#hes amnesiac now lets leave him alone and let him grow

[scribz-ag24]

Ever since I learned Darkrai caused the planet's paralysis, I couldn't help but feel the future trio should have gotten a shot at him.

[anonymous-dentist]

War is hell, so Bad feels right at home every time he steps onto the battlefield and pulls out his sword and watches the humans run for their tiny little insignificant lives. He isn’t a monster, so he only kills them when he needs to. (Who is he, Foolish?)

Some of the humans have started teaming up. The strong with the strong, the weak huddling with the weak. It’s pointless when they die, because everyone is alone in the End, but it’s the thought that counts.

Bad himself played solo for a long time, but now he’s managed to get himself a human teammate of his own. A… weird little ragamuffin of a teammate.

“Hey, Bad!”

Bad looks up from his soup to see Candy waving some guy’s arm around like it’s his own, a big toothy grin on his muddy little face.

Bad waves back. “C’mere, dinner’s ready!”

Candy grimaces, but he brings himself and his arm over to the fire, and he picks up the bowl of mushroom soup, and he digs in.

Candy is a strange child.

He’s a cannibal, for one, which is apparently rare among humans; when Bad picked him up, Candy had been blacklisted from most of the other teams because he kept eating his teammates. (Which is crazy, because a growing boy needs to eat!) Sometimes Bad will wake up in the middle of the night to someone gnawing on his arm, but that’s fine, whatever flesh he may lose will just grow back. As long as Candy isn’t starving, he’s useful.

And then there’s the whole amnesiac thing. Because, apparently, Candy was dropped into the war from a literal helicopter, and he doesn’t even know his own name, let alone the guys that deposited him. He knows how to kill, though, so he isn’t all that useless.

He’s called Candy because Bad calls him that. He says he doesn’t have a name, but he’s fine with having a nickname for Bad to call out in the heat of battle. He’s named Candy because, well, he likes candy. It’s the one thing he likes to eat besides human flesh, and Bad can’t exactly call a human child “Flesh”. That would be weird.

Candy shivers in the night wind and pulls his flimsy little coat tighter around his shoulders.

With a sigh, Bad pulls his cloak off and drops it on top of Candy’s head; Candy shouts, but he wiggles the cloak down around his shoulders, practically swimming in it.

(Candy is so small, it’s hard to believe he’s fifteen. Between the supposed white helicopter that brought him to war and the amnesia and the burn scars on his temples, Bad has an idea as to what happened, but, honestly, he doesn’t care. Really. Because Candy is going to die any day now, and he’ll be much happier in the afterlife.)

“I’ve been thinking,” says Candy.

Bad gasps dramatically. “Really?”

Candy ignores him: “When I get out of here, I wanna be a detective.”

And isn’t that a thought, escaping the war? Of course, Bad can leave at any time. But the humans like Candy are trapped.

(Occasionally, Bad has thought about leaving and bringing Candy with him to start training as his replacement, but the kid isn’t quite Grim Reaper material beyond being astonishingly good at killing people.)

“What, so you can find your family?” Bad asks.

Candy shakes his head. “I want to find the helicopter. I want to kill them.”

“Oooh, good idea! When you do, send me pictures!”

“Duh,” Candy scoffs. He points his spoon at Bad with a roll of the eyes all the attitude of a human teenager. “But you’re actually coming with me, sooooo….”

Bad raises an eyebrow. “Am I?”

Candy nods. “Yeah! We’re teammates! You have to be there!”

With that fire in his eyes and the blood still crusting his lips and fingers, it’s easy to see why this kid is one of the most feared soldiers out there. It’s why Bad has kept him so long. (He definitely isn’t attached, shhh!)

So Bad nods, playing along. “Sure, sure.”

Because, really, Candy is going to be dead soon. Call it a gut feeling. Nobody Bad has ever gotten along with has survived this long, so the poor kid is going to die in a few days. The war is going to take him like it’s taken so many others, and there’s nothing Bad can do about it.

And, four days later when they get separated in a battle, Bad doesn’t bother looking for him when the bodies are all on the floor. Candy isn’t among them, but he’s probably off dying in a ditch somewhere else.

Bad flicks the blood off his sword and stalks into the night in search of his next victory, not noticing two tear-filled, terrified blue eyes following him until he’s out of sight.

(And eleven years later when Bad sees Cellbit in the ruins of a crashed cargo ship, and when Cellbit notices him and immediately bursts into a huge grin, Bad almost wonders if he’s managed to break the curse after all.)

[daphnefangirling]

Don't You Forget About Me

For Bughead Appreciation Week - Day 5: Missing Moments

Summary: Amnesiac Betty reads her high school journal about her great love with Jughead with whom things ended badly when they were 18. She’s back in Riverdale and has meals delivered daily from Pops by a cute guy named Forsythe. They soon fall in love. Will she get her memories back and realize Juggie from the journals is Forsythe from Pops? What happens when she remembers what drove them apart in the first place? Was the amnesia a blessing in disguise making her forget all her past trauma? Will they make it this time or will history repeat itself?

Teaser under the cut (for the 2 people who said they wanted one: @middleagedresidentofriverdale & @forthehonoroflove)

Feb. 9, 2017 Dear Diary, new year, new me! Ok so the new year started over a month ago, but I decided to start this new diary even before I’d finished the last one so that all the Archie drama would stay in the old diary. This is a brand new start! I’m no longer the pathetic loser hoping to date her dum-dum neighbour! I am Elizabeth Anne Cooper, journalist! That’s right: I officially revived the Blue and Gold at school today! I even managed to rope in Juggie so I wouldn’t be doing it all alone. He and I will solve this mystery of who killed Jason, I just know it!

Betty smiles. She wants to remember this girl that she apparently used to be. The doctor said she should move back home, into a familiar setting that might help jog back her memory. Her mom apparently couldn’t be bothered to move back to Riverdale with her and help with her recovery, but she did give her the keys to the house they used to live in and where Betty spent most of her life before heading out to college. She wonders what kind of relationship she must have had with her mother where she wouldn’t come stay with her now. Yet another mystery to add to the ever-growing pile of what her life used to be before she got amnesia.

She puts down the journal and looks for the others that she would have written prior to this one. Maybe she’ll get a sense of who these people are? Archie, Juggie (that can’t be a real name, right?), Jason and most of all, herself. She doesn’t remember any of it and evidently, the universe doesn’t want her remembering because there are no other journals to be found. Maybe she took them with her and they burned in the fire along with the rest of her stuff and with her memories apparently. But why would she leave only this one behind? Maybe she’ll understand if she reads more diary entries.

But for now, she’s hungry and there’s nothing to eat in the house. She remembers her taxi driver saying something about a diner. She pulls out her phone and types: ‘Riverdale Diner’ Pop's Chock'lit Shoppe is the first result so, after quickly browsing their menu, she calls.

Man’s voice: “Pops Diner, how may I help you?”

“Hi, my name is Betty Cooper and I’ve just moved back into my childhood home at 111, Elm Street. I don’t have any food yet so I’d like to order delivery.”

Man on the phone, hesitantly: “Hum, yeah, sure thing Betty. What did you want?”

She orders the ‘Pops Special’ which she’d found online when looking for the phone number. The man assures her she’ll have her food in 30 minutes so she sits more comfortably on the couch to read a few more journal entries while she waits.

Feb. 24, 2017 Dear Diary, Juggie and I have been working on solving Jason’s murder every day. I really like spending time with him again. We sort of lost touch there for a while, but now it’s like we’ve fallen right back into our old rhythm and familiar habits. We went to Jason’s memorial this afternoon and Jughead looked really cute in his suit. I don’t know why I’m writing about it, it’s really not important… But also, I can’t stop thinking about it. What is wrong with me? Do I have a crush on Jughead? No, it’s gotta be the suit. Yeah, let’s go with that.

*Coming soon-ish to AO3*

[i-never-forgot]

As promised! I didn’t mean to leave you guys hanging!

Okay yeah so in the prologue for my au, I established the basic premise behind Eliana’s guarded heart with letting herself get close to people in general, but pokemon in particular since in the human world they’re a little more vulnerable imo. I’ve been restoring with this idea for a while bc Eve—from my Rescue Team Resort—has been one of my long-standing PMD OCs with an idea for a background and…admittedly not much else.

Eve and Tree are based on the last team I completed BRT with. I’m going to give some context for them since I haven’t really before and bc it’s important for Eve’s background.

Their whole premise was that he’s a shiny and thus was ostracized from his family for being dangerous bc predator/prey mentality; this was based on a comic I saw forever ago of a shiny eevee being abandoned by its mother bc it’s brighter and attracts more attention and that concept broke my heart so I wanted to play with it for rescue team partner since they don’t seem to have any discernible connections/family/background…so what if they really were alone when they found hero? He was old enough to get by on his own but struggled a lot socially both bc he wasn’t really taught plus he has oodles of abandonment issues. He still wears the scarf his mother gave him bc she told him to stay put in the woods one day and that she’d come back for him but…simply never did. It took him nearly passing out from hunger before he finally moved. He still loves a bit in denial about her one day maybe coming back for him but…he tries not to think about it much. He raised himself, wandered, and was inspired by rescue teams. He settled near the town and hadn’t been there long before he found an unconscious Eevee in the woods.

She’s an amnesiac. She doesn’t even remember her name. But he says that’s okay because he doesn’t have one either. They end up naming each other based on their species names.

Eve is brash, loud, and jumps headfirst before looking; she also isn’t the shiniest pearl in the strand (but there are reasons for that). Tree is anxious, soft-spoken, and timid. They balance each other out well. Eve becomes extremely protective over him, though, since she doesn’t like that he gets walked all over by others. He’s a natural doormat and never protests even the worst of treatment, but Eve is Not Having That Shit. She fusses and kicks dirt and causes a ruckus until the issue is resolved (much to Tree’s mortification; the first couple of times she did this he had to leave because of his nerves, but he noticed that the townspeople/teams started treating him a lot better afterwards). This endears her to him, and he becomes loyal enough that he never once strays from her side. They stay in the house together. She helps him to be braver little by little, and he teaches her how to be patient and considerate of others.

The true testament to their relationship is her choosing to evolve into a Vaporeon. He’s deathly afraid of fire and fire types (obviously) and even though it makes her vulnerable and susceptible to him, she wants to be able to protect him as much as possible. She puts herself in a lot of unwarranted danger for his sake, but he reins her in with gentle pleas to be careful or else he’ll worry after a while.

They’re not the “main” team of the “game” per se; that’s Ty and Chika. But they do join their team post-game sometime when they’re all “grown up” and get pretty close. (This is mostly bc I couldn’t decide which team I liked better to be “canon”, so I simply merged them into one.)

Now I’m sure you’re wondering “how does this connect at all to Eliana, Fisara.” Just wait.

The partner that Eliana lost…was Eve.

Eliana had an Eevee growing up, until she lost her in an accident in her late teens (pretty sure I decided it would be a vehicular accident to account for Eve’s at times addled mind). This grief of feeling like she failed to protect her resulted in her never having another Pokemon partner again and also distancing herself from people for the most part. Her friends from college are the only ones she has.

Eve was sent to the PMD world, though, upon Eliana's love for her and her fervent wish that she find somewhere better (also...could be predetermined by the powers that be to a certain extent). It is a certain amount of irony that Eliana ends up turned into an Eevee herself once she's transformed, but it's somewhat of a result of her deep bond with her original partner that translates into her new body.

Anyway. Yeah. Idk how/when/if they'll be reunited bc I'm tossing ideas around in my head (or if they'll even realize it if they are introduced), but just have this. For Angst purposes.

Just came up with a diabolically sad idea to connect my rescue team and exploration team(s) but I have no idea how to execute it. I should be sleeping.

[blankerthought]

ghost story

[heard some lyrics, got inspired, wrote something, enjoy.]

Outside of the cabin, decorated in freely-growing vines and mushrooms, the thunder was so loud that conversation was rendered a fruitless effort. The rain was mixed in with a small amount of hail, not especially threatening on its own, but mixed with the strong winds they proved to be a threat to anyone in lack of enough sanity to leave the house in those conditions.

 It was an awful day, and George was happy. There were still chances people would visit, he knew, but nowadays, everyone seemed to have somewhat given up on consoling him on his grief. There were only a few stragglers left- friends he hadn’t had the heart to cut away- people like Sapnap.

Originally, it felt like half the SMP was coming to his cabin to talk to him. He didn’t turn them away the first time, and then the second, and then he just hoped they’d stop on their own. (Sometimes George wondered if they’d ever understood that it was apathy, not him caring, that made him open his door for them. He looked at Tommy, at Eret, and all he could feel was a void. A whisper of a voice, saying I don’t care. He wondered if he’d react if they stopped coming. He didn’t know how to feel at the reality of it being he didn’t.)

A shift on his bedsheets brought him out of his thoughts. He didn’t turn around- it was useless; there was nothing there to see. But he felt a small, secret smile grow on his face. Nobody could say he was a bad actor.

 George knew the others talked about him. All alone, in such a far-off place, nobody to keep him company, especially after everything. They’d certainly commented on his new wardrobe- dark, long clothes, even a veil sometimes. Those times, he wouldn’t remove it for anyone, not even Sapnap. The rest of the time, he kept his goggles on, not letting anyone see his face fully. 

 He walked out of his room, ignoring the slight tug on his hair, looking at the kitchen where the cookbook was already out, a recipe ready to make later. 

 A hand on his arm was made harder to ignore, especially when it went ahead and wrapped around his chest, holding him close. The feeling of phantom warmth was odd- nothing like Ghostbur, the few times he’d ever touched him. The amnesiac ghost was cold as ice, damp and clammy like a corpse. This was the feeling of body heat, of pressure, but the knowledge that there was no body there.

 Dream leaned into him, chin on the top of his messy hair, and pressed a kiss onto it. George couldn’t see his reflection where he was, but he knew his smile had softened, brightened. He’d seen it enough over the last months. 

 When the news of Dream’s death came to him, George hadn’t been surprised. Many things could have tipped him off- the increase of movement in the main SMP, the strange looks he’d been getting, XD’s mysterious disappearance- the fact that he was awake at all. 

The real tip-off had been a whisper in his ear, a laugh he’d dearly missed from the space he could see just out of the corner of his eye, a constant soft warmth of contact he hadn’t gotten in far too long. The real tip off had been waking up in the morning, arms around him, holding him close; nights spent together, as if they had to fill each other's every moment, not let a second be lost for more sleep they both found they didn’t need. Wearing long sleeves and turtlenecks and more to cover up the marks Dream’d left, proof he was there, that he wasn’t just an empty memory brought to ‘life’ to take the place of what he’d ‘lost’.

 No, George hadn’t lost anything. He’d gained back everything he’d never dared to hope instead. Before, he’d worn his goggles to hide constant dark circles, despite his long periods of sleep; to hide bloodshot eyes, the weight of a life that wore at him, the fear and apathy that worsened each other by turns. 

Now, he wore them because he couldn’t let the rest of them see the hope in them. There was happiness, and laughter, and a return of life he’d thought forever lost.

[honestlyfrance]

SAMBUCKY BOOKMARKS

it’s fic yeah friday over at @fuckyeahsambucky​​​ so i wanna do a lil something something for the fandom :) check out my #fic rec tag for more! 

enjoy the more than 50 fics listed here :) be careful of the tags!

I Am Trying to Break Your Heart by Lunar_Pull

Today is the day that Steve received an invitation to the love of his life’s wedding.

Philopatry by Areiton

"I want to be safe," he says. "But I'm not." "Then why come here? Why put me at risk?" Something flickers in his eyes, little boy lost and utterly cold, and it makes Sam want to give the dude a hug and also pull his sidearm. "I have no reason to hurt you," Winter says. "I don't want to hurt you," Bucky adds, earnestly.

farmhouse by Tazmaster

"You know, I think I'd want a farmhouse."

"A what?" Sam turns to look at him, slightly annoyed. This was the first thing Bucky has said in the past hour and a half they've been cramped in this god forsaken car. He had a knack for impulsively voicing his dumb thoughts at the worst times, but whenever you wanted to know what was actually going on in that head of his, he'd never say.

They were staking out the front gate of a large mansion, very much not a farmhouse. It was mind numbingly boring, being stuck in a beetle with absolutely nothing else to do than stare at the gaudy gates of some rich asshole.

"A farmhouse," Bucky repeats nonchalantly, "If we ever get out of this business, or you know, live long enough to retire maybe--- I want a farmhouse. With a lot of animals."

---

Bucky keeps talking about a farmhouse and it drives Sam crazy, that is until he finally asks why.

Employee Discount by bopeep for queenmab_scherzo

Sam Wilson doesn't love working in a store that makes him wear vanity-sized polos and breathe in clouds of men's cologne like the worst kind of GQ aromatherapy, but the view from his cash register across the mall to the Hot Topic and the sullen Dark Prince of Wallet Chains he loves to hate may just beat the minimum wage blues.

In warm water, swimming down by targaryen_melodrama

“Why are you hiding?””Tired.”Bucky raises an eyebrow. “So you decided to swim.”“So I decided to be alone.”Bucky’s quiet for a moment. “I can go, if you want.”It’s the last thing Sam wants.

I figured out what the slashes mean by Teaismycoffee

Sam, Steve and Bucky are all living together in a safe house. Bucky and Sam discover fan fiction written about them. Steve doesn't approve. Sam and Bucky are really into secretly reading fan fiction together, or maybe it isn't the fan fiction part they are really into.

Chicken Soup for the Soul by bioloyg

“S’not my bed time,” Sam says as he buries his face in Bucky’s upper arm. Bucky laughs. “Tough. You’re sick.” Sam lets out a loan groan and says, “But my bed is cold. I was so warm, why’d you move me?” “Because your neck would’ve hated you if I didn’t.” He tries not to be so amused by how fussy Sam is when he’s both sick and half-asleep. It’s cute. ~ A fic wherein Bucky takes care of a sick Sam.

two nights in L.A. by CapnWinghead

Bucky kindly volunteered Sam to be a groomsman for Scott’s upcoming wedding. Of course, that meant Sam and Bucky had to go to the bachelor party.

at the end of the war (what's mine is yours) by notcaycepollard

They don't talk about it: that's how it works.

I'd Like That by honestlydarkprincess

Sam has been up for over 24 hours and has been dreaming about his Coffee Caramel Fudge non-dairy ice cream since about the 18-hour mark. When he gets to the store, there's only one carton of it left and, unfortunately for the guy innocently holding said carton, Sam's not leaving without it.

Or, the one where Sam is sleep deprived, yells at a cute guy, and gets both ice cream and a phone number out of it.

Ready, Set, Date! by bioloyg

Bucky wants to sleep, Natasha wants to find him a date for Steve's wedding (so he'll leave her alone), and Sam is the best thing about this whole speed dating disaster. But, Sam's not in the speed date rotations - he's at a different table weathering through dates just like Bucky is. ~ "Three dates in, Bucky decides he has made one of the worst decisions in all of his life by coming here. His first date had been an attractive enough man by the name of Greg. He introduces himself as “The Big G,” to which Sam laughs at in the middle of introducing himself to his own date. Greg likes to talk about cars a lot, which is fine. Bucky also likes cars. The only problem is that Greg’s love for cars borders on… erotic."

We'll rise up free and easy by Sarsaparilla, woofgender

Steve and Natasha are away on a mission when Sam receives intel about the Winter Soldier’s location. When he follows the lead, Sam finds something unexpected—but despite his initial impression, it’s certainly not all bad. (Post-CATWS, not AOU- or CACW-compliant.)

__________ "'Jesus Christ,' Sam said, 'Are you planning on fighting an entire army?'

Barnes looked up from examining the sights of a sniper rifle. '...no,' he said, a little guiltily, and adjusted one of the--five? Six? guns he’d already strapped to himself."

love is in the air (i smell coffee) by Flora_K, hermionesmydawg

Sam Wilson - graduate student, part-time barista, part-time salesman, and full-time father - doesn't have time to sleep, much less date. At least, that's what he tells himself.

Up at Night by bioloyg for lunaaltare

With Halloween nearing, Sam is feeling more in the mood for a scary movie than usual. He'd never watch one on his own though, so he invites his roommate to pick one out and join in on movie night. or Prompt fill for Samtember ~ "It’s quiet for a while after that. Like always, the two of them start on opposite sides of the queen sized bed with at least a foot of space between them. And, like always, they drift closer to one another as time passes, though whether it’s habitual or instinctual Sam would never dare delve into."

flowers in darkness, the moon above the sea by 27dis

Sam enjoyed his job, really.

But, not when a certain person came in.

A quick detour and a sudden arrival by iwillnotbecaged for heuradys

He found Wilson shivering in the snow, left for dead. Sloppy.

You couldn’t trust the elements to do your job for you. They were rarely so obliging.

A mission gone awry, unexpected help, and close quarters makes for an interesting couple of days.

Don't lock the door on me by TuskFM

Sam’s desperately trying to sleep when he gets a visit from the Winter Soldier at three a.m., bleeding and asking for help. Sam’s not the kind of guy who let someone bleed out on his front door, even if the said someone threw him off an helicarrier and stole his wheel.

and i run, further than before by hermionesmydawg

"What do they call you?" Bucky carefully pulls out an equal amount of caramel and cheese kernels of popcorn and pops them into his mouth. "Birdman?"

"No."

"Captain Canary?"

"Hell no."

"The Winged Avenger?"

"Falcon, dammit, and I am not an Avenger," Sam snaps, and now he's kinda pissed because yes, it's a bird name. He didn't sign up for this kind of ridicule from an amnesiac assassin.

***

Basically, the 5 times Sam actually found Bucky and the 1 time he tried to hide from him. Don't tell Steve.

Exquisite Flavor by enchantedlightningwrites for honestlyfrance

W&M's Grand Corner's growing to be one of the popular restaurants in New York, where Sam Wilson works as a chef for his sister. A wedding's in a few weeks and he has no idea on what to do about it. Notorious for his picky taste and blunt reviews, Bucky 'Winter Wolf' Barnes pays a visit. Little did he know, food could really win one's heart and lands on his stomach.

He's a Beta, You Hear That? by 27dis

Reasons why Sam didn’t realize Bucky was courting him this entire time: 1. He is a beta 2. He is oblivious 3. He thought Bucky is way out of his league 4. He is a beta for fuck’s sake

See? It’s hardly his fault for not noticing it. Why was Bucky flirting with him anyw—

Oh. Oh.

Or; Bucky swore flirting with someone was never this hard before.

stay where we belong by glittercake

He doesn't know what the hell he's doing when he turns around and shouts, "Yo! You know what—" and Barnes turns on his heel in a flash, "It's getting late, man. Looks like rain."

Sam motions to the grey sky above, and Barnes follows his eyes beyond the hanging Willow branches. "Yeah? What are you saying?"

He's got that terribly smug look on his face, the one Sam can't stand but kind of misses when it's not irritating him. But mostly, he can't stand it, "Nothing! Forget about it!"

Arms Spread Out Wide, Turn Falling Into Flight by irisesandlilies

It was easy, nothing has ever been easy for Bucky. Except this, and that terrifies him.

Years in the making by glittercake

Bucky and Sam meet as two young soldiers, but the time is never quite right to make it anything more. Until it eventually is.

or

Sam refuses to let himself fall in love while he's deployed. Bucky pines endlessly for years about the prettiest bird he’s ever seen. Sam’s no better.

If At First You Don't Succeed by SonnyD

Bucky finally gains the courage to tell Sam about his feelings. He comes up with a list of methods to woo him that were bound to succeed. He didn't account for each and every one of them failing in unexpected ways. The five times that Bucky attempts to woo Sam and the one time that Sam returns the favour.

if i could take us back, if i could just do that... by safelikespringtime

Bucky laughed, cheeks flushing red, “I’m glad you didn't. Don't know what I’d do without my wingman.” Sam groaned, poking Bucky’s side, “That was awful.” Bucky laughed. “You couldn’t survive without me. We both know it.”

How right he was.

***

Sam dies. Bucky mourns.

Strawberries and Cigarettes always taste like you by winterscaptsam

There’s a sweet agonizing simplicity in leaving behind your safe haven, like the thrill of adrenaline, reaching the top of Everest, allowed to admire its beautiful icy view but with the everlasting fear of not making it back down. Maybe that's why it was a natural instinct for Bucky to reach out for the closest thing that felt like home, slowly then all at once falling for the sweet warmth of mahogany eyes, what soon became his safe haven.

Baked With Love by Siancore

Bucky Barnes’ family owns a bakery in a small town. High school has long been over, and Bucky is dying to move to the city to pursue a musical career with his band. And his future looks promising, if he can just persuade his father to let him leave his job behind at their struggling family bakery.

It is no secret that Bucky used to love baking with his father, but things change. He just can’t fathom wasting his life away watching rising dough and hot ovens. With his mind made up to leave, Bucky convinces his father to advertise for a replacement. While interviewing candidates to fill the position he has vacated, Bucky meets Sam Wilson: An easy-going guy who is as eager about baking as Bucky is about leaving. They bond over baking and become close. Love looks like it is ready to bloom between them if Bucky, in his haste to escape, does not ruin it.

Beneath this Crown by winterscaptsam

Sam traces his fingers from James’ hairline, down to his jaw, resting the pad of his thumb on James lips. He will let himself relish in this feeling. Not even the sculptors, painters or poets could carve their words and materials to accurately describe this.

“Do you think the history books will remember us?” Sam had once asked. And James’ words were made of the purest of golds, “my love, we will be legends for the children yet to come.”

Or

Sam Wilson and Bucky Barnes' love story, one a prince and the other a knight.

make my body come alive (i've got a right to hurt inside) by notcaycepollard

The body is weak. The body is hungry and soft and human. He looks at himself in the mirror, the bones of his shoulders, his cheeks hollowed out from hunger, and he thinks, gentle, you didn’t deserve this.

safe like spring time by quidhitch

“I already told you it looks good. What more is there?”

“I don’t know, man, you’re gonna live here. I just wish I knew a little bit more about how that’s sitting with you.”

Sam knows Bucky feels fine. What Sam’s probably actually after is how he feels about the fact neither of them have anywhere else to go, not with Natasha dead and Steve wrinkly. Therapists. Even the good ones, always so circular.

“I like the terrace,” Bucky offers, mostly to appease him.

Airy Laundry by AmarieMelody

Sam watches what happens when Bucky buys a clothesline.

lucky by CapnWinghead

In retrospect, it took Bucky an embarrassingly long time to realize that everyone and Scott's mom thought he and Sam were dating.

not an end, but (the start of all things) by notcaycepollard

They keep driving, for lack of anything better to do. A mission, Sam had said, and maybe that's true; maybe wherever they're headed is the way out, the way up.

So You Run On Gasoline by 343EnderSpark, ABitNotGoodieBag, OriginalCeenote

Bucky may have bitten off more than he could chew with this job, he thinks, as he ambles along the sidewalk to the cafe after leaving campus. He is running off the fumes of exhaustion and hasn’t had more than 3 hours of uninterrupted sleep in the past week. Between his students and his thesis, he knows that it’s foolish to try so hard to hang on to his barista gig, but DC isn’t a cheap place to live and Bucky can’t live with other people.

Bucky is just trying his best, despite being a human disaster.

we could jump the state lines (we only get the one life) by notcaycepollard

It starts in Paris.

“You can’t steal things just because you like them,” Sam tells Bucky, feeling innately that this is a losing battle, and Bucky cocks his head to the side, considers Sam very thoughtfully.

“Really,” he says. “I’m stealing you, aren’t I?”

we were a fire with no smoke by notcaycepollard

Sam can’t help but roll his eyes. Take the boys out of New York but they’re still Brooklyn Catholics, that’s clear enough. Bucky catches the gesture, smirks hard enough Sam can see his eye teeth. It should be dangerous but he’s beautiful, pale and charming and recklessly easy.

“You wanna come in?” Sam asks, ignoring the noise Steve makes, and Bucky’s smile gets wider.

“Yeah,” he says. Steps up close to Sam. “I do.”

Peace Begins with a Smile by Siancore

Bucky just likes the way Sam smiles.

They're Good Drones, Brent by chase_acow

When Redwing becomes infected with an alien A.I., Sam has to balance the needs of the team with his own curiosity about his new partner. Redwing isn’t the only one acting strange, he also needs to get to the bottom of Bucky’s weirdness. It takes a training exercise gone wrong that Redwing and Sam might not survive for their secrets to be exposed.

Wet Asphalt (This Is What Love Is) by ObviouslyOtter

Soft words in the dark tell us all we need to know about love. Better when they come from the person you need to hear it from most. It's crueler when you don't realize it till afterward.

Or

Sam and Bucky go out shopping for candles.

i'm gone by bi_marvel

After infiltrating a Hydra base, Sam and Bucky are sent to a safe house, and there's only one bed. Oh, golly, I wonder what will happen!

Covert Coffee & Flirtation Special by glittercake

The reporter says "—for Captain America to—"

And Bucky rolls his eyes. "Oh, here we go."

Sam looks at him then tips his head sideways, got a weird grin on his face. "Not a fan?"

"Not that. Just… the guy seems too good to be true, right? Wings and a shield? Come on."

"Uh, is that why your eyes are like glued to the screen whenever he's on?" Kate says. "Is that why you call him Captain Tight Ass?"

"He's a goddamn show-off, and you know it. Tight ass or not."

Just then Sam snorts, real loud, grabs his coffee and suffers a horribly controlled laugh on his way out the door.

The Starting Line by birdlight

A Series

Lone and Level Sands by quantum_consciousness

The almost-smile disappears off Sam’s face and he takes a step deeper into the water, and he starts unbuttoning his shirt as he wades further. One look over his shoulder and he chucks the shirt to shore, and Sam dives into the water. The ache in Bucky’s chest deepens as Sam swims. He supposes, Sam has lost a lot more, he supposes, sometimes Sam feels as lonely as he used to.

in which love doesn’t ruin us by joesnick

“Idiot,” Bucky said, so natural and deliberate that she couldn’t hear well but it was there. Relief and happiness under a small light. “Don’t do that to me again.”

“Hey, I’m here,” Sam said, before getting closer and pressing his forehead against Bucky’s. “I’m here.” They ran out of words. They didn’t need them, not at that moment. Their steadying breaths and their tenderness, saved only for each other and fed by each other, was all they needed.

Ride of Shared Melodies by enchantedlightningwrites for honestlyfrance

Two strangers, Bucky Barnes and Sam Wilson meet in an unexpected encounter in the airplane. Over the course of the ride, they discover their mutual love for music and connect.

Let's Fly Away by Unclesteeb

"If I could fly, I could go anywhere. I could do anything.”

Sam’s mom gives his shoulder a gentle pat. “You can in your own way.”

“How?”

“Sammy, all you have to do to be as free as a bird is to just do the right thing.”

Sam furrows his brow. “What does that mean?”

“Well,” Sam's mom starts. “The right thing is doing nice things for people. It's treating everyone how you would want to be treated. It's going out of your way to help people and love them, even if they're not nice to you at first or at all. People deserve love, and I know you have plenty to give.” She leans down to give his cheek a kiss. “All you have to do to find your wings and fly free is to just do what you feel is right. You have a beautiful heart, Sam. I know you'll use it the right way. Then you'll fly.”

Been one of those days (can I lean on you?) by hazel_eyed_bi

Sam and Bucky wrap up an exhausting, weeks-long mission, only to go back to their mutual pining while forced to share a bed at a crappy motel. Also, Nat knows what's up.

Find your love and fight for it by winterscaptsam

Sam learns to love again, quiet and composed. Love letters stay in between walls and stolen kisses don’t leave his apartment. It's not that it's a secret, loving Bucky the way he does, lord knows he’d scream it from the rooftops, travel all the way to space to let any living life form know it as well. But that’s the problem, he just doesn’t know how and it aches him to his core to keep Bucky like a secret, like this love is something to be ashamed of.

Or

Sam decides it's about time to come out.

Kings of Everything by glittercake

Twenty-five years after the events at a popular New York Bistro, Timothy DumDum Dugan tells the true story of infamous mobster Jimmy Buchanan and the man he gave it all up for.

arson we commit by winterscaptsam

Bucky seeks adventure, reaches out for an adrenaline rush whenever he can get it and he reckons this fellow will be the one to give it to him. All sweet smiled and dolled up figure showing off his attributes. Like he’s daring anyone to take the rush.

So, Bucky goes and gets what he wants.

“What’s your damage, doll?”

Or

Bucky is the hitman and Sam is the target.

The Boys of Summer by Siancore for avintagekiss24

Sam Wilson returns home to the small town he grew up in to complete his med school residency. He hasn’t been back for an extended amount of time since he left for college. While he only consistently kept in touch with childhood friend, Steve Rogers, he was keen to see the people he had grown up with. With the exception of Bucky Barnes. They had a falling out the summer before Sam left for college. What happened between them? Can they move past it now that they’re adults?

Sam's Plan by OhHelloFandoms123

“I have a plan,” Sam said smugly, hands on his hips. “I have a three-step plan for you to marry me.” At first, he thought he was joking. Then, he saw Sam’s genuine smile.

Bucky groaned, “there is no way in HELL that I’m marrying YOU, Wilson.”

Wreck In the West by OhHelloFandoms123 for honestlyfrance

There’s just something about leaning on his chest as the sun goes down and the smell of tea whilst into the air feels so amazing. And he was a wreck because of it, it tore him apart and put himself back together because it was so blissful, he almost couldn’t breathe at first.

OR

Gay cowboy proposal.

Belonging Season by OhHelloFandoms123

Sam Wilson and Bucky Barnes have lived their most happy, married life for 70 years. Death won’t stop them today for living an eternity.

neverending; by glittercake

Sam passes away after a long and happy life with Bucky, but Bucky never ages and life keeps introducing him to Sam's reincarnates for the next 156 years.

Lighthouse by glittercake

This guy’s trouble. Bucky knows that in his bones. It’s not bad trouble, is the problem, it’s good. Sam is so goddamn inherently good and if Bucky even touches that with a ten foot pole—fuck if he even looks at it—it’ll turn to shit.

He can’t afford another move to yet another city because his colleagues started recognizing Brock’s fist prints on his face.

But Sam is a ridiculously bright glowing light, a beacon, and Bucky goes toward it like that idiotic moth to the flame.

masterlist | ko-fi | patreon

[spaghettidrawing]

Alright, I finally took the time to introduce you to my MC named Ania. I would like to tell you few things about her since I am still going to work on her full design and even more on her backstory. Also, this is my first time writing something like this so there is big possibility there are some mistakes and there might be some changes in the future but who knows. Please don’t hate me.

Ania (before and during the Red plague) Before the story took turns in Vesuvia, Ania in her early years spend her life in the hometown with her mother Jane Reityr. Already as a kid she was showing a lot of interest in magic books, wizard stories and cats.

While growing up she would visit her aunt in Vesuvia very often who owned a magic shop. Learning different kind of spells and how to make potions, never learnt how to fly the broom though. After few years she became the owner of the shop instead and moved to Vesuvia, where she met Asra and became friends and roommates with him.

Unluckily when the Red plague started to be a big threat, they ended up in an argument about leaving the Vesuvia. Ania tried to explain they should not leave, because they are magicians, and they could help or at least try to help the people who were suffering. While Asra being determined that it is too dangerous and practically a suicide. This argument ended up with Asra leaving Vesuvia and Ania trying to find a way to deal with the plague.

In this part of timeline Ania was cheery and confident girl. At the same time she was a bit shy and not sure how to talk to people but after spending some time with them she would try to make everyone laugh with silly jokes or random stories which happened in her hometown. 

She would still prefer just to stay friends with everyone. She didn’t want to let anyone closer because she was afraid of the pain her mother had to go through when she lost her husband. But well, that changed when she met someone special during the plague.

Ania (Amnesiac) When Ania was resurrected all she was, all she knew was gone. Everything was unknown for her, making her scared literally of everything. She would always just hide herself in the blankets or different kind of clothes all the time. Most of her first days or maybe weeks, were just her hiding behind or under the bed. Not wanting to eat or drink. It was like she felt not welcomed? Asra would try to bring her anything to make her feel more comfortable. One time he also brought some papers and pencils. To find out few hours later that Ania draw few scribbles of creepy pictures which looked like suffering souls or ghosts, while whispering weakly: „Home“.

After few months Asra was able to get Ania to move around the town, which never ended up well. Ania would constantly hear people whispering about her. „Wait, I thought she ****?” „Me as well, how is she *****? Didn’t she **** of the plague?” Sometimes while listening to whispers some unknown voice inside her would just scream in unknown language. „* ** *** ****!” Ania would just ran off to some empty streets or just anywhere to escape everything. 

One day she ran to a cloth market by mistake, or maybe to hide herself under sheets again. But in the shop, she started to admire one piece of cloth, the cloaks. The perfect piece of cloth to be able to make her hide from everything all the time. When Asra caught up to her and noticed her admiring he would offer her to buy some for her. But instead Ania would point at the textiles trying to say she would prefer to make her own. After that Asra would try to teach Ania how to sew. First of the cloaks looked terrible of course, but after some tries and practicing, she eventually made her own cloak.

Ania (the main story) When Ania was able to speak properly and take care of herself, Asra would often leave her alone in the shop on her own for his reasons. This would make her character just more closed and not wanting to know anyone much. Still, she had to be somehow friendly for the shop and for the customers so they would be happy to come back. She learned the fake smile technique.

Then one day she met someone who would change everything for her, even though it was in inappropriate way. The time when the fugitive doctor, also known as Julian Devorak broke into her shop, was an important moment. Not just shocking and confusing but also kind of… irritating, and for some reason irritation seemed familiar. This dramatic man who jumps to conclusions and doesn’t even let her finish talking. 

This was the first time something felt familiar to her. Something familiar in a person, something that she might know or understand on her own. True, she was able to understand her magic, but there was still something unknown about it, and this person… 

That was one of the reasons why she wanted to know more about Dr. Devorak. During Julian story Ania would slowly find pieces of her old self and build up her encouragement. Since the care for Julian was more important to her then her insecurity. Plus, that man would constantly get himself in trouble (what a silly).

Alright, I wanna leave it at this. At least for now. How I said I want to work on this more. Plus I wanna put the story into comics sooo… Truth is comics are complicated and takes time so who knows how long that is gonna take… BUT I WONT GIVE UP! Anyway I hope you guys enjoy this, I know its not the best written thing you read. I am sorry for my English and… yeeea. If you have some tips please let me know. Thanks!

[fanmoose12]

at the coastline of memories

For the longest time, Hange had been lost. 

(or a fic about amnesiac!hange, based on that one ask i’ve received ages ago)

Hange wakes up, and the world is still dark. She blindly reaches to the bedside table, lights up the gas lamp on, grabs her glasses and puts them on. The world comes into focus and Hange glances at the opposite wall, checking the time. 

4:32

She curls her lips in a slight smile. She woke up just in time. 

She swings her legs of the bed and yawns, stretching her limbs. She gets up and heads to the kitchen, putting a kettle on a stove and firing it up.

While the kettle heats up, she moves to the bathroom, grabbing a soothing balm on her way. 

Once there, Hange takes off her glasses and starts applying the balm, carefully smearing it all over her face. 

The burns don't hurt anymore, at least not as much as they did in the beginning. Hange learned how to live with it just as she learned how to live with not knowing how she had received these burns or how she got there - to the middle of nowhere, on a coastline next to a ruined structure that she could only guess was once a port. 

Finished with her face, Hange moves to her hands, applying the balm to the inside of her fingers and the backside of her palm. The balm cools her still tender wounds and Hange softly signs, relishing in the pleasant feeling. 

The whistle of a kettle shakes her up and Hange whirls around, hurrying to turn it off. She gives another look at the clock, worrying her lip between teeth as she sees that it's past quarter to five. It's only the beginning of spring and the sun doesn't raise up that early at this time of year, but Hange feels a pressing need to hurry. She can't be late, not today, not after she spent weeks, chasing the mysterious man.

The man that had been visiting Hange's cabin for as long as she was living there. He brings her food, medicine, clothes and other supplies. Sometimes he even goes as far as to bring her little gifts - books, flowers and sweets. 

He never shows his face, though. He never approaches Hange, never talks with her. Whenever she attempts to catch him, he disappears without a trace. She has only ever seen him from far, in the rare moments when she was lucky enough to catch him leaving her cabin. Frustratingly so, he does his best to remain hidden. 

Hange doesn't understand it. The man - for whatever reason - obviously cares about her. Then why is he so dead set on staying away? Why doesn't he let her express her gratitude at least?

She thinks every night about it. She curses her mind for forgetting. 

Her previous life exists only in the flashes of sound and images. They're bright, loud, blurry and swift. Hange can't make sense of them no matter how hard she tries. It frustrates her to no end, makes her want to tear out what little hair is left out on her scalp, but nothing comes back to her. 

She's sure that the man is important, she's almost sure that he was a part of her old life. What reason does he have to help her now after all?

But the man doesn't want to see her, and Hange needs to see him, so she resorts to different methods. He won't be running away from her anymore, she is going to make sure of that. 

With that in mind, Hange pours hot water in two cups, adding tea leaves to it. She throws some sugar in her cup, but hesitates to do the same with the cup she's preparing for that man. She doesn't know why, but it feels wrong.

Your sugary shit destroys the true essence of tea, she suddenly remembers. For the life of her, she can't recall who has said that to her. Or when. Or why.

Deciding to tackle this issue some other time, Hange goes back into the room, wraps a blanket around her shoulders and then takes the cups with steaming tea.

Pushing the front door open with her leg, she comes out on a porch and breathes in deeply, savoring the fresh, crisp air. She puts the cups down on a small table and settles down in a rocking chair, pulling the blanket tighter around herself. Hange shivers slightly, the morning chill freezing her fingers and toes.

She hides them inside the warm cocoon of a thick fabric and turns her eyes to the horizon. The stars slowly disappear, showing a narrow strip of golden light. It paints the sea below it in a gentle purple color. 

A smile pulls on her lips as she continues to watch the sunrise. Hange sits back in a chair, rocking slightly. She glances to one side, then to another. Confirming that the coast is clear, she allows herself to close her eyes for just a second.

Just a second, and the world around her is dark again.

***

Hange groans, shielding her eyes from a light shining right at her. She looks up and nearly jumps. The sun is high in the sky. She was going to rest just for a bit. For how long that bit had lasted?

She swirls her head from side to side. The coastline is clear. Already clear. There is no one there, and she is alone. 

She looks down then and sees a small package by the door. She glances at the table with teacups on it. One of them is empty.

Despite her failed attempt at catching the mysterious and annoying, but extremely nice man, Hange smiles.

"Have you enjoyed the tea at least?" she asks, hoping that he listens.

*** 

Hange spends the next couple of mornings, watching the sunset and anxiously waiting for the man to show up. She slaps her face and pinches the skin of her arm, stopping herself from falling asleep. It bears no result, however, because the man doesn't show up.

It is only when Hange finally gives up, returning inside her cabin that the man returns. She disappears for just a moment, going inside to make another cup of tea. When she comes back, a package with fresh fish, a journal and a few quills is already awaiting her. Hange sighs, annoyed at the man, despite his gifts. She needs another plan, it seems.

  ***

She has more than enough time to think about it. Hange’s life is dull and uneventful to a point of making her feel weird. She doesn’t know what life she led before she was found on the coastline near the port, with severe burns and wounds and before she stumbled into abandoned, old cabin, but this— this peace and quiet that defies her every living moment now, it’s— it’s not unwelcome. But it seems wrong. There is a need, a desperation set deep in her bones. It torments her at night, nudging her to do something, anything. It always keeps her on edge, pushing her in the unfamiliar direction.

That direction feels a dead-end.

  ***

Not every part of her life is lost. There are some memories that persistently linger in the depth of her mind. She still remembers her childhood - the bright, sunny days, filled with carelessness and wonder. The way wind blew through her hair, the way sunlight danced on her skin and kissed her cheeks, these memories don’t fade. On the contrary, there is more life in them than in Hange herself.

She knows the gentle touch of her mother and remembers the strict face of her father. She can close her eyes and see her puppy, running towards her every time she came home from the never-ending adventures, greeting her with loud, happy barking and wiggling tail.

Her school, a grand beautiful building with big windows and polished floors, still lives in her memory. And the image of the school’s library – the favorite place in the whole world for little Hange, where she spent countless afternoons – fills her with happiness and content even after all these years. She remembers the displeasure and annoyance she felt in the moments when she couldn’t reach the higher shelves. She jumped and stretched out her hand and balanced on the balls of her feet, huffed and scoffed, but nothing ever worked out, until she let go of her pride and went to fetch a chair. She still recalls the wonder and excitement every book evoked inside her. Her fingertips, although scarred and burned, didn’t forget the feeling of yellowed pages. The voice of her teacher, scolding her for reading without proper lighting, still echoes in her ears.

However, everything after that, past the playgrounds and school yards, is nothing more than a blur.

She remembers the cold, dark nights, spent by a fire, surrounded by merry laughter. She remembers the feeling of adrenaline, of excitement and agitation, yet can’t recall what exactly had caused these emotions. She remembers the parchment and a quill, remembers that she used to write, write, write. Not a single written word comes back to her, though. She remembers a bright, imposing figure right ahead, a reassuring, calming presence just behind her shoulder, and someone standing right next to her, their hands almost touching.

These people were important, Hange knows that. She wants to remember them so desperately.

But no matter how much she tries— she can’t.

  ***

Whatever life she used to have, it most certainly couldn’t have been easy. It was not a life of leisure and prosperity, because her body, despite its weak and injured state, still isn’t used to lazing around.

The spring only just began, and the earth is too cold yet for gardening. As long as the cool weather holds, Hange has nothing to occupy herself with. There are no seeds to plant, no weeds to pull out, no crops to look after. She has all the time in the world.

She can sleep as much as she wants, yet every morning she wakes up at the very break of dawn. Still exhausted and weary, she forces herself to sleep for a little bit more, but she can’t.

So she walks out on a porch, a cup of tea in her hands, and watches the sun slowly rise up over the sea. The sight is mesmerizing, Hange watches it every morning and yet she’s not bored of it in the slightest. She feels like she will never get bored of it, she drinks it more eagerly than the hot tea.

Watching the world growing from black to light, cold blue, before settling into palette of bright yellow, orange and pink never fails in making Hange sigh in wonder. The crush of waves across the shore, the sun beams illuminating the dark green water, the white foam swirling around evoke a warm, tender feeling inside her. It’s a confusing bundle of excitement, pride and happiness.

It makes her think – maybe, it was all worth it.

It makes her think – maybe, we can finally be free.

*** There is nothing much for her to do, so Hange concentrates on getting her memories back. It’s not an easy task, and it proves to be even harder, when Hange comes to conclusion that she has but a single clue, nothing more than a thin, uneven string that connects her past and present life.

That man.

So she thinks long and hard about her next course of action, writes one plan after another in her recently received journal. The process is oddly familiar, it brings her a sort of nostalgia, although Hange doesn't know the source of it. Still, it's comforting and she spends long mornings, days and nights, sitting at her porch under the light of sun, gas lamp and stars, thinking how to get closer to that kind, but irritatingly distant man.

In the end, she can't come up with a decent enough plan, and so Hange resorts to leaving a note to him. She wants to show her gratitude, and if she can't do it face-to-face, if he wishes to continue hiding from her, then so be it, she'll play by his rules. 

It frustrates her, she can't deny it, but she needs to do something, and it’s the very least she can do after all the kindness this man has bestowed upon her. 

***

The next time, when a package is delivered to her doorstep, it contains fresh apples and seeds. With a smile on her face, Hange brings it all inside and sets out to work.

She washes her hands, puts the apples on the counter and fires up the oven. Next she takes a bag of flour and pours it into a bowl. She adds water and sugar and mixes it all up. She opens the oven, places the bottom crust and spills the contents of the bowl there. Then Hange moves to the basket, delivered by a man. She grabs a few apples, washes them thoroughly and starts cutting them.

It takes her a while to finish, and so Hange starts humming under her breath, losing herself in the routine of gripping one side of apple with the fingers of her left hand and then slicing it with a knife she's holding in her right one.

The quick chop-chop-chop sets a tune to the melody she's humming and Hange smiles, enjoying the mundenity of it all.

At least, nothing will explode this time...

The thought is so bizarre, it appears completely out of blue. Hange freezes for a second, ruining the rhythm of her work. She looks up to the celling and repeats that thought, muttering it under her breath.

Explosion, explosion...

What could it possibly mean? Why does it fill her with anxiety? And what is that another feeling? Fear?

Tree branch hits the window in that exact moment, and Hange jumps. The sudden sound rings unusually loud in the silence of her little cabin.

It sounds almost like a gunshot.

This thought leaves Hange feeling even more shaken that she was before.

She exhales nervously, gripping the edge of the table until her knuckles go white. She feels dizzy out of sudden. Like there isn't enough air in the room.

Like she's swimming underwater and struggling to take a breath.

Why does that feeling seem familiar?

Hange shakes her head, wipes her forehead with the backside of her palm, hoping that it would help get rid of those ridiculous thoughts.

"I should spend more time outside," she mumbles, her voice still trembling. With unsteady hands she returns to the apples.

She quickly finishes chopping them and then puts it all in the oven.

Now all she has is to wait, and so Hange heads into the bedroom to get a paper and quill from there. After all, the pie is worth nothing, if she doesn’t write a note.

*** 

 When the pie is ready, Hange puts it on the best plate she possesses. She covers it with the only napkin she has and then she takes it outside, setting it on a table at the porch. She brews a cup of tea and puts it next to the plate. Then she lays down a note.

Since you don't let me thank you any other way, it reads. Hange hopes it won’t go unanswered. 

*** 

Next morning she wakes up and immediately dashes out of the house, stopping only to put her glasses on and get her warm robe. She forgets about her morning balm applying ritual, too excited to see the results of her little experiment.

Just as she hoped, the pie and tea are gone. Her note is gone too and another one lies instead.

Grinning from ear to ear, Hange eagerly snatches it in her arms, grips it tightly with her fingers and squints slightly, quickly reading it.

Work on your cooking skills, four-eyes. The pie was awful. Try adding less sugar next time. I think just a piece of this shitty pie could give someone cavities. Tea was good, though.

Hange rereads the note a few times, struggling to understand. She can't quite decide if she should be angry or amused. She settles on a mix of something in between.

Her experiment produced an unexpected results, it seems. It helped her realize that her assumption about that man was a bit wrong. He's kind, yes. Caring too. But he's not nice. Quite the contrary. He's a little piece of shit, Hange decides with a gleeful smile.

How curious, she thinks and lets out a happy snicker.

***  

Hange's shirt rips at the seams a few days later. It's not her only shirt - the mysterious man has made sure of that - but it's her favorite one. So Hange searches the house, turning it upside down to find a needle and a thread.

Her hands tremble as she tries to fit the thread into the needle and Hange curses, as she misses the small aperture once again. She pushes the glasses up on her forehead and squints, struggling to get the thread inside.

After a few failed attempts and more than a few colorful words, Hange succeeds. She celebrates it with a wide grin and grabs the shirt, starting to stitch the torn parts together.

The stitch is even and neat, Hange wonders if she has been taught that. As far as she remembers, her mother tried numerous times to teach her how to do embroidery, but little Hange always refused, running away and hiding in the library. Evidently, she changed a lot since then.

I managed to stitch his face just as perfectly.

Hange blinks as that thought appears. She closes her eyes and instead of a shirt, she sees a bloody mess of ripped skin, muscles and tendons.

She blinks again and that vision is gone. Hange closes her eyes, tries to recreate the image, but she's drawing a blank this time. She is greeted with nothing but darkness.

She growls in frustration and throws the goddamn shirt away.

She was so close to remembering something, to getting back a part of her life. But, as before, it had ended in a failure.

The feeling is strangely familiar to her.

  ***

She spends the next week, writing little notes to the man. Sometimes he answers, granting her with more of his crude and sarcastic comments. Other times, when she attempts to ask a personal question, when she begs him to tell her his name or when she laments about wanting to get to know him, the messages go unanswered and her note stays exactly where she laid it, fluttering in the wind.

The frustration gets to her after a while and Hange starts to feel bored. The routine is pressing onto her and so she packs what little provision she has, grabs one of her warmer sweaters, puts on a patch to hide her missing eye and decides to go exploring.

There is a town near enough that it takes only a couple of hours to get there. Hange visited it once, before the winter came and the snow made the trip impossible. The town isn’t big – truthfully, it’s hard to even call it a town – the place stands in ruins with only a few houses rebuild and ready to let people in.

Now, as Hange enters the town after three long months, she sees that it’s changed. Not much, but enough to attract attention, enough to make Hange marvel at the additional buildings and appreciate the hard labor done by the townspeople.

She walks through the town slowly, gawking at everything and everyone. Despite the chilly weather, the people are working hard, rebuilding what was once lost.

When she came to this town for the first time, she asked about the cause of this ruin, thinking that it could be linked to her own wounds, and, consequently, to her old life.

The answers she received, though, didn’t satisfy her. The tales of giant people, destroying everything in their path sounded familiar, almost similar to the stories her mother used to tell her. It reminded her of the tales about titans Hange read in the school’s library. She was scared of them back then, and at the same time excited too. She always wanted to see one up close, and so she felt something close to regret when the townspeople informed her that there are no titans anymore.

“Those island devils got rid of them, thank gods,” one woman said to Hange back then. “Everyone now calls them heroes, but do you wish to know what I think? We should have destroyed them all along with their damned island.”

Hateful words left a bile taste in Hange’s mouth. They made her angry for a reason she couldn’t even understand. She left quickly after, her mind even a bigger mess than usual.

Now, as she strolls through the narrow streets, Hange thinks back to that conversation. Is it true that those islanders are to blame? Could it be that they’re the reason for the burns on her body? For the memories she lost? Maybe, Hange should hate them too?

It’s easy to hate someone when you don’t know them, she remembers words from one of her teachers at school. Hange finds it hard to agree with that statement. She thinks the contrary is true – it’s impossible and irrational to hate someone, when you don’t even know them.

She banishes these thoughts as she turns a corner and sees a man struggling to carry a large wooden pole. Hange isn’t that strong herself, the wounds taking its toll on her, but she rushes over to him, ready to help. She grips the pole with her hands and lifts it up, putting it on her shoulder to support it.

The man slightly turns his head, probably with intent of thanking her. Their eyes meet and he drops the pole almost instantly.

“You!” he gasps, his eyes wide. “It’s you!”

Hange puts the pole down and frowns. She wants to ask the man so many questions. What does he mean? Does he know her? Did they meet before? When? Who is he? Who is she?

Before she can at least open her mouth, the man grips her shoulders and stares at her face, his eyes running up and down frantically, as a wide smile pulls on his lips.

“It really is you,” he concludes happily. “Captain— he was right! He didn’t imagine it all, oh god, it’s a miracle!”

“I’m sorry,” Hange says slowly. “But who are you?”

“Oh.” The man lets her go immediately.  He takes a step back and fixes his shirt. His eyes fill with sadness.

“So he was right about this as well,” he whispers more to himself than to Hange. “Forgive me, please,” he adds, and he does look apologetic, but Hange suspects it’s for entirely different reason. “I mistook you for a good friend.”

“Onyankopon!” someone calls from inside the house. “What’s taking you so long?”

“Sorry,” he repeats, flashing her a painfully forced smile. “I need to go.”

He leaves before Hange can reply and ask him to stay and explain.

“Onyankopon.” Hange mutters, pronouncing each syllable.

The name doesn’t seem familiar. But it spreads a wave of warmth through her chest.

  ***

She keeps muttering that name under her breath on her way home. It results in absolutely nothing, but Hange is nothing if not persistent. When she comes back home, she finds a few hyacinths planted in a pot that stands at the table at her porch.

Hange’s heart swells at the sight of it. The flowers are purple, and it’s her favorite color. She wonders if the man knows that little bit of trivia about her and if the choice of color was purposeful. She writes a quick note, asking him exactly that.

At the bottom of a page, she asks if the man knows a guy, named Onyankopon.

As always happens with that kind of questions, she doesn’t receive an answer.

  ***

Too soon, life returns to the world. The trees become greener, the sun shines brighter, and the water in the ocean gets warm enough for Hange to dip her toes in it.

The birds return back to the coastline too, the seagulls filling Hange’s quiet life with cheerful squeaking. When she isn't busy with crops and flowers in her little garden, Hange walks out on a beach and spends her days, watching the little things fly around. The sight is strangely calming, soothing her weary soul.

It’s during one of those perfect, peaceful days that it happens. There is not a cloud in the sky and a soft breeze moves through the air, entangling in her hair and moving through a thin cotton shirt she’s wearing. She curls her lips in a smile, squinting against the bright sun.

In that moment, Hange feels blissfully content.

It happens faster that she can react. She looks up, shifting her eyes from the sea to the flock of seagulls, flying high enough that Hange needs to raise her head.

There are eight of them – two bigger ones are on the front, leading the others, while the rest is flying behind, keeping close to each other.

Hange’s smile widens at the sight of the small family.

And it slips from her face, as she sees that one of birds, the one of two at the front, starts falling. Hange watches it as though in slow motion, staring at the sudden descent with wide shocked eyes.

The seagull’s body hits the ground with a soft sound that isn’t loud enough to be heard over the ocean’s hissing or the beating of Hange’s heart.

The other birds halt their movement but don’t dive in the sand. They hover above the body on the ground, silently mourning one of their kind, before continuing their flight.

Looking at it hurts.

Hange stares at it for another long moment, and then scrambles onto her feet, gathering the little bird into her trembling hands. She can feel the faint heartbeat beneath her fingers and Hange rushes back to her cabin, desperate to help the injured creature.

  ***

She spends the whole day, nursing little one back to health. After all of her efforts, it lives and breathes, but it’s too weak to fly or even move yet. Hange prepares a makeshift nest for a bird and leaves it there, watching closely.

She falls asleep right at the table, where she left the seagull, using her own elbow as a pillow.

It’s there, where, later that night, Hange has a nightmare.

She had dreams before, always blurry, filled with silhouettes and shadows, always disappearing from her mind with first rays of sunshine.

This one is different. This one is terrifying as it is vivid. It still isn't concrete enough, but it evokes something inside her— something that hurts.

The dream – it was full of desperation. It was full of confusing feelings, of ‘there is no one, but me, who can do this’ and ‘I don’t want to go, not right now, not from him’. The thing that feels the most real, the thing that makes her heart ache is a feeling of a hand on her chest. It’s warm, so warm that it burns. It gets through a few layers of clothing, marking her skin, before finally reaching her heart.

And before she can enjoy it, before she can savor this sweet torture, the hand is gone. The hand is gone, and she’s still burning, but this— this fire that spreads through her veins is different. It kisses her skin, but not gently, not like a lover. It kisses her with dispassionate hatred, with apathy that is set to destroy her. It kisses her, sucking all the air out of her lungs.

And then— then Hange is falling.

  ***

She wakes up before her body hits the ground. A loud, annoying noise stirs her sleep. She lifts her head and the sound doesn’t stop.

Hange groggily looks around, confused and disoriented. It takes her another few seconds to locate the source of the commotion.

It’s the window at the far side of her cabin. Someone is knocking on it. A sound between a gasp and laughter bubbles out of Hange’s throat as she takes a good look at the intruder.

It’s a seagull.

She slowly rises to her feet and approaches the window, opening it. The bird instantly flies inside, and Hange isn’t at all surprised to see that it stops in front of the nest she made for her winged patient.

From across the room, Hange watches the birds interact. The newly arrived seagull approaches its friend cautiously, slowly. When it reaches to wounded seagull, it opens his beak and puts a small fish down, so the other bird could reach it.

Hange almost coos at the sight.

The caring seagull doesn’t stay for long. It waits until the wounded one finishes the fish, and then it flies away, leaving Hange’s cabin through the still opened window.

“I’ll call you Sawney,” she whispers, as the bird flies past her. “And you will be Bean,” she grins, approaching the wounded bird.

As she checks the state of the bird, the strange dream continues to linger at the back of Hange’s mind.

Is that what had happened to her? Did she almost burn alive? Whose hand was on her chest? Who was the person she didn’t want to leave? Where are they now?

Why just thinking about it hurts so much?

She’s desperate to get her answers, and she knows a person, who most certainly has them.

In a last, almost definitely futile attempt to find the truth, Hange sits down and writes a letter. She writes about her dream, about lost memories and torn connections. She writes, asking, begging the man to let her know who she was. Who she is.

The next day, she receives her answer. It’s a disappointingly short one.

Forgive me. It’s better this way.

  ***

After that, Hange tries to forget about her forgotten life. She lost her memories. She’s still alive and able to make new ones.

The life goes on, and so does Hange.

The summer rolls around and suddenly she's constantly busy, tending to her crops and garden.

She continues to look after the injured Bean. The progress is slow, but Hange's patient. The bird's family is patient too, and they frequently fly inside Hange's cabin to bring more food or simply to visit. Suddenly, it’s not just Sawney and Bean. It’s a whole flock of seagulls.

When the mess inside gets too much even for Hange, she moves the nest outside and the rest of the flock starts living there, caring about the injured bird in little ways they can.

The birds can be loud, but Hange doesn't mind. They provide a company in her quiet life, they help keeping the loneliness at bay.

Birdwatching becomes one of her favorite past times. There is a certain appeal in studying the winged creatures. Hange notes different kinds of movements and habits each bird exhibits. She watches them hunt and eat, watches them interact with each other. Sometimes she even brings out a journal, cataloging everything she finds peculiar about her small test subjects.

It’s comforting in some way. It almost fills the void inside her chest.

  ***

One day, she receives a bag of sweets. On top of it lays a note that says:

Are your hobbies so boring that watching the birds is somehow fun for you?

Hange giggles, as she reads it, and quickly writes a reply.

It's much more fun than you think!

  ***

Something changes after that small exchange.

The man starts leaving her messages more frequently, and Hange, now that she let go of her attempts to get her memories back, answers each and one of them.

Her mysterious friend is actually funny, Hange realizes after his secrecy stops annoying her. He’s sarcastic and crude, and has quite a foul mouth.

Hange enjoys that aspect of him more that she probably should.

She enjoys their little conversation too, even though they’re not particularly lengthy. The man doesn’t visit her every day, but when he does, he always leaves a small note, asking how is she doing and what does she need him to bring. Hange answers him with more varied questions. She asks about his favorite color, his favorite season and if he sleeps on his back or on his side. She etches every answer into her mind, collecting bits of trivia about him like it’s the most valuable treasure.

Despite never seeing his face, Hange likes him. A lot.

His notes always bring a smile to her lips. Hange starts to miss him when he doesn’t show up for a few days. And after a while she realizes – she starts caring about this man. Not as an acquaintance from her past life, not as a means to get her memories back. He becomes something more to her.

He becomes a friend.

  ***

It all happens in almost unbelievably mundane way.

A vicious storm catches Hange unaware. The weather was sunny and warm one moment, and in the next – the wind picks up, throwing sand in her eyes. The rain starts a mere seconds after, drenching her clothes in a record time. The seagulls she was watching don’t waste a single moment and soar into the air, hurriedly leaving to seek a shelter.

Hange needs to find a hiding place too. She gets to her feet and starts walking. Her steps aren't swift or hasty, she slowly strolls back to the cabin. Despite the harsh rain and wet clothes, she doesn’t shiver.

The rain turns into a downpour, but Hange enjoys it nevertheless. The droplets that persistently hit her face feel warm. They soothe the burns that still ache. They elevate the pain that hides deep in her bones.

The lightning strikes, the sudden booming sound ringing over the empty beach. It startles Hange, but she doesn’t cry out – she laughs, louder than rain and thunder. She spins around, yelling in pure joy.

In that moment, Hange is happy. In that moment, she is free.

It’s with laughter still bubbling out of her throat that she sees him. His hand shielding his head from a downpour, he descends from the porch. His eyes are cast down, watching his step.

Hange freezes in her spot, watching him.

He lifts his face, their eyes meet, and— and everything makes sense now. Everything comes back, the memories return as though she never lost them.

“Levi,” the name stumbles from her lips unprompted, unplanned. “Levi.” She repeats it again, because she likes the sound of it. Without realizing it, she missed saying his name, she missed him. So she calls his name again. And again.

Levi watches her, clenching and unclenching his fist. He takes a deep breath, shakes his head and then asks. “So your memories returned?”

“They did,” Hange nods.

“When?”

She shrugs. “Just now.”

“And you…” he clears his throat, shifting his weight from one foot to another. His eyes don’t leave her face. “You aren’t freaked out by this?”

She shrugs again. “I guess I’m still processing. Would you like to… help me with it?”

And before he can answer, Hange adds. “I know I’ve talked about living in the forest but… will the coastline be good enough for you?”

“You’re more than enough,” he says and takes a step closer. Hange takes a step too.

They meet in the middle.

[kitsu-katsu]

Ghostbur and Wilbur are just so sad

Wilbur created a full nation with others, they fought for it, they gained independence after a war, everything was fine, but then got carried away by his own desire for power trying to rig elections and it fired back, resulting in actual competition, which he still would've fucking won if it weren't for him again, getting carried away by a desire for power and making coalitions legal only thinking about it benefitting him against Schlatt, which also fired back, and he got defeated.

Now he lost his nation and started to see that all of his actions from the start of the election plan were rather bad, thus seeing himself as the villain, and with nothing to lose letting himself go full forward with that, eventually just becoming more and more reckless, more paranoid that everyone would just leave him because he didn't have any power anymore, becoming more anxious because of that, and so embedded on the idea that he was completely bad and that all that made L'manburg what it was had been lost when Schlatt came in, he just wanted to destroy it all.

While all of this mental turmoil was going on, he also had his own son tearing down the walls, burning rhe flag and denying he was his father to his face, just to come back and reveal that he was a spy at the last minute, by this point his trust in people was so fucked, of course he wouldn't entirely come to trust him again either. His paranoia is a BIG part of his character as Vilbur, and we could say that it all also stems from Eret's original betrayal back when L'manburg was still part of the greater SMP.

Also while this was going on, he had Dream just egging him on, playing him like a pawn to his own ends, and taking advantage of his mental state which was already in favour of just blowing it all up and giving him all the supplies needed even if Dream was technically fighting for the other side, because in the end Dream never ever cared for any form of L'manburg, Dream benefits the most with L'manburg being gone, and with Wilbur there he wouldn't even have to do it himself.

Then he dies of assisted suicide in his father's hands, remembering the song and making it clear that it's all in past tense, blowing up his creation, with a crazed laugh and leaving his symphony forever unfinished with the same words once used by the original traitor when trying to destroy it at its roots. Most people end up just remembering him as "the crazy bad dude" even if they miss him, "my bad dad" in one case, "my dear friend" in another.

And he comes back really quickly, but not as himself, but as an incomplete version, a ghost that's the embodiment of innocence by virtue of being physically incapable of remembering the sad things. He can't make amends with his son because he can't remember the bad times. He can't make up for the things people resent him for because he's just as informed as an observer from afar, one that people won't even tell much to because of how sensible the topic is and because of how Ghostbur is, especially with how avoidant he is.

But he reconstructs. Where Wilbur destroyed reaching the end of his straws, Ghostbur built back up again, making everything so much prettier, and only wanting people to be happy, giving blue to suck up everyone's sadness all the time.

Once Ghostbur told Tubbo that he was surely a better president than he himself was, adding as evidence the fact that he didn't even get a grave, no one cared that he died. To which Tubbo responds with "You're still here so we don't miss you yet". To which he says "I'm not him, Tubbo... I'm not Wilbur"

And he remembers dying as a happy memory, his father stabbing him as "the hero slaying the dragon", even if he doesn't have the reason for it clear, he knows people only see Alivebur as "the crazed bad guy".

Phil then blows up New L'manburg, killing friend and only saying he's sending a message that Ghostbur won't understand, he just talks to him as a toddler, and it's so telling when Ghostbur has his outburst and says that he knows he's an amnesiac, and the comedic relief in all of their stories, but he still feels things, all the while throwing his blue at himself. He laments the loss of Friend, laments the loss of the town that he rebuilt where everyone lived, where all their stuff was, where memories were made. "I sowed the seeds of peace and yet I'm the one who pays for war".

And he decides he wants to be revived. Not because he wishes to stop existing as Ghostbur but because he doesn't see himself as strong or apt enough to lead people to a better way, to get everyone out of a rut, even if he only knows that the last of Alivebur was "the crazed bad guy", he knows he was a good leader, and he does remember times when he was ok and happy.

But then the resurrection attempt fails. And Ghostbur disappears.

And that's the end of it.

He just up and disappeared.

Never revived by the people he told. Not left alone in death either.

Now Dream wants to revive Wilbur and use him as a pawn again, but much more explicitly. Now he's planning to tie Wilbur down by the idea of being grateful for his life being given back, even if Wilbur has expressed a desire to stay dead (different from Ghostbur), and use him to escape, make him his playing piece that he can let die and revive when wants, possibly. And Tommy said he got worse while dead, but we don't exactly know how much worse. Did his paranoia grow in the afterlife? Or just a want for destruction? All we saw was that he saw his death as a good thing, because him and Tommy are at the root of all problems, so he sees himself coming back as inevitable chaos and destruction again, "I know what I'm like, that's the issue"

Basically, his character is tragic, be it as Wilbur or Ghostbur and he doesn't seem to catch a break. I love his character so much, man, he makes me sad

[blooddrop-palace]

DMC-OC-Week Day 2

(I’ve decided to share more Picrew for the ones I have Picrew images for. Welcome to day 2!)

Day 2 - Connections to the Cast

Seraphina Valkyrie - 

My version of “the lady in red.” Nero’s mother, Vergil’s brief moment of human connection. A Holy Knight, though she was regarded more as a rogue knight… not so different from how Nero was treated. She took a risk to banish demons who were after her and her just-born son, and the risk took her to hell, leaving Nero behind. 

“Am I crazy? I suppose you can call me that. I have enough sense to know that other people will find it not normal that my reaction upon finding a stranger in an alley that could cut down demons with superhuman ability… was to invite him to my apartment, give him a place to stay for a month, try to challenge him to a duel, and then invite him to my bed. But what can I say? Many Fortunans feared me because I tamed a devil arm. Most men I knew were cowards who feared a woman with claws. How could I not become infatuated with a man who did not fear me?”

Kassandra King - 

A girl with some demonic ties who visited Redgrave to check out what was up with the tower that appeared “a while back.” Had a fling with Dante… and the results lead to other things. 

“I’ve always dreamt of having a knight in shining armor. It’s not that my brothers aren’t nice, but they are my brothers. To find someone from outside of the family who would be willing to learn about you, and let you learn about them, and for them to want to stay with you and raise a family with… it’s a fairytale. And I want that fairytale…”

Arabella -

In an AU where Nero is ¼ human and ¾ devil, Arabella is a “Great Winged Serpent” devil whom Vergil met in Fortuna. She allowed him to take her on a journey as a devil arm, and after the Temem-ni-Gru, she talked him out of immediately seeking out Mundus, and offered to teach him how to properly survive in Hell, first. This agreement got a little… tangled up in other things… and the next thing Vergil knew, he woke up one day and Bella was coiled around him and an egg.

“Humans call love to be the most powerful emotion. I would have to agree with them. The idea that I would ever want to leave my secluded life guarding my territory and stop chasing out every trespasser was unthinkable. I liked my loneliness… until Sparda taught me how to be better. But it wasn’t just Sparda. I had a lot more to learn, still. And so did Vergil. We make a good match, don’t we? And Nero would grow up learning of the power of love, too.”

Snow King - 

The “results” of Kassandra’s fling with Dante. Following near-canon, she never got to meet Dante until post DMC5. She will come to meet Nero and Nico first, and perhaps that’s for the best. 

“Mad? At Dante? It’s my mother’s own stubborn fault that she wouldn’t tell him! But that’s an old song and dance already. If anything, I feel kind of bad for Dante. I really want to have a connection with him, but it’s probably a lot for him to take in now that I’m grown. The first thing I want to talk to him about is how he’d like to handle my mother, not me. If they can put a case closed on that, then maybe mom can just… stop feeling guilty and let go. After that? I guess if he lets me call him “dad”, I’ll be content enough.”

Noel - 

What if Vergil and Dante’s positions had been switched? Dante ran out to the park and nearly died, believing that no one will ever help him, he will never believe in or rely on anyone else again, and set out to “become a devil if he had to so that he will never rely on anyone else again.” Vergil, saved but an amnesiac for his younger years, regrets everything about pushing his brother away when he recalls his past, and after losing more people who showed him kindness, decides he must do what he can to protect what little he has left. So, who is Noel, then? Well, she has a devil bringer of copper-red tones that glows honey gold, and grew up in Fortuna. Does that shed some light? (She also eventually fesses up to a relationship with Credo. Well, more like Credo finally asks her if she’ll allow courtship.)

“I can’t BELIEVE my dad! When Uncle V drags him back, I’m going to give him a piece of my mind! No, I don’t want to hear it, Nico. I’m mad right now, can’t you tell? No, I’m not crying. Shut it will you-- Devil May Cry-- Fuck. Oh, hey there Credo. Lady and Trish safely back at the shop? It’s still standing? Cool. Hey uh… NICO! Saviour, are you trying to kill us? Oh, fine. Hey, we’ll pick you up with a delay, okay? No, don’t trigger just to get to us. It’s just small fry. Yeah, see you soon. I got work to do.”

Anthony and Caesar - 

(Nope, still don’t have images for them. Picrew isn’t working today.)

What if Kassandra got in contact with Dante after she found out she was pregnant? And came to live at DMC? Well, everyone around Dante would be in for a surprise when he starts to work his ass off to make a comfortable home for the new little princess in his life, but the bigger surprise is that he doesn’t stop there with Kassy, and they become a family of five. Tony and Caesar would be rambunctious twins, of course, but Dante would make sure to do right by these twins. Being a family of part-devils, of course, he will not avoid teaching them how to fight. Tony will find himself equipped with an axe and a pair of gauntlets when he becomes old enough, and Caesar was gifted with lighter weapons of a scythe and a pair of deadly shuriken. This might sound familiar to some people~

“Our family? Yeah sure, Caesar and I have lots of family! Just from mom’s side alone we have 7 cousins!”

“Within our own family, we have our older sister, Snow. And when we were about… 14 or something, dad found our cousin, Nero.”

“...Dad never said anything ‘bout having a twin brother before. It was kind of a shock.”

“I think meeting Uncle Vergil was probably the more shocking thing. He’s, uh…”

“Abrasive?”

“I was going to say broken but yes, he’s a bit abrasive, too.”

“Well I guess that explains Nero’s reign on his attitude.”

“Does it really? Sometimes I think you’re kind of like Nero, too.”

“Eh. I mean, in the end we’re all family. Dad’s happier to have his brother back. I get it. Mom thinks Uncle Vergil will figure out how to deal with the human world over time. And if mom thinks so then yeah! Sure!”

“I would rather believe that it will be for the best, yes. After all, if you got yourself into trouble due to your own stupidity, I would still want to help you.”

“...I still can’t believe you voluntarily allowed yourself to get locked up with me for a night when I stole a motorcycle because I got cornered by a demon and had to get away. I get it, bro, we got each other’s backs, but jail isn’t fun.”

“You get into too much trouble. Someone has to keep an eye on you. Dad can only do so much to get you out of trouble.”

Tony groans. 

[fishfingersandjellybabies]

The Universe Doesn’t Get to Take This - fic

Characters: Bruce Wayne, Damian Wayne, Dick Grayson Summary: “And they’re so important that you don’t come home to check on your recently un-amnesiac brother? And here, I thought I was your favorite.” A/N: A tiny fix-it to the end of Detective Comics 1033. This is a bit dark of Dick I know, but honestly as much as I love him, he does just as many shady and fucked up things as everyone else so, I can absolutely see him doing this, ngl. And because I know folks are gonna complain about it, while I absolutely and obviously see Duke in the Batfam, I don’t see him as a Batsib because last I knew of him, his parents are still 100% alive so it would be fucking bonkers for Bruce to literally adopt him. And also hella disrespectful? But I digress. Don’t come at me. 

~~

Bruce didn’t know how to deal with what he’d just heard.

Damian blamed himself for Alfred’s death. Believed it to be his fault so badly that he refused to listen to anyone around him. Refused to listen to anyone who loved him. Who knew the truth. Who knew that wasn’t the truth.

Damian was brilliant. How could he believe something so wrong?

Bruce wanted to argue his point. He wanted to grab Damian, maybe shake him until he saw the light. Beg him. Plead with him. It wasn’t his fault. It never was his fault. And that he loved him. Bruce loved him so much it hurt. And he knew he was messing it all up. Knew he didn’t say it enough. Show it enough. Knew Damian’s surety in this absurd falsehood was partially his fault. Mostly his fault.

(All his fault.)

But…he didn’t. He couldn’t. Damian was growing up, and they’d had this dance so many times.

(Too many times.)

He felt the weight of the badge in his utility belt, and silently pulled it out. Squeezed it in his hand.

Damian felt too tainted for this badge anymore. This honor. Bruce knew that. That’s why he’d run. That’s why he’d dramatically ripped it off and threw it to the ground. While it was still in rage and heartbreak, it was also in fear.

Because he felt he didn’t deserve it. Didn’t deserve to be Robin. Didn’t deserve to be by anyone’s side.

But he and Damian, they always danced in subtly. Could never say what they needed to. Always tiptoed around it. Used metaphors and hypotheticals instead.

Bruce squeezed the badge. Held it out between them.

“This is yours, son.”

You are good enough. You are good, period. You deserve this title, this honor, and so much more. Please come back and I will do everything I can to tell you. To show you. Please.

Damian glanced at it, but only for a moment, before dropping his gaze to his feet.

“No, father.” Damian sighed sadly, turning away, already reaching for the grapple on his hip. “It’s yours.”

He lifted his arm to the sky and aimed the gun. Bruce’s heart stuttered. What did he do here? Did he let Damian go? Did he grab him? Did he follow him?

“…Actually, you’re both wrong.” A groggy voice from behind them hummed. Bruce tensed, afraid Tommy had somehow already woken, already escaped. He balled his hands into fists and turned, just as Damian did.

Dick came hobbling out of the rooftop’s shadow.

“Robin’s mine.” Dick shot them a lopsided grin. “I just lend it out every so often.”

In his periphery, Bruce saw Damian’s arm drop. “…Grayson?”

“Yeah, yeah. Long time no see, right?” Dick snorted. “And you were just going to…what? Save the day, then fly away without even saying hello to me?”

Damian’s guilty eyes dropped again.

“How are you feeling?” Bruce interjected. “The drugs…”

“Damian gave us all the antidote, it’s filtering out fine.” Dick waved off. Cleared his throat and rubbed at it once. He never took his eyes off of Damian, though. Even seem annoyed that Bruce had interrupted him. “And just where do you think you’re going in such a hurry, kid?”

“I…I have things I’m working on.” Damian mumbled, stepping back, closer to the roof’s ledge. “Places I need to go.”

“And they’re so important that you don’t come home to check on your recently un-amnesiac brother?” Dick joked. “And here, I thought I was your favorite.”

“…I…I wasn’t aware, actually.” Damian admitted sheepishly. “I did not know you had recovered and were back in Gotham until Father told me on the way over here.”

“And you were still going to leave without seeing me? Rude.” Dick chuckled. “Good thing I’m good at recovering quickly, then, and was able to follow you out here.”

Damian didn’t respond to that. Kept his gaze away from the two men in front of him.

“Look, I know you’re not a hugger, but I…really freaking missed you, kid.” Dick smirked, but it was sad. He opened his arms wide, and Bruce took note of his slow sway. The drugs were still affecting him. “So can I please just have one?”

Dick stepped towards Damian, but Damian immediately jumped away.

“You…you shouldn’t want to do that.”

Dick frowned. “Why?”

“Because, as I just had to remind Father.” Damian countered. “I killed Alfred.”

Dick hesitated at that. Glanced to Bruce. It was Bruce’s turn to look down now.

“…I know you believe that, but I don’t.” Dick hummed quietly. “And even if it was true, I don’t care.”

Damian closed his eyes, balled his hands into fists.

“You know I don’t care about anything you’ve done. You know I’m going to love you, regardless. I told you that years ago.” He kept his arms out in front of him. “Now get your skinny little ass over here so I can hug my little brother.”

Damian’s fists silently trembled.

“I’m not asking.” Dick explained. “And if you try and run, I will chase you. I’m not leaving you alone until I get my welcome home hug.”

“I don’t deserve it.” Damian whispered.

“But I do.” Dick replied, letting his smile return. “After the shit year I just had, I deserve to see my little brother, at least once. Don’t you think?”

Damian pressed his lips tightly together, but suddenly, to Bruce’s surprise, acquiesced. Stomped forward until he was in Dick’s space and engulfed in Nightwing’s arms. Returned the hug and seemed to squeeze Dick as hard as he could.

“Careful.” Dick grunted with a laugh and sluggish waver. After he regained his balance, he slowly began lowering into a crouch. He released one arm from around Damian to grab at his lower back, like it was in pain. “I’ve still got some of Hush’s stupid drug in here, kiddo. So I’m not the steadiest still.”

“Sorry.” Damian breathed. Bruce wasn’t sure, couldn’t see his face, but Damian’s voice sounded watery. Tearful. “I’m so sorry, Grayson.”

He wasn’t just apologizing for Dick’s balance, they all knew that instantly.

“Don’t be.” Dick murmured into his hair. Suddenly, he glanced seriously up at Bruce. “Because I’m not.”

Before Damian or Bruce could question him, the hand Dick had at his tailbone swung back around, something glinting between his fingers. Bruce only recognized it as a needle as Dick plunged it into the back of Damian’s neck.

“What the…!” Damian tried to pull away, but Dick didn’t let him. Kept Damian’s face tight to his throat as he pushed the syringe’s contents into Damian’s system, then dropped the needle and held Damian in both arms as the boy struggled. “Grayson, what did you…!”

Bruce stepped forward, but when Dick looked up at him again, it was with a furious glare.

“…What the hell did you just do?” Bruce demanded, as Damian’s movements suddenly started to become sluggish, lazy, his fiery curses slurred. Dick just shifted a hand to hold the back of Damian’s head protectively.

“A sedative.” Dick said simply. He waited calmly, never letting up his grip, not even when Damian went limp against him. “I’m bringing him home.”

Dick’s back was never in pain, Bruce realized. He was reaching into his own belt for the drug, after he was sure Damian was close enough. Bruce reached his hand out, but once again wasn’t sure what to say. What to do. “…Dick…”

“I’m not losing him again.” Dick snapped, staring angrily up at him. “Do you know how many times I already have? I can’t. I’m not. I won’t.”

“He was leaving. He had made his own choice to leave.” Bruce countered. “We can’t…we can’t hold him against his will.”

“He’s also fucking thirteen, Bruce.” Dick hissed. “Are you out of your goddamn mind?”

“He…he wants space. He needs space.” Bruce tried.

“He needs help, B.” Dick countered desperately. “And he’s not going to get that being out there on his own.” Dick sighed, slumping a little. Let Damian’s unconscious face loll to the side so they could both see it. “I…I get what you’re trying to do. He wanted space and you’re trying to respect that. Respect him.” He swallowed a lump in his throat. “But, Bruce. He’s thirteen, he’s traumatized and he’s alone.”

Bruce stepped forward, let his cape waft around his sons in the wind.

“We can’t let him be alone anymore. We can’t let him run off and not go after him. What do you think he believes when that happens? Does he think we hate him? Does he think all the terrible things anyone has ever said about him are true?” Dick whispered, running his knuckles along Damian’s face. “…Call it kidnapping or holding him hostage or whatever you want. I don’t care.”

Dick pulled Damian back up, pressed his cheek to Damian’s forehead.

“I’m not losing him again.” Dick repeated, his voice shaky. “I am not losing him again.”

Bruce watched them for a moment, watched as Dick began to gently rock, like Damian was an infant in his arms. He sighed, and glanced up towards the smog-infested purple night skies of Gotham City.

“He’ll be furious when he wakes up.” Bruce mumbled.

“Great.” Dick sniffed bitterly. “As long as he’s alive and home and with his family, he can hate me as much as he wants.”

Bruce closed his eyes, let himself breathe for a moment. Then lowered his head and stared at Dick.

“…Do you need help carrying him?” He asked softly. “Tommy’s drugs…”

“I can carry him to the car.” Dick threw Bruce a small smile. “Anything further than that might be a little dodgy.”

“Okay.” Bruce grunted, pressing a button on the side of his cowl to call the Batmobile. “Can I help you up, at least?”

“That’d be great, actually.” Dick admitted. “I just need help getting my feet under me, then I should be good.”

Bruce leaned down, gripping Dick’s biceps as he stumbled to his feet and simultaneously switched his hold on Damian so he was lying across his forearms. The forgotten grapple Damian had been holding tumbled from his fingers.

“…B?” Dick asked as Bruce began to usher him back into the building and down the stairs to where the rest of the family was still recovering.

“Hm?”

“Can you call Tim? Get him to come home, too? I haven’t seen him much since I remembered…” Dick trailed off, and Bruce sensed the sadness in Dick’s whole being. “I mean, Cassie and Jay are here, but…” A bitter laugh. “Call me selfish but I want all my siblings here.” A moment. “I want my whole family home.” He closed his eyes and leaned into Bruce’s side. “We’ve all been through so much shit lately, and I…I just want us to be all together again. If we can be.”

Bruce glanced down at him, and felt himself smiling, just a little. Allowed himself that tiny bit.

“Of course.” He promised. Then, in a mockery of what Dick had said earlier. “You deserve that much.”

Dick opened his eyes and glanced down to Damian, leaned peacefully against his chest. Dick laughed a little, as they entered the room where the rest of the family was, when Duke called out to them and gave a lethargic wave.

“Yeah.” Dick whispered, staring down at Damian’s face. “I think I do.”

[why-this-kolaveri-machi]

chin fucking up, amigo.

Titans 3.02

... eh?

SPOILERS ahead.

1. you know that music video for billie jean where michael jackson would dance along the pavement and the tiles would light up under his feet in different colours? yeah? me too.

titans hasn’t met a table top or a support arch that it doesn’t want to light up in a headache-inducing blue like the world’s most boring nightlight. i mean, i’m not an expert on lighting or cinematography or just... colour by any means, and the quality of the video i’m watching is poor given that i can’t access hbo max, but all the orange and teal and neon is making it very difficult to really differentiate between say, the batcave and the gotham police department and hell, the titans tower. i feel like there’s oftentimes a gap between idea and execution with titans, with gotham being this almost otherwordly hellscape with an aesthetic pulled from a gothic horror novel, but the colours and design just... leave it flat and dark and dull.

1.5. like what really frustrates me is that titans has a delightful mix of tones--the fights often remind me of schumacher-era batman camp, with the contrived quips and the start-stop rhythm and krypto just sallying in and ending the fight with a fucking SuperBark (tm) but in the same episode you have red hood just casually pulling out severed heads out of a duffle bag and desperate people blackmailed into killing themselves out of drug overdoses. I MEAN. it’s wonderful! but it looks all the same. it sounds Absolutely Bonkers on paper but on screen both Quip and Murder happen in the same washed-out blue and i wanted to be excited about the batcave, dammit!

2. things re: red hood have happened at such a breakneck speed that it feels like there’s so much that’s happened off-screen that we’re not privy to. a real proper mystery! 

things that are intriguing about the red hood arc so far:

a) what was that chemical he huffed just before going to fight the joker? is it a regular old performance/adrenaline booster or is it something more lazarus-juice adjacent? if it’s the latter, i can’t imagine he got that much information from a lone chemistry textbook. and where is he getting the resources to set up his little chemistry lab? is somebody else orchestrating things behind the scenes?

b) the red hood persona, costume and mask, plus the elaborate plan he’s putting in place to both string along gotham’s rogues and enact his revenge against the titans seems too... fully-formed and elaborate to have been concocted in just a few days. how long do you think jason’s been planning this? just... stewing in resentment and building rage, dismissed and passed around and underestimated and realising that the power he thought he would get by being robin is no power, no protection at all, but something that’s left him even more vulnerable than before? 

c) do we think that the scarecrow is at least partly behind this transformation? because yes, it was batman that set up this whole hannibal lecter-esque situation with him, and he would be irresponsible enough to have jason-as-robin go talk to him regularly regarding “~profiling~” criminals. it’s not too far of a leap to assume that scarecrow could’ve been manipulating jason at a very vulnerable time, and that he could’ve passed along some of his chemistry know-how, too.

d) ... or fuck, i wouldn’t put it past titans to introduce ra’s al ghul in a fucking ten second aside

e) anyway, the thing that won’t leave me alone is jason seeking out the joker not necessarily to fight him, but to orchestrate his own death. the whole thing has to have been part of a bigger plan. he broke batman with it, after all. and he’s starting to break the titans, too.

f) i love it! i mean, it does re-tread some of the storybeats we had with deathstroke last season (turning the titans against each other as revenge, etc) but it’s... tighter, this time, and at least for now seems better-executed. and as a red hood story it’s different enough to be really interesting, and i appreciate the ways in which its reframed the revenge story to focus on the titans rather than just the batman. like fuck everything up, i say! turn it on its head! slash the innards out of that sacred cow and strew it like garlands in the path of the Story You Want To Tell!

(and yes i am fully aware that by the time i post this review, there will be a whole lot more information out but if i come across like a fool then goddammit i will be a fool!)

2. i love how every season of titans starts off with, ‘oh dick, you thought you were settling into a role and a life and a pattern of relationships? well fuck you, here’s a terrible and traumatic thing, tons more responsibility, and circumstances that will lead you to uproot your entire life and move somewhere else.’ and dick’s just like, ‘well, ok. fuck you, but all right’.

can you imagine? the man was just settling into leading a team in sf and smiling for the first time in years, and now he has to deal with jason’s death, bruce experiencing a full fledged breakdown, coming back to a city that represents more bad memories than good, red hood, and a frightening new case that seems to be targeting him and his team. it’s a testament to dick’s growth that he’s not reacting to this stress like he did last year, shutting everybody out, making irrational decisions and experiencing sharp, short bursts of anger. (not to mention a full fledged psychotic episode.)

2.5. but i’ve also talked about dick performing a fair amount of unwarranted emotional labour for his team(s) in that he just lets them take out their frustrations on him and... does nothing. be it his team exploding at him for jericho (both in flashback and present-day) or donna and hank needling him for handling deathstroke poorly or barbara berating him for not handling the bank situation as well as she thought batman would though just the previous episode she had talked about how fucked up it was that bruce just expected dick to step up and replace him in gotham without any real notice. i mean it’s all perfectly understandable and sympathetic from their end--and i’m not trying to bash them here!--but hank, my man, the same chin you’re asking your amigo to keep up is the one that you punched last year and never apologised for. just sayin’.

2.75. @superohclair did a wonderful breakdown of what the ‘fear’ contract could imply here and there’s not too much i could add to that. it’s just really interesting that fear ended up being such a defining feature of their lives, albeit it’s the fear of seeming less than invincible in the face of bigger, more tangible fears. am i making sense?  dick feared loss, and abandonment, and the more existential concept of turning into something that he didn’t want to. bruce so feared being alone that he’s scouting kids to replace robin within days of jason dying. 

it also goes some way in explaining the tense sort of... restraint that bruce and dick show in the wake of loss and tragedy, like anything less than complete control of your emotions can lead to tragedy. it’s conditioning that dick couldn’t shake off when he was at his lowest in detroit, hating his legacy but unable to let it go either.

2.775. but i definitely appreciate the softness that dick displays with his team now, checking on them after a mission-gone-bad, welcoming back old members with no caveats or resentments (and kory’s delight in seeing hank back! hank and dick hanging out together and hank trying to prop dick up!), and appreciating their teamwork in solving cases. that’s always been the essence of dick as a person, and the beating heart of this show: flawed and traumatised people coming together to a place that will always be open to them, where they can be their worst and be supported still, allowed to make mistakes and grow from them. that’s family.

2.8. coming back to bruce for just a sec, it’s interesting how that gotham rogue was so certain when he said that ‘batman doesn’t kill’ but it’s not a rule that either jason or dick put much store by when they were robins. the ‘no-killing’ rule clearly didn’t mitigate dick’s fears about turning into batman and jason’s never been seeing giving two shits about it. it seems to me of a piece with bruce’s distant, second-hand sort of parenting that we see in dick’s flashbacks from s1 where the fear was never about personally disappointing batman, but taking lessons from him on finding a place in gotham’s hellish ecosystem and surviving.

3. kory having waking flashbacks! i don’t buy the bullshit parasomnia episode explanation from fake!HPG (because c’mon, justin has to be some sort of tamaranean ruse) because for one, you have to be actually asleep for that diagnosis. 

(and here i was, hoping against hope that HPG would actually end up as the team’s therapist)

curiouser and curiouser! i wonder if these flashbacks are from the time between kory landing on earth and the beginning of season 1, when she was completely amnesiac? it’d be cool if the show was considering repercussions from that time, and if kory hasn’t gained all her memories back. 

4. i just love the vibes between gar and conner and kory. gar Having Things To Do is only one part of my wishlist for him, however: other parts include having an actual story arc, and actually bonding with members who are not conner and kory. (dick! dick! hank! dick!)

anyway. time to move on to watching ep3 and seeing this family bond and nothing terrible and tragic happening at all, nope, nosiree. 

[aftgficrec]

Anonymous said: do you know some christmas aus/fics?? or maybe november/decemberish?? or even just some winter aus pls❤️ i love your page :))

Annnd we’re back with part 2, Christmas! There are many more one-shots for this, so y’all feel free to ask for more. Plus, December staff recs are coming; care to guess the theme? 🥰- A

Here’s part 1 of this ask, winter

previous recs with Hanukkah

‘Blessed Are You’ (Jewish Neil) here

‘I get why Aaron and Neil aren’t friends…’ (Jewish Neil) here 

‘seven years that andrew minyard does not catch fire …’ (Jewish Neil) here

(find our Jewish Neil Josten tag here)

previous recs with Christmas

‘white sleeves’ here

‘First Christmas’ here

‘happy holidays from the foxes’ here 

‘Son of a Exy!’ part 17 here

‘Andrew and Neil Family's Adventures’ part 14 here

‘The thunder for the storm’ here

‘All the Little Lights’ here

‘Love and Other Assorted Foolishness’ here

‘Amnesiac Christmas AU’ here

‘Twelve days of Christmas music’ (kandreil) here

‘Douce Nuit (Sainte Nuit)’ (neil/andrew/jean) here

‘Under the Christmas lights’ (nerik & twins) here

‘It’s Not Family Without Love’ (chapter 8, nerik & twins) here

‘traveled down the road and back again’ (AU) here

‘Bigger Than A Hexadecimal’ (AU) here

‘Settled’ (kandreil) and ‘hearts’ series (AU) here

‘Absinthe makes the heart grow fonder’ (AU) here

‘Surreal But Nice’ (AU) here

‘paint my body gold’ (jerejean) here

‘Coupure Électrique’ (jerejean) here

‘my midwinter sun’ (jerejean) here

‘rayons du soleil’ (jerejean Hanahaki disease) here

‘Whispers in the leaves, shadows in the moonlit night’ (Nightmare Before Christmas AU) and ‘feels like tragedy's at hand’ (werewolves) here

‘morbid stuff’ part 2 (kevineil, fantasy) here

Snow Angels by ihaveacleverfandomurl [Rated G, 1394 Words, Complete, AFTG Winter Exchange 2019]

The Foxes aren’t going to let Neil spend Christmas alone this time.

Twelve Days of Christmas by nothingbutajunkie [Rated G, 4283 Words, Complete, 2020]

Neil didn’t understand why Andrew was suddenly giving him all these gifts.

Life of the Party by MusicandDancingThroughLife [Rated G, 1560 Words, Complete, 2020]

Erik and Nicky spend Christmas Eve with each other, decorating for the holiday. Lots of fluff.

Happy Together by wesawbears [Rated G, 1034 Words, Complete, AFTG Exchange 2017]

Just in time for Christmas, Nicky and Erik's family grows unexpectedly.

25 Days of Foxmas (2018) series by kiraisstillhere [Not Rated, 8509 Words, Incomplete, 2018]

A 10-fic series (to date) of holiday vignettes featuring Andreil, Katelyn/Aaron, Renison, Jerejean, Kevin/Thea with Wymack, and Nerik

Renison Christmas prompt fill by @zeniksnina [Tumblr, 2017]

- Normally they and Dan go up to see Dan’s sisters, but Allison and Renee just bought their first apartment together so they host this year!

tw: past eating disorders

my midwinter sun by poetatertot [Rated T, 3307 Words, Complete, AFTG Holiday Fanzine 2019]

Even with Jean’s initial effort to keep to himself, he knew too much. He knew how Jeremy liked his coffee (sweet); he knew Jeremy preferred citrus over chocolate. He knew Jeremy was the eldest of five children, and that he majored in business. He knew his favorite color was red.

He knew how Jeremy smiled, bright and dimpled. He knew how that smile made him feel—something terrifying, like a trapped bird that ached to fly free.

Jean swallowed hard. How could he give a gift better than that?

tw: implied/referenced abuse

Hang a Shining Star by @nekojitachan [Tumblr Fic, 2017]

“I got u in an office secret santa and i no Nothing about u so now i have to get to know u so i can buy u a gift”

Christmasy things to think about hc by @higgins5 [Tumblr, 2017]

You know, I think we should take a moment and think about how, before the foxes Neil, Kevin and Andrew probably never had a real Christmas

tw: implied/referenced rape/non con

Christmas to Andrew Minyard by @bramlouisgreenfeld [Tumblr Fic, 2016]

Christmas to Andrew Minyard is chocolate shaped like a bearded man, cold weather, and an excuse for people to preach about love while practicing intolerance. He can’t say he’s a fan of any of the above. Even the chocolate - he’s more of an ice cream kind of guy.

Art

Andreil under the mistletoe art by @coldcigarettes

Andreil, Sir & King under the Christmas tree animation by @psuvevo

it makes me happy thinking about these losers on Christmas art by @snackboiminyard 

“Enjoy your last Christmas, junkie” comic by @requiemofkings 

[anika-ann]

Errare Humanum Est - Pt.11

Persona

Type: series, soulmate AU series  (part 1, part 2)   x Supernatural

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader (past?)    Word count: 3400

Summary: Arrival to NYC is not what neither the Winchesters nor you expected. Like… not even in your wildest dreams.

Warnings: mentions of violence, blood and death, amnesia, swearing... that’s enough, I think, oh and confused Moose and Squirell (it’s a... reference)

Story masterlist

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Natasha slept like a baby – or like a dead. Sam didn’t find either of those options comforting. He couldn’t say he wasn’t glad Rowena had assisted them – but he would also be lying if he claimed to be happy about their particular ‘ally’ on this case.

While Dean’s eyes were glued to the road, Sam’s kept flickering between Natasha’s torso, always making sure she was still breathing, and his tablet, where he had started a search. Manhattan was surely a smaller place than the whole world, but it still had over million and half residents and finding Natasha’s soulmate wouldn’t be easy in the slightest.

He was still searching police databases for missing person cases and for house fires and gas explosions. The only problem was, he had no time frame to search – with Dean, it took three months for him to be resurrected and while his particular case had rather different circumstances (with angels having to fight their way through literal Hell and the whole Righteous Man versus apocalypse thing), Sam had no clue when exactly Natasha died.

It could have been the same day Castiel had brought her to them as well as months ago, years even. It wasn’t helping they still didn’t have her name and didn’t know the circumstances.

In other words, they didn’t have jack squat. Then again, Natasha believed her soulmate was a man, probably around her age – that would narrow down the search then. If they failed, they could always try to create her a tinder account and see who would super-like her.

Sam huffed in irritation and amusement, happy that Dean was pulling over. His legs might have been dying for the past few minutes.

“Where are we?” he hummed, cracking his neck.

Dean tuned down the volume before answering – and really, if the loud music hadn’t woken up Natasha, something must have been seriously wrong, Rowena’s magic messing her up on a level eleven on a ten points scale.

“Harrison, New Jersey. About an hour drive to Manhattan. Figured we would be no good in the overpriced hotels in the city, especially with her like this. Plus, I’m hungry,” Dean replied honestly and Sam raised one corner of his lips in a half-grin.

“Fair enough.” Dean opened the door, climbing up. Sam looked around, confused, not seeing any hotel, only a diner, and it got him get out of the car with an exasperated whisper-yell. “Where do you think you’re going? We can’t just leave her here!”

“Oh, we don’t. You’re staying, I’m getting food,” Dean grinned at him cockily, earning Sam’s famous ‘I’m-so-done-with-you-jerk’ face. “I might get you something too, Sammy.”

“Get something to Natasha too, in case she wakes up any time soon,” Sam growled, but obediently folded his long legs back to the car, casting a glance over his shoulder at their last passenger. “Jerk, isn’t he?”

Naturally, Natasha didn’t even stir, let alone reply.

༻༺༻༺༻ღ༺༻༺༻༺

She didn’t regain consciousness until late night. When she did, she seemed to be convinced this was what hangover felt like – neither of the brothers opposed her. She ate two good portions of dinner, drank a litre of water and passed out again, absolutely exhausted.

“I don’t even wanna know what she would have looked like if Rowena drained her as much as she wanted to,” Dean noted darkly and Sam silently agreed, ready to hit the hay too.  

“You think she’s safe to be left on her own?”

“You mean if she dies in her sleep? I wouldn’t worry about that now,” Dean shrugged light-heartedly, patting her calf that slipped out from between the covers. She didn’t seem to mind – or notice for that matter. “We might leave the bathroom light on so she wouldn’t crash into something when waking up groggy like before, but I think she’s good now. Get some sleep.”

Sam casted a glance at Natasha’s peaceful face, watching her form moving ever so slightly as her chest was rising and falling regularly. He sighed and made his way to the bathroom, humming in vague agreement. He was still going to set an alarm for every two hours to check up on her.

Funnily enough, Dean’s phone woke him up sooner as they had got the same idea. Sam snorted in amusement as Dean seemed ashamed for being caught caring for their protégé.

The next time Sam woke up, it was only due to his alarm at four a.m. About an hour later, he was snapped from his dreams by Natasha’s loud cursing as her shin met the nightstand; they had forgotten to leave the light in the bathroom on.

Well. At least she was alive and clearly alright enough to walk and talk.

༻༺༻༺༻ღ༺༻༺༻༺

“So… what happens now?” Natasha asked the burning question as she finished her croissant and fruit.

Sam had been the one to go grocery shopping this time, adding apples to the cart. Dean had been mockingly disgusted, but Natasha seemed ecstatic, discovering she liked red apples better then green ones. It was adorable and Sam felt an uncomfortable pang near his heart when he realized what a little thing like this meant to her, an amnesiac.

He truly wished he had better news for her in a form of some masterplan. The true was they weren’t sure about their next step.

“Now we go to explore the island of Manhattan,” Dean shrugged, causing Natasha to tilt her head and squint.

“Okay…? How is that going to help?”

Dean made a face. “You women are so hard to please sometimes…”

Sam snorted, but quickly fixed his expression when Natasha’s eyes fell on him. He smiled at her tightly with a bit of guilt.

“We’re not sure how to proceed to be honest. Police station is an option, but I searched their databases – they probably won’t have any more luck than I did.”

“Oh,” she said only, her voice sad, her hopeful expression falling. “Can’t you like… eh, post my face on the internet or something? Could that help?”

Sam bit the inside of his cheek, the one ridiculous idea popping up in his head again. He glanced at the woman, her eyes full of steadfast trust in them.

Sam cleared his throat, uneasy sensation in his stomach.

“Well… I actually thought of creating you a Tinder account-“

“Dude!” Dean cried out, exasperated. “You don’t mean that!”

“I’m sorry, you have a better idea?” Sam demanded, irritated as he spun on his chair to face his brother.

Sam was aware it was a lame-ass plan, but there were kind of out of options.

“…what’s a Tinder?” Natasha asked cautiously and Dean answered her swiftly with the ominous words.

“It’s a fuck-app.”

“I’m sorry?”

Sam beat his brother to speaking this time. “It’s a form of a dating site – or better, a dating app for your phone. You create a profile and-“

“So it’s a dating side. Basically. What’s wrong with that?”

“It’s known for finding a quick lay,” Sam explained bluntly, making her eyes widen, blood rushing into her cheeks.

“Oh.”

Dean gestured towards her wildly as if wanting to scream ‘see?!’ when a mixture of emotions played on her face. Sam rolled his eyes and huffed.

Natasha, seeing their exchange, worried her teeth over her lower lip.

“Well… how about we have a trip to the city and if we don’t come up with anything better, we give this a go?” she offered, causing both brothers to look at her as if she had grown a second head. Frankly, Sam was pleased too, though.

“Seriously?” Dean questioned in disbelief.

“We don’t have a better plan, do we? Desperate times. Besides… I have two bodyguards if someone lures me out under false pretences, don’t I?” she asked innocently, an honest smile lighting up her face, her unshakable trust in them showing again.

It made Sam’s stomach flip and his heart melt like hot butter. His lips spread in a smile as well unwittingly and he exchanged a look with Dean, who shrugged.

“You got balls. Let’s go then.”

༻༺༻༺༻ღ༺༻༺༻༺

It took them an hour to get to the city and find a spot and neither of them had a better plan. Which meant they wandered the streets – earning strange looks for some reason –, postponing the inevitable until they found a small homey café.

Sam gulped. “Well, looks like this is it. We’re gonna dive into the Tinder jungle…”

Dean scoffed as he entered the café, looking around for a free table in the friendly space. It was clear that this wasn’t a franchise type of thing and Sam couldn’t tell he minded.

What he did mind were several pairs of eyes falling on them – and few of them growing wide, having their owners nudge their mates and whisper.

The taller hunter glanced at his companions who seemed equally uncomfortable under the glares. Good, Sam wasn’t getting paranoid then.

The moment only lasted few second though, then an orange-haired barista making rounds approached them with a smile, pointing them towards the counter, breaking the spell.

“Welcome to MDDC. Order at the counter, please. Oh and I recommend our caramel latté. It’s known to be magical,” she winked at them and Sam winced, mentally pleading for no more magic.

Squinting at her nametag, he thanked her for the recommendation anyway.

“Thank you… Terri.”

She threw another wink over her shoulder as she spun on her heels and headed the same direction. Unlike some of the patrons she seemed unfazed by their presence as she should. Yet, Sam still caught some people watching them with interest and shuffled, uncomfortable in his own skin.

“Am I like… famous? Or are they staring at you?” Natasha whispered, cautiously walking to the line of customers.

“They are staring, aren’t they?” Sam agreed, his mind racing. Was it a good thing? What did it mean? Could Natasha be famous?

“Maybe they think we’re all in poly.”

“Dean,” Sam snapped instantly, not amused as much as his brother clearly was, judging by his smirk.

“What? They could,” Dean offered innocently, earning a curious glance from Natasha, followed by a shake of her head.

“I’m not even gonna ask.” Good choice. “Grab me the caramel latté, please? Maybe it won’t taste like coffee too much. I’m… ugh, I’m gonna…” she pointed towards the ladies room and Sam just nodded.

A quick scan of the room confirmed his suspicion – there were eyes following her. Whatever this was, it was about her, not them.

Good news: no one was about to call the police, recognizing them as criminals. Good news no.2: finding information about Natasha might not be as hard as they had thought. Might.

“So, what are we thinking?”

Dean joined him in the line, losing his carefree attitude. “I think it’s worth asking. This ain’t coincidence. I just don’t get it – if she is famous, how did you not find a match?”

Sam grimaced, wondering about the same thing.

“Maybe it’s her family – or her soulmate. They could be annoyed with people, wanting to have their peace. How much it can cost to have someone cover the digital trail? Or maybe they sued someone and it resulted in that.”

“Or we could be wrong and they’re just looking at her ‘cause she an eye-candy,” Dean hummed, sounding perfectly serious. Sam hoped that the look he sent him spoke volumes. “What? She’s cute, we’re both thinking it.”

Sam rolled his eyes , but didn’t protest. “Let’s hope that it’s not the case, otherwise we’re about to sign her up for a ‘fuck-app’.”

This time it was Dean who glared mocked murder. Sam grinned.

“So, guys, what can I get you?” Terri asked them cheerily, genuine smile on her face. It somehow made Sam smile back automatically.

“Flat white, medium for me. Americano, no sugar for him. Tall? Yeah. And one of those caramel lattés,” Sam ordered.

“Here or to go?”

“Here. Add one of those… cheesecakes or whatever it’s called,” Dean requested. Before Sam could ask, he explained. “She liked trying new stuff. And Rowena said she should eat a lot.”

“That’s surprisingly thoughtful of you,” Sam blurted out, not watching his mouth. It earned them a giggle from their barista.

“Shut up, Samantha. You’re paying.”

Sam snorted as his brother aimed for a free table in the back and he pulled out the cash.

“He looks like a piece of work,” Terri commented lightly. Sam silently agreed. “I’ll bring your order to the table, okay?”

“Thanks.”

The boot in a quiet corner was a good choice, though Sam felt a little sorry for Natasha, who would have to walk through the whole café and face the strangely curious eyes.

“Here we go. Enjoy,” the barista landed their coffees and dessert.

“Thank you. Uhm… Terri? Can I ask you something?” Sam asked and straightened in his seat, which earned him a suspicious look from the woman.

“I have a boyfriend.”

“What a shame for the rest of us…” Dean sighed, shooting Sam an amused look when he noticed how flustered he grew.

“Huh? No, that wasn’t what I was-! I mean, not that you weren’t- uh, I mean-“ Sam stuttered, horrified she came to such conclusion.

It was when she giggled, her eyes sparkling. “I’m messing with you. What is it?”

Sam huffed, but couldn’t help but sigh in relief. He even charmed a little smile, trying not to look too self-important and showing he was okay with her teasing him.

“This might sound strange but… I think… people are kinda staring? At our friend? Do you have any idea why?”

“Well… if I could take a guess… it’s… it’s just that she looks so much like her,” she said slowly, glancing around. No one paid them any mind as they lowered their voices.

Jackpot. Sam’s eyebrows jumped and he leaned in, intrigued. With the corner of his eye, he registered Dean doing the same.

“Like who?”

“Cap’s girl,” Terri said simply, her expression darkening and softening at the same time. “God give him strength and let her rest in peace.”

Millions of questions popped up in Sam’s head, mostly whirling about what, who, why, when. A tragedy had struck, that was nothing new, they expected as much, but not an event of public manner.  

“Cap?” Sam questioned, confused. What kind of a nickname-

“Do you live under a rock?” Terri asked with a strange expression on her face. She seemed… surprised and weirded out, honestly. Sam couldn’t help but be offended at such blunt and mean question. “Sorry. Not much of a patriot then? Not from around here?”

“Wait, you mean Cap as… Captain America?” Dean whispered, sounding excited and Sam felt his heart skip a beat.

No way. Sam wasn’t very patriotic, never felt it, but even he knew who Captain America was and what role he had played in history – and present. But… she had to be shitting them, right?

“Well… yeah.”

Apparently not.

“Captain America? The Avenger?” Sam checked, making sure there was no confusion between them.

“Sure thing.” Terri shrugged, a small smile tugging at her lips.

“And she looks like his-…?“ Sam hinted her, trying to mask his impatience and excitement, probably failing epically.

“Soulmate, yeah.”

“That’s…” The younger hunter jerked his head, exchanging a meaningful look with Dean. “…interesting. Can we find her picture online? What’s her name? You know… celebrity look alike game and all that…? They do say my brother here looks like Bradley James.”

Oh yeah, Sam was totally making this up as he went. Dean was going to murder him for that comparison, but sacrifices needed to be made in the name of their rescue case. Terri tilted her head to side, examining Dean’s face, her smile growing wider.

“Huh. You kinda do,” she concluded and smirked. “I always was a sucker for Arthur and Merlin bromance.”

Sam snorted. They had watched an episode of Merlin. Dean had been horrified.

“I hate you. But yeah, do tell us.”

“Sure. But you can just check out the church on West 59th Street,” their barista confided them in – except neither of the brother understand what it meant. Dean was the one to ask.

“Why?”

“It’s the closest church to the Tower,” Terri announced, seemingly bewildered as she looked between the two of them. “How did you miss all this? It was all over the news.”

“We���ve been… travelling a lot.”

“Oh. Okay. You can just check it out. Light a candle for her. She died so a lot of others could live,” Terri explained them softly, clearly about to make her leave.

Sam had one last question though – well, among like million others.

Light a candle for her? What the hell?

“Thanks. Just… how long has it been?”

“Not too long. Few weeks.”

The moment their barista was out of hearing rage, Sam turned to Dean, whose shocked expression matched his own, and started whispering hastily.

“What the hell?!”

“Yeah, I’m right there with you. But it sounds legit. You check it out?“

Sam glanced around before pulling out his tablet. He liked this option better than the Tinder one, but an anxious knot was tying up his stomach as Natasha still didn’t find them at their table. She sure was taking her time. Sam hoped she was okay and wasn’t having a panic attack or something. And that there were no windows she could climb through – because if she was Captain freaking America’s soulmate, she might as well be a superhero just like him.

Seriously – what the hell.

The amount of results for ‘Captain America soulmate’ search was ridiculous, climbing to astronomic numbers. Links to articles, pictures, videos… and lots of the links had only the headline and nothing more to it – they had been deleted.

Sam wasn’t surprised anymore. Once again, if Natasha – which wasn’t her name at all, of course, as he found out – was the one for the supersoldier, there was no wonder someone would want to protect her privacy.

Sam roamed through the links, finally finding a photo – a photo of an altar, a picture of what clearly was a woman of Natasha’s hair colour, though blurred via filter, surrounded by teddy bears, flowers and candles.

The younger hunter gulped, satisfaction at possibly solving the mystery mixing with nervousness and compassion.

“Got something,” he hummed, passing the device to Dean.

“Well, that’s not creepy at all. Found any picture of her that actually shows her?”

Sam glared at his brother. “I’m trying,” he hissed, returning to his search.

He clicked on several videos – it was no surprise they had all been removed. He grunted in frustration, trying out what could be twentieth link, some no-name person Tumblr blog who had reposted it about three minutes ago.

Bingo!

The blurry picture moved a little, showing a blond man standing up from a bed in a plain room, crackling sound in the background. Sam froze the frame, attaching headphones and pressed play again.

The camera finally cleared and… the frame split in two. In the other frame, a woman strapped to a chair appeared, causing Sam’s heart stop along with his breathing.

Holy shit.

Holy.

Shit.

“Dean, you have to see this,” Sam choked out, a lump growing in his throat as he pushed the tablet to sit at the table between them and passed one headphone to his brother. Dean’s eyes went wide upon seeing the people in the video.

“Life is full of hard choices, isn’t it, Captain?” a scratchy male voice mocked the desperate man in the picture and Sam’s shoulders tensed when he realized just how hard choice the soldier was given; two bombs showed in the frame.

Well, shit.

“Steve?” Oh yeah. This was definitely Natasha’s voice. This was hundred percent Natasha. Who wasn’t Natasha, but whatever. “It’s… it’s okay. Go. Go save lives. I… I knew I’d have to share you with the world. Frankly, I didn’t imagine it would be like this, but— you go and be hero. My life is nothing compared to thousands and we both know that.”

“Is that really-“ Dean questioned incredulously, eyes glued to the screen.

“Yeah. I… I think it is.”

They spoke no more, watching the video as if it was the most suspenseful thriller they had even seen. Which it was, because the plot was very much real and they had the main character in the near bathroom. Risen from death.

Someone should probably check up on her, but Sam couldn’t tear his gaze away. It was like watching a train wreck to happen; they knew how it must have ended. Thousands of people Nat in the video had mentioned got to live; because Captain’s soulmate was about to blow up.

Both brothers still winced when the explosion did end the video.

Christ.

Dean slowly pulled out the earplug and gulped, glancing at Sam.

“Well… son of a bitch.”

༻༺༻༺༻ღ༺༻༺༻༺

Part 12

༻༺༻༺༻ღ༺༻༺༻༺

Thank you for reading!

(I’m sorry for that GIF use, I had to)

I hope it’s clear enough now that there’s a slight time shift between reader chapters and Steve/Nat/Sam/Bucky chapters (theirs are earlier, while reader had been resurrected a few weeks after her death, about after Steve’s drinking night.) 

 P.S. – I couldn’t resist that little cameo :D If you know who I mean the better, if not, don’t worry about it, Terri is one of my OFCs ;)

[ficsilike-reblogged]

Sunshine City: Two

A/N: I am so sorry this took so long. But I do hope you guys like it. If you haven’t watched Kingsman: The Golden Circle, I would really recommend it. I’m pulling quite a bit from the movie for the first handful of chapters and I don’t want to confuse anyone. But if you have any questions, I’ll gladly answer them!

Pairing: (Eventual) Agent Whiskey x F!Reader (No Y/N)

Word Count: 4.1k

Rating For This Chapter: M for Whiskey being Whiskey, inappropriate hand gestures, lusting after your boss, and some dubious consent on behalf of Clara. tldr: finger-fucking a stranger to save the world :)

Read the Prologue and Chapter One!

Louisville was a quaint city—not that she would ever say that to a local. Ginger Ale greeted her as she landed at the airport and had filled her in on the goings-on at the main headquarters and how there was a strange set of explosions in the UK that landed on their radar. After hearing about the “blue” aspect of her and Whiskey’s latest mission, Champ had requested she come down to Kentucky and brief him in person, citing his distaste for mission-brief emails. Whiskey was tasked with keeping the New York headquarters running, as he always did. The lucky bastard. But it was fine. He had nearly strangled her and she still thought he was the most handsome man she’d ever met. 

Something was clearly wrong with her and maybe some time away from his face and crooked smile would help her stop feeling like she had something clawing to get out of her chest every time he looked at her.

(It wouldn’t help. She knew that.)

Their mission in Vegas had been a success—in a strange kind of way. After the men turned blue, she and Whiskey followed them through the club and carried the mission out—with one caveat. They grabbed a vial of blood before disposing of the bodies. There had been a minor shoot out with the suppliers but it was easily handled, too. 

Ginger Ale took the vial of blood and made it a priority to test it as Capri Sun went to Champagne’s office.

“Ginger will probably be able to give us more specifics when the tests are done,” she said as she finished her spiel.

“What do you think it is? What’s your gut say, Capri Sun?”

She wiped a hand down her face and leaned against one of the chairs at the long table. “Something’s going on, Champ. People turning blue? The explosions in the UK? All of it feels…off.”

Champ opened his mouth to say something else but his personal intercom buzzed and Tequila’s voice rang out. “Champ, we’ve got some stragglers on the tour. They’re lookin’ to get inside the cask vault. British by the sounds of it.” He paused. “They’re using some tech to get through our biometric scanners.”

Cap looked at Champ to see him arch an eyebrow. “Ten bucks says they’re here for Butterfly Guy.” 

“Bring ‘em in, Tequila. Real quiet like,” Champ ordered.

“Ya got it, boss.”

As the line went dead, Champ crossed his arms over his chest as he looked at her. “The butterfly guy, huh? You reckon that’s what they’re here for?”

“Three bombings at nearly the exact same time in the UK and the next day two Brits show up here, where we’re housing a one-eyed amnesiac spy? Yeah.” She shrugged. “Call it a hunch.”

‘The Butterfly Guy,’ as he was dubbed after waking up a little less than a year ago, was a fodder for a fair bit of gossip at all of the Statesman offices. It isn’t every day that a Brit, obviously involved in intelligence in some capacity, gets shot in the head outside a zealot’s church after a spike of low wave frequencies catch Ginger’s eye. The fact that he was obsessed with butterflies just made him even more of an anomaly. Agent Seltzer thought he was some sort of double agent from MI-6. Agent Absinthe thought it was a ploy from some terrorist organization to infiltrate Statesman HQ. She didn’t really care either way.

Champ huffed with a smile. “We’ll see, Cap.”

They spoke a little more about the Vegas mission before they heard the intercom buzz again—it was Ginger, quickly relaying that the British intruders did seem to know Butterfly Guy but were here for a completely different reason…supposedly.

She turned as she heard the elevator chime on the other side of the door.  “That’s my cue. I’ll see you later, Champ.” 

“Don’t go too far, now,” he said as she started to walk away. “Whiskey’ll probably need ya when I talk to him about Vegas in a minute.”

She nodded and let herself out, dodging Tequila’s swat that he aimed at her shoulder. Tequila had been the man in the alley all those years ago. He was friendly and sweet, if not a little brash, and she considered him a friend. But the other man at Tequila’s side caught her eye. He looked her over with a critical and quizzical gaze before the Statesman agent all but shoved him into the room and the door slapped shut behind them. Her phone quickly ate all of her attention as she brought up the cameras the doggy daycare had set up throughout their shop so owners could check on their dogs. Bela was currently gnawing on a tennis ball as a golden retriever licked at his ear.

She hated leaving him alone so much. Hated it. He was such a good boy and she loved him so much that she actually asked Champ if she could bring him to Kentucky whenever she came down.

It was a firm no—apparently Tequila had accidentally let loose his fleet of basset hounds in HQ a year before she joined and Champ had to instate a no-pets policy because of the damage they caused. It was a shame, really. She thought Champ would really like Bela.

She checked her email, too, responding to Agent Grenadine’s plea for help. She was a newer agent and still needed a bit of guidance when it came to the more finite details of missions. Whiskey had slept with her within a week of Grenadine being assigned to the New York office. He never waited long, it seemed. And she didn’t really blame him—Grenadine was young and beautiful and vivacious. And always “down for a night of fun with no strings” as she had so eloquently put it. Perfectly Whiskey’s type.

And why was she thinking about that right now?

She shook off the thought and rubbed at her eyes before she pocketed her phone.

The door opened and Tequila came out with a huff.

“The Brits getting on your nerv-” The words stalled in her throat as she saw the blue crawling up his neck and across his face. It was exactly like what she had seen on the targets in Vegas. “Tequila? Oh my god.” Her hands reached out to touch him and winced as he all but crumpled into her grip. “What is happening? What did you do?”

“I-I…fuck, Cap. I don’t even know.”

Her thumbs brushed against his cheeks with a frown. “Go to Ginger. She’ll sort you out, I’m sure.”

Tequila’s smile was small. “I’ll be right as rain by tomorrow.”

Y/N nodded, not believing it, and watched him go with a sigh.

The man from earlier slipped out the door with a sigh of his own. His eyes found hers. “You Capri Sun?”

She held out a hand for him to shake. “Everybody calls me Cap. You’re Galahad or whatever?”

“Call me Eggsy,” he said as he shook her hand.

“Eggsy. Fewer syllables.” She crossed her arms over her chest as they dropped their hands. “Is there something I can help you with?”

“Yeah, uh, Whiskey says you’re coming back with us. He’s sending a jet?”

She groaned.

                                                       **

“I’ve got a surprise for you, Sunny,” Whiskey said as Eggsy stepped out of his office to make a call. 

She crossed her arms with a sigh. It had been hours since they landed back in New York and she was tired. They had been formulating a plan to meet ‘Clara,’ the ex-girlfriend of some Kingsman cast-off who had ties to The Golden Circle cartel who was possibly responsible for the blue rash. Clara was all over social media with her plans to attend the Glastonbury Music Festival. The fact that there was another independent intelligence agency named Kingsman was really the least alarming information she’d learned that day—apparently there was a guy walking around with a robotic arm capable of hacking entire security systems.

She needed a nap before they loaded up to head across the ocean in an hour.

But Whiskey’s smile continued to grow and he buzzed for his assistant to, “bring him in.”

The door opened and she turned to see little Bela wiggling like crazy in the poor woman’s grasp. His entire body seemed to shake when he spotted her and happy little barks escaped him.

She quickly pulled him into her arms and let him lick all over her face. It had only been two days since she’d dropped him off at daycare but he always greeted her like she had been gone a year. “Hi baby. Hi hi hi. Yes, I missed you, too.”

Her fingers pushed through his thick fur as Bela finally settled in her grip and propped his head against her shoulder. She pressed a kiss to his one ear as she smiled. But then it dawned on her: Whiskey had definitely witnessed all of that. A giant crack in the visage she had sculpted. Fuck.

She slowly turned to face him and scowled at the shit-eating grin splitting his face. “Now, what’s a guy got to do to get a welcome like that?”

“Be a one-eared corgi,” she replied drolly.

“C’mon now, Sunny. I had to call in a big favor to have Vanessa pick him up and bring him here without you. That doggy daycare has some stringent guidelines about who can pick up a dog, by the way.” He placed his hands on his hips and they cocked to the side as they so often did. But he was still smiling. “I think I should get something.”

She sighed and Bela nosed at the underside of her jaw. “Thank you, boss. That was very kind of you.”

“And?”

“And that’s all you’re getting.” His smile fell the slightest bit and she bit back a grimace. In truth, it was the nicest thing someone had done for her in a long, long time. Letting her indulge in a little time with her dog before having to fly across the world was definitely spoiling her. And her traitorous mind had to remember how broken Whiskey had looked when he had realized he had wrapped his hands around her neck. This was probably just an I’m-sorry-I-tried-to-kill-you-while-asleep gift. But it didn’t feel like that and she really needed to stop lying to herself or get better at it. “I really do appreciate it, Whiskey. I don’t like being away from him for so long.”

“You really love the little guy, don’t’cha?” He stepped forward and let Bela sniff his fingers before petting him. Bela’s stumped tail quickly resumed its body-shaking wags when Whiskey instinctively found his soft spot. “I guess he’s cute.” The teasing lilt to his voice almost made her smile again.

“Yeah, he’s my favorite.”

“His name’s Bella? Italian for beautiful.”

“No. Like Bela Lugosi. The guy who played Dracula.”

Hearing his name, Bela licked at her face.

“Never took you for a monster movie fan,” Whiskey said, continuing to pet her dog.

“My brother loved them. Bela Lugosi, Boris Karloff—if they were in the movie, he made me watch it. But this little guy didn’t look like a Boris. So, Bela it was.”

“Your brother?” Whiskey asked, trying to catch her eye bet she kept them firmly on her dog.

“Yup.” And that was all the answer she gave, her heart a little heavy already. She hoisted the corgi a little higher and Whiskey pulled his hand back. “I guess I should get him back to the daycare before we take off.”

“Vanessa can handle it.”

She nodded and walked to the door and spoke to Vanessa and pressed a series of kisses behind Bela’s ear before the assistant walked away with her dog in a careful hold. Her shoulders slumped as she watched them go. “Thanks for letting me see him. I know you think it is stupid-”

“I never said that, Sunny.”

She hummed, filing away her small bit of melancholy, and turned back to face him. “So, why’d you want me on this gig? I thought you’d be able to handle a pretty girl at a music festival on your own.”

Whiskey opened his mouth like he wanted to say something before shutting. His broad shoulders rolled. He turned back to his desk and settled into his slick black leather chair. “I don’t trust the kid.”

“Eggsy? Why?” She thought him a little cocksure—but she also dealt with Whiskey on a near-daily basis.

Whiskey shrugged. “Call it an instinct.”

She settled into the chair across from him with a frown. “And you thought bringing me along would do what exactly? Stab him in the back before he stabs you?”

He huffed out a laugh. “Maybe.” The leather of his chair creaked as it leaned forward with a smirk. “Maybe I just think you need to let loose a little and a music festival can do that.”

Rolling her eyes at her boss wasn’t really an option so she settled for blinking very slowly. “That’s kind of a waste of company funds, boss.”

“You are absolutely no fun.”

“People are dying.”

“All the more reason for you to come along.” He tilted his head to the side with another smile. “Please?”

She let out a slow breath and mulled over her options. She could call Champ and say she wanted out. It would be the first time she handed over a mission to someone else and each agent gets one pass. But then she could never get out of another one again. And it was just a music festival. Right? “Fine. But only because one of my favorite bands is playing at the festival.”

His smile grew and it twisted her stomach. She shouldn’t let him sway her this much. But the surprise (and probably illegal) visit from Bela did soften her resolve. And maybe watching him seduce someone else would actually—finally—put a stop to her silly feelings for the man. So far, she’d avoided any and all social functions that would let her see him scoping out another fling for the night. And yes, it did make her a little bit of an outcast within the social circles of Statesman. But she was only there to do a job anyway. Save the world. Pet her dog. Go to sleep when she had the chance. She didn’t need anything else.

“I’m glad you’re coming along, Sunny. I wouldn’t have anyone else.”

Dammit.

                                                     **

Finding out that Eggsy was dating a Swedish princess would have been hilarious if Whiskey hadn’t insisted on picking Eggsy up in a fucking Bronco that had the most obnoxious horn known to mankind. Eggsy helped her put the VIP band around her wrist with a small smile. He was a good kid, she decided. A little rough around the edges. Definitely cocksure. But genuine.

She tried to focus on that and not how she caught Whiskey’s eyes trailing up her thighs in the rearview mirror.

She had dressed to blend in at Glastonbury. Tiny shorts, a fringed, low-cut top, and Hunter rainboots. If it worked for Kate Moss, it worked for her.

But the heated gaze she’d caught from her boss almost made her squirm in her seat.

Thankfully, they arrived at the festival grounds without too much trouble and she focused on the passing greenery instead of the eyes she felt on her skin. They spoke about the tracker and the need for it to stick and the two men, of course, made frequent innuendos about the size of their dicks as she tried very hard not to commit murder by bludgeoning them both to death with her rain boot. The music was thumping through speakers, songs overlapping from the various stages and creating a raucous thrumming as they approached the VIP bar. She watched the various attendees pass by. It really was colorful. Some guy was wearing a pair of leather wings and drinking next to a girl in head-to-toe tie-dye.

“I say we both make an approach. Whoever gets on best, goes for it.” Whiskey said. “Sunny will make sure the target doesn’t ditch us before we can plant it.”

Eggsy rolled his eyes. “Well, it doesn't have to be a competition, bruv. Why don't we just go up to her, shake her hand, pat her on the back. Whatever, you know. Job done.”

“The hand is not a mucus membrane, Eggsy. Neither is the back. They teach you anything at Kingsman?”

And she had to laugh at that, despite Eggsy’s absolutely offended face.

“What are you talking about?”

“We need a mucus membrane, Eggsy. Remember?” she supplied, trying to be helpful.

“Our trackers are designed to enter the bloodstream. They circulate harmlessly, providing full audio and GPS.” Whiskey’s pointer and middle finger curled and swirled as he spoke and she had to look away for a moment, knowing exactly what he was implying with that motion. Heat coiled in her stomach. Now was not the time to be thinking about getting finger-fucked by her boss. But the senior agent caught her eye anyway and winked as his fingers curled again and she would swear she could almost feel those phantom fingers. But, she set her lips into a firm line and his smile fell.

Eggsy’s jaw went to side as he mulled their words over. “Mucus membrane. That's like up the nose, isn't it? What the fuck am I gonna do? Stick my finger...” She watched as realization dawned on him. “It's not just inside the nose, is it?”

“No, Eggsy, it ain't. Fuck.” Whiskey shook his head. “All right, I'll take the first crack. Watch and learn, buddy.”

As Whiskey sauntered up to the bar, Eggsy sighed. “Is he always like this?”

She nodded, sagely. “Yes.” But her eyes quickly focused on Whiskey and listening in on their conversation. But her stomach quickly dropped as one horrible pick up line after another spilled out of his mouth. Did he really just ask her what band she was in?

Good god. How did she find this man attractive?

“Eggsy, for the love of God, please go rescue that poor girl.” She nudged him toward the bar and he all but dragged his feet with a scowl but it quickly morphed into a cocky grin when Clara spotted him.

She really thought she had saved the mission. Really. But then Eggsy was just as bad as Whiskey, it seemed, at picking up women. How did he manage to woo a Princess with those lines? It eventually devolved into both Eggsy and Whiskey passive-aggressively trying to one-up each other and Clara quickly had a hoard of drinks she didn’t want or order sitting in front of her.

She couldn’t roll her eyes hard enough at the two men peacocking in front of the poor girl and decided to salvage the mission on her own. She wedged her way between Clara and Eggsy with a sigh and ordered a water as her fingers plucked the tracker from his pocket. Her eyes slid over to Clara to see her already looking in her direction. Perfect.

                                                     **

It hadn’t taken long from the pair of men to realize they’d been all but dismissed by Sunny and Clara and they both retreated (Whiskey to the other side of the bar and Eggsy to the VIP entrance to make sure Clara didn’t leave) to spectate and make sure she didn’t blow it with Clara, too. But Whiskey knew she wouldn’t. Her records were clear. She never missed a target. He wasn’t sure what had thrown him off his game so much. Usually he’d be retreating to a shadowed hallway or an empty room by now with the target ready and wet for him.

Maybe it was the perfect set of legs he’d already spied. His Sunny always looked good. Always.

But she’d never come on a “tracking” mission with him before and he could feel her eyes on him the entire time.

Whiskey watched, a little entranced, as Sunny had the target eating out of her hand within a few moments—and then literally eating out of the her hand as Sunny pushed an ice cube between Clara’s lips with a giggle he’d never heard her make before. Her thumb dipped into Clara’s mouth with the ice and she slowly pulled it out only to lick the water from her skin with a smile.

Something definitely stirred beneath the zipper of his jeans.

Clara leaned close and let her fingers trail down Sunny’s arm as she whispered something into her ear. Sunny then bit her lip with another smile and nodded, grasping Clara’s hand in hers. Even from a distance, he could read her lips, “lead the way.” The pair of women slipped away through the crowd and Whiskey had to lean against the bar to hide what surely was the erection of his nightmares and daydreams as Eggsy walked up to him, a relieved little smile on his face. “She really saved us, mate. She’s a good one, ain’t she?” The kid settled in the empty stool beside him.

“Yeah, kid,” Whiskey muttered as he waved down the bartender. “She’s a good one.” He ordered a whiskey neat before discreetly activating and raising the volume on the earpiece so he could monitor Sunny. He knew Clara wasn’t much of a threat—not against the likes of his Sunny, anyway—but he just wanted to be sure.

The earpiece hummed for a moment and recalibrated before he caught the tail-end of some sort of whispered flirt.  “You’re so pretty for me.” There was a soft answering noise and then a shuffle, like a dress being pulled off. “So pretty.”

“God, you’re mouthy,” Clara said. “I love it.”

“Get on the bed,” Sunny said and he imagined Clara scrambling to do as she was told and then Sunny climbing over her. His mind drifted, for a moment. Was she like this with everyone she brought to bed? Sounds of some illicit act buzzed in his ears as he thought of her lips, her fingers…

“Look at you. So wet. I’ve barely touched you.” His Sunny laughed.

“Oh please,” Clara whined, high and breathy. “Please.”

Whiskey glanced at Eggsy to see him squirming in his seat. He tapped the kid on the shoulder and then snatched the earpiece right out of his ear. “The fuck?” Eggsy grumbled.

Whiskey just pocketed it and ordered another drink.

Clara was moaning now and there was a distinct wet sound that he knew all too well.

“Oh! Right there! Fuuuuuuuu-there!”

Sunny laughed again but it sounded muffled. “You almost there? Yeah, I think you are. Just about covered my hand—leaking all over me. You’ve made a mess.” Sunny sighed and the wet noise grew faster and faster. “Come on, gorgeous. You can come for me.”

The zipper of his jeans was becoming increasingly more cumbersome and he took a healthy gulp of the liquor. He shouldn’t be picturing her making those sounds. Shouldn’t be wondering what she sounded like with his fingers buried deep. Shouldn’t be thinking about what she would taste like on his tongue.

But he did. And it wasn’t the first or the last time.

Clara’s moans turned into a staccato of whimpers and groans that grew and grew until she wailed.

Sunny hummed—he could tell she was smiling. “I knew you’d be beautiful when you came.”

Clara panted and there was a soft sound of a kiss. “Your turn?”

“Mm, no. I just like seeing pretty girls come.” Another kiss. “But thanks for the offer.”

“God, you are just a walking dream, aren’t you?” Clara asked, all breathy and smitten.

Whiskey finished his drink and paid. The rest of the conversation between Clara and Sunny was a hum in his ears as he left the bar and Eggsy quickly followed.

“Think she can teach me her tricks?” He joked.

“Nah, kid. You either got it or you don’t. She just has it in spades.” He walked toward the tent but slowed to a stop just out of reach so as to not look like they were lingering. He gave it a moment, and then another. Sunny walked out of the tent with a smile and licked her fingers. Mission accomplished.

A/N: Welp. There’s that. I will try to have the next chapter up in less time than it took for this one to get published. Please tell me what you think!

Beautiful people who asked to be tagged: @spookyold-saintjm​ @honestlystop​ @paryl​ @fioccodineveautunnale

[alirhi]

working that muse to the bone while I've got her lol

Title: Winter's Frost Chapter: 16/? Fandom: MCU Rating: R to be on the safe side Pairing: Loki/Bucky Summary: Loki never told anyone the real reason he became so obsessed with Midgard. Much better to let them think he wanted to hurt his brother than draw their attention to the one thing in the universe that makes the God of Mischief truly vulnerable. WARNINGS: all of the emo! Reference to trauma Notes: I cried writing this. I hope that's an indication of quality and not just that I'm pathetic lmao

It had grown quite late. With Bucky sound asleep on the sofa, Eira still nestled safely in his arms and even Darcy retiring to bed some time ago, Loki was left alone with his brother. They'd moved to sit outside to avoid waking any of the house's slumbering occupants, both having changed into simple Midgardian-style clothing in the hopes of escaping any unwanted attention. Staring up at the clear black sky, they sat in almost companionable silence for a long moment; oddly, it was Loki who broke it first.

"Go on."

"Hm?"

He rolled his eyes and waved one hand with a flourish. "You've been nearly silent all evening. It must be tearing you apart not to be the center of attention; not to even speak. Get it out. All the judgement, the mocking, the condescension. Let's have it."

"Quite a story you told today."

"I haven't lied nor embellished a thing."

Chuckling, Thor held up his hand to forestall any further defensive jabs from his weary, stressed brother. "No, I know. For all your tricks in this life, you've rarely outright lied." He glanced back at the house, and the most remarkable look transformed his face; if Loki didn't know him better, he'd swear the oaf looked almost... empathetic. "Seeing you together, and hearing what he's been through-"

"Tip of the ice berg. I've seen the memories he hasn't yet regained access too. They're barbarous."

"No, I'm sure..." Turning a level, surprisingly gentle gaze on Loki, he told him, "None of that story was for my benefit, I know that. And I don't think there's a force in the universe that could make you lie to him."

Unable to bear sympathy from any member of the house of Odin, Loki turned back to the sky, pretending to be transfixed by the stars. "No. Even before they raped his mind for decades and scrambled his sense of reality, I'd have died before ever lying to him."

"Remarkable." Thor nudged him, and Loki could hear the smile in his voice. "The God of Mischief, in love! I never thought I'd see the day."

"That's because you haven't been paying attention."

"So you keep telling me."

With an exasperated sigh, he forced himself to look at his adoptive brother again. "Not once in over a thousand years have you ever bothered truly getting to know me. Don't presume now to know what's in my nature. You've only ever been wrong."

"Then tell me," Thor shot back, voice still soft but now with an edge to it that the Trickster couldn't quite identify. "How does this love story end?"

When did this moron learn to cut so deeply without benefit of a blade? Tense all over again, Loki turned away and stared at the dusty ground. "I don't know."

"You must have some idea of-"

"I can't see the future, Thor," he snapped. "I'm not a witch."

With the lightest of touches to his hand, Thor finished, "Of how you want it to end. I may not know you as well as I'd thought, brother, but I know enough. I know there's no way you grieved this man alone for fifty years and spent twenty driving yourself mad trying to rescue him, without a single thought to what might come next."

"I'd thought to bring him home to Asgard," Loki admitted with a shrug. "When I thought Asgard was home. Now... Frankly, Thor, I have no idea. Eira's birth and then being held hostage by Thanos on his deranged venture... I'm not even Aesir. Everything I'd once thought... It's all changed. My world wasn't simply turned upside down, it was taken from me. I feel I'm still spinning in the abyss with no hope of landing anywhere."

"That's the most I've ever heard you speak at one time." Thor glanced at the house again and snorted. "To me, anyway."

"Don't read too much into it. I've had no one but a baby and my captors to speak to for several years." That wasn't the true reason for his candor and they both knew it, but Loki hoped his brother would be merciful and not point out that his life and everything he held dear all depended partially on convincing Thor not to drag him back to Asgard in chains, nor reveal his location to Odin.

The Avengers, he felt he could avoid easily enough, but Odin and Thanos... They were the real danger to his little family. He knew he couldn't hide from either of them for long, not with a traumatized, amnesiac lover and a helpless baby to look after. Both Bucky and Eira needed stillness; they needed a place to stop and to orient themselves. Eira simply couldn't grow up on the run, and Bucky had seen too much upheaval in his life already, since long before the war and the draft.

It hit him all at once, then, and suddenly Loki was a child idolizing his strong, perfect brother again. For all that Thor had hurt and humiliated him, the realization that he was all Loki had left to lean on was hitting home.

For the first time in longer than he cared to calculate, Thor perceived his distress without him having to say a word. In an instant, the already small gap between them was closed and Loki was enfolded in his brother's abnormally large arms. That broke open the flood gate and shattered all his hard-won and carefully maintained control. Shaking violently with the force of his sobs, Loki clung to Thor with all his might, and somewhere under all the pain and fear and hopelessness, he felt a small, warm glow of gratitude for this thoughtless, stubborn meathead.

"I'm sorry." He was a bit surprised to note that Thor sounded as though he was crying, as well. "You're right, I never once really tried to understand you, and I'm so sorry!"

"None of you ever have," Loki choked out, trying desperately to get his emotions back under control. He'd been too stressed for too long; now that he had his first moment in years to breathe, to feel, it was all coming down on him at once. With a pitiful exhalation that was supposed to be a derisive laugh, he muttered, "At least now I know why I'm so different. Dress me up however you like, but a Jotun will never fit into a house full of Aesir."

"Loki, I don't care that you're a Frost Giant – I don't even care that you're the world's smallest Frost Giant." That got a half-hearted laugh out of him, but at least this one sounded like a laugh. He righted himself just in time to see the last traces of Thor's weak attempt at a teasing smile. "No matter where you've come from or what's gone wrong between us, you're my brother and I love you."

As he swiped furiously at his tears, Loki grumbled under his breath, "It is utterly humiliating how nice that is to hear."

"Face it, you're stuck with this 'big, dumb puppy' forever."

With a startled but finally sincere laugh, Loki nodded. "It would appear so. You're even more stubborn than your father."

"Our father."

"Oh, no. We're not there yet."

Thor grinned, nudging him again. "Alright, fair enough. He'd only muck things up, anyway, and you might lose your daughter."

"Unacceptable."

"I agree. So, we keep Father out of things until we can sort them out properly. That leaves only one other direction we can go in for help – and don't embrace the family stubbornness yourself, you know you need help."

"Don't say it." Loki cringed, covering his face with one hand. "Do not say The-"

"We need The Avengers."

"I should have just lit you on fire in Siberia!"

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