#hug drawing pending

[honeybee-arts]

everything about this whole scene was straight from god

[luveline]

Oh oh oh Hotch walking in on a sweet little moment between Jack and reader and he just MELTS when he realises how much he loves them both??💗💗 (pls, only if it inspires you lovely!!)

ty for your request! fem, 1k

“Well, I liked it. I thought it was cool.” 

Hotch puts his keys in the bowl. “It is cool,” Jack says. It's good to hear his voice after so long away. Jack's not often talkative. “It is.” 

“Thank you, Jack.” There's a gap where Hotch can't see anything, peering around the door to the kitchen. He's too far away. “You're such a nice boy. You know that?” you ask. 

You and Jack are talking in the unhurried tones of people close to one another. Hotch has to strain to hear it clearly. “You think so?” 

“I do. You're really, always nice to me. You're brave and smart, Jack, but what I love about you the most is how nice you are. How kind.” 

“Thank you.” 

“You're welcome.” Hotch can see the look on your face in his mind, the softening of your eyes and the small smile. “Do you think you're nice?” 

“Yes!” A small giggle echoes off of the kitchen tiles. “I'm nice. But I want to be brave more.” 

“Yeah? It's a really great thing to be so nice. To be patient with people, and to be forgiving, that's its own kind of bravery, because it can be hard.” 

“It's easy.” 

“I'm glad you think so.” Hotch walks further down the hall and finally spots you. You're sitting on the kitchen floor together with one of Jack's long paper rolls spooled from the door to the cabinets. Jack lays on his stomach with a red marker in his hand, staring at you with wide eyes as you draw. Hotch can't see your face, but he hears your smile. “I love you, Jack.” 

“I love you too… thanks for drawing with me.” 

“I love drawing with you. Maybe I should say thanks to you for doing all the best ones.” 

Jack laughs with the shaken-soda quality only little kids can reach. It immediately gets you laughing, and that combined makes Hotch chuckle. Your heads turn together quickly, Jack's with excitement and yours surprise. “Hi, daddy!” 

“Hi, buddy.”

“You're home early?” Jack asks. 

Hotch steps carefully over the mess of pending and paper, sitting cross-legged at Jack's side. Jack smiles and tips into Hotch's lap without getting up, a flop of limbs into starched pants. Hotch hugs him in similar limbless fashion. 

“Home for two days, at least.” He presses his lips to Jack's ear, speaking softly. “So I hope you saved some room for me on that paper.” 

“I did! Do you want your pyjamas? We've been wearing our pyjamas all day. We had pizza for breakfast.” 

“Jack!” You cover your face. “Jack, that was our secret, oh,” —you part your fingers— “Aaron, I'm sorry, I know he shouldn't lie to you, and I know I shouldn't give him junk but he was asking so nicely and I really didn't wanna make oatmeal.” 

Jack runs away with another bout of giggles, knowing he's entrapped you. 

“You know I don't care,” Hotch says, giving you an easy smile. 

“Yeah, but… I'm supposed to be a good role model,” you say, offering a small smile in return. It half knocks the air from his lungs. 

He reaches across the drawing chaos to touch your face with his thumb. Your cheek is soft. The little wrinkle by your mouth deepens with your smiling, and the incremental weight of your head tilting into his hand is a feeling he can't get enough of. 

“I heard you talking,” he says. 

“What were we saying?” 

“About how he's kind.” He cups your cheek. “I missed you both so much. It's… amazing to be home.”

He knows you like this more than kissing, sometimes. It isn't hard to hold you like you mean everything to him, to caress your skin with a gentle fingertip, drawing a line along the curve of your neck. Your pupils grow to black dimes, and your breathing slows. 

“I missed you too, Agent. We missed you, we've been trying to think of new games to keep busy. See, we're drawing us in different jobs.” 

He's going to look just as soon as he gets enough of you, his thumb pressing circles into your skin.

“Did you frown a lot while you were away?” you ask in a whisper. 

“Can you tell?” 

“A little bit,” you say, still whispering as you lift your hand. You rub the line between his brows. “Should I kiss it away?” 

Jack runs back in with Hotch's pyjamas in his arms, a grey shirt and dark blue pants. “Kiss what?” 

“My wrinkles,” Hotch says. 

“His frowny face.” 

Jack wraps his arms over Hotch's shoulders, almost choking him with the pyjamas. “I'll do it! I will.” 

“Alright, buddy. Fix me up, okay? I can only smile for the next couple of days.” 

Hotch gets a face full of kisses and a great long hug to round it out, Jack in his lap. You're sketching something as they hug but he can't see what until Jack settles, and when he does, he laughs so hard he almost knocks Jack back out of his lap. 

Jack Hotchner, professional frown remover, you've captioned. Jack stands tall and smiling with a love heart on his shirt, his felt marker outlines sewn with care. Aaron Hotchner stands next to him, professional frowner. 

Hotch immediately pesters Jack into giving him the right pens for his own turn. He doesn't caption it, unsure what job he'd label either of you with, but it's clear what he's getting at with speech bubbles full of smiley faces. 

He thinks he might remember your conversation forever without it, but the drawing serves as a nice memento. He only wishes he were a better artist. 

[twstowo]

hi hi, i saw your ask box was open so i decided to submit a request!

i'd like to ask for the basketball club (ace, jamil, floyd, separately btw) with a reader who is a sleepy person? reader sleeps through classes sometimes and takes almost any opportunity to nap and enjoys using the boys as a pillow ^_^

thank you so much, and take your time !!

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗SYNOPSIS: How they deal with a sleepy reader

♡︎I’m buying a Jamil body pillow

♡︎Includes: Ace, Jamil and Floyd

♡︎Warning: None.

⋆⋅☆Ace

Ace is the worst person to be around when you're asleep – he seizes any opportunity to draw on your face whenever he catches you napping. There was one day when you unknowingly spent the entire day with a mustache drawn on your face, and no one had the courage to inform you.

If you lean on Ace to use him as a pillow, he'll quip that he isn't a pillow, but he won't budge either. Now, you have an awkward Ace standing still while you sleep, and he's at a loss for what to do. He's not shy about taking pictures of you, sending them later with playful remarks about how silly you look while sleeping. Little does anyone know, he secretly has one of those pictures as his wallpaper. If you happen to use Deuce as a pillow, Ace gets jealous, prompting him to tease Deuce for acting soft – all in an attempt to secure his position as the only one you use as a pillow.

⋆⋅☆Jamil

He spots you sleeping somewhere and pauses for a moment to collect his thoughts, especially if you're dozing off in class. He doesn't hesitate to wake you up, and if you seem particularly tired, he might even offer to walk you to Ramshackles. At times, he senses a similarity between you and Kalim, dubbing you "Kalim Number two," although surprisingly, he doesn't find you as bothersome as Kalim.

When you happen to fall asleep on him, he feels an unusual tension. Initially, his mind is preoccupied with thoughts of pending tasks, study materials, and, inevitably, Kalim. However, he soon realizes that this instance is different – he didn't just wake you up as he usually does. Could it be that he enjoyed having you so close? It seems improbable, but the truth is undeniable. He allows you to rest for a while, but with a stack of work awaiting him, he can't linger for too long. If you don't wake up on your own, he gently shakes you awake. The rest of the day is spent with thoughts of your peaceful sleeping face lingering in his mind while he continues with his responsibilities.

⋆⋅☆Floyd

If he finds you asleep, he will literally squeeze you, sleeping around this guy becomes nearly impossible. On the rare occasion that you somehow, got him to stand still long enough for you to fall asleep on his shoulder, he responds by enveloping you in a spontaneous hug. If anyone dares to make a comical expression while looking at you, he fixes them with the most intimidating glare, sending them running away. If you take too long to wake up, he might grow bored and either make a swift exit or take you on a casual stroll while you remain blissfully asleep. Students may even start thinking that he has kidnapped you. If you fall asleep in class, he will find it hilarious, since he probably has done the same thing before.

[willowser]

okay but imagine one day the little one goes up to his daddy and tells him you introduced a guy to him and how much he doesn’t like this man. It doesn’t even have to be a romantic partner it could just be an old friend but lil one and ex!husband bakugou instantly assume you have a new man in your life

omg. the heart attack bakugou is having.

your son is standing on his little step-stool in front of katsuki's bathroom mirror. meant to be brushing his little teeth, but he's mostly chewing on his toothbrush, poking around in his dad's cologne and aftershave and deodorant. at least he's put his pj's on by himself.

katsuki is finishing up his own shower, glancing at him every now and then as he washes the shampoo from his own hair, and when he's finally done, the little boy hasn't gotten any closer to having clean teeth; now he's drawing mindless little shapes through the steam that's built up on the glass.

"oi," he only has to say it once and then your son is letting out a little sigh before brushing the way he's meant to — even if katsuki knows the there's not a lick of toothpaste on that thing.

"dad," he says suddenly, distracted as he turns around to face him. "mommy doesn't let me take a shower."

katsuki moved on from bath time rather quick. in the very beginning, it was fine, because he washed his squirmy son and then wrapped him up in a towel and that was it, but in the last year or so it's turned into "how many toys can i bring with me this time, dad?" and then sitting in the water until it's run cold. it's much easier to get him in the shower at the same time, to shampoo his head and scrub his little butt and then kick him out.

"oh, yeah?" he murmurs, adjusting the towel on his waist. "s'cause mom's better at baths than me."

the little boy only shrugs, before continuing. he's in a small phase right now of 'dad? hey dad? um, dad?' every time he's got something to say, and katsuki finds it both cute and a little exhausting.

"hey dad?"

katsuki hums.

"mommy had a man in her shower."

the first image that comes to mind is of himself, in your shower; the many times you'd taken one together and hugged him beneath the warm water; how it clung to your eyelashes and sat in your cupid's bow. warm, made soft and tender in the steam, like he could mold you against his body forever.

— and then his stomach is swooping so hard, he thinks he might be sick.

"what?" katsuki asks, voice loud and affronted, snatching all his son's attention. "sorry, 'm sorry," and then because his son is still looking at him with wide eyes, he pulls him up close, rubbing his back once before setting him to stand on the counter — which he never gets to do.

guilt twists in his stomach for yelling, though his son seems unbothered now, at new heights. katsuki grabs him by his little tiny shoulders and tries to keep his face smooth and calm, his pending heartbreak hidden.

"who was in mom's shower?"

but your son is smarter than that, can read katsuki like an open book, somehow. as if you passed all your understanding down through the womb; he came out of there knowing exactly what dad was thinking with a single look.

your son only shrugs, averting his eyes to katsuki's shoulder as he lightly pinches his wet skin.

"'m sorry," he says again, shaking his little body around until the boy is laughing. "i'm not mad. i just..." katsuki sighs and tries not to pout. "wasn't expecting that."

"are you mad at mommy?"

the divorce isn't new, and katsuki's not stupid.

you've been on a handful of dates, been open about it, encouraged him to do the same. not that he's bothered, but anyone with eyes and half a brain would try to swoop in on someone like you, so — as much as it makes him want to knock some fucking teeth in — can't say he should be surprised.

he shouldn't be, at all.

still feels like shit, though.

"no," he finally says, tugging the little toothbrush from his tiny fist to put some actual toothpaste on it. "'m not mad at anybody."

"are you sad?"

maybe it's another purposeful distraction, to get out of doing what he's told, or maybe he's probing at nerves because he's too young and too curious, or maybe he just knows his dad too well.

katsuki frowns at his big eyes, staring back at him, before lightly patting his little hip. "brush your teeth, i ain't tellin' you again."

he tries not to think about it, but that just makes it worse. can't stop imagining you in the arms of some other asshole, what stupid shit they must be doing to flirt with you, how they're making you laugh; just the image of it alone — you, besides some fucking bozo, head thrown back the way you do, laughing louder than you ever did with him — makes his stomach hurt.

it makes him dread the hand-off, too. his house is gonna feel too quiet now, after a week with the little brat, and that's a big enough wound to leave him with nothing to say — but you always try to insist on katsuki finding someone every time you get back out there.

it makes him physically ill, just watching the side of your face as you buckle your son into his car seat, all grins because your house gets to be lively with him.

and when you close the door and turn to him and mutter out your little, "hey, by the way....", he has half a mind to just walk away, right then.

"your son," you start off, lightly punching him in the shoulder. "got into the dryer sheets last week and flushed a whole bunch of them down the toilet."

oh.

"oh," katsuki says, and then he narrows his eyes at his son through the window, even though he's not paying any attention.

(on the nights when the little boy can't sleep, is more emotional than usual, katsuki calls you because that's what your son really wants.)

(very relatable feeling, katsuki thinks.)

"yeah," you smile, "and my coworker's husband is a plumber, so i was able to get it all taken care of. just...thought i would let you know."

katsuki shrugs like he could care less, but you see right through it all, of course. the both of you, mother and son, too understanding for his own good.

almost like you were made for him, like you're supposed to still be his.

"yeah, good," he nods once, glancing over your shoulder to see your son finally sitting up a little bit, peering through the window with his big, sad eyes.

just watching the two of you. just knowing.

[mintsuwu]

Midnight Mysteries AU Q&A!

Hello! I´ve been opening asks on Twitter recently and a bunch of people asked stuff about the AU. So I thought it would be fair to share the information here as well to keep everynyan updated! I´ll also take the chance to reply to asks that I have pending in my inbox as well.

Which Midnight Mysteries characters would be magical fellas, like "madoka magica, smile precure"?

Probably Poppy or CraftyCorn, the latter was a unicorn after all 👀

Detective Bubbaphant looks like he needs serious therapy /aff

Oh trust me, HE DEFINITELY DOES.

Every single Critter in that AU needs therapy. That´s partly the reason why Rosie (Bobby) became a psychologist /hj

Can I give Officer Kicks a hug?

Sure you can!! Don´t approach him when he´s angry though.

Do you allow OCs/Fanfics or such for your AU?

Yeah, I absolutely do and it makes me so happy that people would like my AU that much! 😭🙏💖

Does CatNap have a tragic backstory or personal goal or is he bad just for funsies? :00

He sort of has a tragic backstory, not too much, but he definitely has his motives... And even though his intentions could be sort of good, his ways are not the right ones (?

Chat, what happens if Officer Kicks is angry?

Dear user, I pray that you never encounter an angry rooster in your life because one nearly attacked me when I was little and it was... Quite the experience-

That aside though, he has an awful temper and can even get violent at times. Kickin´s character development simply hasn´t kicked in yet.

Are LoolaLamb and CatNap dating or does he just like messing with her?

They have been engaged for years. They married out of convenience and their relationship isn´t fully romantic, but CatNap actually cares about her in a way and is kind of possesive of her.

How did you come up with the Midnight Mysteries AU?

Funny enough, the idea simply came to me one day in which I was listening to the Spy X Family openings, and since my previous hyperfixation was The Great Mouse Detective my mind suddenly thought "What if I made an AU inspired on both things?" That added to the fact that I always kinda imagined Bubba as a detective and knew I had to draw it sometime.

Does CatNap just manipulate or make deals with the Sugary Scoundrels to cause trouble?

Sort of! As those two grew up in the orphanage that he runs, it´s more or less their way to repay him the favor, even though they spend most of their days out on the streets roaming around. But they are also lowkey intimidated by Catnap... Though, Bunzo has it worse with Mistress LongLegs in comparison. PD: The girls, specially CatBee, really admire Loola! And the latter is quite fond of them too.

Will the Midnight Mysteries AU have a similar story to Poppy Playtime, or does it only have the characters in common with the original source?

It will most likely have a slightly different route as PPT´s story is not done yet, but there will be events of the AU based on it! For example, The Hour Of Joy took place as well, but the motives behind it will be different.

What year does the Midnight Mysteries AU take place in?

Historically wise, it would take place around 1930-50, I don´t have an exact year but I know it would hace to end in 5 given how Poppy Playtime takes place in 2005.

What was MM Catnap´s childhood like?

I still have to think better on it, but he was a wondering performer! Perhaps specialized in acribatics.

What sort of things did Huggy and his siblings do before working for the railroad? What were their parents like, were they even around?

Their parents died when they were still yound, so Huggy had to raise his siblings by himself. They were later taken into a circus, but things weren´t very nice in there... After leaving the circus he took part on several crimes, being the brute force of the villanous gang while his siblings were unaware of their brother´s felonies. But when he took part in The Hour Of Joy, Huggy decided to change his ways from then on and did his best to leave the past behind along with his family.

What are Angel´s pronouns in the AU?

He/They!

Is Angel close or affiliated to any of the characters from the AU (DogDay for example?)

Yeah! He is allies with Poppy, Kissy and DogDay. Angel shares a parent-son relationship with the latter as they practically raised the poor dog after he had gone through a negative moment in his life.

Is CraftyCorn in the MM AU, or does she have yet to be revealed?

... She used to be(?

Is Billie actually a boy looking for his dad, or a kid playing innocent to help CatNap?

He´s mainly looking for his dad! But I love that twist ngl...

Did DogDay get that scratch from CatNap or something else?

Yes, he got it from CatNap in a fight.

Is Billy´s mom, by any chance, Mistress Long Legs? Does she know?

Yes, she does know but perhaps she wouldn´t recognize him at first as she didn´t raise him and Billie wouldn´t even know how she looks like. Darwin tried not to tell him much about her and her deeds, or at least he wanted to wait and tell him until he was old enough.

How did Darwin go missing, did Billie witness it?

He got kidnapped, and Billie did witness it. He caught sight of the kidnapper but couldn´t catch up to them when he tried to go after his dad.

What happened to Angel?

Many things...

Does Angel have the ability to die and revive in the past before they died? The Angels from the other universes are able to do that too.

No... Or at least, they haven´t tried out yet, so who knows!

"Traitor"? Did Angel used to work for the Prototype before rebelling against them?

Indeed, Angel betrayed their comrades in a very critical moment and since then they all have been searching for him... CatNap mostly. Which is why they usually remain hidden, outcasted and only keeping contact with selective people.

[babybluebex]

please share with the class your thoughts on best friend's dad cillian? the world deserves to know what goes down in our DMs

oh my god where to start

ok so like you've known his daughter since you were in diapers, you've been best friends for probably like 18 years, grew up together, all that mess, and you live together once you go to college

and her dad has always been super cool with you, and you've always liked mr murphy, he's super nerdy and cool, one of those dads that wears suits to the office but lounges around the house in old band tees and sweatpants (with reading glasses), has his little Man Cave mojo dojo casa house in the basement with his small collection of favorite books and vintage records, tousled salt and pepper hair, scruffy facial hair, like he is the textbook definition of a dilf

and you come home from college for like a long weekend or something and Daughter Murphy (name pending) sees her dad's car in the garage and is like "oh shit, i thought dad went with mom out of town, you'll be fine with him for the week, right? he'll probably just stay in the basement and read his stupid world war II books all day anyway"

and you come in the house and there he is at the island in the kitchen, drinking black coffee and thumbing through a thick as hell book, and he brightens when he sees you two "oh my days, you two didn't say you'd be coming home" and he hugs you extra tight and ruffles your hair and he generally seems excited to see you two, "how's university?" and you smile "we call it college in america, mr murphy" and his eyes soften as he says "now, i thought i told you to call me cillian"

takes you both out to dinner that night to celebrate, and its when you're in the bathroom at the restaurant, fixing your lipstick, that Daughter Murphy is like "i figured dad would go with mom and try to fix their relationship or whatever" and you're like "Say More Right Now??" "yeah, they're getting divorced and it's really bad, i think they're separated"

and that night, you can't sleep and you wander down to the Man Cave mojo dojo casa house and you're skimming through all the books and the records that mr murphy has, and the light flicks on and he looks SO good, ratty old shirt and plaid pajama pants that are hanging so low on his slutty hips, glasses and extra messy hair and he's like "what're you doing, love, it's past two"

and you can't say anything other than "i'm sorry to hear about you and mrs murphy..."

and he's sorta like "eh it's ok, it was bound to happen, we've been having problems for years"

"doesn't mean it doesn't still suck" and you thumb out a yoko ono record and look at it for a minute before looking back up at him, and he's leaned up against the wall, watching you

"it does" he sighs "she has a boyfriend, i guess you can call it... it just reminds me of how people don't like me"

"i like you" you shrugged "will you play this for me?"

"that's not what i meant, love," he says, but he steps forward and takes the record from you and sets it up and you're like. mhm. ok.

"i know what you meant" you tell him boldly "and i like you a lot"

and he sorta laughs "you're doing something dangerous here, love"

"what if i like that?" and he turns to you and carefully steps up in front of you, resting warm hands on your waist as he tilts his head to examine you

"well" he says, measured "we certainly can't do anything when [Daughter] is in the house" and then, because he knows that you'll whine and complain, presses his soft lips to your neck and draws you into him, he can feel your rapid pulse under his lips, and he whispers "as much as i want to, i can't. not now, at least"

you reach down and cup him through his pants, your breath catching in your throat "you're so hard, mr murphy"

"you know what i'd do to be buried in your little cunt right now?" he asks on gritted teeth "but we just can't. you have to wait"

"mr murphy—"

"i've told you for years to call me cillian" he says "why won't you?"

"b-because..." you start "because i don't want to a cross a line i can't go back on"

and he separates himself from you, going back to his record player like nothing ever happened "which is why we can't do anything" he says evenly. "i think fucking my daughter's best friend is a line that's a little dubious to cross. go upstairs, go to bed... i'll see you in the morning"

[snowdrop-ivy]

The Light Within: I - The Night We Met

Summary: In a world where danger lurks at every corner, will Anna and Bucky find the strength to confront their pasts and embrace a future together, or will their scars keep them apart forever?

A/N: Hey! I know I have a lot of pending series but I just got out of my writer's block so I'm starting a new one! Hope you enjoy this! Okay, this is a little long. This is a series based on MCU! Also, I changed the titles to songs I listen to while I write them.

Word Count: 6,534

Run

That’s always her first thought. That’s what her parents and sister said to her. Just run. From the bad things even in the good ones. She doesn’t draw the line to it, instead she just runs. That’s how Tony adopted her, she ran to his arms crying after a few Hydra agents ransacked their house trying to abduct her and her sister. Why? Anna and her sister, Joey, had a special ability. Joey can bend air and fire and she also has telekinesis and Anna can fly and has psychokinesis, mental manipulation, and she can project anything she wants to a person’s mind and thoughts, God! She can even project a force field like her dad. She can make you think what she wants to make you think. That’s why they wanted them both but Anna was able to use her powers against them and then she ran, she just ran till she bumped into Tony. She did not ask for help and she was supposed to run again but Tony stopped her, brought her home, and she stayed there. Tony, until now, doesn’t know why he brought her home. At first, Anna stayed in her room. Locked away and crying. It wasn’t when Tony spent his nights outside her room and just talked. He talked about his day, what made him happy or sad, he talked about everything until she came out, physically, until she regained confidence and trust to talk about what happened. Tony did not judge, though it’s in his nature, for her, he did not. He listened and laughed when she joked, and cried whenever she misses her family. They were two peas in a pod some might say. She was one of the few people he opened up to and vice versa. People wouldn’t believe him whenever he tells the story of how he adopted her. They thought it was just some political bullshit to make them believe he was one of the good guys. I mean, an arrogant, narcissist billionaire adopting a 7 year old girl out of the blue? That’s not how they see him. But for them, it did not matter. What matters is that they have each other. Tony changed himself for her. He brought her clothes, enrolled her to the most expensive school, and gave her the world. In return? Anna gave him happiness and fulfillment in life.

When Tony got ambushed in the desert. Anna locked away again. She tried to find him everywhere. Pepper and Happy tried everything to make her eat, drink, or come out of her room but they failed. Anna only wanted Tony so when he came back his first thought was Anna's wellbeing. That was the first time Tony told him how much he loves her like his kid. That was also Anna’s first time in a long time where she felt she had a family. Even though it was just the two of them.

“Tony?” Anna knocked on his door on his first night back. Tony opened the door slightly and invited her in before he sat down on his desk chair. “Who was that?”

“Nobody, honey,” He answered, quickly flipping down the Avenger initiative file and turning to her. “What’s up?”

“Are you okay?” She gently asked. Her eyes bloodshot from the nights she cried when he was away. Tony felt a sting on his chest even though the reactor was there.

Tony quickly got up and engulfed her in a hug. He repeatedly told her he was okay and kissed her head. Anna shook her head. “I can feel you’re hurt.”

“It’s just a scratch, honey. I’m okay,” he lifted her chin, wiping her tears. Tony looked into her eyes and he felt, in that moment, that he was dad. Not just some guy who took her in. “Okay?”

She nodded and grabbed his arm before inspecting his scratches. Without stalling, she healed her. Tony’s muscles tensed when he saw his scratches healed. He saw in the mirror behind her that even the slightest wounds on his face were healed. The aches of his joints, gone. Even the pain on his back. The one where he paid the most expensive chiropractor to remedy it. Gone. His eyes went round as he looked at her, her innocent and charming face, as chatty as he ever was, in that moment he was lost for words. Not because he was disgusted but because he had the sense on why Hydra wanted her. He knew he had to keep her safe. And that’s why he refused the Avenger initiative but agreed to be a consultant for S.H.I.E.L.D in return, they have to keep her safe.

As she grew, the more resilient she became. Her agility grows faster than the grass in spring. That’s when Tony made her train with Natasha. Anna was more than happy to do it. She became like Tony, a smart mouth, and he was okay with it. He was content whenever he saw her grow into the strong, smart, confident, kind woman she is. When the Avengers formed, Fury and Tony had a disagreement when Tony knew that she would be a part of it. He was scared, well, he knows she can more than take care of herself but the thought of her child getting hurt doesn’t sit well with him.

“Dad,” Anna followed her Tony who stormed out of the room. She held his arm to look back at her but Tony was quick to gather it back. Anna had no choice but to use her mind to make him turn to her. “I’m not your enemy here.”

“I know! I know that! But I will not let you come with us! It’s too dangerous!” Tony paced back and forth. He took a deep breath before cupping her face tightly so that her cheeks were squashed. “I can’t lose you, kid.”

“You will not. I promise,” she promised. And she kept her promise. After the battle in New York she laid low. She did not work for S.H.I.E.L.D. She just went home after they ate shawarma. She continued to live as simply as she could. She applied as an intern at Stark Industries and continued to live with him. Tony did not want her to move out. He was clear on that.

Anna spent most of her time drawing. She drew pictures of everybody she met. She gave one to Steve, Natasha, Clint, and Banner. She tried to give one to Thor but they don’t have UPS in Asgard. She drew pictures of her family, as much as she could as she could feel her memories of them slipping away. She doesn’t have pictures of them, that's why she just draws them. There were times when she could feel them, her last vivid memory was when they were having dinner. Her dad was joking about the food her mom cooked. Her mom was rolling eyes. And her sister was whispering nonsense to her just to make her laugh. There were also times where she could feel the sadness of it. She’d get nightmares of HYDRA on her doorstep. She’d dream of her family. She’d sometimes use her power just to make her back in that moment. She’d hug and kiss them one last time.

Anna finished her bath when she heard her phone ring. It was a message from Nat with an address. She tried to call the number back but no one answered. She quickly got her bag and drove to the address. It was a trailer. She got more confused as she’d never seen it before. Steve opened the door and quickly let her in before looking around then closed the door. Natasha, Steve, and a guy were there. Nat and Steve looked crappy. Like they came from an explosion.

“What the hell happened?” Her forehead creased. She took in their sights. She sighed before healing them both. Once done, all of them sat down on the sofa before Steve told her that Fury is dead, Tony’s dad’s death may not have been an accident, and the HYDRA’s experiment on this winter soldier program. Anna took in a sharp breath before tilting her head. She fought back her tears. “Do you think they killed my family?”

The three looked at each other. Steve held her hand and gently squeezed. “We don’t know the answer to that.”

“We need to know!” She insinuated. Anna stood up, her fists clenching into a ball. “I need to know, Steve!”

Natasha met her gaze. She held her arms, consoling her. “We will get there. I owe that to you but now, we have to focus. Okay?”

Anna read her mind. She can see her honesty, her fear, her kiss with Steve which was a little disgusting. She nodded, agreeing to them. She went to the kitchen to get a drink while the two cleaned themselves. Anna met Sam, also a veteran like Steve. She sat down on the table finishing her water when Sam sat down in front of her. “Hey.”

She looked at him, smiling a bit. “Hey, Sam.”

“You okay?” He asked, his head bowed down. Anna saw that he was scared of her.

“Why are you scared of me?” Sam’s eyes widened. He shook his head, in his head, he was embarrassed. “I can read you.”

“Like a book?” He sized her up. The corner of his mouth lifted.

“Yeah,” She smirked and nodded. “Like a book.”

“Oh yeah?” His tone questioned his powers. He leveled with her gaze, he rested his hands on the table. “What am I thinking now?”

Anna tried to stifle her smile. She saw he was thinking of boobs. She studied him. She saw Nat and Steve came out and sat beside them. “Steve’s ass,” she glanced sideways then answered, copying his posture. “You’re thinking about Steve’s ass.”

“I was not. Dude! I’m not gay!” Sam quickly averted his look to Steve and shook his head. “Hey! Play fair!”

They laughed at him as he stormed to the kitchen to make some food. Steve gave her a bump before sitting on the lover’s chair. He peered outside before rubbing his chin. Nat got up and leaned on the counter as Sam went back to place food on the table.

“The real question is who at S.H.I.E.L.D could launch a domestic missile strike?” She questioned, looking at Steve.

“Pierce,” Steve answered, looking away.

“Who happens to be on the top of the most secure building in the world?” Anna crossed her legs before drinking water. “That’s easy.”

Steve looked at her. “He’s not working alone. Zola’s algorithm was on the Lemurian Star.”

Nat gasped. “So was Jasper Stillwell.”

She ate the food while the tree talked about how Fury was abducted. Sam gave out files and pictures of his previous work as a pararescue. That’s how they were able to kidnap Fury in broad daylight. Steve was hesitant on having Sam help them out as he got out of war for a good reason and all of a sudden, he’s back in action. In the end, all of them devise a plan to gather information from Stillwell.

Anna kicked Stillwell on the chest, bursting the door open. A grunting Stilwell rolled on the floor. Steve followed closely. “Tell me about Zola’s algorithm.”

Stillwell quickly gathered his glasses but Anna smashed it. He looked at her. Anna gave her a smile in return. “I’ll buy you a new one if you answer.”

“Never heard of it,” he panted, walking backwards till he felt the ledge on his thighs.

“What were you doing on the Lemurian Star?”

“I was throwing up. I got seasick,” Stillwell gasped when he had nowhere to walk back.

Steve grabbed his collar and lifted him up. Steve’s nose flared as he hoisted him higher. Stillwell held his hands, his legs flailing. “Is this little display meant to insinuate that you’re gonna throw me off the roof? Because it’s really not your style, Rogers.”

“You’re right, it’s not,” He placed him down, cleaning his collar. “It’s theirs.”

Nat kicked him down the roof before turning to Anna. “What about Dave? From Accounting?”

“Gabe,” Anna rolled her eyes. “Tongue piercing.”

“You’re dating again?” Steve asked. She nodded and smiled. “Me too!”

That was when Sam flew up with Stillwell, throwing him back on the roof before landing there. He crossed his arms once he landed. “What do you think? Falcon, baby!”

“Like the bird?” Anna winced before shaking her head.

Sam rolled his eyes. They surrounded Stillwell. He held his hands up in defeat before rambling out that Zola’s algorithm is a program for choosing insight targets.

“What targets?” Anna demanded to know.

“You!” He halfheartedly laughed. “A TV anchor in Cairo, the Under Secretary of Defense, Bruce Banner, Stephen Stranger, and Tony’s daughter. Anyone who’s a threat to HYDRA now or in the future.”

Anna gave him a kick in the face before lifting him upside down. “How did you find me? How could it know?” She then let him fall down on the ground.

“Zola reads people’s past to predict their future,” He admitted. Sighing in defeat as he knows someone will kill him. Anna had the sense that he will. I mean, who wouldn’t kill him after he released that information?

“And then what?” Anna asked.

“Then that Insight helicarries scratch people off the list.”

Steve lunged forward. “When?” Sam held back Stillwell to prevent him to make extra movements.

“When?” He asked again.

“A few million at a time.”

Anna felt a pit to her stomach. She felt their gaze on her. Death has been her enemy. Her biggest enemy. When she was younger, all she wanted to be was dead. Resting in peace with her family. But now that she found her family, she had a sense of living. She was granted a new life and she thanks whatever God there is for it. She grabbed Stillwell by his tie and rushed to his car. The three followed her as she slammed him inside and got in. Natasha got on the other side. Sam drove the car. Steve was in the passenger seat. Sam stepped on the gas as they drove on the freeway. Natasha was shooting her concerned looks. Anna could hear their thoughts, all of them, which makes her hate her powers.

Stillwell was anxiously moving in his seat. “HYDRA doesn’t like leaks.”

“Then why don’t you try sticking a cork in it?” Sam shot back, looking at him through the rearview mirror.

Natasha peeked at the men in front. “Insight’s launching in 16 hours.”

“Yep,” Anna agreed, nodding her head while looking outside. “Which means in 16 hours I might be dead. So you know, we need to rush.”

They turned their heads at her. Not knowing if she’s being facetious or not. She returned their looks with a glare and faked a smile before looking outside. Steve looked back at her. “You won’t die. Not you or other people.”

“Oh yeah?” Anna snickered. “Are you God? How can we even stop this thing?”

Steve’s jaw clenched. “We’ll use him to bypass the DNA scans and access the helicarriers directly.”

“What? Are you crazy?” Stillwell leaned in between them. “That is a terrible, terrible idea.”

Steve was about to answer when they heard a thud on the roof of the car and Stillwell was dragged outside, tossing him off the freeway. Nat tried to pull him back but was too late. Shots were made through the roof making them dove forward seating on Sam’s and Steve’s laps. Sam slammed on the brakes making the “assassin” fly off the roof but he was fast to tumble and used his, what looks like, metal arm to halt his movement. He stood up, eyeing them. Anna attempted to use her projection to stop him but she came to nothing. She got out her gun and was about to shoot him when a truck slammed on them, throwing her gun on the ground. They were pushed forward till the “assassin” jumped on the roof again. The brakes were squealing as she patted on her gun on the floor. His metal hand smashed the rear glass and tugged on the steering wheel then quickly pulled Anna, choking on her neck, out of the car. They screamed her name while Nat shot repeatedly to the roof hoping to aim him.

“What the hell do you want?” Anna said in between breaths as she felt his metal hand tightening around her neck. Her legs are flailing trying to find something to step into. The assassin jumps from their car to the truck, still holding her to her neck. But she can feel it loosening, she breathed in between. She could smell her musky scent. She could hear his rapid heartbeat. But she couldn’t read him, she couldn’t project anything on his mind. The truck slammed onto the car once pushing it to the rail. The three got out by slamming the door open, leaping outside. Anna powered her mind to the car striking it to the post splitting it into two. She then powered on to her friends, slowing down their speed. As her friend screeched into a halt, so did the truck. But the assassin held out his gaze on her, she saw the color of his eyes: Blue. Not the blue in the ocean, but it was in hue like a piercing icy blue, almost translucent. She stared at it before he tossed her to them, Steve was quick to catch her. He hopped down as a man handed him a grenade launcher. Steve pushed Nat and Anna out of the way as the shot was made to him, he held his shield up, and was catapulted off the freeway slamming him to a bus. More men followed and fired on them. Sam and Nat hid behind cars while Anna projected a force field and swung the guys off, and flung them away. Anna walked towards them till the only one standing was the guy with the mask. Nat aimed at him but he fired back, blowing the car in front of her, which made her dove to the other side.

“Hey!” Anna shouted, her voice cutting through the chaos. She saw his eyes flicker in her direction, momentarily distracted from his aim. In a split second, she crushed his launcher, the sound of metal crumpling echoing in the air. She felt his surprise morphed into fury as he charged at her like a bull. Anna’s heart raced, adrenaline surging through her veins. She bolted to the side just as he swung his fist, the wind from his strike whooshing past her. With quick reflexes, she slid down, darting between his legs like a shadow in the night.

Using the momentum, Anna quickly jabbed at his ribs, her fist connecting with a satisfying thud. He grunted, stumbling slightly as she rolled away, ready to evade his retaliation. With a growl, he lunged at her again, swinging wildly. Anna ducked under his arm and delivered a swift kick to the back of his knee, bringing him down to the ground with a thud. Before he could react, she was on him, pinning him down and ready to strike. She got her pocket knife out of her holster. Her left was on his neck, pinning him harder, her right an inch away from him but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. Her hands trembled, her breaths were quick and fast. She tried to move but she couldn’t. She tried to summon the courage to strike, to end it right there, but an invisible weight held her back. Just as doubt began to creep into her mind, he retaliated with a sudden ferocity. In an instant, the tables turned. He flipped them over with a swift motion, leaving her stunned as her head slammed against the unforgiving ground. Pain shot through her skull, and a sharp gasp escaped her lips.

With brutal efficiency, he pinned her hand down with his arm, trapping her. She could feel the heat radiating from his body, the intensity of his presence overwhelming. His hand brushed against her arm, the grip tighter than a suit, grounding her in the moment.

Time seemed to freeze as their eyes locked, a storm of emotions swirling between them. She searched his gaze for any sign of weakness, any hint of fear, but found only a steely resolve that sent shivers down her spine. In that heartbeat, the world around them faded away, leaving just the two of them locked in a battle of wills.

Then, as suddenly as it began, he released her arm, the grip loosening. He sat back, still staring intently at her, a mixture of confusion and admiration flickering in his eyes. He murmured, his voice low and gravelly, under his breath that she wasn’t able to hear. She didn’t respond, her heart still pounding, uncertainty flooding her mind. What was he thinking? What did this moment mean?

With one last look that seemed to pierce through her soul, he stood up, leaving her breathless and disoriented on the ground. In that fleeting second, everything had changed. Anna sat up, holding her head to search for blood but there was nothing. She got up and saw Sam walking towards her.

“Are you okay?” He asked, holding her while he checked for bruises. “Where is he?”

She was lost for words and breath. She could hear her heart beating out of her chest so loud as she stood there dazed and confused as to what just happened. Sam asked her once again before she answered, stammering. “I-I don’t know.”

Sam studied her intently, his eyes searching for any sign of uncertainty in Anna as she scanned the chaotic street for him. The atmosphere crackled with tension; Anna felt a magnetic repulsion toward him, pulling her instincts taut. Still gasping for breath, they sprinted through the fray to find Steve and Natasha.

They spotted them on the ground, surrounded by chaos. Steve was crouched low, using his shield to deflect bullets fired by four armed men, while Natasha darted in and out of cover, keeping a watchful eye on the street.

“I’ll help them on the ground; you distract them,” Anna commanded, her voice steady despite the chaos. Without waiting for a response, she jumped down, landing gracefully on the roof of a car. With fierce determination, she began guiding panicked civilians off the street, projecting an invisible barrier around them as a shield against the chaos.

But amidst the mayhem, an assassin locked his eyes on her, observing her every movement with predatory focus. Speaking in hushed tones in Russian, he glanced at the men beside him, a smirk creeping across his face. “I found her. Go find him.”

“Try to kill her this time. That’s the order,” one of the men urged, his voice laced with malice.

With a glare that could pierce steel, the assassin vaulted to the ground, his finger resting ominously on the trigger. He moved stealthily, using the shadows as his ally, stalking Anna like a wolf on the prowl.

Suddenly, he rolled a bomb to the ground, waiting for the deafening explosion that would shatter the air. The blast echoed around them, and in that moment, Natasha leaped onto his shoulder, expertly tying a string around him, attempting to restrain him.

As Anna worked to remove his metal arm, the assassin stumbled back, slamming Natasha against the car with a sickening thud. But Natasha, fierce and unyielding, fought to tighten her grip, refusing to let go.

“A little faster, Anna!” Natasha screamed, urgency coursing through her voice.

Anna pulled with all her might, desperation fueling her efforts, but the assassin quickly retaliated, shoving her against the car, pain exploding through her body as he slammed her down. He then turned his wrath on Natasha, pinning her to the ground with a brutal force.

The two women scrambled in opposite directions, hearts racing, each woman fighting for survival. The assassin held his gun aloft, eyes narrowing as he chose his target. He fired at Natasha first, the bullet grazing her shoulder. She cried out in pain, clutching her wound as she sought refuge behind a car.

Anna frozen, her breath catching as she noticed his glasses had fallen away, revealing piercing blue eyes that sent a chill down her spine.

“You’re pissing me off,” she spat defiantly, determination surging within her as she sprinted toward him, swinging with all her strength.

He countered, capturing her arm and swinging back with brutal precision. The metallic taste of blood filled her mouth as she staggered from the impact. But with fierce resolve, she twisted his arm, leaping onto his shoulder and tightening her grip, refusing to back down.

He stumbled forward, trying to shake her off, but she regained her footing, fists clenched and ready for another strike. Blood dripped from her lips, but there was a fire in her eyes that made the assassin pause, momentarily taken aback.

He hadn’t removed his armor; he stood resolute, fists raised, ready to finish the fight. With a swift motion, he swung his metal arm at her, but Anna ducked just in time, retaliating with a kick that connected squarely with his face.

But he countered quickly, gripping her leg and tumbling her to the ground before launching another punch that connected with her face, pain exploding across her senses. He seized her by the neck, lifting her off the ground, his grip tightening like a vice.

In a desperate attempt to fight back, Anna drew her knife, aiming for his metal arm. But he was too quick, reversing her strike and puncturing her thigh with the blade instead. A scream tore from her throat, a raw sound of agony and defiance.

His eyes widened in horror at his own brutality as he threw her forward, sending her crashing against the car. He paused, staring at the blood dripping from his flesh arm, the realization hitting him like a brick.

In that crucial moment of distraction, Steve appeared like a beacon of hope. He slipped around the assassin’s back, executing a German suplex that sent shockwaves through the air. Steve quickly raised his shield, deflecting the assassin's knife and striking his metal arm with relentless force, pressing down hard, desperate to break it.

When the blow didn’t yield, he darted under the assassin’s arm, landing a punch to his face that sent him reeling. They fought back-to-back, each man relying on the other as the tension thickened. Steve tugged with all his might, ripping the assassin’s mask away in a furious motion.

But when the assassin turned to face Steve, the recognition was instantaneous. Steve’s eyes widened in shock. “Bucky?”

Bucky furrowed his brows, confusion marrying his expression. “Who the hell is Bucky?” he growled, raising his weapon to aim at Steve.

In an instant, Sam soared through the air, colliding with Steve and knocking him out of the line of fire just in time. Anna seized the opportunity, flying to Bucky’s side and delivering a fierce kick that sent him stumbling. She followed up with a blow to his knee, forcing him to lean against the car for support, his glare cutting through the chaos.

“Down!” Natasha shouted, her voice commanding as she fired a grenade launcher at the car Bucky leaned on.

The explosion erupted in flames, consuming the car and sending Bucky spiraling into the shadows. Anna and Steve quickly searched the area for any sign of him, but before they could regroup, an armored van screeched to a halt behind them.

Mercenary soldiers poured out, surrounding them with weapons drawn, shouting for them to get on the ground. Confusion swept over Steve as he complied, kneeling in disbelief. This wasn’t Bucky; Bucky was his friend.

As they cuffed them and dragged them inside the armored van, a chilling realization settled in Steve’s gut. The man he once knew was gone, replaced by a shadow of the past, lost to the chaos of war.

“It was him,” Steve murmured, his gaze fixed on the ground as if it held the answers to the shattered fragments of his memories. “He looked right at me like he didn’t even know me.”

“How is that even possible? It was, like, 70 years ago,” Sam replied, his brow furrowed in confusion, trying to grasp the reality of the situation unfolding around them.

“Zola,” Natasha interjected, glancing at Anna as she tended to her injured shoulder, the weight of the revelation settling heavily in the air.

“Bucky’s whole unit was captured in ‘43. Zola experimented on him. Whatever he did helped Bucky survive the fall. They must’ve found him and…” Steve’s voice faltered, choked by the weight of his thoughts.

Tears welled in Anna’s eyes, and she reached out, her voice soft but firm. “None of that’s your fault, Steve.”

But Steve shook his head in disbelief, anguish etched into his features. “Even when I had nothing, I had Bucky.”

As they sat in the confines of the prison van, a sudden burst of chaos erupted when one of the guards stunned the other. To their astonishment, she revealed herself to be Hill. With swift precision, she used a Mouse Hole to cut an opening in the van, leading them to freedom.

Hill led them to a hidden facility where Fury lay recovering. The director hadn’t died as they���d feared; instead, he had taken an anti-stress serum developed by Banner, lowering his heartbeat to a mere pulse, making him appear dead to the world.

Meanwhile, Bucky was trapped in the lab, reduced to a mere lab rat. He sat on a chair, the sterile environment around him a cruel reminder of his past. Tears glistened in his eyes as the memories surged forth—the screams of Anna echoing in his mind, the warmth of their friendship eclipsed by the icy grip of his transformation into the Winter Soldier. The haunting images of his fall from the train and the soldiers dragging him from the ice replayed in his mind like a tormenting nightmare.

Suddenly, the weight of his despair exploded within him. He swung at the doctors surrounding him, sending them flying across the room. He remained seated, his breath coming in ragged gasps as the chaos of his thoughts swirled around him. Just then, Pierce entered the room, his presence suffocating.

“Mission report,” Pierce commanded, his tone brooking no argument.

Bucky, lost in a tempest of emotions, remained silent, his mind reeling between visions of Anna and Steve. When Pierce pressed for an answer again, he struck Bucky across the face, but the pain barely registered through the haze of his thoughts.

“The man on the bridge? Who was he?” Bucky pressed. His voice was low, a growl that betrayed his distrust. “I knew him.”

Pierce leaned closer, his voice dripping with false reassurance. “Your work has been a gift—”

“How about the girl?” Bucky interrupted, his anger bubbling to the surface.

Pierce chuckled darkly. “The one you did not kill? She was a HYDRA experiment.”

In that moment, a flicker of emotion sparked within Bucky, a feeling he couldn’t quite name. “You were there… the house in Oswego, a family you ransacked. That was her. She got out. Faster than you. We felt that we should just get her instead of you.”

Bucky's jaw clenched, a newfound resolve flooding through him. He may not know Anna well, but now, the desire to protect her surged within him, deeper than guilt or obligation—it was an instinct.

Pierce continued, spinning webs of lies about how Bucky was shaping the world, but Bucky felt his chest tighten, despair gripping him like a vice. He inhaled sharply, trying to stave off the tears that threatened to spill.

“Prep him,” Pierce ordered, standing up with a cruel finality. “He’s been out of the cryo freeze too long. Then wipe him and start over.”

Despair washed over Bucky like a tidal wave, a profound sense of loss sweeping through him. He couldn’t—he didn’t want to lose the memories of Anna and Steve. As he was shoved back into his seat, tears brimmed in his eyes. He bit down on the mouthguard so hard that he could feel it crack under the pressure.

With every deep, fast breath, he braced himself for the upcoming agony, the cold metal of the electrical magnet pressed against his head. As the searing pain coursed through him, he screamed, his voice echoing with anguish, fighting against the current that threatened to erase the flickering memories of his newfound connections.

Meanwhile, Anna, sensing the anguish from afar, stood up, clutching her chest as a pang shot through her. Steve rushed to her side, confusion etched on his face as he repeatedly asked if she was okay. She nodded, forcing herself to shut her brain off, taking a deep breath to calm the turmoil within. With a reassuring nod, she settled back down, leveling her breath as Fury explained the dire situation.

Hill and Fury revealed that Project Insight was only hours away from activation. The Helicarriers would ascend to 3,000 feet, connecting to the Insight Satellites, ready to zero in on their targets before firing. The only way to prevent the catastrophe was to acquire three special chips that would sever S.H.I.E.L.D. 's control over the Helicarriers.

The World Security Council arrived at the Triskelion, each member donning a badge granting unrestricted access. Little did they know, chaos was brewing. In the shadows, Rogers, Wilson, and Hill stealthily infiltrated the facility, taking control of communications. “Six minutes,” Hill reminded them.

“Hey, Sam, gonna need a ride,” Steve said through his comms.

Anna was on the roof. Battling agents. “Aw you don’t need me,” She faked sadness as she shot another agent.

Sam flew around the helipad. “Let me know when you’re ready.”

Steve lunged forward to jump. “I just did.”

Sam soared through the chaos, grasping Steve’s arm and urging him toward Anna’s side at the Helicarrier. They landed on the floor and rushed forward, only to be confronted by Bucky, whose actions had already crippled Sam’s jetpack. Rogers, who made it, and Anna tried to place the final chip when Bucky confronted him on the bridge.

“People are gonna die, Buck,” Steve panted, urgency lacing his voice. “I can’t let that happen. Please, don’t make me do this.”

Bucky stood frozen, grappling with the fog of his mission and the echoes of his past. Just then, Anna emerged behind him, weapon drawn. “I’ll do it,” she declared, her gaze unwavering.

Bucky turned to face her, locking eyes in a moment thick with tension. Anna’s finger rested on the trigger, and as she gently squeezed, Bucky stepped closer, his voice a chilling whisper. “Shoot.”

In an instant, Steve lunged forward, colliding with Bucky. A fierce struggle ensued, each blow echoing like thunder in the confined space. Bucky fought with unyielding ferocity, directing his strength primarily at Steve, leaving Anna to navigate the chaos around them.

As the battle raged on, Anna focused intently on inserting the final chips into the Helicarrier. Suddenly, a sharp pain shot through her legs, radiating up to her arms. She gasped, collapsing to the ground, her breaths quick and shallow. From her vantage point, she saw Steve wrestled down by Bucky, who leveled a gun at her.

“Shoot,” she managed to choke out, her voice strained but defiant.

Bucky’s eyes reflected a storm of conflict as he peered into hers. She could see the doubt flickering within him, and he could sense her pain penetrating the barriers he’d built around himself. His grip on the gun trembled, the weapon almost slipping from his grasp.

But just then, Steve struck from behind, snapping Bucky back into combat mode. Seizing the opportunity, Anna crawled toward the chipset, fighting through the pain that threatened to engulf her. With a final surge of determination, she locked the last chip into place.

“Charlie locked,” she gasped, relief flooding through her even amidst the chaos. She closed her eyes, allowing the pain to take her away. No energy or strength to heal herself.

The moment Anna opened her eyes, she was greeted by the stark white walls of a hospital room, the sterile scent of antiseptic filling the air. She blinked against the harsh light, realizing she was dressed in a hospital gown. As her gaze shifted, she spotted Steve sitting beside her, his head hung low in exhaustion.

“Hey,” she called softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Startled, Steve lifted his head, relief flooding his features as he met her gaze. He moved closer, helping her sit up comfortably, adjusting the pillow behind her back.

“How you feeling?” he asked, concern etched in his brow as he settled back into his chair.

“Shitty,” Anna replied, attempting a smile, but the effort was met with a sharp wince that shot through her body. She glanced down at herself, inspecting her skin for any signs of injury. No bullet wounds, no scrapes. “Why am I here if I'm okay?”

Steve sighed, a mix of frustration and humor in his voice. “Tony insisted.”

Anna pursed her lips, a knowing look passing between them. “Let me guess? He brought you hell?”

“More like Satan possessed him,” Steve joked, a hint of a grin creeping back onto his face.

They shared a laugh, the tension momentarily easing, but it quickly faded into silence as they both stared at the wall. Finally, Steve broke the stillness. “He saved you.”

Anna’s heart skipped a beat, surprise washing over her. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Steve confirmed with a nod. “When I lifted the metal off him, I told him I wasn’t going to fight anymore. Then he looked at you and strapped you into a parachute before we fell into the water.”

Her mind raced with his words, caught in a whirlwind of emotions. She didn’t know whether to feel flattered or conflicted. Time passed as they healed, and they frequently saw Sam. Tony gave her a hard time as well, prompting her to take time off work to volunteer at the museum.

What they didn’t know was that Bucky had escaped from HYDRA after Pierce’s death. He slipped into an empty apartment, grappling with his newfound freedom, desperate to find Anna.

One day, as he wandered through the museum, he came across an exhibit dedicated to Captain America. His heart raced when he spotted her—Anna, wearing tight jeans and a fitted blazer, guiding a group of kids around the displays. For the first time in a long while, a genuine smile crept onto his face, warming him from within.

He found a shadowed spot behind a post, watching her with an intensity he hadn’t felt in years. He studied her every move, the way she interacted with the children, the twinkle in her eye that spoke of joy and life. In that moment, he made a silent promise to himself: he would do everything in his power to keep that smile on her face.

>> Next <<

[reichiin033]

( #cozmez )

" Looking for the better dayz,

Just wanna fly away,

Cozmez still heading to the top

Come on gotta make it to the top, "

🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO THE STRONGEST TWINS! 😭🩵💜

No hate or anything! But Cozmez will forever be the Champs in my heart! (Let me be delusional for their special day 👀✨)

I will never stop saying that they deserve everything good in this world! 🥺✨

Someday somewhere, I know Nayuta and Kanata will grab their dreams and live the Better Dayz they wanted ! I just want to see them happy 😭 I love them so much I wanna hug them! So Imma squeeze my adorable nui and shower it with head pats instead!

Anyways, I've been wanting to draw them in their 4th anniversary suits for a while and I enjoyed doing the details sm! 🥺💜🩵

That's all! I'll be blasting czmz songs on speakers while doing my pending wips all later 🤭 Goodnight for now everyone!

🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀

( PLEASE DO NOT USE /SHARE ON OTHER PLATFORMS/ REUPLOAD MY DRAWING WITHOUT MY PERMISSION)

Cozmez belongs to Paradox Live.

EVERYTHING On This FANART is Drawn by ME including the Background.

#Rei_Art

[chiyoso]

(vent) you know, my series, the mara's will?

i truly, truly did not expect the positive outcome when i wrote and published it, i didn't plan to make a part two, i didn't plan to make it a series

it was just a fic heavily inspired by the song tot musica by ado

hence, the nordic runes i implemented

yes, absolutely, i adore the support for it i truly do, i'm happy people love it, my idea, my fic, my writing for that piece

but i honestly, genuinely i have no idea where it leads, i have no idea how it'll end, i have no idea what to do with it, i've come to terms that everyone will have different opinions, different views and different expectations on how it'll end

and that scares me. it resurfaces my people pleasing problem immensely.

i'm not not that skilled in writing yet, at least in my perspective

my imaginations heavily contrast to my current skill in writing, i want to express DETAILED fight scenes, but my brain circuits on what words to use for it, because in my mind, the movements are way, way too complex.

the dialogue, the actions, the powers, the usage of weaponry, they're all too complex in my mind, and my vocabulary, my choice of words, my lack of knowledge when it comes to other words, it frustrates me greatly.

more undercut

so i fucking mean when i say this

the writers i have encountered throughout tumblr? fuck. you are all so fucking amazing. i have known some to several of you who continue to write, even in a state of burnout, even in a state of... i dont know, anything that's bothering you, but you still continue to write? FUCK. i dont understand how you do it, but you're so STRONG. you absolutely, absolutely are.

because here i type away, heavily frustrated, plagued with immense, constant burnout, mental exhaustion, writers block, me healing from depression, with multiple projects, drafts, edits to do, pending requests, and i'm just... ugh. — fuck i dont know how you all do it, but you are all so strong. so, so, strong.

i dont want to discontinue the mara's will, but i cant... muster up any ideas for it either.

it was an impulse fic, heavily inspired by a song. a song from one piece.

i purposely left chapter 1 on a cliffhanger, i intended it to be that way because it was fitting to the plot.

and now... with part two out, it- i feel it was rushed, and it was getting too long, too long to the point where tumblr doesn't allow me to edit it anymore, so its stuck that way. rushed, full of mistakes, etc

shit i dont know what to do with it. fuck my people pleasing problem man. so many requests flooded me for a next part, and i did, i delivered. but why do i feel so... dejected? fuck.

i think i'm being too harsh on myself, but that's most likely because of the eerie, sudden silence — in which i'm still continuing to distract myself from (thank god for games and anime)

and if i had a drawing tablet again, things would be so much easier, i wanna draw fanart again, i wanna draw scara, lyney, nnngh i wanna draw hsr men too !!!! im so!!! nnh!!!

gahhh fuck i need lyney, neuvi, scara or geto to hug me tightly

[quinloki]

I think you will be the reason that one day Marco goes on my harem list °^°

I will happily do my best to help with that \o/

And I think that's the best part of being in this fandom, honestly. At least, from my perspective - I love One Piece, I love seeing the love other people have for it, but all the different shapes and sizes that love takes is the best.

I'm going to shout out some people, may they forgive me:

@swampstew - I might have been a bit of a Kid fan when I first came across her, but she's made me a MASSIVE Kid Pirate Crew fan - from top to bottom, I have a deeper appreciation of them then I would've had on my own.

@mew-ya - I was talking about them earlier in a discord channel, but Mew single-handedly made me a Kata fan - AND was the first person to make me just *adore* an OC (Maren is so awesome!).

@yamiyamiart - Yams has made me a hug fan of the Crocodile/Sanji rarepair in ways I never expected. Her art FEEDS me. Her creativity blesses me. I am full and invigorated.

@owlight - they were the sole reason I even LOOKED in Kaku's direction and gods save us all my list grew longer. (there's a multi-chapter for Kaku sitting in my queue, it's just a matter of time honestly).

@sanjis-all-blue and @downforsanji keep putting Sanji back into my head and I have two pending fics bubbling for him. (And it's not just with Sanji that these two inspire me either ♥ )

And Honestly? @some-piece did a call for a discord server, and it was the first of its kind I'd stumbled into. I doubt they realize it, but a lot of me today is from joining that server. I had never been in a community so directly before. xD 30+ years of fine anime appreciation, writing, and drawing and I was nearly 42 before I had ever even remotely felt like I was a part of a community.

That environment helped me reach out in other places, including being more comfortable here. So, ah - Not to get too poetical or anything, but I have said before (and I will say it again) I love how we can inspire and drive each other.

Adding to blorbo lists and head canons and daydreams is just the tip of the iceberg, yeah?

[reginalusus]

(I've also put this on my pinned post for now).

I'm closing doodle requests for the moment - so stuff such as wanting to hug Spamton, giving Spamton stuff, romancing Addisons (basically anything silly /pos) etc. are closed for the moment. Also, please do not send in memes and stuff like that.

I know I still have some stuff in my inbox (doodle requests and trick-or-treats and stuff), but I honestly may have to just leave them for now, or will get to them *much* later.

I'm closing them because I plan on opening commissions for November (pending) and don't want to have a backlog of stuff to do. I also just want to focus on stuff I actually *want* to draw, to kinda expand my portfolio and such. Sorry. :(

I also seriously need to get back into my novels. Writing is very important to me, but it's also time-consuming, and getting a career in writing is extremely, very, unbelievably difficult.

BUT-

By all means, feel free to ask me stuff about any of my interests, my thoughts on things, questions etc. I always have time to ramble, lol.

[rgbcn]

Are there any comics in the works currently? If so, what of? :)

Yes!

My current pendings starts with what my patrons voted first, a nsfw shamy comic called “strike” (Amy get 3 strikes from Sheldon, you can imagine where this is going lol)

I have a silly one called Love, that I want to do too, I posted a reel and a youtube of a 1 panel making but it’s still in the making.

And as I mentioned other times I have a shamy/tbbt AU all planned, more than 100 pages (arounf 8-9 chapters, kind of a high school full of cliche love story, all the story is done, first sketches of the layout are planned but I need time to do it !

When I finish a children’s book for a client I will be able to resume posting and drawing my comics, thanks for your patience!

And of course ask me anytime, I’m glad I get emails of the asks because I usually don’t open my social media often, I’m with my daughter in the pool now!

Of course as I mentioned, first I will work on them and post on patreon first but eventually I will post on social media, censored if needeed or partially if I get too shy of the nsfw lol, some of the layout sketches are posted there alreadt, or will be posted as I work on them. thanks for all the support!

Hugs! Regina ❤️

[altocat]

dear sephiroth,

i hope you are well. i've heard you've managed to hold an astronomy lecture for the younger recruits. it's sweet seeing you so passionate about the stars.

apologies for rambling. anyways, the children are asking about you. say they miss "mister-nice-to-hug". i know you're very busy, and i hope you were sincere when you said they don't bother you, but both me and the kids would appreciate another of your visits. especially the little one you're so fond of (thank you for your donation, by the way. although she wanted to buy plushies rather than warm clothes...)

awaiting your response,

(staff from the leaf house)

ps. take care of yourself. i mean it.

Dear Leaf House Staff,

Thank you for your thoughtful correspondence. My current schedule is full, at the moment. With that said, I fully intend on visiting before the approaching winter season, with appropriate compensation for your organization.

I ask that you keep all pending visits concealed from public knowledge, as I do not enjoy drawing attention to my social engagements. Thank you for your understanding.

Cordially,

Sephiroth, Soldier First-Class.

PS: You will find an extra envelope of gil enclosed. Please see that her needs are met. I hope to see her very soon.

[hermitsearcher]

Re: Title Pending

[ word count: 5666 ]

“Ughh… Masters Snow, White. My stomach hurts. Can’t we just reschedule the meeting for another time?”

“I am sorry Fifi, but this is something of the utmost importance for you. We cannot postpone this any longer in the case that you upset your sponsor.”

“Do you at least want me to get you medicine and heat pads dearie?”

“No need then. I’ll just try to push the feeling down and get it over with.”

Contrary to the professor’s words, she grips the marble countertop of the sink to steady herself until her knuckles are bone white. The sink water is running still, washing away the poor remnants of leftover lunch and gastric acid that had left her weak body.

Figaro looks up to see their complexion pallid in the mirror, even under the guise of powder and makeup decorating their face. The black silk suit they’re dressed in suffocates their neck much more than the lab scrubs they were wearing merely an hour ago. Like foreign skin, an uncomfortable feeling envelopes the professor inside and out, wanting to scratch and tear away at skin until it’s raw red with blood dripping into the white porcelain basin, eventually streaming with the running sink water.

Figaro’s reflection stares back at them with a grim expression, nothing like the Dr. Garcia the public thinks of them as. They try smiling in the dolled up way that they do for televised appearances, effortlessly easy and a relaxed snapshot at any angle. But it’s too stark, much too hollow to be presentable as the face of the kind picture perfect Professor.

She presses against sunken eyelids with the heel of her palms until hazy stars form in clusters in the dizzying black vision. Her hands are bone cold and clammy with sweat against the skin of her face.

Figaro doesn’t like this. Feeling any of this. The nerves under their skin buzzing. Their bleeding heart residing in the empty cavity of their chest. The sensation of their muscles running restlessly as all their muscles, tissues, and organs are overworked with each breath taken. Being human has never felt substantial in any way, the fallacy of life a mass of blood and meat and messy contradictions, all equating to a being as flawed as they are.

If the professor could have it her way, she’d be spending her night buried head deep in research until her brain burns numb with lines of codes and mechanics. To have the cool feel of metal at her fingertips, fidgeting at wires and robotics under the dim artificial light of the laboratory for hours on end.

But instead, her evening will be outside the confines of her one haven, complete with the formalities of business and socialites that she is utterly antiquated in.

“It’s inevitable, my dear child.” Snow tuts, as if he could read the professor’s mind, knowing her well enough that he likely has. “But there is merit at the end of arduous tasks.”

White, the perfect mirror to Snow, who knows the professor as much as he knows his twin and himself, follows through a beat second later. “You can make it through tonight’s dinner. And afterwards, we will spoil you rotten as much as you like.”

Figaro’s hands fall from her eyes. She looks down at her two assistroids. Together the pair stand tall beside her, reaching just under her waistline, with a smile etched on their faces too warm to be a simple programmed mechanical response.

Snow’s small hand takes Figaro’s own hanging one to rub circles in the palm of her hand as a soothing motion. White on her other side holds the one not occupied and strokes and squeezes her fingers, relieving the professor of how tight she often grips her hand.

Figaro crouches down to look her assistroids in the eyes, wide, round, and an unsettling shade of gold lending itself to how nonhuman they really are. Wrinkles are bound to form in the creases of her suit hunched over like this. However It's the last thing on their mind as Figaro draws their assistroids into a hug, childishly clinging onto their small backs.

It would be an odd image to the onset of outsiders, of an adult being spoiled by child figures like this. But Figaro has never needed more of the outside world than those that she has built out of metal scraps and love.

There’s nobody to intrude on them, and so the professor lets herself indulge in Snow’s peppy cheerings and White’s gentle affirmations.

After a while, Figaro’s breathing calms down to a point where she feels she isn’t choking. The sound of running water has stopped. Likely turned off by one of the twins while her head was buried in their hold.

“Are you sure you can’t come along? Or ask for Rustica to go in my place?”

Figaro looks at the two pleading. Snow retightens his hug, hand stroking the professor’s back soothing her little quivers. White wipes the brimming tears from her eyes, face in his hold gently squeezing her cheeks to get her to smile.

“We would love to dearie. But there’s no going against what your sponsor has requested. We can’t push it more than we already do.”

“On top of that, between you and Miss Ferucci, you’re the better fit seeing as how you’re the one whose upheld contact and reports. Maybe your charming personality and glib tongue will capture their heart after tonight.”

“…You have to be joking right, Master White?”

Figaro’s brows furrow right in time as White’s hands upturn the edges of her lips.

He finally stops playing with her face to fix up the smudged makeup while Figaro is still close to the ground. Behind the professor, Snow restyles her hair into the soft curls that framed her face, and pats out any wrinkles forming on her suit.

“Hmm, you never know. Humans always fall for the most unexpected of traits.”

“Maybe if you think of this as a dinner date Figgykins, it won’t be so bad.”

A shudder runs through Figaro’s entire body. Coworkers were one thing, but Figaro doesn’t think herself capable of loving another human intimately like that.

The thought of being looked at and touched by another… To confoundedly make mistakes stumbling through emotions of pain and confusion trying and failing to understand the other… All for something as intangibly volatile a concept that love is…

Figaro shakes her head, sick already of thinking about it. Maybe being human is never their strong suit in the first place, already failing to understand the complexities of what makes a person tick. That’s why they look the other way, to robots and AI and assistroids that can be broken down and understood with numbers and data, empirical values that make more sense to process than what they’re currently feeling.

“Please stop imagining such a disturbing scenario. I don’t need their affection, I just need to secure grant money for the next quarter at least.”

“So unromantic of you Figgykins.”

“That’s not a very cute thing for a little girl like Fifi to say.”

“The two of you are just watching too many dramas while I’m away. This is all just a formality I wish I could do without.”

With a final pat down, Snow and White take a step back to let Figaro rise to her full height once more. No matter how many times they do this routine, it never fails to surprise her how the twin’s handiwork transforms her into someone wholly new. Even if she does furiously scrub it off hours later to change back into the lab wear she practically lives in.

A glance at the clock on her phone tells Figaro that she still has time before her appointed meeting. It’s a not so small grief lingering deep inside her that the hour is approaching closer and closer.

Leaving the confines of her bathroom, she sweeps her apartment to make sure everything is in order. Snow and White will tidy everything up while she’s away, but it’s for her own sake of mind that her files and belongings are where she’s locked it.

The door to her apartment automatically locks behind Figaro as she shuts it close. Snow and White follow her steps to the outside of the complex and wait to see her off.

As the automated car pulls around to the front from a command on the twin’s system, Figaro tenses up feeling the anxiety from before arise again. Just as she’s about to fall back again, her two small assistants take her hands to squeeze one more time.

“You will be fine, Figaro dear.”

“Even if we’re not there physically, we will always be cheering beside you.”

Snow and White wave her off as the professor steps inside the vehicle, akin to parents watching their children leave for the first time.

Sitting in the car while it drives itself, or rather her assistroids’ driving it from a remote location, Figaro takes a moment to collect her thoughts.

The professor thinks of their sponsor, an odd entity they’ve been acquainted with only for a few weeks through a correspondence of courtesy emails and one-sided reports alike. Only the bare minimum information of their sponsor was disclosed to her on a need-to-know basis.

Neon lights of the city fly by in the window, dousing the darkened space in splotches of color coming and going. Figaro covers her eyes once more to hide from the blaring rays of light.

She slumps in the leather seats letting her body relax while her mind continues racing endlessly, fueled with nonstop anxiety and countless scenarios of how this meeting could go. All her rehearsed lines replay in the professor’s head like an old recording. She just needs to play her part like before, like all other times she puts on the face of Dr. Figaro Garcia.

Eventually the smooth rolling of the car comes to a subtle stop at its destination. Snapping her eyes open, Figaro straightens up promptly from where she’s seated. One last encouraging message from the twins flash by on the car’s monitor and Figaro feels herself ease a bit, if only just slightly.

The car door automatically swings open beside her. Figaro graciously steps out onto the pavement and makes her way to the grand glass doors of the high-rise industrial building. Her public persona melds onto their face. The professor walks along with a sociable kind of smile.

Only to the few who would personally know the professor would be able to see the strain of muscles in her hands as she desperately clenches them. Or how she maneuvers around the crowds of people to avoid brushing by them, steps light and smooth as if she were dancing a pas de deux for one.

The professor takes quick strides in the gilded lobby of the building, decorum a mixture of sleek modern style with renaissance showpieces on full display. At the epicenter of the upper class district, Figaro feels wholly out of place. Her appearance suited and dolled up fits right in with the high class atmosphere. But internally her insides twist and shrivel up from being casted under the dizzying lights of the chandeliers and gazes of the people.

Figaro manages to catch an elevator ride by herself. She lets out a small breath of relief in the quiet moment of reprieve she has to herself. The elevator swiftly lifts the professor to the 50th floor, as designated as their meeting spot. The numbers on the screen quickly tick by counting up the levels climbing by. Only the sound of the tip of her shoe tapping against the floor anxiously is a second faster.

Stepping off, Figaro finds that no other persons are loitering around the 50th floor. To the end of the hall there is an attending podium with an attendant present. The unnatural stillness of the figure indicates itself to likely being an assistroid. Not an uncommon sight when nowadays the upper class will employ assistroids more than actual working people in their services.

She approaches the server and internally sighs in relief that her observations were true.

“Good evening. I have a reservation for a table under the name God’s Lightning.” Figaro rolls up her sleeve and formally presents the biometric scan tattooed on her wrist as identification. The assistroid takes a moment to scan with its eyes, and after a green light flashes in the rings of its iris, the server smiles back in greeting.

“Dr. Garcia. Thank you for joining us this evening. Your companion has already taken the liberties of obtaining a seat. If you would please follow me this way.”

The server steps through the red oak entryway , directing on where to go. Figaro follows a close step behind, anxiety spiking at the thought of walking by dozens of other guests seated at the restaurant.

But to her surprise, the space is cleared of any and everybody. Even the typical wait staff that would be bustling about serving others is nowhere to be seen. Her sponsor must have rented out the entire restaurant for full uninterrupted privacy. A perk on one hand, not having to be surrounded in public by crowds of people. But it does nothing to suade the dread of having to sit one-to-one with the person who essentially your future rolls in their hands, fate and fortune carried and tossed by a mere whim.

Figaro is led to a secluded section of the restaurant, right by where the ceiling high glass window wraps around the corner. It lends itself to a breathtaking view of the night time city, the distant illuminations different from when she was driving by them. From such a height Figaro could see even the thousand year cherry blossom tree at the center of town, a timeless historical symbol in the face of Vollmond’s ever-advancing technoscape.

The assistroid bows back before withdrawing, leaving her alone with her dinner guest. Figaro’s eyes land on the lone figure clad in a dark suit and white coat standing by the far end table. Her breath catches, stomach sinking and the tension in her head rising.

The figure took on the appearance of man. Yet they were anything but. Their features were definitively sharp, sculpted from the likes of marble yet face marred by eye creases and furrow lines weathered with inevitable aging. Hair, silken smooth and impossibly long yet never seemed to grace the floor, was the color of the midnight never seen under the city haze and neon lights covering the sky. And from the profile that she could see, of eyes that hadn’t turned to look at Figaro’s poor quaking self, held a deep gleam of red that was incomparable to any jewels, flowers, and other objects of beauty cataloged in the hundreds of thousands databases the professor has skimmed the screen through.

They finally take notice of Figaro’s presence. Eyes, red eyes that seize her body with habitual fear, lazily draw to look at her. As a way to avoid shaking hands, Figaro instead quickly bows, hiding all her nerves under the guise of polite courtesy.

“God’s Lightning. Sir, it’s an honor to finally be able to meet you like this.” It was a miracle of how steady Figaro’s voice came out. That even after countless hours of practicing and reciting lines her insides were being shaken and eaten up by stress. She takes her small victories no matter how desperate they were.

“Dr. Figaro Garcia. Head researcher of Vollmond Institute Laboratory.” The voice of their sponsor matches the curt dry one used in the exchange of mails they wrote in. But physically hearing it for the first time in real life, it sounded much deeper than anything she expected. “You may sit.”

On command she steps forward to take her seat right across. Figaro’s eyes rake over the cloth spread of the table, complete with quality cutlery and wares as expected of fine dining restaurants. From the edges of her vision she can see the wrists of her sponsor, extending from his arms and attached to his body, reading his body language from the neck down though indiscernible as he sits still.

Figaro’s gaze doesn’t dare to travel up further, too afraid to meet the unsettling red that bores down on her. Maybe it wasn’t the most polite thing to do, but etiquette be damned if she was already this close to throwing up without even the first course being served.

The professor smiles politely hoping to carry on quickly, too quickly that her sponsor doesn’t dare call her out on any of her manners.

“Sir. I would like to personally thank you again for all your contributions made. Your work and donations have helped-“

“Dr. Garcia.” Their voice cuts her off lip service. “I was under the impression that you were afflicted with Assistroid Dependency.”

Figaro’s breathing stops momentarily. Her hand underneath the table claw squeezes at her wrist, tight and tense with nerves. She continues smiling.

“Well that is true. However, it is a relatively minor and harmless symptom, often common under my line of work. It will affect nothing regarding our meeting today.”

A steady rhythm echoes into empty space left after their words. Figaro’s eyes draw to the source, seeing that slim fingers tap against the table from across from her.

“And yet you have not once looked me in the eyes.”

“…My deepest apologies. However this is-“

“I am not one for small talk, nor do I care enough for it either. I will not force you to play in these meaningless pleasantries when you cannot even make eye contact. Do not fool yourself into thinking that this is anything more than business.”

Figaro is gutted silently. She chokes on her words, gnawing on her bottom lip until blood is drawn. Before her, God’s Lightning sits completely unfazed by his blunt choice of words, slicing through any and all rebuttals on her tongue.

In the back of their mind the professor rejoices at dropping all pretenses. But then is immediately greeted with the panic that this ruins any and all scenarios she had prepared for light socializing. The floor beneath her drops. Unsteady, weightless, and sick to her stomach.

An uncomfortable atmosphere settles between the two. Never before has Figaro been horrified over not having to speak to others. But God’s Lightning isn’t a simple “other” that she can avoid as necessary. He’s the bastard that dragged her, Figaro Garcia specifically, alone, out here tonight, unprecedented by all other forms of contact they’ve had. It’s hard not to oblige the ridiculous request when they’re single-handedly funding her life’s research.

Figaro doesn’t remember much of the meal after that. Dinner is served on her plate before she even realizes she ordered something. The light scraping of metal cutlery against cold porcelain grates on her ears, and food is barely registered in her palette, heavy on their tongue and feeling even more solid as it goes down to settle with the turmoil of their insides.

The only thing that feels even remotely easy to swallow is the wine poured into her glass. Figaro never planned on drinking much. But with a presence as heavy as the one across from her, she doesn’t think she can even make it through the night without her head light bordering the edge of inebriation.

With the gentle sound of silverware being set on the table, Figaro knows by the cue that she can stop robotically shoveling food into her mouth.

“I will be frank with you Dr. Garcia. I am considering withdrawing support from your project.”

“W-what?!”

Glasses shake with Figaro’s sudden movement to stand up in shock. Her already weak body is woozy from the rush of blood flow, but even more pressing is the ringing in her eardrums from her sponsor’s words. Bitten nails dig into the palm of her hands, breaking skin and the smallest amount of blood.

“Apologies for my manners, but I implore you to reconsider Sir. If it’s regarding progress, I have thoroughly sent you reports on a biweekly basis. From the start until now, significant strides have been made and development is still steadily progressing. What is there to be unsatisfied with?”

The silence settling in the space between the two is deafening. God’s Thunder ruminates on his words, each second leaving Figaro to fall further down mentally until they’re desperately grasping at lost thoughts.

“Garcia. You are aware of what industry I control.”

The answer was obviously yes. For as gracious as their donations have been, Figaro could not help but hold both ends doubt and curiosity towards the source, pushing her to dig up whatever she could surrounding them. Weapons dealing, trading and distribution. Confidential technology developments that teeters warmongering. Hands in pockets of politicians and public figures alike. It would be better to ask where the influence of God’s Lightning didn’t extend to.

If Figaro were a better person, the moral dilemma of where their funding came from would haunt her. But dirty money is still money in the end, so she never refused nor pushed for more. It’s not like they’re following ethics to the T either.

She swallows down her thick saliva, nodding quietly as prompted. Her sponsor continues on.

“Then you are aware that there is nothing meaningful for me to gain from this. Potential at first, and possible capital, but nothing I can truly benefit from my end of the deal. I was drawn into this due to your acquaintance with Tiletta Flores in the first place, but she has since retired and passed away. As such, I see no reason as to continue sponsoring y-“

The professor bangs against the table interrupting them before they could finish. The delicate glasses shake even more than the first time before tipping over and shattering against the pristine white table linen. Wine and shards of glass have somehow clung onto the edges of Figaro’s skin but it all feels numb to them.

Out of nervous desperation, Figaro glances at the other through her bangs from where her head was tucked down. She can’t get a read on them. She doesn’t understand what they want, what they’re thinking, or anything about God’s Lightning. Without even getting a word in from her side, this will be over akin to the wisps of a flame smothered out.

Figaro’s thoughts race to say something, anything of substance. What could he possibly hope to gain from this? What was the one thing they were even striving for?

“A child! I can- I can give you a child!”

The sentence flies out of the professor’s mouth in desperation faster than she can even fully process it. The lag catches up, and Figaro fully berates herself for her stupidity.

‘stupid stupid stupid why the hell did I even say that some second sexiest intellectual I am do you understand how that sounds aaaaarrrghh-‘

The corner of God’s Lightning mouth twitches in a minuscule movement, something easily missed to most others but caught by Figaro’s keen eye. Whether out of amusement, annoyance, or complete befuddlement though is completely out of her skill capacity, emotional intelligence something the professor utterly lacks in. (And apparently by the looks of it logical intelligence now too).

The wine glass in her sponsor’s hand, untouched and unbothered by Figaro’s light fuss, is set down softly against the mess of a dinner table. God’s Lightning folds their hands to rest their chin atop. Eyes the color of blood pierce through the professor. Figaro quickly diverts her gaze to the floor again, sweating under the intense pressure.

“…A child, you say?”

“Y-Yes. I don’t mean an actual human child. But rather, um, one of my own personal assistroids...”

Maybe because the stupid idea already teetered over and spilled from her mouth, but Figaro keeps talking, brain formulating plans and conjectures into semi-coherent speech in real time.

“Allow my presumptions, but you fail to see the limits of what this project can achieve. If you are going to continue investing in our- in my research, then I want you to fully understand what my goal is.”

A small moment is taken to pause and let herself breathe. Inhale. Exhale. Figaro straightens her back, eyes steady on the floor. She’s conscious of her words, her voice clear and tone even to be heard for what it is.

“I don’t want assistroids to simply be tools. Or our friends without a question for what they really want. I want them to have a heart. To have thought and free will. Can humanity truly know liberation from loneliness if our companions themselves cannot even dream of it? Just as I want to love my assistroids and be loved by them, in turn I want to teach them what love actually is. Only then can we move forward to a future as equals.”

Figaro’s breath heaves at the end of her words. She can’t remember the last time she’s talked to another human this long. Her heart beats rapidly inside her chest, an uncomfortable thumping that she grips the lapels of her suit as an attempt to calm down.

Across from her, God’s Thunder sits in silence. A second of eons composed of still quiet air, only disturbed by the now hushed huffs Figaro takes to catch breath, stretches between them. Still standing up leaning against the table, Figaro’s legs weakly shake in anticipation, uneasiness deep in her bones and gripping every tense nerve cell in her body.

“Your ambitions are something I cannot fathom.” Figaro clenches her fists, “…but I will give you one week.”

Grey eyes dart up in surprise. They accidentally make contact with sharp scarlet watching her from across, before flinching away on instinct. In that split second, Figaro felt like she could break through the impasse that was her sponsor’s expressions. But she knows herself to be too cowardly to look again.

“I thank you for your grace and cooperation then. My assistant will send an email to you regarding meeting arrangements and pickup.”

The professor’s voice is quietly trembling, overworked from the stress experienced in the past hour. No further response is given on her sponsor’s end besides a simple hum of acknowledgment, but Figaro is fine with that alone.

Figaro draws back from the table to see the mess she’s made and winces at the sight of it. Somehow through all the food scattered and drinks spilled, God’s Lightning remains untouched. She bows with the last of her energy she can dedicate to courtesy.

As she’s about to rush out as quickly as humanly possibly, a sudden thought stops the professor in her tracks. Figaro turns back halfway to call out to the other.

“Ah. Before I set up the assistroid’s systems, I’ll need a name to put under the owner’s ID. Of course I can leave it as your pseudonym, but I recommend using your own name as it helps establish a bond with the assistroid.”

“…”

Not for the first time tonight, God’s Thunder delays speaking. She’s beginning to understand what the man meant by adversion to small talk.

Yet in their short interactions together, Figaro picks up the second of hesitation before he speaks.

“Sir?”

“…Oz.”

“Oz? Oz…”

Figaro’s voice echoes the name, rolling it on her tongue, familiarizing the taste of the syllable said.

“Is something the matter?”

“No, it’s nothing. I’m just reminded of an old fairytale featuring a wizard with the same name is all. …Well I’ll be taking my leave then.”

Figaro rushes out towards the entrance without a look back. Once in the still vacant hallway, she finds the nearest private bathroom before locking the doors and collapsing onto the floor.

A guttural sob escapes her breath immediately. In the quiet moments the professor has to herself, Figaro tries to recuperate her energy reserves to even walk out of the building. It’s only when she tries to hold her head that she realizes the micro shards of glass and wine sticking to her hand.

Figaro picks herself up and drags herself over to the sink to wash out what she can. A glance to the mirror finds that she is still somehow presentable, partially thanks to the dark suit they’re dressed in masking all the stains.

Once her hands are dried, still somewhat tingling but better than before, Figaro pulls out her phone and calls her one and only immediate contact.

“Figgykins? Are you done? How did it go?”

“Fifi? How are you holding up? Do you want us to pull up to the building now?”

“Before all that… Master Snow. Master White. Please praise me like you said you would.”

“Of course dearie. You did such a good job.”

“We’re so proud of you, Figaro. Our precious little girl.”

“Good work tonight. We love you.”

Figaro sighs softly at the voices of the twins, the tension leaving her body from the taught posture it took. She still feels the buildup of bile in the depths of her chest, but it washes away the longer she’s on call with her two little cheerleaders.

“Thank you Masters Snow, White. I’ve just finished up my meeting and am about to head down, but please stay on the line for a little bit longer until I’m outside.” She gently speaks into the other end of the phone.

“Understood.”

The twins talk about the time spent together while the professor was out. It’s easier to focus on their voices as Figaro follows the path she took treading inside. Her eyes are kept on the floor two steps ahead to avoid eye contact with anybody, yet fuzzy head still operating enough to be aware to avoid incoming bodies.

The night’s cool air nips at Figaro the moment she steps outside. Nary few are outside at this time of night in the upper class district, except for a few businessmen and a couple or two keeping to themselves. Figaro manages to spot and flag down her car and heads straight towards it.

The black car door swings open in her presence. She all but falls down into the awaiting seats. This time, the twins are in the car with her, seated side by side right next to where the professor usually sits.

“You did well, Fifi. Allow us to shower you with spoils and treats as a reward for your work.” White’s small hands brush through blue locks of hair, messing it up from its perfect style. Another pair of arms move to remove Figaro’s suit jacket, though they catch at her wounded hand.

“What happened here? Did they attempt to hurt you? With a word, we’ll go back and-“

“It’s nothing like that, Master Snow. I just got carried away on my end.” Figaro cuts off the threat forming in their words. After tonight with the already terrible impression Oz holds of Figaro, she doesn’t need it dropping any deeper than rock bottom.

“Anyways. I would love to go back home and sleep this awful night away, but I need you two to take me to the lab.”

“Did something happen? We cleared your schedule for the rest of the night and tomorrow morning.” Snow asks.

“All your work for the institute was done when you left for the day. Did you forget something back there?” White’s question follows.

“Something like that. I’ll explain when we get there, but all I can say is that plans have shifted, as annoying as it is. I think I’m going to have to stay up all night again, so for now I’ll use what little time I have to rest a bit.”

Figaro’s eyes snap shut before she can hear any of the twin’s advice. The quiet automated driving accompanied by her two assistroids stroking the top of her head lulls the professor to the edges of sleep, worn out from the stress of the evening.

By habit Figaro wakes up by herself when they’re close to Vollmond Laboratory. She rubs the remaining drowsiness out from her eyes and finds that her hand has been completely cleaned and bandaged, courtesy of her assistants.

It was only a matter of scanning her ID to get clearance into the institute. At the deepest ends of the building secluded from the rest is the Artificial Intelligence Research department, where Figaro is designated as head of.

The professor’s steps and her accompanying assistroids are the only ones echoing in the narrow, poorly lit hallway. All the other researchers have either gone home for the night, or are too buried in their own respective projects to even notice her entrance.

At the last door of the hall, Figaro unlocks the entryway to her personal lab space conjoined with her office. The lights automatically turn on in the presence of her movement.

The professor sees that a scattered mess of papers and research materials is left on one of the examination benches, courtesy of Rustica. In comparison, Figaro’s own research portfolio is neatly filed and locked away in her cabinet from when she left earlier in the day. She shakes her head, though a fond smile appears on her face at the never changing messy habits of her partner.

Figaro leaves Rustica’s mess be, knowing Chloe will surely come and clean it up for her later. Walking past it, she makes her way to one of the doors off to the side of the lab and enters the terminal room where all her children are.

In the last row, second to the end rests a child with synthetic white hair the color of stardust. Their eyes closed shut as they lay in rest mode, an imitation to the human habit of sleep yet so realistic it’s indistinguishable between the two.

Figaro’s hand, the one unbandaged, brushes against the assistroid’s round cheek with a gentle touch as if handling something precious.

“Hello from the world of waking dreams, Arthur.”

[ao3feed-zukka]

I Know You Want The Satisfaction (it's not gonna happen)

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/AfxUt9l

by brittsta1

The previous reincarnations of the Avatar Spirit are growing restless as Aang stays frozen within the iceberg and Sozin’s Comet draws nearer. In the year 97 AG, they make a desperate gamble by removing the Avatar Spirit from Aang and giving it to their best hope for peace and balance between all four nations – a 13 year-old Zuko, freshly burned and sentenced to exile.

Words: 3951, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English

Fandoms: Avatar: The Last Airbender

Rating: Not Rated

Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Categories: F/F, F/M, M/M

Characters: Zuko (Avatar), Yue (Avatar), Suki (Avatar), Toph Beifong, Azula (Avatar), Iroh (Avatar), Ozai (Avatar), Aang (Avatar), Sokka (Avatar), Katara (Avatar), Yangchen (Avatar), Roku (Avatar), Kyoshi (Avatar), Kuruk (Avatar)

Relationships: The Gaang & Zuko (Avatar), Azula & Zuko (Avatar), Toph Beifong & Zuko, Suki & Zuko (Avatar), Yue & Zuko (Avatar), Suki/Yue (Avatar), Sokka/Zuko (Avatar)

Additional Tags: Avatar Zuko (Avatar), Zuko-centric (Avatar), Zuko is an Awkward Turtleduck, Gay Zuko (Avatar), Protective Zuko (Avatar), Zuko (Avatar) Needs a Hug, Zuko's Scar (Avatar), Blue Spirit Zuko (Avatar), Hurt Zuko (Avatar), zuko forms his own gaang, (name pending), Aang is Not the Avatar (Avatar), anymore ;), Child Abuse, Animal Abuse, cause ya know, Bad Parent Ozai (Avatar), Azula Needs Therapy (Avatar), Slow Burn, romance is not the main focus of this fic, Early Zuko Redemption (Avatar), he's speedrunning this, Zuko's Childhood (Avatar), Toph Beifong and Zuko are Siblings, did i make zuko's gaang all of sokka's love interests? yes. poor sokka is gonna have a crisis, POV Third Person, POV Zuko (Avatar), POV Multiple, but mainly zuko, Azula (Avatar) Redemption, eventually, Waterbender Yue (Avatar), this fic is not a kid's show, zuko is not a pacifist, War Crimes, Smart Zuko (Avatar), competent zuko, How is that not a tag, i will die on this hill, Badass Zuko (Avatar)

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/AfxUt9l

[yasminxmessina]

Yasmin Messina's Home in Cresthill Meadows

November 18, 2024 / draw of luck

tw: fire, death

It was a typical Monday for the principal at the local elementary school in Kismet Harbor. The kids were rowdy from a weekend away from civilized structure, but they always brought a smile to her face. The day was trucking along, seemingly without problem. It wasn't until she was finishing up lunch that her phone began to ring and she pulled it out to see that it was the local fire department calling. There was not a moment's hesitation as Yasmin answered the phone. She was grateful to be in her office, having just shut the door behind her to take the call. When Connor Bowen revealed that her house was had just been taken by fire, she dropped to her knees. All she could think about was her cat. Maisie. Connor told her they didn't see the cat but that didn't mean she hadn't escaped from the house.

With tears in her eyes, Yasmin excused herself for the rest of the day after finding the vice principal. She briefly explained and there were no further questions as Yasmin rushed back to her home in Cresthill Meadows. Or rather, what was left of her home. Yasmin pulled up behind one of the fire trucks, Connor approaching to pull the brunette into a tight hug. It wouldn't bring back her losses, but it was comfort in knowing that someone cared and had tried to save her home. "Do they know how it started?" Yasmin couldn't believe she would have ever left her home in a condition that it would become a fire hazard.

Connor's head lowered before answering the question, "It seems there were fireworks, we found debris in the yard. This was intentional, whomever did this." The mere words hit Yasmin, as if she were being punched in the stomach. It was intentional? Yasmin stared past Connor, looking at the charred bones of her home and it only brought her back to the memory of staring at her childhood home where her parent's had not managed to escape.

Yasmin thanked Connor and the other firefighters on duty that afternoon, only asking a final question on whether or not the house was sturdy enough for Yasmin to go in. At most, she wanted to see if she wouldn't be able to find her cat, Maisie. Connor revealed that it wasn't and wouldn't be for a few days and that they'd get her set up at The Homey Inn and keep her in loop on the pending investigation regarding the fire.