  the  people  who  issued  those  orders  and  waited  for  more.  there  were  a  handful  of  times  when  he  hesitated,  questioned  -  but  for  the  most  part,  he  completed  his  orders  without  question  and  did  so  without  feeling  a  flutter  of  disturbance.   i had no choice.  hydra had control of his mind.  you couldn’t refuse them.  it wasn’t your fault.   he  can  hide  behind  those  excuses  all  he  wants,  but  barnes  knows  what  lives  inside  of  him.  he  knows  what  hydra  put  inside  him  and  what  was  already  there.  the  winter  soldier  might  be  an  exaggeration  of  the  worst  parts  of  a  person  -  as  captain  america  exemplified  the  best  -  but  the  soldier  is  only  a  reflection  of  the  darkness  that  already  lived  within  him.     &&  THAT IS TERRIFYING. 

𝟑 𝐆𝐎𝐀𝐋𝐒

▘  PURPOSE  ➺   ever  since  his  reemergence  back  into  the  land  of  the  living,  james  has  struggled  to  understanding  what  to  do  with  newfound  existence.  a  name,  a  face,  a  place  in  this  world,  an  identity  and  yet  -  on  most  days  he  still  feels  like  a  weapon.  recovery  feels  similar  to  deactivation,  and  the  soldier  finds  himself  waiting,  constantly  preparing  for  the  day  when  they  will  take  him  out  of  storage,  brush  off  the  rust  and  use  him  once  more.  the  expectation  looms  over  him  like  a  dark  cloud  and  hinders  his  progress.   —  but  what  else  does  he  have  to  offer ?  what  else  can  he  do ?  if  not  for  some  useful  purpose,  why  does  he  exist ?  if  the  only  thing  he  knows  how  to  do  is  fight,  kill,  DESTROY  -  what  other  direction  is  there ?  he  is  good  at  what  he  does.  he  is  good  at  what  hydra  bred  him  to  be ...  but  he  does  not  want  to  exist  for  that  purpose.  he  is  tired  of  war,  of  violence  -  but  without  the  constant  stimulation  of  battle,  time  is  a  slow  and  dragging  endeavor.  he  does  want  to  prove  ( to  the  world,  hydra,  steve,  to  himself )  that  he  is  more  than  just  a  weapon  made  for  war,  but  he  finds  himself  more  often  than  not  questioning  the  validity  to  that  statement,  especially  when  it  is  the  only  thing  that  feels  natural  to  him.  the  serum  defines  him.  his  skillset  defines  him.  his  past  defines  him  -  and  if  he  has  proven  one  thing,  it  is  that  he  is  a  good  fighter.  A GOOD KILLER.  he  excels  when  it  comes  to  battle.  he  is  hard  to  stop  ;;  hard  to  kill  -  and  these  types  of  strengths  point  to  one  obvious  path.  one  does  not  use  a  blade  to  paint  a  magnificent  masterpiece.  he  was  weaponized  long  ago  and  to  try  to  be  anything  but  what  he  has  been  for  so  long  seems ...  counterproductive.   still,  he  does  not  want  to  keep  fighting  -  and  his  doctors  tell  him  that  is  important  ( essential ).  if  he  isn’t  serving  though,  what  should  he  do ?  time  is  so  painstakingly  slow  and  without  stasis,  he  does  not  know  how  to  fill  in  the  stagnant  space  in  between.  he  might  lose  whatever  shreds  of  sanity  he  has  left  -  and  there  isn’t  much  left  to  spare.  he  needs  guidance,  instruction.  he  needs  someone  to  tell  him  what  to  do ...  they  tell  him  it  is  up  to  him  to  decide,  but  he  doesn’t  know.  he  does  not  want  to  go  back  to  hydra  ;;  he  does  not  want  to  be  controlled  or  manipulated.   —  but  when  time  starts  to  pull  and  drag  and  his  mind  is  left  free  to  wander ...  there  are  times  when  he  feels  desperate  enough  to  long  for  orders.  he  hopes  to  find  some  kind  of  meaning  once  again  to  his  existence  and  hopes  this  time  around,  it  is  fashioned  for  something  good.  

▘  A SENSE OF IDENTITY  ➺   he  is  not  sure  he  will  ever  truly  feel  natural  within  his  own  skin  or  inside  his  own  mind.  the  face  he  wears  now  feels  more  like  a  mask,  stretched  to  the  seams  to  hide  the  husk  beneath.  for  so  long  he  existed  as  a  puppet,  body  moving  on  command.  his  actions  never  felt  like  his  own  and  neither  did  his  thoughts.  for  far  too  long,  he  was  a  stranger  inside  his  own  mind  and  body.  the  strings  have  been  cut,  a  name  placed  back  on  his  tongue  -  but  he  still  feels ...  empty.   who  is  he ?   what  does  he  like  to  do ?  what  are  his  hobbies ?  his  interests ?  what  does  he  dislike ?  what  makes  him  happy ?  what  makes  him  sad ?  they  ask  him  these  questions  and  all  he  can  hear  are  the  voices  of  old  hydra  handlers  inside  his  head.  A  WEAPON  NEED  NOT  BOTHER  ITSELF  WITH  SUCH  MEANINGLESS  FRIVOLITIES.    —   it  is  not  a  part  of  your  code.   he  often  needs  to  be  reminded  ( reassured )  -  he  is  not  a  weapon.  he  is  not  a  machine.  beneath  skin  and  bone,  he  has  a  heart.  he  has  a  mind  and  both  these  things  belong  to  him.  he  is  allowed  to  want,  to  feel,  to  explore,  to  refuse,  to  challenge ...  freely.  it  is  a  hard  concept  for  him  to  remember  and  to  accept,  but  he  has  made  some  strides.  he  has  discovered  ( rediscovered ? )  some  things  he  likes:  the  feel  of  sunlight  against  his  face,  the  smell  of  coffee,  the  soft  scratch  of  a  record  player  and  the  fuzzy  music  which  follows,  a  trusted  knife,  pizza,  warm  blankets ...  he  has  also  recognized  some  things  he  does  not  like.  the  building  crackle  of  electricity,  paralysis,  the  stench  of  death,  silence  so  loud  it  hurts,  eyes  watching  him,  the  sudden,  sharp  hiss  of  ice  melting,  prolonged  pain ...   meager  progress  maybe,  but  it  is  a  start  -  and  james  hopes  to  some  day  feel  the  same  comfort  within  his  own  body  and  mind  that  his  past - self  seemed  to  epitomize  so  effortlessly.  TO  BE  HIS  OWN  PERSON  -  defined  by  passions,  opinions  ;;  propelled  by  confident  choices  made  with  conviction ...  the  idea  seems  so  unattainable  given  how  DAMAGED  he  is,  but  it  is  still  something  he  would  like  to  attain.  if  only  to  prove  to  hydra  ( &&  to  himself )  that  he  is  in  fact  his  own  person  and  that  he  does  not  belong  to  anyone  -  but  himself. 

▘  TO PROMOTE POSITIVE CHANGE  ➺   after  all  the  destruction  he  has  blasted  into  the  course  of  history,  the  idea  seems  almost ...  laughable.  dismissible  certainly,  for  what  other  purpose  could  hands  sharpened  into  blades  be  used  for ?  &&  perhaps  even  insulting,  to  those  whose  lives  he  ruined.  like  his  other  emotions,  after  his  desertion  his  guilt  was  initially  muted,  but  the  longer  he  remains in  this  plane  of  existence  -  the  more  time  allowed  to  heal  -  the  more  james  comes  face  to  face  with  those  directly  impacted  by  his  crimes,  and  each  time  the  discomfort  inside  him  grows  stronger.  the  memories  are  returning  and  most  of  them  are  HORRIFIC.  the  lives  he  cut  short,  the  families  he  ripped  apart.  the  orphans  he  abandoned,  the  parents  he  made  bury  their  children ...  the  peace  he  broke  in  order  to  secure  continued  chaos.  hydra  was  a  parasite,  feasting  on  the  corpses  of  war  and  conflict  -  gorging  and  growing  -  and  he  was  one  of  the  reasons  how  they  survived  and  thrived  throughout  history.  the  fist  of  hydra,  zimniy  soldat,  the  soldier,  hydra’s  bloodhound.  he  was  unseen  from  the  eyes  of  the  world,  faceless  -  but  his  actions  resonated  ;;  his  reputation  notorious,  even  if  only  as  a  ghost  story.  many  of  his  crimes  have  been  made  public  thanks  to  the  widow’s  data  dump,  but  there  are  many  ( too  many )  that  are  still  undisclosed  -  known  only  to  him,  his  victims  and  the  hydra  higher - ups  who  issued  the  orders.  he  knows  it  sounds  silly,  far - fetched,  childish  -  but  it  would  be  nice  to  have  some  kind  of  impact  on  this  world  that  isn’t  so  violent  or  destructive.  he  knows  he  cannot  make  amends  for  all  the  bad  he  has  done.  there  is  too  much  blood  ( far  too  much  blood )  but  if  he  could  do  something ...  to  prove  he  can  be  something  more  than  that  which  hydra  made  of  him,  he  would  like  to  try.  there  is  no  fixing  the  damage  the  winter  soldier  has  caused.  there  is  no  way  to  restore  james  barnes’  promising  reputation,  but  to  leave  this  world  knowing  he  could  do  something  good  -  after  doing  so  much  bad  -  would  feel ...  freeing.

tagged by :  stolen ! tagging :  @cxpt​,  @justicetempered​, @gcroinya​, @fatedfuturist​, @agntross​, @mxndwitch, @toscrve​​​

[studentsofshield]

Strange Tales: A Doctor Strange Publication History Lesson Part 1, Creation and the Legendary Lee/Ditko Run

By Vincent Faust

The Marvel hero known as Doctor Strange first appeared in Strange Tales #110 in July 1963. His debut and subsequent stories for his first few years were plotted and drawn by Steve Ditko and scripted by Stan Lee. Unlike the far more popular and lucrative Spider-Man, the creator credits for the good Doctor have never been too controversial.

"On my own, I brought in to Lee a five-page, penciled story with a page/panel script of my idea of a new, different kind of character for variety in Marvel Comics. My character wound up being named Dr. Strange because he would appear in Strange Tales."

-Steve Ditko, 2008

“Well, we have a new character in the works for Strange Tales (just a 5-page filler named Dr. Strange) Steve Ditko is gonna draw him. It has sort of a black magic theme. The first story is nothing great, but perhaps we can make something of him-- 'twas Steve's idea and I figured we'd give it a chance, although again, we had to rush the first one too much. Little sidelight: Originally decided to call him Mr. Strange, but thought the "Mr." bit too similar to Mr. Fantastic -- now, however, I remember we had a villain called Dr. Strange just recently in one of our mags, hope it won't be too confusing!”

-Stan Lee, 1963

As Lee explains, Strange was initially a short filler. He then appeared in the next issue (Strange Tales 111), but would skip a few issues until appearing for the third time in 114. Strange would maintain this Strange Tales feature spot until ST 168, which then evolved into Doctor Strange Vol 1 (keeping the numbering). Initially he shared the book with co-lead feature Human Torch Johnny Storm (101-134). Nick Fury’s modern day Agent of S.H.I.E.L.D. features then took Johnny’s spot for the duration of the Strange Tales run (then getting his own mag as well).

A minor point of contention among Strange fans and Marvel historians is whether Stephen Strange may have been initially depicted/intended as being of Asian descent. This is a theory that Kurt Busiek, acclaimed comics writer and Marvel encyclopedia, has advanced. This debate rose to new heights around the release of the 2016 film, which had become embroiled in whitewashing controversy over the Ancient One’s casting.

Here are some excerpts from Strange’s earliest appearances. Notice the possibly stereotyped facial features.

His features are similar to the Ancient One’s, who is explicitly denoted as Asian off the bat. There are no textual references to Strange’s ancestry at first. But it is worth noting that Baron Mordo is also depicted with similar features, and is fairly clearly written as European.

By his third appearance, Ditko is drawing Strange in a more Caucasian appearance. This would then stick with the character to this day. It is unknown whether this was just a style change that means nothing at all or if it was an intentional change. Perhaps the creative team realized that the character was catching on beyond a one-off anthology fill-in. Did Stan Lee pressure Ditko to alter the character to a more palatable ongoing protagonist for 1960s America? I do not believe Ditko has ever commented on this matter. If you’d like to send him a letter, he may or may not reply.

What followed was one of the most influential runs in comics history. Steve Ditko cast Doctor Strange in mind-blowing realms and dimensions that would inspire young minds. Along with the brooding Incredible Hulk, Doctor Strange became popular on college campuses across America. Learning this, Lee and Ditko leaned even farther into these elements. Readers assumed that Ditko was a drug user, which couldn’t be further from the truth. Students were getting into psychedelia and Eastern mysticism, and Ditko’s boundless imagination was the perfect fit.

Stan Lee’s role in these stories is rightfully overshadowed, but his influence should also be noted. Lee provided Strange’s crazy incantations and mystical artifacts. Mythology that has stuck with the character to this day like the “eye of Agamotto,” the “book of Vishanti,” the wand of Watoomb.”

The creative high point of this era is the famous Eternity Saga. Spanning Strange Tales 130-146, it is sometime referred to as the first proper “graphic novel” story arc in superhero comics. The epic started prior to, and overlapped with the overshadowing Galactus Trilogy in Fantastic Four, but is far longer.

In this story, Ditko introduced Eternity, one of the first cosmic entities of the Marvel Universe. A pantheon that would be added to over the years and later used to epic effect by folks like Jim Starlin, Dan Abnett, and Andy Lanning.

The story is about the entanglements of Strange, Eternity, Dormammu, and Baron Mordo.

If you’d like to read all of Lee and Ditko’s magical tales, you have a few options.

There is a hardcover omnibus collecting the entirety of Strange Tales 110-111, 114-146 together in one tome. It is a rather thin one compared to Marvel’s other releases so as to isolate Ditko’s work.

The same material has also been collected variously in hardcover masterworks, black and white paperback essentials, Doctor Strange Classic single issue reprints, etc. Some of these may be out of print and expensive online due to high demand.

All of the above information has been primarily sourced from good olde Wikipedia (a totally legitimate source), the dark recesses of my own brain, the Marvel Wikia, this Polygon article, and most importantly Neilalien.com which is a fantastic Doctor Strange fansite.

[strawberrysoup]

Let’s Review || Chapter 22

Peter Parker knew that his big sister would do anything for him to be safe and happy. She’d given up everything for him twice over already and would do it again in a heartbeat. And that’s why, when the criminal mastermind Tony Stark started inextricably following him around, he didn’t say a word. Because he knew without a doubt Penny would do whatever she had to if it meant keeping Peter safe. He had to protect her, just like she always protected him. He never considered what would happen if Stark decided both Parker siblings were worth taking. Never considered who else in Stark’s inner circle would agree. He just wanted to protect her and yet somehow, they both ended up with needles in their necks.

relationship: Steve Rogers/Original Female Character/Bucky Barnes, background Peter Parker/Tony Stark rating: Explicit warnings: Dark Steve Rogers, Dark Bucky Barnes, Dark Tony Stark, Dark Avengers, kidnapping, non-consensual&dark sexual situations, underage Peter Parker, emotional and psychological abuse, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat  additional warnings: open the read more, CTRL + F and search “content warnings” to skip to the additional "spoiler-y" tags for trigger warnings

hey guys! i made a ko-fi! if you enjoy this and have some cash you could spare to help me out with my bills, id really appreciate it! if you follow the link and check out the ‘posts’, there’s a snippet for ch. 4 of posies! 

Their parents had died a few months after her thirteenth birthday and Penny essentially blacked out for the next 8 months. She didn’t remember anything from that school year, although she’d evidently scraped by in all of her classes—actually, Penny was still convinced that little Peter, who was already showing signs of being a tiny genius, had done at least half of her homework. She didn’t remember Hanukkah that year, or the first Christmas she’d ever celebrated with Aunt May and Uncle Ben. She had zero friends coming out of that year, having accidentally pushed everyone away in fits of rage or sadness that she couldn’t even remember. The pain cut just as deep every time she remembered showing up to school the first day of her freshman year only to receive the cold shoulder from half her grade.

That was actually one of the first memories she’d retained after coming out of 7 months and 3 weeks of complete emptiness, how none of her best friends wanted anything to do with her. Everything had been confusing, somehow devastating all over again but… it was less. Her parents were gone and it hurt so much but it was nothing compared to the agony that had beset her form seconds after being informed her mom and dad were dead. When Penny racked her brain she could almost remember Aunt May crouched in front of her while she sat on the couch at home, holding her hands.

Somewhere in her brain, Penny had known that plane crashes were possible. Like, as a concept she understood the idea. The plane that was flying through the air stops doing that, and all the people inside the plane die. But it couldn’t possibly happen to her parents—they were her parents, they were infallible. Plane crashes happened, yeah, but her parents couldn’t be gone. Aunt May had told her several years later that she and Ben had been petrified she would try to kill herself, especially when the state tried to take the young girl away from the Parker’s.

They’d never had the money for therapy and Penny figured she’d never regain the memories from those months but honestly, she didn’t want them. The gaps were reprieves, the missing conversations, the absence of any and all detail. Wasn’t she sad to not remember her eighth-grade graduation? Fuck no, it was a blessing to forget how she’d felt like everyone in existence had their eyes on her—except for the ones she wanted.

There were times she absently wondered how disappointed her parents would be that she didn’t finish college, let alone get an actual high school degree. Her dad had been so smart, a genius in his own right. And her mom… Penny tried not to think of her mom often, not when it hurt so deeply. Mary Parker had been a gentle soul with an IQ of 150 who made Penny feel safe and loved and understood every day of her life. Her mother would’ve been understanding, she would’ve seen the necessity in her dropping out but it would’ve hurt that gentle soul to know the opportunities her baby had missed.

It hurt Penny in a special way that neither of Mary and Richard Parker’s children would be graduating from high school. Neither would attend university. They wouldn’t go on to press the limits of their parent’s knowledge or make an impact on the world. Somehow despite everything she’d sacrificed, Peter would never get the opportunity that he deserved. Her genius baby brother, his potential capped before he had a chance to try. God, it was an agonizing burn in her chest, a searing pain that made her nauseous and light-headed.

Her heart was pounding so hard she wondered if her ribs would crack. The cabin was lovely. Dark wood and an A-frame, a nice deck in the back and lots of windows. It was surrounded by trees, with dark needles or thin pale trunks, the purple mountains of the Rockies a lovely backdrop. It was colder than she’d expect for summer, especially considering the overcast sky and the breeze. The clouds moved so fast at such a high altitude and Penny watched trembling as a shadow passed over the house, chasing the light away before the sun followed its path ravenously once more.

Steve and Bucky were unloading suitcases from the back of the SUV, passing each other calculating looks as Penny stood practically frozen in place. Her shoulders were hunched almost to her ears, arms wrapped gently but tightly around the white kitten in her arms. It was purring quietly, the same way it had been for hours now. The little thing had cried the first few hours after they’d left the tower and subsequently the chubby cheeked orange kitten behind, only settling when Penny laid down across the middle seat in the SUV and let it burrow into the crook of her neck.

If Penny turned around she would’ve recognized the mournful looks on their faces, the pain in the lines of their eyes. The soldiers knew the hurt she felt, to be separated from their most important person—they understood that Peter was the most important person in Penny’s world. This separation was on their heads, but what could they do? They’d worked themselves into a rut, the three of them, wearing such deep treads into their negative behaviors that they couldn’t climb out. A complete shakeup was the only solution.

Both winced when she abruptly folded at the waist, clutching the kitten to her chest, and vomited over the pine needle strewn dirt of the driveway. Her hair fell in heavy, curly curtains around her face as she heaved again, hiding her tear-streaked face from the soldiers’ view. The sound of them setting the bags they held down registered in Penny’s ears but she couldn’t find the strength to collect herself before they converged on her.

“Come ‘ere doll, lemme take you up to the bathroom,” Bucky stated quietly, sweeping her and the cat up into his arms as gently as he could, “you can take a bath while me and Steve get everything unloaded. I think you’ll really like the cabin baby, we… well, we designed it just for you. If there’s anything you want to change, you just tell us. We want it to be perfect for you.”

She mostly caught flashes of green and white and brown, tucking her chin to look at the kitten snuggled into her cleavage. It felt cruel, to have taken the white one and left the orange, but the little chubby-cheeked kitten had taken to her brother so well—better than it had taken to her, even. Peter had named it Malcah and while it still didn’t like being picked up or held, it twined his ankles and meowed at him for love.

“Sit here baby,” the soldier set her carefully on the lid of the toilet, after having climbed a set of stairs and turned multiple blurry corners, “let me run your bath.”

It was all white tile, the toilet built into the wall. The tub was a freestanding clawfoot, with a spray nozzle and high sides. It was surprisingly small, considering how large the tub in the tower had been. Penny idly speculated that only perhaps one of the soldiers would be able to fit at time and it would certainly be a tight squeeze if she was forced in with them. There was a standing shower on the other side, where the roof wasn’t so sharply sloped by the A-framed roof. The nice thing, that Penny would never admit was very nice, was all of the plants. The entire room was predominantly white but there was a long-vined philodendron hanging gracefully over the tub, snake plants sitting on the shelf before the toilet. She could see a rubber plant and another type of vine by the sinks, framing the mirror.

They’d obviously gone to great lengths to make sure it would be something she liked, clearly evidenced by the bathroom alone. There were even candles waiting to be used on the antique, hunter green shelves and bath bombs with lovely scents. If she’d been able to design a personal bathroom, Penny figured it would probably have looked something like this and that made her hate it all the more.

The bastards were so in their heads they could barely see the sunlight. Penny was convinced that they were so distracted orchestrating her nightmare they’d lost the plot. They kept throwing stuff at her; beautiful plants, nice clothing, cute cats, lovely homes—but it didn’t mean a single thing. All of the possessions in the world didn’t make up for the gaping, rotting hole in her chest.

“Alright doll, let’s get you undressed,” Bucky shifted towards her once the water was at the right temperature and filling the tub, a small smile on his stubbled face.

“Do you think I’m debilitated?” She rasped after a moment, rolling her eyes up to stare him in the face before spitting a vomit speckled wad of phlegm onto the rug by her feet and setting the kitten on the shelf next to the snake plants. “Last time I checked I didn’t need to be treated like a baby. Are you gonna keep standing over me like a pervert? Get out.”

The soldier’s eyebrows shot up his forehead, surprised by the calmness behind her cutting tongue. Usually, when Penny got an attitude, it came with fury and fists and resulted in broken bones or bleeding wounds. This was overwhelmingly controlled; a bitchy rebuttal. Her voice was the gravelly tone she usually got after screaming or crying, dark brown eyes nearly black.  When he didn’t move, Penny rolled her eyes and stood, whipping her t-shirt over her head and dropping it to the ground.

“You’re bein’ a little moody, babe,” Bucky watched calmly as she undressed, her clothes piling up on the floor. “Wanna think about reigning it in?”

Penny’s hair was big and curly around her face, framing the clenched jaw and sneering nose. “What are you gonna do, kill me? Whatever.”

“Penny, what—”

“Peter is a thousand miles away,” Penny’s voice started out sharp but very quickly faded into a tired drawl, “you can’t hurt him from here. And what do I care if you hurt me? So could you either get the fuck out and let me take a bath or fucking drown me in it? Whatever it takes for this interaction to be over.”  

“Are you looking for a punishment right now?” Bucky’s lips pulled down at the corners, eyebrows furrowing, “‘Cause you’re working your way towards one really quick.”

“What’re you gonna do? Kill someone in front of me?” She groaned, reaching up to dig her fingers into the roots of her hair, tugging sharply before dragging it into a tangled, thoughtless bun on the top of her head “Or spank me until I can’t sit? Rape me? Could you just get it over with? I want to be alone, please!”

Bucky was silent for several long seconds before sighing through his nose, pushing his sleeves up to his elbows. “Take your bath, think about your fuckin’ attitude. Steve and I are gonna bring the bags in.”

He left the door open and Penny was further irritated to learn he had too much dignity to stomp down the stairs the way she’d hoped he would. His break in composure had been so good for her it was unbelievable—but there was likely a punishment on the horizon and Steve wasn’t likely to let her off easy once the brunet told him what she’d said. The bastard was stone cold when it came to that shit.

She stared idly at the steaming bath, naked with her clothes piled around her feet—the question was whether she wanted a bath or if she’d been resigned to it? The water was scented, because of course it was. It was even one of her favorite citrusy scents, she noted disdainfully, another thing they had paid so much attention to while keeping her locked up in a tower like fucking Rapunzel. Now in a cabin, she figured she was a Jewish Goldilocks surrounded by hungry bears.

But it smelled nice and her body ached from the long car ride, it had already been run so why not hop in? Besides, it would keep her busy while the soldier’s fucked around and she wouldn’t have to see them for a bit. They were shuffling around and she could hear the sounds of bags being placed around the cabin. The door banged off the walls several times, always accompanied by a groan or a curse, one of which she recognized as a Yiddish swear—which she refused to find endearing. The kitten meowed at her from its position on the shelf, looking put out to be so far away but Penny shushed it quietly.

“You won’t like the water, just stay there,” she murmured quietly at the distraught little creature, picking up a washcloth and dunking it into the perfumed water. “If I come get you I’ll make a huge mess.”

She ignored the kitten as it continued to communicate with her, chittering in annoyance and pawing the edge of the ledge for several minutes before evidently surrendering and lying down with its little paws draped over the edge. Penny smiled to herself, the cat’s tail was roughly the size of its body and when it curled the fluffy mass of fur around itself it became unrecognizable as a cat. The orange one would’ve continued to complain until Penny let it down, would’ve just barely given her ankles a rub before running off to hide somewhere.

That’s why she decided to leave Malcah with Peter; the orange cat didn’t run from or scratch him. She twined his ankles, sat next to his thigh on the couch, kneaded her little paws against him. Peter had decided both kittens were female, based on the very reasonable basis that he wanted them to be. Penny wasn’t sure, didn’t quite care. The only thing she ever referred to the cats as was Chatul��which literally meant cat in Hebrew. She’d shortened it to Tuly for the white kitten, for the sake of ease, but refused to say it in front of the soldiers. The cat was hers, she didn’t have to share it with them.

The sounds of the soldiers were becoming more consistent throughout the cabin and Penny figured they must’ve brought in all of the bags and were focused on unpacking. She could hear someone down in the kitchen, unloading the masses of groceries they’d brought up the mountain while the other was in the bedroom. Penny rubbed the washcloth over her skin lightly, the oils from the fragrance making her skin soft and slippery.

She didn’t hear him come in, she felt Steve come in. The blond’s presence was just as overwhelming as Tony Stark’s, an aura bigger than his body that filled the room. She could feel the disappointed stare, even as she continued to wipe herself down with the washcloth. Her teeth ground together as he watched in silence, just waiting.

“Bucky said you’ve caught an attitude, baby doll.”

“Caught an attitude?” She rolled her eyes. “Wow, if only I hadn’t become desensitized to living in constant terror—you never would’ve realized I’ve had an attitude the whole time!”

“We’re supposed to be turning a new page, Pen.”

“Turning a—” Penny scoffed, face appalled as she abruptly stood from the bath and ignored the water going everywhere, “we’re not turning a new page—You burnt the fucking book!”

The blond’s eyes widened; Penny had gotten angry in the past, furious even. She’d broken things, broken skin, broken bones and it was always accompanied by outraged screaming. But Penny didn’t make unnervingly straight eye contact while she did it. She was barely coherent at the best of times, mostly she screamed to the room at large before flying into a violent frenzy—it was different. It was startling, the light in her eyes and the way her voice cracked.

“There is no page turning, there’s no fucking­—fucking reconciliation here, Steve,” she snatched a towel from the rack behind the tub, wrapping the light green fabric around her chest tightly, “I can’t believe after, fuck, how long has it been? A month and a half? Two months? What fucking day is it?”

“…It’s July 2nd,” he found himself choking out, still feeling shell shocked as she stepped out of the tub.

“A month and a half,” Penny’s face twitched, just barely concealing the distraught look he could see she wanted to make and she started shifting past him, “Jesus Christ after a month and a half you guys still don’t get it—you know what, never mind. After a month and a half, I should’ve been smart enough to realize what dumbasses you both are.”

“Penny—”

“God, fuck!” She shouted up at the ceiling, stopping in place halfway out the door. “I have listened to you two talk at length for what’s apparently been a month and a half! I have tried to listen to your stupid fucking rules, I put in the fucking effort and you still decided to take away the one thing I care about! I’m sick and tired of you saying my name in that fucking tone, I’m tired of constantly internalizing and I’m tired of being fucking walked on! So I’ll tell you what I told Bucky—either kill me or leave me alone, but for fucks’ sake just give me space!”

A low mew followed her statement and Penny made an abrupt about face, stomping past him to snatch up the kitten from where it had been sitting on the ledge and storming past him again. It was like getting brushed by a wildfire and Steve fought the urge to take a step back when her wet hair whipped against him.

She dug through one of the bags that held her belongings angrily, kitten on her shoulder, knowing that the blond continued to watch her from the bathroom doorway. Shorts, underwear, a sports bra, a t-shirt, and a hoodie over that. She would’ve put on socks but she knew it bothered Steve when she went barefoot.

“Come downstairs, precious,” he sighed after watching her dress, gesturing towards the stairs, “we’ve got to talk.”

“We’ve always got to talk,” Penny snorted derisively but started down the stairs anyway, Tuly back in her arms, “but it’s usually just you two telling me what I can and can’t do. Stop bossing me around.”

Steve followed after her, aghast and confused—Penny had always been brave in the situations she was forced into, whether it was taking custody of her fourteen year old brother or dealing with being kidnapped from her apartment by a billionaire criminal, but she hadn’t ever antagonized before. She’d talked back, got irritated, snapped, but she hadn’t ever just been flat out bitchy.

On the main floor, Bucky had already put away all of the groceries and was folding up the cloth shopping bags to tuck away for next time. The brunet’s eyes locked on Penny for several long calculating seconds and her hackles raised; whatever was coming was going to be annoying. She refused to be afraid though, not when there wasn’t anything to lose. Not anymore.

“Sit on the couch, let’s talk,” Steve directed, watching as she seemed to contemplate following the direction before doing so, “things are obviously going to be different here, precious.”

“The cabin is equipped with the same AI as the tower but its restricted to monitoring and safety protocols,” Bucky explained, gesturing to the open layout of the main floor, “you’ll be able to go outside so long as you ask first, there’s plenty to do out there. When Steve bought it there was an overgrown vegetable garden out there, we had it cleaned up for you and the shed fixed up and stocked. A lot of good hiking around here too.”

“I can’t talk to JARVIS?” She asked, eyes tracking the way the soldier’s exchanged glances. “Of course not. Then I would have some sort of interaction beyond the pair of you. Damaging to your plan, huh?”

“Penny, the rules didn’t end just because we’re out of the tower,” Steve had one hand braced on his hip while the other rubbed over his forehead, “be—”

“If you say Be Sweet I’ll find a way to kill myself,” Penny intoned, a dry look on her face. “Jews don’t have an afterlife you know, I’m not afraid of going to Hell.”

“Penny, we’re trying—”

“Penny we’re trying,” she mocked in a high-pitched voice, dead eye stare once again boring into Bucky’s, “I’m not. I’m done trying. You’ll either kill me or drive me insane, I’ll never see Peter again—I…I failed. I couldn’t protect him, I couldn’t even keep him safe until he was an adult, isn’t that insane? Grand total of three years and some change and I fucked it up.”

Penny stood up from the couch, shaking her head as she went. The kitten was quick to jump off the couch and follow after her, meowing while that massive fluffy squirrel tail curled over its back. The open floor plan of the cabin came in handy for the soldiers though, because she couldn’t really escape even as she walked across the living room and into the kitchen.

It was hard to pretend she didn’t actually love the cabin. The kitchen was small, located beneath the loft that held the bedroom and bathroom. The railing to the loft was covered in live vines that hung down to create a tiny illusion of separation between the living room and kitchen, the kitchen itself was sage green with white and dark brown accents. There were more plants, open cabinets mounted to the walls, the sink was small but there was a dishwasher. She loved the spiral staircase that led up to the loft, framing the kitchen to the left with small shiny baubles hanging from it.

There was a hamsa and a cross, both stained glass and hanging from the tallest step. Pretty cat toys hung from the lower railings, just within the kitten’s reach. It made Penny’s skin itch, just how lovely and perfect the whole cabin was. More evidence that they were paying a freaky amount of attention to her and every move she made.

“You didn’t fail, doll,” Bucky’s tone was quiet and he hesitated for a moment before following after her several paces, ending up on the edge of the kitchen, “You didn’t fuck it up, Peter—”

“Peter is trapped in a prison in New York with a creep more than twice his age who wants to violate and brainwash him,” Penny was on her knees in front of the fridge, digging through the crisper drawer in the bottom. “Literally all I had to do to prevent that from happening was pay more attention to his daily life. Fuck, kid was practically raising himself with how often I was gone—never stood a chance, you know?”

“Don’t think like that Penny,” Steve sighed, leaning down to pick up the kitten that had circled back to his ankles and setting it on his shoulder, “there’s nothing you could’ve done. You know who Tony Stark is, you know what he’s capable of. You can’t heap that guilt on your shoulders.”

“Oh, can’t I?” She hummed, absently throwing a package of bacon onto the floor, followed by a flat of raw chicken and beef. “There can be dairy in here or there can be meat, not both.”

“We might need a second fridge,” Bucky observed quietly, watching Penny drop a couple of deli bags with sandwich meat onto the ground before she started shuffling everything into different places within the cooler. “We could keep it in the shed?”

“No room,” Steve shook his head absently, “garage?”

Penny had collected a stack of items from the fridge and piled them onto the counter, not even bothering to look back on the soldiers as she began puttering around. The open-faced cabinets on the walls held mostly dishes and containers filled with ingredients and she ducked down, opening the lower cabinets and digging out several pans.

“Do you… do you want a hand, doll?” Bucky asked hesitantly after several moments, watching her collect ingredients and tools and turn on the stove.

“No.”

“Penny—”

“Can I make lunch please?” She whipped around, an irritated look on her face and a spatula in hand, looking like she was about to use it to beat them both, “I’m hungry and I want to die, I figure you’ll only allow me to fulfill one of those wants so can you let me cook?”

The next thing she knew, Penny had been swept up into Bucky’s arms. The solider looked confused, lips curled in frustration but his brow furrowed with dismay. She stiffened at the action when he stomped back to the couch and sat down roughly, dropping her over his knees and landing a smarting blow to her ass through her shorts without warning.

“Thirty for this fucking attitude,” he barked, yanking the shorts down until the waistband settled under the curve of her ass against the tops of her thighs, “count.”

A sharp inhale followed the first skin to skin hit and Penny snarled in response, “one.”

“Apologize,” Steve’s fingers tangled into her hair, extracting the hair tie and letting the curls fall in chaotic waves over her shoulders and face.

“Two,” she counted dutifully and angrily, narrowed eyes landing on Steve’s face, “I’m sorry you’re a fucking monster!”

“That just added ten more, Penny,” Bucky sighed through gritted teeth, “you better reign it in.”

“You better just kill me,” she rasped, nails digging into his leg where she was holding on for balance through the hits, “because I won’t reign it in. I’m sick to death of you motherfuckers—Oh, fuck, three!”

“No cursing during punishments, start from one,” Steve ordered darkly, the hand in her hair pulling taught as he glanced into Bucky’s eyes—the baffling combination of anger and dismay and loss in the brunet’s eyes let him know he wasn’t the only one scrambling.

“Fuck you!” Penny shook her head roughly as if to dislodge his hand, canting her head to the side the best she could manage to look him in the eye, “beat me black and blue, I don’t fucking care. Don’t you get it? It doesn’t matter anymore! Nothing fucking matters.”

content warnings: spanking *edit, addition content warning: disrespectful terminology for Jewish people 

[muchadoaboutbucky]

Red Carpet Man (oneshot)

Red carpets are definitely not Bucky’s thing… but this one’s a little more rewarding than usual.

PAIRING: Bucky x Native American!Reader

WARNINGS: anxiety (public situation), smut

NOTE: Edited by @crispychrissy​. Do not save or repost my work. 18+ only! Remember to support indigenous creators (I’m one of them) by boosting our work and buying directly from our stores and online shops!

⭒ become a patron for just $3 ⭒

Bucky doesn’t know how you do it. Walking in front of the cameras, flashing lights, screaming fans and reporters—you do it like it’s nothing, but he can barely bring himself to force a smile and maybe stutter a few rambling sentences to the recording devices stuck in his face. 

He can already hear the bustle of people outside, car horns honking impatiently for people crowding the street to get out of the way, the beat of helicopter blades soaring overhead, news outlets desperate to be the first to catch glimpses of the famed Avengers...

He’s only been in Los Angeles for a day and he already doesn’t like it. 

You’re at the mirror, applying a favorite lipstick that always gets him riled up. He doesn’t know why he likes the color red on you so much, but this little splash of red against creamy olive skin goes perfectly with the floor-length dress, all ruby chiffon and satin, a split in the skirt of it that goes all the way up your thigh. Bucky eyes it hungrily as you turn away from the mirror and tuck your lipstick back into your little red clutch.

He’d rather stay here and mess around than go out and have to deal with… people.

Three sharp raps on your hotel door signal that it’s nearly time for you to go downstairs and join the others in the lobby. You barely acknowledge it, instead filtering through your little collection of necklaces. Bucky watches you compare pendants, assorted jewels and pearls, until you finally settle on a small silver chain with a diamond pendant. 

“Babe?”

He stands when you hold the necklace out for him. He takes the nimble clasp and lets you adjust your hair so he can clasp it around your neck. It’s too easy to take advantage of your position, and he presses a kiss to the juncture of your shoulder and neck. You smell real good, like jasmine and vanilla, and it makes his heart skip a beat as blood decides to try and rush elsewhere—

“Mmm, nice try, mister.” You turn in his arms, winding your arms around his shoulders. “We have to go downstairs.”

Bucky grumbles. “Let’s just stay here. Say we got food poisoning from that sushi Stark got last night.”

“Definitely not.” You shake your head and press a light kiss to his lips that leaves a little red print. “You need to get used to these press events, baby. You can only miss so many before people start wondering where the famous Sergeant James Barnes has gone off to.”

“Sergeant James Barnes,” Bucky clarifies, running his hands down the back of your dress, “is busy trying to make some love to his girlfriend and it’s nobody else’s business.”

“It will be someone’s business if we turn up late. Again.”

“What can I say? I don’t like to rush things.”

You giggle and rub away the lipstick left behind on his lower lip. “When this event is all over, I promise I will make it very worth your while.” When he tenses, refusing to let you out of his arms, your eyes fill with sympathy. He really doesn’t want to go out there. “I’m not gonna leave your side,” you murmur, “I’ll stay where you can see me, we won’t be out there longer than an hour. I promise.”

He groans, letting you pull out of his embrace. “I hate reporters.”

“You don’t have to comment on anything,” you explain, “just stick by me, pose for the cameras, and then we’ll be onto the Q&A. And trust me, if I know Tony, he’ll be doing most of the talking.”

***

Bucky has to fight to shield his eyes from the glare of the setting sun reflecting off the buildings across the street. You loop your arm through his, walking at his pace as you trail behind Steve and Tony. Nat’s close behind, your reinforcement to make sure Bucky doesn’t turn and bolt back inside.

The instant clamoring swells up in a deafening wave the second they step outside. The rapid clicking of camera shutters, shouts from reporters, screams from excited fans… oh, God, fans. Nobody here is gonna like him, not after everything he’d done as the Winter Soldier has officially been made public…

“Calm,” you whisper in his ear, “they know we’re together, baby. It’s okay.”

Bucky flinches as several shouts of his name resound from twenty feet away, mixes of “James” and “Sergeant” and “Barnes” that make his head spin. He ignores them, offering tight smiles and hanging back with his hands tucked in his pockets when you decide to approach the reporters. He watches closely, eyeing the way you smile and practice your little flirty routine as you answer the questions thrown in your face. 

A flash of silver and red catches his eye. He turns his head and spies a gaggle of people huddled beside one of the metal barricades, some with their phones out—the red had apparently come from a phone case. They’re cheering and waving, and he raises his hand in a curious wave before turning his gaze away. You’re finishing up with the reporters, and you blow a little kiss to one of the cameras before sauntering back to him, leaving Natasha to fend for herself. 

“Looks like those people over there really like you.” You let Bucky wind an arm around your waist. “Wanna go say hi?”

Bucky shrugs. “I don’t know.”

“Baby, c’mon,” you plead, “it’s good to let the public get to know you. Besides, having fans is a good thing.”

He eyes the group suspiciously. They’re mostly women, some teenagers sprinkled in, cheeks flushed with excitement at the prospect of seeing him… not Tony, not Steve… him.

“You’re in their history books,” you murmur, “they get to meet a hero.”

Bucky swallows thickly. “How, uh… how do I talk to them?”

A little smirk crosses your face. “Remember the first time you flirted with me? Bring all that sweet charm right back up and they’ll love you forever.”

He blushes hard when you rub your hand up his arm. “Are you sure?”

“Well, you got me to stick around,” you reply, “pretty sure a couple of idolizing teens is way easier.”

Bucky takes a deep breath and glances over at where Tony’s scribbling frantically on posters and pictures held out by what look like hundreds of fans. “And what if they want me to sign stuff?”

You reach into your clutch and pull out a metallic gold Sharpie. “Do that cute loopy thing you sign all your things with.”

His shoulders roll back, and he adjusts the button of his jacket—subconsciously, most likely—and you rise up on the toes of your four-inch heels to nuzzle his cheek before giving him a stealthy pat on the ass and sending him on his way. Bucky swallows any nerves that creep up into his throat as each step takes him closer to the group of excited girls, who only bounce and whisper excitedly as he approaches. 

“Hi, ladies,” he says, trying to keep the nervous flutter in his voice under control. The chorus of “hi!” and “ohmygod!” that fills his ears in reply makes his cheeks burn, and he uncaps the pen, reaching out to sign a handmade poster that reads TEAM BARNES.

It’s a full five minutes of signing his initials, JBB, over and over again. He manages to engage better than he thought he would, even managing a few quick seconds of eye contact with several young women who bat their eyelashes and blush furiously as he delivers winks and lopsided smiles. The sudden appearance of an infant named after him literally takes the words out of his mouth, and with the mother’s permission he reaches over to let the curious baby grip onto his right index finger. It’s quite touching, considering he’s been wanting to talk with you about babies for a while.

By the time he’s done, you’ve moved a long ways down the red carpet to occupy yourself with a one-on-one camera interview. He feels surprisingly light and happy, and he waits patiently for you to take notice of his presence and invite him in. The reporter talking to you blushes, apparently excited to get him in as well.

“And we’re joined by Sergeant James Barnes,” she says, as the cameraman turns to bring her into the frame, “so, Sergeant, it’s been a while since you’ve made a public appearance like this. How are you finding it?”

Bucky’s brain struggles to find the right words quick enough. “Took some getting used to, I’m still, uh…” he shoots you a quick glance, as if to make sure what he’s sharing is okay. When you give him an encouraging smile, he continues. “I’m still adjusting to this kind of life. Fortunately, I got this one—” he loops his arm around your waist, fingers splaying out against your hip, “to help me out. She’s been real good to me.”

***

“Goddamn.”

Bucky slumps back against the mattress, tipping his head back as you drape yourself next to him, a sweaty thigh slung over his hips. You’re panting hard, muscles still tensing and trembling from the last near-hour of enthusiastic lovemaking. 

“I’ll say,” you reply, running a palm over his bare chest. “So, you had fun?”

He grins, looping an arm around your shoulders. “It’s always fun with you.”

“I meant the press.” You laugh and squirm a little closer. “You look like you had fun with those people.”

He smiles, cheeks flushing. “Someone named their baby after me.”

“Aww, that’s sweet.” You press a kiss to the side of his neck. “I wish I’d seen that… imagining you with a baby does things to me.”

Bucky chuckles. “I’ve been meaning to ask if you wanted one.”

“What, a baby?” You sigh and trail the tip of your finger over his lower lip. “I was thinking about it, but with what we do… are you sure you’d wanna have a baby?”

In response, he rolls on top of you, nudging your thighs apart to make room for him. “I want to,” he confesses in a whisper, lips brushing against yours. “Besides, even if it takes a while, it’s fun to try.”

Your arms wind around his neck, pulling him down into a deeper kiss. “I guess you’re thinking of trying right now?”

Bucky glances at the digital clock on the nightstand. “It’s only ten,” he says, “I’m willing to try all night.”

This work was available on Patreon for $3, along with 300+ other works! Head on over and subscribe!

Get on my tag list

MARVEL TAGS: @beefcakebarnes​ @breezy1415​ @cosicas-cuquis​ @daughterofthenight117​ @mariekoukie6661​ @starsandasteroids​ @suz-123​

[capswritinq]

Morning- Bucky Barnes Short One Shot

Summary: Y/n and Bucky’s morning routine changes after the events of Infinity War

Genre: Fluff in the beginning then ANGST 

Word Count: 1.8k

The sunshine kissed her skin, leaving her exposed shoulder and neck with a golden hue. Her hair was spread out all around her, the strands arranging in random yet perfect arrays. Her eyes were still shut, her breaths still even. She was still induced into a deep slumber, but ever the light sleeper he was, he awoke with the birds. It didn’t help that they kept the window open all night because the weather was finally warming up.

It annoyed the hell out of him, he told her one morning days ago. It seemed like if a pin dropped he would wake up, and the chance of him falling back to sleep were slim to none. So it pissed him off that the momma bird and her chicks just had to start yapping every morning around six, to which he always woke up from.

She laughed and told him that it wasn’t the worst way to be woken up, to which he agreed. The comment drifted his mind to the sounds of steel doors opening or loud thuds on the concrete that he got all too familiar with waking up to during his time under HYDRA. He would take anything compared to that.

He was taken out of his thoughts when he heard her suggest that they move the nest somewhere else.

He quickly shut down her idea, responding that the baby birds couldn’t be moved away from their mother, because he was afraid that the mother wouldn’t be able to find their new location. That the innocent baby birds would be abandoned without a nurturer, and a mother would lose her children. 

She agreed and changed the subject to breakfast, to which he placed a firm kiss on her lips and told her that sounded lovely.

He didn’t understand how she could sleep through the loud chirping every morning. It seemed like mother nature favored her in giving her the ability to be a heavy sleeper. Mother nature graced her with many gifts.

Like the way she was just so effortlessly beautiful. It didn’t matter if she woke up hungover with bags under her eyes. Or if they were going out to some swanky restaurant Tony paid for and she had on her nicest dress. Or if they were cuddling on their small couch in sweats watching another season of Parks and Rec. She was always beautiful, always radiating.

She was his light. She always made him feel safe. He could always look into her eyes and find comfort. She was home.

She stirred from her sleep, groaning softly. Even if she was a heavy sleeper, she could always feel Bucky’s eyes on her, which always seemed to cause a reaction.

“Why do you do that?” she asked, her mouth muffled by the pillow.

“Do what?”

“Stare at me. Especially while I’m trying to sleep. Creepy.” 

He snorted, tilting his head slightly to the side. Adoration displayed on his face. “Why not? You look absolutely radiant.”

Even though her eyes were still closed, she could locate where his bicep was to slap it with her palm. “Fuck off.” 

He chuckled again, knowing that she probably thought of herself to be a mess. She came home late last night from a night out with college friends, and her face hit the pillow before she got to wash off her makeup or shower. 

But she could have green fucking bags under her eyes or giant knots in her hair and Bucky probably would not have given a shit.

He sat up in the bed, leaning his back against the tufted headboard. His hand reached to play with the locks of her hair, twirling pieces around his finger. She hummed.

“I want to make you breakfast this morning. But to be honest I’m still not 100% sure how to use the stove. Why are there weird buttons and shit on it? We used to just turn a knob and a flame would ignite.”

She giggled, her face still in her pillow. Seeming to have woken up a bit more, she turned her head to look at his face. 

“I agree. I miss when technology consisted of tangible objects you could hold in your hand and control. Now everything is floating in the air and holographic and shit”

Placing a kiss on her forehead, he rose from the bed, and put on a pair of sweats that were on the floor right next to his side. His chest was still bare, and his pants hung low on his hips.

“Mmm, I have my meal right here.” She said, blinking at Bucky with a loose smile adorning her features.

Bucky, still slightly uncomfortable with compliments, just blushes and tells her that her joke is dumb before he heads for the kitchen. He thinks about whether he wants to make pancakes or a skillet. He thinks about how lucky he is to have y/n. 

-----------

Bucky was frozen. Standing in Wakanda in what had just been a ravaging battle field, he stood now in silence as his comrades and closest friends withered away into ash. 

Thanos had done it. He had vanished half of the universe’s population with the snap of his finger.

Bucky’s mind instantly drifted to one thing: y/n.

Oh god, what if He had done this to her?

His throat constricted and his stomach twisted at the vile thought. After it seemed like everyone who was destined to be had diminished, and the weight of everything sunk in, he swiftly made his way back to the nearest building, back to wherever the fuck could get him out of there. His eyes looked lost and worried.

“Bucky, what are you-”

“Where is the jet? I need to get-” he paused, his breath quickening as the panic set in his body. “I need to get home.”

Steve instantly understood why Bucky was so urgent in getting back to New York. 

Steve exhaled a breath, as the circumstances and the events that just took place washed over him. The look in his eyes was one of pity and sympathy. He didn’t want to know what it would be like for Bucky to live without y/n.

“C’mon, we’ll go back.”

He placed a hand on the back of his best friend’s back, supporting him. He felt Bucky’s shaking body under his touch. Even over the sound of wails and those in mourning surrounding him, his advanced senses allowed him to hear Bucky’s short, fast breaths and pounding heartbeat.

Searching for the quinjet felt like hours. The plane ride felt like forever.

It landed just outside their home. Living in upstate New York  with virtually no neighbors allowed for open area to safely land. As soon as the bottom of the jet touched the ground Bucky’s feet were running to search for y/n. 

His heart skipped a beat when he noticed a bush and her potted fern were gone, with a small pile of ashes to be all that remained.

The door opened as the technology sensed it was Bucky, and he ran inside without a care of shutting the door. He had to find her. He screamed her name as he entered the home.

Steve waited outside of the quinjet,a sinking feeling in his stomach, as he silently prayed that Bucky finds her safe and sound.

Y/n wasn’t in the living and kitchen area, which is where one first walks in. He then headed for their bedroom, to where he didn’t find her. He checked every room in that wing of the house, his fear growing more and more as every room was found empty.

“No, no, no...” .

The last room was her studio. The door was shut, and he had to take a brief moment before he allowed himself to step foot into the room. As the door creaked open, the sight in front of him chilled him.

Her almost finished painting, a portrait of Bucky, was on the easel in the middle of the room, out looking floor to ceiling windows. Her paint tubes were scattered on the table beside it. Her cup of water was murky as her paintbrush was resting in it. And at the foot of the easel was a pile of hazy brown ashes.

Bucky crumbled. His face contorted, his cheeks stiffened. His lips quivered, and a pool of water collected in his eyes. Steve had come inside to find him here.

Bucky was on his knees as he delicately picked up some of the remains of her. He felt so unbelievably sick. 

His light, his star, was turned into nothing more than a fragile pile of remains. He didn’t even get to hold her one last time, or properly say goodbye.

Steve was horrified. He embraced Bucky, trying to calm him as best as he could. But Bucky had to let this storm out, he needed to feel.

He was trembling in Steve’s arms, the most unhuman and painful sobs coming from his throat. He was utterly broken. 

“What the fuck am I supposed to do without her?”

-----

5:30 A.M. But Bucky was already awake in his bed, as he was never able to fall asleep. How could he, when all he could imagine was how scared she must of been when she started to wither away, how he wasn’t there to hold her, how he didn’t get to see her one last time, how this monster could have done this.

The light didn’t soak through the curtains, as the clouds shaded the sun’s appearance. The place where she used to lay on his right was cold and untouched by her figure. The pillow was puffed and lonely, as her head was not there to hug it. The room was deadly silent.

He should be hearing the feathered Brady Bunch outside his window, chirping wildly. He should be pretending to be annoyed with it as she laughs at him.

Frightened, Bucky goes to the window and peers to the side where the bird’s nest was. Instead of seeing the normal momma bird with her three babies, he only saw the mom bird. Who did not even chirp for her young ones she lost, but instead was staring at the tiny pile of ashes in her nest, as if she was still in shock.

At the sight, Bucky crumbled, his throat becoming sore as he let out a whimper. Tears flowed down his cheeks, his eyes growing red. It reminded him of the conversation he had with her all that time ago.

As the window was still open, how y/n liked it to be, he pulled up the screen and carefully reached for the bird. The mom looked up at Bucky but did not show a sign of fear nor did she fly away. He gently rubbed the back of his index finger on her head, her eyes closing at the touch.

“I’m so sorry.” he whispered, pulling his hand away to cover his mouth from the noise that threatened to escape him.

The bird nuzzled her face into the ashes of her chicks. 

“I’m sorry” he uttered, looking up at the sky to y/n. He closed his eyes as more tears flowed down his face, his heart aching.

Part Two

//// let me know what you think! i’ll probably make a fluffier part two with the events of endgame :)

[ad1thi]

(not) a damsel in distress | AU-gust Day 1: Fantasy AU

AU-gust masterlist

major s/o to @deathsweetqueen for looking this over!! kicking off AU-gust with some samsteve!! 

“You just "rescued” me from a dragon, and you look so proud, but that dragon is actually my best friend. Oops.” AU (from this prompt list)

//

Knight Samuel Wilson was a trained officer of the Crown, and had sworn his life to protect his king, His Royal Highness Anthony Stark, and his subjects, the people of Starkistan with his life. So when he's trotting aimlessly through the woods, looking for a brook from which his horse, Redwing may drink, and he hears a loud cry, he doesn't think, he just moves.

 He tugs at Redwing's reins and taps the back of his heel onto his side, spurring Redwing towards the sound of the noise. It doesn't take long, because Redwing is a reliable and trusty steed, and within a manner of minutes, Sam enters a clearing to see a blond man trying valiantly to escape a dragon.

 The beast is on the smaller side, compared to the dragons that Sam is accustomed to seeing on his travels, but the blond is unusually small too. He can't be taller than Sam's shoulder, and he's stick-thin, wiry and lean. He's also unarmed, which is why Sam makes the executive decision to step in when the dragon flashes its blue scales menacingly.

 "Don't worry, young sir! I'll save you!" he calls and pulls his sword out of its sheath, before spurring Redwing on. He half-stands on his feet so that he can have the advantage of height, and when he's close enough, takes a hefty swing at the dragon's tail.

 The dragon pulls back with a yelp, and Sam has just enough time to turn to the young man - who's incredibly handsome - and tell him, "You're safe now. Run, before this beastly creature catches up with you." 

Then, several things happen at once. The man's face contorts into one of anger, rather than relief like Sam is used to - but before Sam has time to ask him why he's angry, the dragon flares his wings and opens his mouth, breathing hot fire that singes Sam's shoulders.

 "Oh, it's on," Sam murmurs under his breath and swings at the dragon with renewed vigour. 

It isn't a particularly old beast, the light blue scales on the underside of its belly indicating that it's still growing, but what it lacks in experience, it makes up for in sheer focus. Ordinarily, Sam would just attempt to scare it off. This beast, however, is giving it as good as it gets, snapping its teeth at Sam and attacking him with its sharp tail like it's some sort of make-shift spear.

 One particularly well placed jab has Sam, and with him,  Redwing, stumbling back, and the blond jumps to the side with a yelp. Sam would love to fell the beast, but he is honour-bound to protect a civilian above all else, so he starts planning his retreat. The dragon rears its head back, presumably to burn Sam again, and in one practised motion, Sam dismounts Redwing and rolls behind cover, wrapping an arm around the blond so as to bring him along.

 "Good sir," Sam says softly when they land behind some bushes, "this is your chance - escape, so that no harm comes to you while I slay this vicious beast." 

The blond reacts in the most unexpected way - he attacks Sam. It's completely out of left field, which is why Sam isn't even prepared to defend himself against the barrage of kicks and punches that turn him on his side.

 The flurry of movement kicks up the laying dust around them, and when Sam manages to blink past the cloud,  he's on his back, and the blond is pointing the business end of his sword against his neck.

"I'm trying to save you!" Sam yells indignantly, all formality lost with his bruised pride, "What're you attacking me for?"

"You attacked my best friend!" the blond yells back, even though Sam is fairly certain that there was nobody else besides him when he entered the clearing. "You were talking about killing him!!"

"Your fri-" Sam's eyes widen, "You mean the beast? You know him?"

The blond jabs the sword threateningly, and Sam throws up his hands in surrender, "I mean the dragon, the reptile? I'm sorry, I'm a Knight of the Crown - I thought I heard a cry for help, and when I saw you around the dragon, I didn't think, I just reacted."

"You were trying to save me from Buck?" the blond's face twists into one of confusion, as if he doesn't understand the concept.

 "What's a Buck?" Sam asks cautiously, and his face changes instantly. 

He really is gorgeous, Sam thinks morosely when the man smiles, It's unfortunate that this is how we met.

"My best friend," he says, puffing his chest, "His name's Buck. I'm Steve by the way," he adds on with an after-thought, sounding contrite about the fact that he forgot to introduce himself to the man who's throat he's holding a sword to.

Speaking, "Sam," he says around a cough, "Any chance I can get off my feet and get my sword back?"

Steve's eyes narrow, and his grip on the sword tightens, "How do I know you won't use it to kill Bucky?"

"I have no quarrel with the dragon, not if he isn't harming you."

Steve's eyes search his face for something, and whatever it is he must find it because he steps back, allowing Sam to get back on his feet. 

When Sam extends his arm for his sword, however, Steve juts his chin out, "I don't know if I can trust you yet."

Sam shrugs, because now that he's standing up, he can tell that his initial assessment of Steve was right - he barely comes up to Sam's shoulder. If Sam was particularly motivated, he could wrestle the sword out of Steve's hands, but he wants the blond to trust him so he just keeps his hands to his side.

 "So you were really trying to save me?" Steve asks again, as they make their way back to the clearing. 

Sam nods, "It's my sworn duty. To protect the king, his Royal Highness Anthony Stark and his subjects."

Steve's face twists at that, "I'm not a subject. I live out here, with Buck. I have done ever since Buck got cursed to turn into a dragon. Just wasn't safe for us to live in the city anymore.”

"You know," Sam starts hesitantly, "His Highness employs some of the most powerful mages in the continent. I'm fairly certain that if I asked, one of them would be able to help with your friend's affliction."

"You would do that?" Steve looks surprised, "But I just attacked you back there. Buck nearly burnt you alive!"

"Nothing's bruised apart from my ego, I assure you," Sam clears his throat, "Besides, it would give me a reason to come visit you again."

 Steve's cheeks colour ever so slightly, and Sam takes back every uncharitable thought about how they met, because he would do it all over again - just for that blush. His heart skips a traitorous beat, and with distinct clarity, Sam thinks, I'm in trouble.

 Somehow, looking into Steve's crystal blue eyes, the idea doesn't scare him all that much.

 Fin

[starker-fluff]

Peter Pan Chapter 2#

I apologise for last chapter. But it’s back to fluff now I promise.

Trigger warnings: mentions of abuse, mentions of violence, gun shot wound, mentions of kidnapping.

—//—//—

The first thing Peter noticed when he woke up was the beeping coming from beside him. Next was the pressure on his chest. Slowly Peter opened his eyes to a dimly lit room that was adorned with medical equipment. Looking down at his chest he saw little Morgan curled by his side with her head resting on his chest.

He gently ran his hand over the back of her hair, smiling softly as the girl snuggled closer. Creaking sounded next to him, making the young man tilt his head to see the most handsome face he’s ever seen resting against the back of the chair.

“Tony..” Peter croaked out, reaching out his hand just far enough to brush against Tony’s finger tips which was resting on the railing of his bed. He could of reached much further but his body felt incredibly heavy and drowsy.

“You’re awake. Hey sweetheart.” Tony said softly after he became aware of his surroundings after his long nap. Tony’s hand reached up and brushed his fingers through his curls. Peter gently reached up and pulled the man’s large hand down onto his face. The boy resting his cheek against his palm and letting out a soft hum.

“I’m so glad you are back, baby. Do you know who you are?” Tony asked quietly as he smoothed his thumb over Peter’s soft cheek, both being cautious of the sleeping child.

“My name is Peter Stark.” He cooed back, eyes fluttering shut as he enjoyed the balmy warmth and touches coming from his lover’s hands. It had been so long since he had felt a loving touch.

“I’m so proud of you, baby. You are doing so well. What about her?” He gestured you Morgan, “and me?” Tony finished, his eyes hopeful as he clung onto any threads left that would let Peter remember him.

“Morgan and Tony. Daughter and Husband.” Peter mumbled softly, turning his head to press a soft kiss into the palm of Tony’s hand. Finally opening his eyes he sees the love of his life attempting to quietly cry.

“Noo. No. Don’t cry. Did I say something wrong?” Peter panicked slightly, the beeping spiking.

“Shh. No no, baby. I’m just very happy you remember me. Would you mind if I hugged you?” Tony asked as he shifted forward in his chair. Smiling in adoration as Peter let out a happy squeak and lazily patted the space next to him. The older man clicked down the railing, towing off his shoes and chucking his blazer off before climbing into the bed. Tony was extremely careful as he manovered under Peter as you not disturb his wounded side. Morgan only stirred slightly as Tony picked her up and laid her against his side so that Peter was less at risk of getting hurt.

“Go back to sleep, darling. I’ll watch over you.” Tony cooed softly to Peter, letting the boy relax against him. Peter let out a little hum of satisfaction, enjoying the way his body turned to jelly as he melted into Tony’s body so that they fit like a puzzle piece. He might not remember everything but his body does, especially when Tony raises his hand and Peter immediately grabbed it to cuddle as he fell into sleep. Little did the boy know that this was always how he slept, clinging onto Tony’s arm.

—//—//—

The next time he woke up he was still cuddled up to Tony but he was speaking and he could hear Morgan giggling in the background.

“Morning princey.” Tony said with a little chuckle as Peter only huffed in response. The boy tried his best to turn over and hide in Tony’s chest but stopped when his side spiked with pain.

“I know sweetie. It’s gonna hurt for awhile. But why don’t you open your eyes and say hello to Nat and Rhod-“ Within the second Peter’s eyes were open and was staring hard at the two. Squinting as he tried his best to connect the dots.

“Hey Peter. Don’t worry about trying to remember right now. We know what happened. You’ll remember us eventually.” Nat said with a disappointed smile. Peter felt bad, guilty, that he couldn’t remember them when they could remember him.

“We bought some clothes and food for you guys. We brought Peter’s ring as well.” The boy’s ears perked up at the word ring. He had a ring? He raised his hand making a hand gestures for Rhodey to give him the ring. The man complied, dropping the diamond encrusted ring into the Peter’s hands. He stared at it for a long long time, the silence becoming awkward but he remembers waves crashing and a song he can’t quite remember.

“Did we get married near the ocean?” The boy asked as he slipped the diamond onto his finger.

“Yeah!! And there was a swing!! And a pool!! Nat did a back flip into the pool. She was going to teach me but Daddy said no and then Papa chased Nat around the pool threatening to steal her kneecaps.” Morgan filled into the blank for Peter as she skipped over to the bed. The room feel into laughter which ended with Peter wincing and Tony worried and trying to tell everyone to shut up but he just ends up making everyone laugh more. Suddenly the door slams open.

“BITCH.” Bucky made his entrance, pointing at Peter with a big smile.

“BITCH!!!” Peter said back excitedly. Bucky settles slightly and smiled happily.

“I knew there was no way he’d forget our greeting. You owe me five bucks.” The long haired man plopped himself down by the bed, lifting Morgan into his lap. A cocky grin was plastered on his face as he looked over to Nat and Rhodey. Peter just giggled and was smiling so much his cheeks hurt, he was glad Bucky was here. He was another familiar face that made him feel safe. Tony looked over to Bucky and gave a thankful smile before leaning down to press a gentle kiss to Peter’s cheek.

“But seriously. It’s good to have you back. Tony is so useless without you.” Bucky said earnestly but ended it in a joke, kinda. It was true though. Tony had been an absolute mess without having Peter by his side. Two years of his life were spent frantically going through his days trying to follow any lead that would bring Peter back.

“Yesh. Welcome back Pete.” A voice came from the doorway. Steve stood in the doorway. Everyone’s head snapped to the door and they were all glaring, making Steve duck his head and hide around the corner. Peter frowned and looked up at Tony who was seething with anger in Steve’s direction. Confusion was set on Peter’s face as he tried to figure out why everyone was mad at Steve.

“Come on, Baby. We should get your showered and into comfy clothes before the doctors come.” Tony said sharply, moving as fast as he could without hurting Peter. He really was in a hurry to get Peter out of Steve’s view. Did he do something?

“Mmk.” Peter slowly responded, letting Tony pick him up bridle style and carry him into the connected bathroom. Natasha places a bag inside the door before shutting the door. Soft chatting continued on in the other room as Tony gently sat Peter down on the toilet. The older man caustiously taking off the hospital gown and Peter’s boxers before turning around to turn on the bath, filling it up to about the hip level so that Peter wouldn’t get his wound wet.

“Uh, Tony, what did Steve do?” Peter asked cautiously as Tony turned back and gathered the boy up in his arms. The man’s jaw tightened as he lowered Peter in the warm water.

“He’s is incompetent. What happened to you is his fault. If it wasn’t for him being selfish I wouldn’t have had gone crazy for two years. He wouldn’t still be here if it wasn’t Bucky begging me to let him stay.... Sadly I listened.” Tony grumbled as he picked up a soft sponge and began to gently lather soap onto Peter’s thighs and calves, doing small little circles which had Peter slumped against the wall of the tub staring up at Tony with love sick puppy eyes.

“What’s that look for, cutie?” Tony chuckled, forgetting about the disappointment out in the hall.

“You’re my husband. I remember when you proposed. We were in that cozy little cabin alone and cuddling. You were drunk off your ass and so was I but I woke up with a ring on my finger and a soppy hungover mob boss clinging too me like a sad puppy.” Peter cooed up his husband, recounting the events that filtered into his mind.

“Of course you remember that but you don’t remember simple things like how you are allergic for shellfish..” Tony chuckled, scooping up water to clean Peter’s hair.

“Im allergic to shellfish?” Peter said slightly worried that he would accidentally eat shellfish and die now.

“No. You aren’t. And that just proves my point..” Tony smirked, pressing a kiss to Peter’s nose before shifting around so he could massage shampoo into Peter’s hair. Grimacing are how dirty and gritty it felt, how ever took his Angel was going to pay. Meanwhile, Peter was in literal heaven.

—//—//—

About half an hour passed before Peter was lifted out of the bath and dried off. He did a little booty wiggle then immediately regretted it when his side screeched in pain.

“That’s karma for trying to be a cheeky boy.” Tony commented, taking Peter gently by the chin and kissing his forehead. Guiding the young man back to the toilet where he helped Peter into a pair of comfy shorts and a very loose sweater. Peter picked up the collar and nuzzled his face into it, enjoying the softness and the warmth. Everything is so soft and warm compared to the concrete box. Whilst Peter was distracted with the soft sweater, Tony picked him up once again and took him back to the hospital bed. He sat beside the bed but still held onto Peter’s hand, peppering soft kisses onto the boy’s hands every now and then.

“How are you feeling Peter?” Strange said as he walked in the door, not even looking up as he navigated the room to get to Peter’s side.

“I’m good. There isn’t much pain as long as I don’t move too much. Other then that I’m really happy.” Peter explained, happily cooing to Tony as the ‘intimidating and scary’ mob boss kissed his fingers.

“You look very pale, you were not this pale last time I saw you. Some time in the sun will benefit you.” Strange advised. Peter glanced down to his hands and realised how pale he was, he was basically milky white all over. He thought he was tanner... Maybe it was just the dirt making him look tanner then he really was.

Soon everyone became distracted as Strange continued to a general check up on Peter’s body, his wound and anything important he should know. Peter decided to tell Tony and the doctors what happened at a later date, he wasn’t ready yet. General chat seemed to fill the room as Strange did his thing, Peter just doing as he said without thought and taking his advice. The poor boy used this empty time to try and think and remember. He felt like he was close to something from before his life disappeared but he couldn’t quite grasp it. The thinking and trying to remember was making him exhausted.

Eventually the calm chatter and the soft circles being drawn on his hands by Tony slowly lulled Peter back into a quiet sleep. Strange had warned everyone that Peter would be napping a lot due to his body healing from such a severe wound.

“Wait... don’t wanna sleep without. Tony.” Peter managed to mumble out as his eyelids drooped. Grasping onto Tony’s hand and trying to tug him closer.

“I’m here, baby, I’m here. I’m going to stay with you. I’m not going anywhere. Just rest, beautiful.” Tony cooed softly as he waved his hand at the group, telling them to leave. He then just slipped into the bed beside Peter, holding him close as the boy let out contempt little hums as the quiet thump of Tony’s heart pulled the boy under into a peaceful sleep.

Tags:

@itfeelssogoodmrstark @starkly @thequeenoffish

[deadenginescribbywibs]

Reunion - Prologue

After the battle there was an impromptu information session held in a damp and chilly bunker half a mile up from the ruined compound. Night was already closing in, as were reporters and the few family and friends tied to the heroes who weren’t present at the battle. May Parker, Happy Hogan, Cassie Lang, Clint Barton's wife and kids. 

“We need to be prepared,” Captain America said, still beaten and bruised but no longer sporting dirt in his teeth, “just in case anything else happens- In case anyone comes from another time.” 

And so the remaining heroes sat in October weather in the concrete room, some falling asleep- from the cold or their injuries, who could say. He talked about what he could. The battle of Wakanda five years prior, chopping off Thanos’ head, Natasha, Tony. When he couldn’t choke back the tears, Sam took over, and when Sam couldn’t continue, it was Rhodey. Towards the end it was Rocket who carried the meeting, and in the back, Peter Parker kept his eyes firmly on the ground. Nearest to the door and too cold from the draft of impending winter wind, he listened to the drone of strained, sometimes tearful voices. When it was over, wrapped in a damp blanket, Peter wondered if this is what it meant to be an Avenger. 

---

Peter always imagined the Avengers having a lot of energy, at least that was his impression from Germany. What he saw now wasn’t a group of unlikely heroes rising to meet challenges head on. They were just ghosts, like him, and he felt he could fade away at any moment. 

His phone rang, probably Ned or May. He had nothing to say, so he didn’t pick up. 

--

The boy sat in the hall all alone. At least it was warm, a far cry better from the two freezing nights sleeping on cots outside the upstate Avengers facility. Peter rolled his shoulders in their joints and stretched his neck. His head was still pounding, the last reminder of the physical toll of Thanos. Even safe inside, Peter’s mind was still on the battlefield, on Titan, and Tony’s face when he started to dust away, the desperate grip trying to keep him alive.

Peter started at the sturdy hand landing on his shoulder. 

“Hey.” Steve Rogers stood at his side, blue eyes fixed on the sign on the far wall. MORGUE. “Thanks.” 

Peter shrugged his shoulders and averted his eyes. “For what?” He croaked.

“For staying with him. Tony never liked to be alone…” Tears stung at Peter’s already red rimmed eyes but he held them in, body tense. After a moment's hesitation Steve sat down in the other dingy little mint green chair and crossed his arms. The silence stretched on until it was comfortable. 

Eventually Peter fell asleep, head resting on Captain America’s shoulder.

--

Steve was just trying to stay awake. 

“What’s up, punk?” Bucky strolled up the hall in his green sweats and grey long sleeve shirt, metal hand tucked into a pocket. 

Steve gestured at the teen asleep on the floor a few feet away. “Babysitting.” 

Bucky’s eyes trailed over the small figure huddled under the wool blanket pressed up against the wall, a hospital gown balled up under his head. “Jesus, we can’t get the kid a bed?”

Steve shook his head. “He wouldn’t leave if he could.” He nodded to the ‘Morgue’ sign. 

“Starks?”

“Sort of.” 

--

By the third day they were able to disperse somewhat. It took time to get communication and transportation back online through SHIELD, and to get the unhoused heroes into some kind of temporary lodging while waiting for spaceships and quinjets to be repaired. A side effect of many of the heroes being stranded on Earth and more specifically in New York, however, was that they ended up at the lakehouse of one recently widowed Pepper Potts. For having just watched her husband die and the near destruction of the universe, she was managing as well as could be expected. 

Peter was sharing a spare room with Thor and Rocket and Peter Quill, and although he hadn’t been alone in a week- or a week and five years, depending how you looked at it, the sounds of breathing in the dark room were a comfort compared to the clinical silence of the medical wing hall. 

At 4:40am his stomach rumbled. Peter groaned. “No.” He turned over under his covers, but the hunger wouldn’t let up. After days without food running on a super metabolism, his will finally broke at 5:13am and Peter slunk out of the bedroom tiptoeing over beings big and small alike. 

The kitchen was dimly lit. Outside, a small lake glimmered under a moon hanging low like ripe fruit, illuminating the trinkets and cups and pictures in the modest but modern kitchen, not the place he pictured Tony retiring into but nice nonetheless. It was homey. 

He didn’t have an appetite per se, or at least the nausea was still battling against his will to eat, but Peter eventually settled on a box of crackers in a cupboard. He plunged a hand into the crinkling plastic liner and stuffed a handful of saltines into his mouth greedily, and suddenly parched, Peter reached for a cup for water. Next to the haphazardly placed drinking glasses were a row of pictures, the first, Howard Stark he recognized from history books, and the next he wasn’t sure, but the last in the line made Peter’s heart skip a beat. Tony and Peter posed for a photo for his Stark Internship, peace signs poised and smiling giddily. He’d thought it was the best day of his life. He must have been standing staring at the picture for a long time, because by the time Peter broke out of his melancholy, the stars had faded out of sight in the early morning sky. 

There was a faint shuffling to his side. Peter turned to see Pepper Potts in her bathrobe, not a trace of makeup on her face, a tissue in her hand. She’d been crying all right. 

“Oh.” She said faintly seeing Peter standing at the counter, the photo lying in front of him. “I didn’t see you Peter. Sorry, I just woke up feeling-’ Pepper gestured at the room in general as if to say ‘I just watched my husband die horrifically and now our retirement home is filled with sad heroes and I don’t know what to do.” But Peter didn’t say anything. He presented her with the box of crackers. “Still not talking much, hey?” She sniffled and ran a hand through Peter’s hair before reaching into the box of crackers. “Me too.”

Pepper bustled around the room preparing coffee. When she placed a mug next to him she noticed the picture and picked it up silently. She traced her fingers over the frame. “You know, he did it for you, Pete. He loved you.” Peter could have sprinted away at lightning speed, a rush of guilt balling up in his chest and stomach telling him to escape, but he forced himself to stand very still. Pepper kissed the top of his head and turned back to her coffee, smiling still. “He can rest now.” 

--

So there was some crying in the shower. One might call it hysterical, but Peter thought he did okay considering. If he’d gotten in before taking off his pyjamas, well. No one was around to see.

--

“Move over.” A voice grumbled over him. Peter was back in bed again that morning of the third day, and judging by the light slanting through the windows, it was probably still early. Thor stood over him looking quite gruff. “I can’t sleep on the floor anymore.” He said it politely enough, so Peter scooted over until he was laying practically at the edge of the double bed. Thor collapsed onto the other side and it hardly took a moment for him to fall fast asleep. 

Not wanting to consider why they had given him the bed in the first place- “He slept on the floor outside the morgue. If Tony could have seen-” Peter rolled over to check his phone. 39 Text Messages, 9 Voicemails. Peter groaned, he scrolled through the latest messages from May. 

May (6:43am)

Call me when you can. 

May (6:48am)

And text me that you’re okay. 

May (6:49am)

I larb you.

The familiar guilt returned and with it, the nausea. Peter thought he might throw up if he had to talk on the phone. He wanted to see May more than anything, more than seeing Tony again, more than eating a hot poptart right out of the toaster, but he couldn’t. It would break her heart, and with the sad eyes he was already getting from the Avengers collectively, Peter couldn’t do that to anyone else. He hastily replied. Larb u 2.

When Thor rolled over a moment later Peter found himself trapped under a huge outstretched arm. Being too tired to lift it- Thor must weigh 800 pounds, it was so heavy- he resigned himself to being crushed. With just bird calls and Thor’s faint snoring and Rocket and Quills quiet breathing to be heard in the room, Peter fell back asleep. 

--

That afternoon the Avengers seemed to be doing better. Rocket banged around in his spaceship now housed in the backyard with Nebula’s help. Quill was checking out Bucky’s motorcycle, though the assassin still seemed very uncomfortable at the lake house in general. Steve Rogers came and went on his bike. Peter thought he was taking comfort in doing damage control, if only to spare Pepper from doing it. She was taking a nap on the couch. 

The house was mostly quiet and so Peter was taking a moment of refuge to sit on the back porch with a cup of tea and his wool blanket. He didn’t know where it had come from, honestly, and it was outright filthy and dingy from getting dragged around the battlefield and the SHIELD compound for days. He was just drifting into space when the screen door swung open and a young brown haired teen stepped out. Peter recognized him as Harley Bennet, though they’d only met a couple times before the Snap and a couple times over video since the battle. 

“Peter.” He said, and Peter stood up shakily in his blanket. Harley extended a hand but then shook himself. “What am I doing-” and he pulled the younger boy in for a hug. When they pulled back Peter gave him a weak smile. “How’s it going here?” 

The young Avenger just shrugged his shoulders. A moment later a bounding blur of dark brown hair and blue pyjamas burst through the door. “Harley!” 

“Morguna! In the flesh!” He called, sweeping her into a spinning hug. “What’s up, lil sis?”

“I’m sad.” She said suddenly pouting. Peter grimaced. To his surprise Harley knelt down by her side. “Me too. But you know what Tony said about being sad?”

“What?” She asked innocently.

“It’s nothing blowing stuff up can’t fix.” He whispered. 

And so that’s how Peter, Morgan and Harley found themselves in the barn that afternoon, a frightening weapon tucked under Harley’s arms. The former two were still in their pyjamas, and all three wore safety goggles although Morgan’s were on askew. Peter reached over to adjust them and gave her a pat on the head, she smiled at him. 

“Nobody tell Pepper about this.” Harley said with wide eyes. 

“Don’t chicken out.” Morgan whined and received a rakish grin in return. 

“I won’t. I’m not. Listen. Tony talked about-” He made a funny gesture, “alien invasions sometimes when I was a kid, and it got me thinking, what would I do if they came? So I made this gun.”

Peter eyed the glowing gun suspiciously. The thought that this was a Very Bad Idea was starting to sprout in his mind. “I mean, it’s a potato gun, okay? It’s not like Tony was going to give me real ammo.”

“Com’n!” Morgan cried, and Harley grinned again. 

“Alright okay.” Harley shouldered the gun over the very poor barricade they made from a tipped over wheelbarrow and a barrel, pointing it at a bale of hay for Gerald’s lunch. “Check it out!” He said, and yanked on a lever which started a worrying, high pitched buzz. It cranked a couple times and sputtered. “Oh, come on.” Harley said, giving it a bat with his palm. Suddenly the gun fired up, and Peter just reached out to grab it just in time to point it at the target when it erupted, launching several potatoes at criminal velocities. “Ah!” They cried. The potatoes hurled through the bales, strands of hay cascaded everywhere, the potatoes made a hulking splutter sound on the other side as they crashed through the wood plank walls, splintered wood shot out the other side and someone cried “Oh my fucking god. Are you serious?!”

It was Rocket. Harley, Peter and Morguna looked at each other, at the erupted hay bale, at the light streaming through the hole in the wall, and at the potato gun. “Oh my god!” Peter whispered loudly. 

“Whoever that was, you are about to be dead.” Rocket said from outside. Peter grabbed the gun, hurled it under the nearest vehicle, grabbed Morgan and Harley and launched all three of them into the hay loft. 

Rockets shadow appeared before he did and he looked menacingly at the overturned wheelbarrow and scattered hay as he came around the corner. “Seriously? Whoever that was, come out now so I can shoot you in the face.” 

Morgan giggled, Harley and Peter covered her mouth, perfectly still in the scratchy hay. “Shh!” There was a strand poking Morgan right in the face, and she wrinkled her nose again as it itched. Nebula came around the corner looking just as unimpressed. She glanced over the scene and then at Rocket. “Children’s games.” She said.

“I got hit in the ass with a fucking potato.” The racoon complained. 

“Get over it.” She said walking away. Rocket glared into the dingh of the room. Morgan’s nose crinkled again and she shivered, and just as Rocket turned away, she let out a sneeze. He pinned the three of them with a look, probably marking a small oddly shaped mound of hay in the loft. The three children stayed very still and quiet for a second. Morgan looked at both Peter and Harley with huge brown orbs. After a moment Rocket rolled his eyes and looked off in the distance, probably at Nebula. “Well I can’t go and shoot Tony Stark’s kids in the face, can I? Where’s Quill?”

As soon as he rounded the corner, Morgan started giggling and squirming to get out of the hay causing it to slide out from under their feet until they all tumbled down onto the ground, Harley and Morgan giggling and tittering the whole time. They looked at Peter and started laughing anew. He looked down, his shirt was full of hay like an overstuffed scarecrow. 

“How far along are you?” Harley snickered. Peter huffed a laugh too. 

--

Tony’s ashes arrived that night. Pepper kept it quiet. She tucked the red silk bag into an old arc reactor Peter had never seen and placed it carefully into her dresser drawer. Peter watched from her bed. It was one of the only quiet spaces in the house around dinner. A bit of sensory overload and fatigue made him silent and sullen that afternoon and as soon as she caught wind she’d corralled Peter into bed with a cup of tea. They kept silent company, and when she was done, she sat in the occasional chair in the corner brushing out her hair while they watched TV. Eventually she started in on her cuticles, then disappeared to retrieve laundry from the dryer. 

“May is coming up for the funeral.” She told Peter handing him a freshly laundered hoodie. He pulled it on, it said MIT. Peter felt like he should tear it off immediately. “She’ll be here in the morning. Your apartment is still occupied,” she frowned, “I think you’ll have to stay a little longer.”

“Thanks.” Was all he said, but he accepted a bundle of socks passed to him.

“Are you sleeping okay? I heard Thor is sharing the bed with you.”

“Yeah.” Peter huffed a little. “It’s not so bad. He’s dead asleep most of the time.”

Pepper smiled knowingly and cocked her brows. “At least it’s not Bruce.”

--

Bruce was still in the hospital and for that Peter was grateful. The sight of Bruce’s burnt arm was enough to send the teen into a panic attack. 

Overall, Peter wasn’t so hard done by. After all, there were heroes strewn literally all over the property. Drax, Mantis and Groot slept in closets and hallways, Carol Danvers and Nebula camped in the backyard. Bucky Barnes and Captain America were at an abandoned motel not far up the road, and Sam and Rhodey took over the dining room at night. Harley slept on the couch, and Morgan in her own room was undisturbed. Rocket slept in a bed of clothes in a dresser drawer in Peter’s room, and Quill slept on a burnt mattress on the floor that had been pulled out of the Milano. Valkyrie had returned temporarily to Asgard with the help of Thor wielding Stormbreaker, but Thor stayed behind for, well… Peter had to imagine it was emotional comfort. He was the only other Avenger as pathetic as Peter, the boy thought, watching the huge hulking form curled up on the couch, cups of yoghurt strewn about the coffee table. Thor had been catapulting between emotions since the battle, but mostly he was just tired. 

“Can I ask you something?” Peter said about an hour after sitting in the otherwise quiet living room. Thor shrugged, now in one of his morose moods. “How old are you?” 

“Fifteen hundred, give or take. The years aren’t as important when you are as old as Asgardians are.” 

Peter sat in thought for a while. The house was starting to show signs of life, laughter could be heard outside and in the halls sometimes, he even thought Pepper sounded alright talking to Happy on the phone that day. “Do you do birthdays?”

Thor shrugged. “Sometimes. Every fifty years or so. We had one at my inauguration, although looking back, maybe it wasn’t the right moment to celebrate, as it set my brother on a path of destruction that eventually led to Thanos killing him.” He supined. His nose was stuffed up. 

“Oh.” The boy sat a moment longer sensing the sadness wash over the man, but even if he wanted to join Thor’s wallowing, Peter was starting to feel the pricklings of relief swell up under the surface tension of his grief. “We should have a birthday. Tonight. To celebrate.”

“...To celebrate?”

“To celebrate.” It didn’t sound all that convincing to Peter either, but anything was better than this. 

--

They had a birthday. It was cramped. Like, really cramped. The seventeen people in the vicinity of the house were stuffed into the little kitchen, Morgan sat on Thor’s lap. The god of thunder was dressed in a little pink frilly apron. Harley was sticking a ridiculous number of sparklers on the cake in the other room with the help of Rocket and Drax. Bucky and Nebula stood stolidly in the back hall, Carol Danvers stood in the back door. Pepper sat next to Thor, and Quill and Mantis were eating icing off of a spoon. Sam stood in a narrow broom cupboard holding his beer to his chest. Steve Rogers stood behind Thor, a beacon of comfort and resolution in the sea of calamity. Groot sat on another stool playing his video game, and Rhodey sat by Peter on the other side, very much on board with a drink in his hand. “This is great.” He said. “Nice one Parker.”

“Thanks.” Peter croaked. He felt more awake than he had in days. Morgan braided Thor’s beard while they waited, and when the cake came out, they sang Happy Birthday haphazardly while Harley carried the cake. The sparklers burst into a ball of flames as soon as the cake was set on the table. Thor scrunched up his face, “Fiend!” and shot the cake with lightning, strawberry icing exploded in every direction. Pepper laughed first, then Rocket and Drax laughed, Mantis and Quill laughed and Harley, Morgan and Thor laughed, and soon everyone was laughing, and Peter was laughing too. 

--

“That was a good call.” Sam said idling up to him that evening. Peter found solace on the back porch. The lake was beautiful to look at in the night. “Morale was running a little low.”

Peter’s mouth quirked up into a smile. “Thor’s morale was low. I dunno about everyone else.”

“Everyone else too. You just get better at hiding it when you get older.” He tucked his chin. “I know we just celebrated his like thousandth birthday-”

“Fifteen hundred and something-” Peter corrected.

“-But Thor’s not that much older than you are. Maybe a bit. He’s younger than Steve.” Sam said definitively. 

“Well everyone’s younger than Steve.” 

“Good point.”

--

This time when Peter went to the snack cupboard in the middle of the night, Nebula and Carol were in the kitchen sitting in relative silence, and Rhodey was reading in the other room.

“Hey.” He waved. Nebula and Carol nodded. 

“Is Thor snoring again? I can go punch him.” Carol joked. Peter smiled bashfully.

“It’s all right. I don’t mind.”

“It’s Quill that’s worse.” Nebula supplied. That was probably the first time she’d ever spoken to him, and he nodded guiltily. 

“He’s been mumbling in his sleep.”

“About what?”

“Kevin Bacon. He, uh…”

“He was in the movie footloose.” Carol said. Nebula rolled her eyes. 

“Of course.” 

“Well, I guess if Peter’s up that means it’s bed time.” Carol stood up groggily. “Nice sitting in silence with you.” She chirped to her companion. Nebula nodded. Carol ruffled his hair on the way out.

What remained of the birthday cake sat on the counter so Peter grabbed a fork and took a huge mound. Nebula was looking past him, and when he turned around to follow her line of sight, he saw the picture again, the one of him and Tony. 

“You were Stark’s ward.” She stated. Peter didn’t immediately reply, eyes shifting sideways out the far window. “He was the first person to ever be kind to me without expecting anything in return.” She caressed the exposed panel of electronics running from her forehead to her crown. “After the battle on Titan he fixed my head using metal from his own armor. And... he taught me how to play paper football.” 

“That’s just how he was.” He mumbled around a mouthful of cake. In the other room, Rhodey was smiling into his book, eavesdropping. He had a new prosthetic exo-support pulled from a backup supply in Tony’s garage. 

Still looking at the photo, she continued. “Thanos was my father, and people will shudder at the memory of him for eternity. But he's not the one people will ask about.” 

Ears hot, Peter swallowed around the lump ever present in his throat, but there were no tears now. If anything, he was relieved. He shoved another forkful of cake into his mouth and stood up, striding away from the table. From the other room Rhodey piped up. “Oh my god. Was that the most words you’ve ever said?” Nebula raised her middle finger. “It gets worse. Who taught you that?” 

She smirked. “You can blame Barton.” Rhodey rolled his eyes. 

“Of course. That guy is a douchebag.” It sounded bad, but Rhodey said it warmly and smiled as he returned to his book. Peter swung back around with the platter of cake and set it down in front of Nebula. 

“You’re pretty cool.” Then he asked hopefully. “Can I fix your headpiece too?”

--

They used Tony’s battle armor, the one he’d been wearing when he died. It was piled up in the garage, or at least what could be salvaged. Burnt, cracked, bent and shredded, the sight of it served a visceral reminder of the battle. Until now, no one dared go near it. 

It took time for Peter to build up the nerve to touch it, and before he could, Nebula pried a piece off the left arm. She might as well have pried his heart from his chest, but Peter quelled his nerve and set to work, pilfering tools from Tony’s lab like Pepper said he could. By the time the other Avengers rolled around, Nebula had a new head plate,  striking gold cut from the last Iron Man ever made. Over the brow it was inscribed, “MK2.”

--

May arrived bright and early that morning and the first thing she did was hug Peter, then pulled back, then hugged him again. “Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my-”

“May. It’s alright. I’m fine, see?” Peter said, holding out his arms. 

May Parker was not one to be fooled, however, and scooped the boy into her arms again. “My baby boy. All grown up and saving the universe.” She swept a tear from her eye and then turned to Pepper, sweeping her up as well. Pepper might have needed it, she sighed deeply. 

“Are you holding up okay?”

“As well as expected.” Pepper sniffled pulling away. “It’ll be nice to have another normal person around the house. There are too many manful tears happening here.” 

May was introduced to Harley and Morgan, then to the rest of the Avengers. The lot of them and others returning from afar were changing into funeral clothes. Soon the funeral would be over, and that would be it. The Avengers would dissemble, and Peter would be on his own. 

--

During the funeral he held back his tears. It was hardly his first time burying a loved one. He stayed quiet and still, and when it was over, he sat on the dock with Morgan while the adults reminisced about Tony, and about Natasha. “I miss daddy.” Came her little voice from his side. 

Peter nodded mutely, swallowing his sadness. The wind over the lake blew their hair back, and Peter rubbed little circles on her back as she sniffled. “Don’t you miss him?” She asked. He nodded again around the lump in his throat. When he couldn’t hold back his tears he wiped his cheeks with the sleeve of his suit. “Your dad was my hero.” Morgan rested her head against him. 

“He was your dad too.” 

He couldn’t respond to that, he didn’t know how to explain the complexities of their brief relationship to his mentor’s actual blood relative, so he just stayed silent. Maybe in a few years, Morgan would understand that she was Tony’s only child, not him. But then Peter thought back to Pepper Potts in the kitchen at 5am making them a pot of coffee in the dark, and Peter wasn’t so sure. 

“He did it for you, Pete. He loved you.” 

--

Shuri took Peter for ice-cream at the diner nearby. They walked in their funeral clothes despite the rain and sleet that started that afternoon, and the ice-cream compounded the cold, but it was fun. “And so I asked them-” She recounted, “why couldn't they unlock my phone. They said it’s company policy. So I took it apart right then and there and manually unbricked it. And guess what?” She laughed, she had ice-cream on her lip and Peter was suddenly struck by how attractive she was.

“What?” He gushed back. 

“They banned me from the store.” 

Peter laughed while she lamented about getting tossed from a Tek-i-Mobile. By the time they arrived back at the house, covered in freezing mud and rosy cheeked from the wind, he was feeling almost normal. 

--

That night- the last they would spend all together, there was a Mario Kart tournament. Even Pepper clad in pin striped pyjamas joined in the cajoling, Morgan sat in her lap. Shuri, Peter and Harley had the obvious edge, but Rocket was a close competitor. Bets went around. Money changed hands. Then Quill and Thor got into an argument and it ended in a milk gauntlet challenge, at which point Pepper banished them from the house and they threw up milk in the backyard. 

“I’m sorry about this.” Peter told Pepper seriously. Somehow, this was his fault. She heaved a little sigh and smiled. 

“Believe me, if you’d spent much time with them before, you’d know to expect this.” She paused for a moment and her nose wrinkled as she smiled, just like Morgan. “Tony would have loved this.” And she snapped a picture on her phone. 

At that moment, Peter knew he would give anything to have Tony back. What he didn't know was that soon, he would.

[hottestswagking]

The As Girls When They Get Their(?) Period (heavily unedited)

For each one only one person's gender is changed. Ex: Girl Sodw, all the gang ate still guys

Darrell Curtis (Dana/Dan/Danny)

• Would have cramps, but at this point knows that she is just gonna have to suck it up

• Cravings are Chicken, Steak, Burgers, basically meat in general

• Boss let's her off easy, well, give her easier jobs because Dana is the only woman at the construction site

• Emotions are kept together, just that she gets mad easier and naps more often

• Kinda pissed that Tampons are expensive compared to what they should be, but just deals with another blow from life

Two-bit Matthews (name is now Kimberly/Kimmy)

• Dramatic as hell, but oh boy once you feel the cramps she dies it makes sense

• The craving are all the spices. Chillie, Tacos, peppers, you name it

• Skips school because she just can't

• Emotions, That's Two's best friend now

• She doesn't really use tampons or pads, she just kinda stuffs toilet paper up there and calls it a day do her mom doesn't have to waste money.

Dallas Winston (Dally/Dal)

• She used to feel the cramps, now they're kinda like a barely noticable stomach ache

• She surprisingly doesn't have any cravings. This baffles the gang. Daniel just helps get the others food

• When Daniel was younger, she would have to miss out on school because they hurt that bad

• Anger. That's all. And sadness.

• Tampons are her go to, she doesn't like how expensive they are though. Sometimes if Daniel gets the bad cramps or doesn't have enough money she'll use pads.

• They're the only ones that got a gender swap. So, Daniel lives with Billy and only once asked him for tampons. Billy just barely missed getting the right ones

Steve Randel (Sage)

• She never had cramps

• Neither did she have Cravings

• So Sage never had to miss out on school

• She has to go get Tampons, the store that she we works let's her have them for free

• BUT OH BOY THE HORMONES

• GET PREPARED TO TASTE THE WRATH OF A WOMAN WHO IS READY TO SPAUGHTER AND THEN EAT YOUR YOUNG AND THEN CRY OVER THE BEETLES FOR OVER AN HOUR RIGHT AFTER

• Sage helps out with the gang

Soda pop Curtis (Soda)

• Soda has like the worst cramps Istg

• Her food cravings are anything sweet or salty

• Soda once had to miss out on school and she was not happy.

• Darry went to go help her out, he was okay because he's had to help their mom a couple times

• Sometimes uses pads, sometimes uses tampons, sometimes does a Two-bit just says "f*** it" and puts toilet paper up there

• Soda is already flirty and dramatic, now imagine that but 14× what add he is normally like

• She one got her period a bit late and for a split second she thought she was pregnant but then thought "Wait, I'm a lesbian." And spent the next 15 minutes laughing at that moment of dumbassery

Johnny Cade (Jennifer/Jenny/Jem)

• Jem has pretty bad cramps, but like she's silent about them yet you know

• Her food cravings are like, fruit and steamed vegetables.

• Will only eat fried chicken and mac&cheese as protien/wheat/dairy sources

• Jem doesn't skip school, she can't afford to because she always has to catch up on something

• Jem uses Pads more than Tampons because they're more comfortable.

• She gets a lot more anxious and sensitive when on her period.

• Crys eaiser and gets 10× more scared of things as well

• The gang lowkey wants to help their pocket of sunshine

Ponyboy Curtis (Pony)

• Pony got her period at 14, so oh boy Darry you better be prepared

• Cramps, bad ones

• She started crying when she first got her period because "DaRrY! ThErE iS bLoOd CoMiNg OuT oF mY pUsSy! AnD iT hUrTs!"

• The food cravings are like, Saltu and bitter things. Like pickles and saltine crackers

• Pony absolutely NEEDS to skip school because OMFG the pain

• Pony used Pads at first but they kept moving so she tried tampons

• Darry was relieved that Soda can get them free

• The hormones are the same

• Pony basically saw blood coming out after she got out of the shower and

• She called for in the same way I mentioned earlier

• Only Steve and Johnny could help, it was Steve