#hydra fuckery

[sharonisthebettercarter]

hard to think of much more terrifying than knowing you are doing something, fully understanding and being conscious of NOT wanting to do it, and being unable to control your own body to stop it from happening. that's not just living through the nightmare, it's also being the 'monster' in it when you are just as desperate to be saved, but you don't get to have a voice to scream for help with.

i genuinely don't understand how people disregard bucky's situation and what hydra did to him to try to blame him for it. imagine someone puts a knife in your hand, and you are powerless to disobey them in what they want done with that knife.

in a hostage situation, it is inhumane to judge the hostages for what the true captors or killers make them do, or do to them. bucky's situation is that of a hostage, worse, because he never gets a choice, it's always made for him.

[howlsofbloodhounds]

since your all things killer sans, I have something to think about

Does stage 3 and 4 have a name? Becuase I know stage 2 is killer and stage 1 is sans. Do they have a name? Or is this a system thing where their both named the same thing, their name is also killer, kinda like how systems can get multiple altars of the same thing or same character

Or they do and I'm just being an idiot-

Anyways that's all good bye, enjoy your day!👋

Killer Sans is not a canonical system, although he shows signs of an implied dissociative disorder. Not all dissociative disorders are DID, OSDD-1, or anything with alters or systems.

Also unlikely that Killer himself would know what he has—just that he experiences dissociative states he calls himself, but different enough in some way to warn others in Stage 1 (closest to Sans, but still uncertain if he is sans or not) to not trust him “when he’s like that” (stage 2) or kill him (stage 3.) His thought process is shown to be fragmented, and he relies on these for help on making choices it seems—when no one is around to tell him what to do.

Ultimately just what exact dissociative disorder Killer Sans has is completely up to fandom interpretation. We unfortunately don’t got a lot of canon information on Killer’s Stages—mostly 3 and 4–so you are free to interpret as you will.

If you go with the system interpretation, I feel it important to remember that not all alters need, want, or have different names, or a name at all. Also common in conditioned or ‘programmed’ systems, or systems formed under RAMCOA conditions. I don’t feel qualified to speak much on these types of systems so I won’t, especially when it’s very easy to spread misinformation.

If you want to give them different names, or nicknames, or the same names, or keep their numbered names—3 and 4, Stage 3 and Stage 4, etc.—go ahead.

I personally go with an OSDD-2 interpretation for Killer’s dissociative disorder. This means dissociative identity loss, confusion, and/or disturbance due to thought reform, torture, prolonged intense coercive persuasion, brainwashing, conditioning, programming, indoctrination, recruitment by terror organizations or sects. Results in prolonged changes in or conscious questioning of one’s identity and beliefs.

They become who they need to be to survive in and cope with a dangerous environment and an unbearable reality. Often to the benefit of their abusers and captors.

This is a disorder often found in adult survivors of cults, terrorist organizations, prisoners of war, hostages or those held captive for a long time. A great example, if fictional, of OSDD-2 is Bucky Barnes/the Winter Soldier.

The movies didn’t give him a lot of focus or give his years upon years of trauma enough focus or attention, didn’t handle it with care at all, bypassed the actual deprogramming process by completely getting rid of his Winter Soldier programming and conditioning immediately, but he’s still a good example.

If they hadn’t just had all his programming removed via magical science fuckery, he’d likely still struggle with his identity as Bucky Barnes (who he is free from hydra), the Winter Solider (the fist of hydra, the asset, who and what hydra made him into), and the person he was before the fall off the train.

Certain things would cue and trigger him to view, think, and react exactly how he would as if he were in the environment that created the asset even if he still may be aware he isn’t in the same environment anymore. Such as being completely unable to refuse an order from handler as soon as his trigger words are uttered.

Of course Bucky Barnes and Killer Sans are very special cases that couldn’t exist in real life due to the nature of their worlds—magic, souls, aliens, extremely advanced technology that was capable of wiping Bucky’s memory and forcing him to rebuild a new identity from the ground up every time—not to mention their absurdly long lifespans and immense amount of trauma.

Bucky was kept alive for what, around 90-100 years? Given the super soldier serum or something, kept frozen to keep his body young and fit and only unthawed for mission assignments and making sure his programming still worked.

Killer was kept alive and died through Determination and the Resets for who knows how long. The brain (and in Killer’s case, SOUL), and body will do whatever it thinks it must to survive and cope. Even if it doesn’t exactly fit known science/psychology because both of these characters defy all that noise.

{ @nightmarefandom }

[anika-ann]

Back and Forth - part 2

Part 2 - Flashes Back

Type: series; agent!reader, inhuman!reader

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader    Word Count: 8100

Chapter summary: 

In which you have some time to reminisce and do so even when the time isn't right.

Series masterlist

Warnings: canon-typical violence, mention of gunshot wounds, hints of unhealthy relationship to pain, references to A+ parenting (bad bad parenting) and consequential unhealthy mindsets, a bit of angst

A/N: ALWAYS MIND THE WARNINGS; dividers by @firefly-graphics 💕; moodboard is for the vibes and does not necessarily reflect reader’s appearance

A/N2: As you might have gathered from the warnings and the title of the chapter, our ‘reader’ will be getting some backstory. My ‘readers’ in longfics always have them. To me, that allows for greater depth of the character and their behaviour. If that bothers you, this story might not be for you. Thank you for understanding and enjoy 💕

Steve Rogers’ idea of punishment for disobeying orders was not of the most appealing to many, but it sat quite well with you.

Naturally, it wasn’t that you adored going through mountains of documents with plenty of useless and a few useful words, nor you liked the idea of being benched and having to sit in a corner as if you had been bad when all you had tried to do was your job; that you did not like one bit. But conveniently, being assigned to paperwork also meant you got a reprieve from physically taxing missions. Given the fact that the first three days after having been shot – even if not – were always the most exhausting, particularly when having to hide the pain for long hours, you certainly welcomed it. To a point anyway.

Unsurprisingly, a week later, you were still feeling significant echoes of the ache in your stomach; and yet, you cherished every physical activity where you could feel the tugging on the edges of your spectre’s wound. You didn’t revel in the pain itself, but you welcomed its presence nevertheless, because being without pain was addicting; it was the sweetest calling many people would answer to happily. But you knew better; the withdrawals would have been brutal and unforgiving, and most of all, inevitable, once you’d return to the field.

You tried not to dwell on the luxury of resting you had been provided, but that didn’t mean you didn’t appreciate the assignment given.

Isolation, even when it whispered of being the persona non grata and with the invisible threat of never being chosen for another mission with the prestigious team hanging above your head, still offered some relief. Whether you deserved the reprieve was questionable, but you tried not to ponder over that too much, knowing that the direction the scales were tipping towards to was not in your favour.

Would you rather be in the centre of action, trying your best to fix what you had messed up? Absolutely. One hundred percent. But the punishment was convenient; so convenient for you that you would have even wondered whether Natasha blabbed on you, hadn’t your training schedule remained unchanged. You had a feeling that if she had revealed your secret, you wouldn’t be allowed to as much as throw a single punch. That and Mr. Captain America would have pulled a two-hundred-slide presentation about why not telling the team, fighting when not being entirely fit and being reckless in his eyes was a terrible idea. That was, if he would have even cared.

It did not look like he cared at all.

He certainly didn’t seem to care about the fact that you had missed the opportunity to retrieve intel about whatever fuckery Hydra had been working on to neutralise the all-things-American man – or at least he hadn’t confronted you about it. In fact, all of the Avengers seemed to shrug off the threat to Steve, as if it was just another Tuesday for them. You supposed such nonchalance came with years being an idol inspiring as much hate as adoration, but you couldn’t say that it helped you sleep easier at night.

In all fairness however, this nonchalance didn’t mean that your discovery was ignored completely.

You had had at least three sessions with Doctor Banner who attempted to make sense of the pieces of intel you had seen and was able to recall. You might have remembered barely anything, your brain too busy registering the sudden pain piercing your abdomen, but Banner’s genius was able to come up with options after you had shared the scraps, which in return helped you build on a little bit more, some of the graphics he constructed familiar. The most plausible option now seemed to be that the stupid Nazi worshippers had somehow got their filthy tentacles on Steve’s medical data and were on their way to develop an antiserum – a chemical compound with a to-be-known catalyst that would reverse the effect of Erskine original formula. Apparently, the lazy bastards had just given up on trying to replicate it – and deciding that when they couldn’t create, they’d at least destroy. Fucking typical.

You had no doubt Steve had been presented with this information; the whole of the Avengers probably had been. You were rather sure you had seen Barnes hover by Steve’s side a little more than usual, probably suspecting a leak of classified data from the Tower, thus seeing a potential traitor everywhere. Yet, no one came raining holy fire on your head for missing the golden opportunity to gather all the intel; least of all the man himself.

Steve Rogers, irritatingly enough, was being perfectly civil. Of course, he was; he was meant to be perfection personified, after all. He nodded in hello politely when he met you in the hallway. When you encountered him in training, he acted indifferent, treating you just like any other recruit who joined the Avengers ops with varying frequency. He fixed your stance quietly if needed, moving on as slowly or as quickly as with anyone else, no lingering angry or disappointed glares.

Steve Rogers was a damn master of a poker face. You wanted to scream; you wanted him to be angry with you. You wanted him to be pissed, to yell at you again and then give you the opportunity to fix your mistakes and prove that you were able to do better than you had. You wanted to get back to the field. You wanted to jab your index finger into that chest of his, looking so ridiculously firm, and do something. Anything.

Obviously, after the very public incident, you wouldn’t dare as much as to say a single word against his commands. The fact that you were terrified it would be the last drop to his tiny yet enormous goblet of patience with you and you’d be out for good played a significant role in that behaviour of course; but in all fairness, you hadn’t felt the need to speak up.

In the end, you accepted the creeping feeling of gratitude to him for just sweeping your screaming match and the failure itself under the rug, hoping it wouldn’t blow up the next time you would disagree. When he told everyone that they had done a good job after a training, meeting gazes of each recruit, he met yours the last. The sincerity in his eyes and words didn’t diminish as he did so.

Captain Rogers pulled you out of the time-out nine days after your colossal failure he himself had had a hand in; you learned as much from Natasha’s message inviting you to the grand meeting regarding the next dangerous op that was too much for the Avengers to handle alone. Why? Because they expected too many unpredictable unfriendlies: the children of New York.

The mid-May sunrays warmed your cheeks as you walked at steady pace, eyes vigilant in the face of laughter, squeals and endless chatter, colourful lights and rivers of people pouring over the lawn and paths of Central Park. The breeze already carried the heat of summer, but not unbearably so, a gentle touch on your skin and in your hair, along with the scent of water, blooming flowers and barbeque. For most people, the combination equalled the epitome of leisure, a nice weekend with family or friends. Good. That was what you assumed you had all aimed for today.

Today being The Avengers’ Day.

You had only known the basics of how this day had come to life. When senator whatshisname, trying to push his agenda and boost his campaign for re-election, had first came up with the idea, he had inspired as much approval as blatant hate among people, the controversy involved evident. The Avengers’ themselves didn’t shy away from the ambiguity of their work. Their statement regarding the suggestion – no doubt prepared with the aid of a whole team of publicists – spoke of gratitude and futility at once, of honour and accountability in one breath. It was the honesty, you supposed, what actually tipped the scales in the favour of naming a day after them after all – the acceptance of imperfection, the acknowledgement of destruction which was to some more visible than the heroism that every single one of them had displayed during the Battle of New York.

And so 16th May became The Avengers’ Day, a celebration of heroism and a way of giving back to those who believed in heroism the most, to those who regarded them with the least critical eye, too young to truly understand all implications of their work.

Since the eventual acceptance of the celebration could reek of narcissism, the Avengers had decided to spend the larger part of 24 hours by giving indeed. Children loved it, parents were grateful, and the Avengers got to see that despite some workdays dragging on for weeks, their work not only made a difference, but also inspired others to be better. Win-win-win.

The feast started in the morning and lasted till the sun started to set in late afternoon; and the generous time the heroes graced the public with was filled with games and fun, not unlike many events hosted on the World’s Children Day would have. Except this one had all the Avengers – original ones and associates – to join the party, spreading joy and hope.

The reason why you and tens of other agents walked the park through and through with alert gazes was simple: a joyful event like this came with its dark side. With as many high-profile targets in one place, the security measures were off the charts. Any agents working for the Avengers Initiative aligned with SHIELD who weren’t on the most time-sensitive mission was roaming the crowds, Stark’s drones were in service, and FRIDAY had been keeping an eye out for any chatter on the dark web and various forums months before the planning of the specific event even started. Anyone who was able to contribute did so; because frankly, the images Avengers made for were too precious to pass on.

Captain America playing frisbee with a group of kids as another fifty of those waited in line; Black Widow leading gymnastic class and offering to hold up guards for any brave-enough opponent to try and kick and punch, with enthusiastic fans for both parties; Thor teaching Asgardian minuet to anyone who was old enough to walk, a circle of children forming around him any time he started to hum a tune as old as time in a language that made children giggle and appealed to something ancient in the soul of every adult; Bruce performing so-called ‘science magic’, facing the sea of curious eyes with slightly uncomfortable smile but undeniable warmth; Hawkeye surrounded by targets with various non-threatening weapons, from foamy soft balls to arrows with suction cups at the end; Iron Man, mostly parading around in full armour – bless the man, he had to be so hot in it– in charge of the music, fireworks and all wonders of technical progress, capturing attentions of little brainiacs and admirers alike.

The newer additions to the official team didn’t stay behind either, with Winter Soldier handling waterguns battle, shy at first, but ecstatic at the squeals of joy from children running back and forth, with generous crowds of young male-attracted audience who were not blind to the fact that someone had the brilliant idea to put one of the supersoldiers in charge of water while he was wearing a thin t-shirt only; the Scarlet Witch entertaining crowds with her actual magic and no tricks; Vision, while thoroughly distracted by her, trying his best to explain riddles and puzzles to whoever had found their voice in the face of an actual humanoid slash artificial intelligence; the Falcon in charge of various monkey bars and improvised parkour playground, sometimes involuntarily becoming a monkey bar himself for several kids at once; the War Machine, bless his heart, handling the drawing competition in which there were only winners, because wow, doesn’t this look just like me if I had my armour repainted with flowers to blend in better?

Every single one of them made you smile despite your better judgement. Each of them had their own way of interaction with the little admirers, but all of them made it work somehow. With humour, gentleness, surprising humbleness – most of the time anyway – and an easy compliment or words of encouragement on their tongue, depending on whether their fans had done really well or not so much. There was enough of both – but they handled it with grace or at least with dign-

The sudden sniffle in the sea of laughter had you automatically snap your head to the right, just in time to see the first tears roll down the girl’s reddened cheeks. You remembered seeing her at Natasha’s station a few moments ago; she couldn’t be more than 7-8 years old, but she had been excellent, earning a first bump from the spy and a cherry flavoured lollipop when she had managed to touch her toes and had put her ankle on the high bar with ease.

By the looks of it, she hadn’t done so well at the shooting range, her arrows lying scattered all over, not one having stuck in the target.

It wasn’t your place to try to cheer her up, even as Clint was busy with another five children, you reasoned; but your gut twisted a bit at the sight, your feet having a mind of their own, lips arranging into as supportive smile as you were capable of.

A strong arm wrapping about the girl’s shoulder, words of comfort already spilling from the man’s lips – the father, you assumed – had you freeze mid-step barely seven feet from her.

The gentle timbre on his voice, the hug coming as a second nature, the little huff of quiet laugh without a single trace of malice. The large teary eyes, soon hidden in the man’s shirt as she squished her face into his shoulder, a little yelp with a tiny giggle as he lifted her off the ground with quite some effort, even as barely any showed on his face.

Your insides clenched tighter, nausea tugging at your stomach that had nothing to do with your injury over a week ago.

“Yeah, we’re gonna practise at home for next year, yeah? You’ll get the lollipop next time, I’m sure. You’ll be as great as the Eagle-eye himself!”

The girl let out another watery laugh, pulling softly at his ear. “It’s Hawk-eye, dad!”

The feigned confused expression on the dad’s face told everyone in the ten-mile radius he was very well aware and was only trying to cheer his daughter up, but she seemed oblivious. “Really? Wow. My memory… good thing I have you!”

“Yup!”

“So, I forgot… where were we heading next, can you remember?” he asked in all seriousness, confusion deepening and the enthusiastic high-pitched scream of “ICECREAM!” nearly ruptured your eardrums as the father walked past you, your feet having taken roots in the ground.

“That’s right!” you heard in reply, the sounds suddenly distant as your own breath and the pulsing on your own heart filled your ears.

It was wrong; it was so so wrong and you had no right and you had no time for that, because you had a job to do here, quite important job requiring your full attention, but the following cry of “MAMA!” flooded your veins with envy and pierced your heart through and through. The sun shone too bright all of sudden as your gaze unwittingly traced their path, the simple soothing kiss on the girl forehead sending a shiver through your body, goosebumps rising on your arms.

Potential enemies.You were supposed to scan the crowds for potential enemies and threats, not to watch happy families or let your mind wander. You weren’t supposed let yourself ponder over what it was like; loving arms and distractions awaiting even in the face of a failure instead of a cold shoulder and ignorance. A sweet smile and conspiratorial looks exchanged when fake-arguing about the acceptable number of scopes of ice-cream as a reward. Free affection given instead of a free lesson in the form of shattering the illusion of unconditional love. Living in the blissful ignorance, believing in the second biggest lie fairytales had fed us all, postponing the harsh encounter with reality. What was it like to believe in those lies at that age still, maybe even after that? Did it hurt more or less when reality came knocking later on?

The good did not always win.

And love and affection were earned.

They were earned through rivers of sweat and spitted and spilled blood, through swallowed tears and well-masked pain. And only, only when it all led to success. To perfection. To the impossible standard you all so desperately clawed at, unaware you clawed at your own flesh instead, passing the need to win the most important race of your lives on and on for generations.

Your own father hadn’t been perfect; he was far from it and perhaps that was why he was so appealing to your mother, the rising star of the biochemistry field. Too young, too foolish, too easily seduced by the idea of an average man who would simply reflect her blinding glow instead of overshadowing it.

Getting pregnant robbed her of the job opportunity of a lifetime; the chance at leading her own team in a prestigious laboratory at Harvard. With the pregnancy marked high-risk from the start, you sentenced her to turning down the offer; and another never came. She could have shined like a full-time mother instead and dedicated homemaker then, some would argue, since her goal in life was exceptional excellence in its very essence; except she had never got pregnant again, not for the lack of trying as you later learned. An average worker; an average mother. Her worst nightmare with one common denominator: a problematic daughter. How could she have pursued her career with having to deal with a child like that? The kid was always getting into trouble, leaving its mother to sacrifice everything.

It didn’t matter that your mother’s ‘extremely problematic daughter’ had the GPA of 3.91. It didn’t matter that the very same daughter regularly fought tooth and nail to compete in world championships in gymnastics and succeeded, had been enrolled in ballet class as soon as she could stand and walk straight, only having to switch to box and jiujitsu when she didn’t look soft and elegant enough during her performances. It didn’t matter that all the time her mother spent with her at home happened to take place in separate rooms. It didn’t matter that the daughter was, for a lack of a better term, much more of a daddy’s girl.

Because she was exactly that. You were. Mommy was always busy in her office or her lab and you soon understood that she didn’t like you; but daddy, daddy cared. He cared, he found time and a kind word and a warm hug, always celebrated your victories – a little strict and profoundly disappointed when you failed. But he was there for you despite his extremely important job at the agency protecting the whole world, protecting the whole universe even. SHIELD.

To make a part of such prestigious organization, one must work hard; the hardest, your dad had always said. But you had the potential. You had so much potential to help keep humanity safe. You only needed to avoid distractions. You only needed to drop dead weight in the shape of people who’d rather play and laughed over silly magazines and videos a little too often. You only needed to do well, so well it was the best. And so you did. A dedicated student; a dedicated sportsgirl. Like your dad liked best.

Some might ring alarm bells at that point, but you were a much happier child than some. You had a loving father. You had friends. You had a dog, a lovely border collie named Sadie, so smart and curious and so damn hyperactive it took you at least two hours a day of running to wear her out. Your dad adored her, always praising you for taking such good care of her.

Until your care for Sadie took up too much of your time. It had to, since you got a B. Or perhaps you had spent too much time with friends outside of the study room…. Whatever it was, it eventually led even to a C.

That was the last drop.

And the thing was, both basis of your failure had easy solutions, truly; you came home one day to a house without a single trace of a dog having ever lived there. You could run to keep fit without it, after all – such was her sole purpose, you had realized too late. You were eleven years old.

Grounded with no phone, you could focus fully on your studies to improve the horrendous GPA. SHIELD academy didn’t accept anyone with a GPA worse than 3.98 after all; your mother only nodded along to your father’s flat voice reminding you. Her disappointment was nothing new, but your father’s was. His warm hand on yours, gently squeezing, a sharp contrast to his clinically cold voice, was like a lifeline for you to grip at, even at the age of sweet thirteen. He knew you could do this, if you’d get your head straight – you had the potential. He was so sure of it, he had so much faith in you. You needed to make him proud. And after screaming bloody murder and crying your eyes out in the shower, after punching so hard your knuckles bled, you did.

You had only managed to improve to 3.96 by the time you were seventeen, but you enrolled to the academy still, one of the youngest students in history, with whispers following you for the first months of your father’s involvement nevertheless. What did he do for living that he had managed to sneak you in? Oh, right, just an ordinary analyst, one of hundreds. He got his wife a post as well, in one of the labs at The Hub no less, so one had to assumed he was good at rubbing elbows with the right people, they said. These whispers were silenced fast however. And you graduated with honours and a reputation and got hand-picked by Agents Coulson himself.

And yet…

Your father scoffed. Why not the Avengers? Whispers might have been that Coulson’s team was the A-team of SHIELD, but half of your accomplishment had surely been built on the fact that half of SHIELD revealed themselves to be actually HYDRA, thus paving your road to the prestigious team by eliminating the competition. The night you shared the news was the first time you cried in years, having been so excited to tell your parents, to prove yourself at last, only to be remade into a disappointment all over again.

But working on Coulson’s team brought you genuine joy and a sense of pride; and in a way, the underground base and the jet felt more like home than your own. You were not blind to the fact that the team was like a dysfunctional family in its own right, somehow still functioning better than your own. Coulson, the father; May, the mother; Daisy, the prodigal daughter, the beloved sister to all. Many nosy protective siblings and aunts and uncles. You weren’t sure how you fit into the picture, but you supposed that in a way, you did. A distant cousin perhaps.

“We protect our own. We protect everyone. We leave no one behind. We have the opportunity to be a part of something bigger and we take it.”

It did feel good to be a part of something bigger.

Then, terrigenesis.

The nightmare of alien genetic engineering crept up on you slowly and then hit you full force, even as your mother was fascinated by it. It was the irony of fate that the exact thing your mother had been researching tore your family ties all together. You and your father both had been in the lab where your mother worked, with her, when the Inhumans misled by Jiaying attacked, throwing terrigenesis crystals everywhere.

Adapt or die, whispered the mist from the broken enriched minerals: but it was up to your genes to make that decision, not up to your will. Your father’s genes weren’t compatible, the mist killing him. When you woke up on a stretcher, your mother dryly informed you of his passing with a hint of accusation in her voice.

And yes. How dared you to survive when he didn’t? It was funny, really, when the answer revealed itself to be written in the genes she had passed on you. You both survived thanks to her; except where your DNA merged seamlessly with the new macromolecules, hers didn’t, not truly. Just enough to let her live, not enough to give her powers – another embodiment of her worst nightmare of averageness, because there was a flaw in her code. It was a strange kind of healing that. Receiving a genetic prove there was a fault in her and not you, as you had been made to believe your whole life.

She cut all ties when it took over two weeks to figure out what your power was.

In the span fourteen days, you had your world turned upside down. Lost both your father and your mother. And while you had questioned at times whether you had actually ever had them, the pain of loss burned so sharp it left no doubt.

Yes, it was true that you never had what the cute girl with elaborate braids and dedicated parents had; but you had still once had a family. Once, you had joined a strange found family as well, if only for a few months.

What could you do but wonder, like many times before, about where did you fit now?

The sudden chill running up your spine had your hair standing on the end, snapping you from your musings, making you realize your cheeks were damp; but your tears mattered little now.

You had good instincts – you had to. One didn’t survive as long as you did in a business as insane and brutal as this without them. And that was how you knew.

Something was off. Something, somewhere, someone.

Your eyes subtly scanned the crowd as you continued walking, unmistakably landing on Sam’s station. The sight would have made you grin, three different kids climbing him as if he was a part of the monkey bars installation again, but something was amiss--- no.

Natasha’s station, right behind Sam’s, her attention on a cute redhead dressed in all black like the spy herself. A figure reaching to the back of his pants under his hoodie blindly, eyes trained on his price.

Your blood ran cold, your heart thundering.

Oh no you don’t.

He was too far from your reach. There was no choice to make. You squinted your eyes and took in as much as you could in the split second; the unforgiving pavement and soft mattresses, a flowerbed of peonies to the right, a group of teenagers to the left. The five feet eight man in jeans and an oversized khaki hoodie, piercing gaze settled on Natasha’s figure ten feet away.

You squeezed your eyes shut, opening them to the barrel of a gun with a whisper of a released breath.

The second-long shock in the man’s face was more than enough of time to grab after his wrist and twist it, gunshot ringing and the bullet whizzing by your leg. It lodged in the firm pavement by your feet instead, your ears echoing the loud noise that turned several heads.

Time seemed to slow down, the blur of faces with mouths open in screams registering faster than the screams themselves.

Your fingers curled around the handle of the gun firmly as you spun your back to the attacker and elbowed him in the face with a satisfying crack, his legs buckling when your foot in tactical boots collided with his knee.

A smudge of crimson and more screams, one pale face shockingly calm in the heart of chaos.

Another shooter.

The gun got knocked out of your hand in the split second you shouted ‘Sam’s three o’clock!’, the punch to your gut almost as powerful as the relief flooding your veins when you caught a glimpse of the suddenly child-free Sam lunging after the other perpetrator.

Even as you doubled over in pain, the man missing your spectre’s past injury by a whim of fortune, years of training drilled into your bones had you kick out and squeeze; your leg closed around the man’s neck, thigh and calf trapping his head, your hips twisting, full weight of your body pulling him down.

The encounter with the concrete was harsh, your abdomen pulled at with sharp pain, but it wasn’t nearly as harsh as for the man finding himself on the ground with his windpipe between your thighs, struggling for a single breath. Before his arms could swing after you, you were releasing him and elbowing him hard in the face again. Knee digging to his gut, you grabbed his arm and used his weight to roll him over, his wrist locked to his shoulder blade with a groan of curses that were not for polite company.

You panted as you straddled his hips, grasping after his other helplessly flapping arm and curling it to his back with notable effort; bastard was still trying to put up a fight, even if an aimless one, relying purely on his advantage in strength. Too bad for him; you had knowledge of physics and anatomy play in your favour.

“Stay down,” you hissed through your teeth, gaze quickly lifting to look for someone with more official power that came with handcuffs.

You didn’t have to wait long – three blue uniforms appeared in your field of vision, one with distinct red and white stripes that had nothing to do with NYPD. Great. This guy.

The mass under your legs moved with vigour, having you automatically turn your attention back; and to twist the man’s arm further.

“Aghhh--- you bitch-“

“Gun,” you pointed out flatly as one of the uniforms approached, a subtle nod in the direction towards where you remembered seeing it last when it had got knocked out of your hand. A pair of handcuffs were passed over, allowing you to ease some of the pressure and rise to your feet as another officer took over your responsibility and hauled the man up. “Thank you, Officer.”

“Agent,” he nodded at you before his attention turned to the Captain, addressing him as well – but Captain Steven Grant Rogers wasn’t looking at him.

Your stomach somersaulted as you met his eye; his lips were set in a firm line, a furrow to his brow, probably due to disappointment in humanity and concern for the civilians. But that wasn’t the reason for your unease – because that much you had expected. What took you aback was the smile briefly passing his lips as he utterly ignored his rank being called and instead kept looking at you – was that a hint of pride on his face?

“Good job, Spectre,” he said firmly. “Thank you.”

You only blinked, lips parting, breaths still quick from the slightly unexpected exercise – but from his words as well. It wasn’t that Steve Rogers never voiced appreciation where it was due, because he did. But a thank you? For doing your job, the literal reason why you were there?

The ‘thanks’ left your lips unwittingly, but your posture straightened with purpose as you finally escaped the trap that his gaze had seemed to set for you.

“Captain,” the officer insisted, Steve’s gaze flickering to the man, his frown returning, most likely at the sight of the bloody mess you had done on the attacker’s face.

You instinctively looked to your right, where a similar scene was taking place only a few feet over with the man’s accomplice, under Natasha’s and Sam’s watchful eye. A smile passed over your lips as well, as small as it was.

She was okay and so was he. Good. It was time to go.

“You’ve got this, Captain Rogers?” you asked, turning back to Steve.

He nodded, slight confusion twisting his face. Cringing internally, you realized it sounded like you doubted he could. Well. You weren’t perfect. What else was new.

“Good.”

Closing your eyes, you snapped back at last, the scene suddenly in a distance.

And as if you snapped your fingers, Rogers’ whole demeanour changed. His head whipped right and left, eyes searching the crowd almost frantically; the distain which you were no stranger to was back in his expression, his lips a thin line. Despite yourself – because it shouldn’t, it shouldn’t matter – you felt the spark of satisfaction and relief at the rescue die out in an instant. Rogers looked angry. Very, very angry, and as his eyes locked on you, he rose to his full height, body turning to you, looking ready to stalk to you and give you a piece of his mind.

You gulped, hand curling into fist on an instinct, nerves firing along with a flare of outrage. Was he angry because you projected in front of all those people? Was he disappointed in the amount of blood you drew in public indeed? But you-

A heavy metallic hand landed on his bicep from the front, stopping him in his tracks.

Rogers’ gaze snapped to his best friend, a deep frown spoiling his handsome face; Bucky’s expression, on the other hand, you couldn’t read, but whatever he said to Rogers had him frown harder.

Yet, he turned back to the officers handling the two perpetrators, having your shoulders sag in relief.

You had already got one scream-down in front of the SHIELD and the AI audience; you’d happily take avoiding hitting replay in front of the general public. You made a mental note to thank Barnes with a t-shirt with a nerdy pun he seemed so fond of wearing for trainings or something.

“Saved by Buckaroo it seems,” a voice hummed nonchalantly behind you, making you literally jump, your wildly pounding heart spasming in your chest in fright.

Your body acted on instinct, ready to neutralize the threat, muscle memory faster recognition – you spun on your heels, a round-house kick in full force aimed at the attacker’s head, fists up and ready to strike.

You hissed as your shin hit metal, the impact vibrating through your tibia as the barely covered bone met Tony’s glove mere inches from his surprised face.

Shit. That was going to bruise like hell.

“Easy, Casper! Was here to make sure your real form doesn’t get blasted while your head’s in the clouds, not to scare you to death,” he quipped, the surprise on his face quickly replaced by a smirk. “Huh. Guess I’m more efficient than Pepper keeps telling me. My job here is done.”

He released your foot, your hands falling to your sides as well, stance easing as you let the familiarity wash over you. Just Tony Stark. Billionaire, former playboy, philanthropist. An easy smirk to his lips, a joke on his tongue and… a faint trace of concern in his eyes.

It was the last emotion you registered that made you pause, realization slowly dawning to you.

He was there to protect you. He was there to keep you safe, because you didn’t have the time think about your own safety with the threat on Natasha and Sam being imminent. Tony was right, even if his truth was waved into a snarky remark; you could have easily been hurt while you were out of your body. Yes, you were used to it and the danger was likely minimal, but you hadn’t even had the time to think that through and do the calculations.

Someone could have taken your gun. Had anyone been interested in that – which, since you weren’t as high-profile of a target here as others, wasn’t all that likely, but still possible – you could have not only been hurt, but technically also killed.

And yet, this understanding didn’t stun you nearly as much as the next one.

Yes, you could have been killed – except that you couldn’t have and you weren’t. No one stood a chance. Because Tony had noticed the situation. He protected you; just like that, with a small curl to his lips, as if it was no biggie.

You were more than bewildered, thoughts whirling in your head over and over in a bizarre loop.

He had quite literally stood by you. He should have gone for Sam and Natasha – they were the real Avengers. They were his friends. They had been in danger, which was the reason why you left yourself vulnerable in the first place. But he went to you, because suddenly, you were the one exposed. He came to protect you.

Blinking and coming back to your senses much slower than an agent should, your gaze zeroed on Tony’s relaxed face with his smirk having blended into more of a smile.

You didn’t have time to examine the kind of Twilight Zone you had entered. Instead, you licked your lips, your words as sincere and unshaken as you managed them.

“Thank you, Tony. Really.”

He shrugged, his smirk making a grand return, even as his eyes remained warm. “No problem, Slimer.”

“Did you just compare me to a green slippery monster?” you blurted out before you could stop yourself, an involuntary grin tugging at your lips.

Tony’s eyebrows shot up before his mask clicked back into place, two shiny slits somehow watching you with similar amusement Tony was capable of.

“Honestly, I’m just shocked you know who Slimer is. What were you, minus fifteen years old when the movie came out?” he trailed off, disappearing to the crowd with several kids already following him, excitedly shouting for autographs.

You allowed yourself a brief moment to grin, a warm feeling – dangerously warm – curling in your chest. Most of Tony’s sympathies for you, when he showed them, probably stemmed from the fact that much like him, you were sometimes in opposition to Steve. But you’d take it. Just because he didn’t mean it in a particularly friendly manner, simply being this way with everyone, you couldn’t say it didn’t feel nice for a few moments to joke around as if you were friends indeed.

You should have known better; you did know better. Thinking like that was dangerous – a different kind of reckless than Captain Rogers had called you out on – but dangerous nevertheless. And yet, your lips stayed in a tiny smile as you shook your head and went to return to patrolling the park.

‘Went to’ with emphasis on never finishing your journey.

“Holy shit! That was so cool!”

You snapped your head to side to the girl’s voice, surprised to find a twelve-year-old – or a ten-year-old, or maybe fourteen, you had never been great at guessing once they got past a certain age – with a backpack on one shoulder looking at you with her mouth hanging open.

The image was so unfathomable you probably mirrored her expression despite your training to maintain a poker face in any situation.

“You can fly?!” she gasped, watching you with eyes so wide you would have worried if she was high had you had the capacity to worry.

“I--- uhm, technically, I can--- I can barely levitate-?” you stuttered, perplexed.

Hadn’t Iron Man, who could fly because he had literally built a suit in a cave just walked past? What was… why was she-

“And you glowed and then you were there kicking ass and then here—holy shit!” Language, your brain unhelpfully echoed, instead of aiding you to make sense of what was happening and to string together a full sentence in response. “I didn’t know any Avenger could do that!”

Was she distracting you? What was in that backpack? The easiest answer was schoolbooks, since The Avengers Day was a bit of a big deal but not enough to spare children a day at school, but what if it wasn’t—oh she was pulling it off her shoulder now. You straightened your posture, not having realized that you eased it and never fully returned to it after your encounter with Tony, fingers twitching towards your gun on instinct, nerves on fire.

Fuck, if they were recruiting children again-- what kind of an evil bastard you have to be to-

She pulled out a well-used notebook with various doodles on its cover, shoving it your way with an almost shy smile, a sharp contrast to her earlier vernacular.

“Can I get an autograph?”

For the second time in the past five minutes, your reaction was nowhere near as sharp and distinguished as an operative’s should be in the face of an unpredictable situation.

Get a damn grip, shouted a voice in the inside of your head, while the other one whispered this was some sort of a trick. How is this a trick?!

You forced a smile to your lips, trying to hide your uncertainty. Just a girlasking for an autograph. You faced aliens before for god’s sake. You had Kree macromolecules in your own damn DNA for crying out loud! You could handle a… fan?

“Sure, but… I don’t have a marker on me, I didn’t expect to--- give autographs,” you admitted, aiming for nonchalance and hopefully only missing by a half and a full mile.

“You kidding?!” the girl whisper-yelled incredulously, leafing through the notebook before shoving it into your hand and diving back into her backpack now sitting on the ground. You tensed briefly again, before she pulled out a black marker, holding it out as she shook her head. “Crazy… sorry, here.”

‘Crazy’ does not cover it, girl, believe me, you thought, wondering what the hell you should do. Should you just sign your name? Should you… write her name first? What was her name?

“Should I… write something like, for you, or…?”

“Yeah! That’s be cool! It’s… Daisy,” she said, slight annoyance creeping into her voice.

Despite your better judgement, one corner of your lips rose higher, this time sincerely.

“That’s real pretty name,” you commented as you wrote it down, earning a shrug.

“If you say so.”

“I have a… friend named Daisy. She’s pretty cool,” you hummed, swallowing against the lump in your throat as you called her a friend. Could you call her that?

“Can she fly or levitate too?” the girl asked, sounding a little snarky – ah. Definitely a teenager then.

Should try to make your name readable or scratchy, as you usually write? Actually, should you write your name or simply Spectre? Probably the latter. She wouldn’t even know your name, poor girl would probably be disappointed later.  

You wrote your codename then, replying to her absently.

“I’d say, yeah. She controls vibrations with her hands-“

“You know Quake?!” Daisy cried out, making your gaze snap back to her, her eyes lighting up even more than before.

Despite the bite of jealousy – because of course she would adore Daisy Johnson, the Quake herself, many people did, hell, you admired her too – you had to supress a smile. For a teenager, Daisy was awfully open about her emotion. Cringe was dead to her – she let herself express her excitement freely and unwittingly added herself on the list of people you could admire and envy.

“Yeah, I know Daisy… Quake. She’s pretty great, huh?” you said, closing the marker and notebook at last, handing it to her, watching her put it away and shrug.

“Yeah, I guess… Can’t all be as cool as her, huh?”

The drop of sadness colouring her voice blue had something in your snap. Uh-huh, no. Not today. No unreachable standards for her. Not to mention that Quake’s coolness also came with a lot of crap. This was not happening, not on your watch. 

This girl, this Daisy, was open in her emotion still – and it was beautiful. She was beautiful. She was so damn precious that the instinct to protect – the same oh no, you don’t – that had flared up upon seeing the attacker earlier lit up your chest and your brain finally caught up to being a damn grown-up as the girl shrugged her backpack back on.

“Hey… I know you probably hear that all the time, but even though you share a name with her, you can be awesome in a completely different and totally your own way.”

“Yeah, sure. Thanks for the autograph,” she said, a hint of a smile playing in the corner of her mouth. And not thanks for the unsolicited advice, you could practically hear her thoughts screaming. You just became another boring adult.

Well. You might as well do it properly – because this was important. Truly important.

“I just want to say that you really made my day, hell, probably my week, just by asking for an autograph. And by being nice,” you said, as sincerely as you could.

And you meant it – whatever had just happened felt like a fever dream. You had genuinely had no idea what she had wanted when she first addressed you. You had honestly believed it was some kind of a trick, another attack in making, as messed up as that was. She’d deserve an award for not saying whatever after your strange reaction. And another one for not turning on her heel when you realized you sounded like one Captain America a few moments later. Still standing there, listening to whatever crap you had to say to her.

“Sometimes you don’t need to have actual superpowers that can cause an earthquake to move Heavens and Earth. Just being a good person can make real miracles. And don’t let anyone tell you otherwise, okay?”

She watched you with an expression on her face that spoke clearly of just how unconvinced she was by your words – and how she was feeling the infamous teenage cringe now. But hey, you tried. Speaking of which.

“’cause they’re just full of bull,” you added.

Daisy snorted at last, one corner of her lips twitching up a bit, her irises sparkling in amusement and you called that a victory.

“Right. Thanks for the autograph. See ya ‘round.”

“Sure, Daisy. It was nice meeting you,” you replied as she beckoned her chin in a hi and spun on her heels, walking back into the sea of people without looking back, disappearing from your sight.

Shaking your head, wondering whether you actually got hit in the head before Tony got to your actual body to protect it and were now suffering a concussion and hallucinations, you finally stepped out, ready to roam through the park and continue monitoring for potential threats – because that was your purpose here. That was your task. The Avengers had theirs and you and other agents had your own. You were here to serve as a part of the security team managing this event; the Avengers were here to inspire. You were nowhere close to being an Avenger the same Steve, Tony, Natasha or Sam were. You weren’t a symbol.

And yet, it was… nice to feel like you almost could, at least for one person. The feeling was strange, doubts already creeping in, a voice telling you to me much humbler and more realistic, but still. It wasn’t an entirely unpleasant experience, not at entirely awful feeling. You weren’t exaggerating when you told Daisy she made your week.

As your attentive gaze scanned the crowd, tuned to more danger specifically, you overlooked the tall broad figure with his head slightly tilted to side still, as he had been focusing his enhanced hearing to your past conversation. You missed the little smile that curled Steve’s lips upon doing so too, blissfully ignorant of the lecture about self-preservation he had had on his tongue when he had originally made his way to you, but swallowed it in order to let you have your moment.

Reckless or not, you had saved lives today – he couldn’t argue with that. You saved lives of his friends. He wasn’t above being grateful; and he wasn’t entirely blind to the fact that besides reckless, you had also showed again that you were selfless, which appealed to him a lot more.

As he returned to his station, Natasha having dealt with the attackers’ transfer, he was still smiling, anger and worry having evaporated completely.

Next chapter

Series masterlist // S.R. masterlist

Thank you for reading 💕 This was a long one, but you made (me to you AND me)... let me know your thoughts 💕

I hope December had been kind to you 🥰

Sidenote: For those who haven't watched Agents of SHIELD and weren't satisfied with the amount of info in the chapter: The exposure to the Terrigen Mists, or Terrigenesis is a process allowing Earth Inhumans to inhale the Mists obtained from the use of the Terrigen Crystals, in order to activate their Inhuman genes and ascend as meta-humans. (https://marvel.fandom.com/wiki/Terrigenesis)  Given the presence of the genes, onyl descendants of certain lineage are able to ascend; they are descendants of humans who were experimented on thousands of years ago by the Kree race visiting Earth and trying to create an army. Those without these genes present in their DNA are killed upon exposure.

[tikus-library]

Avengers AU - Series List

Characters: Brock Rumlow x OC!Victoria Reaper ft Jack Rollins and OC!Team

Posted: July 13th

WARNINGS: Canon typical violence, guns, cursing, aliens, demon's, hydra, drinking, no under 18

Like, Comments, & Reblogs are always appreciated and loved.

**Please Do Not Repost or 'Fix' My Work**

Summary: When Brock comes across an agent he thinks will do well on his team, what happens when they're not what he thinks they are? Fuckery ensues

Chapter: 1 // 2 // 3 // 4 // 5 // 6 // 7 // 8 // 9 // 10 // 11 // 12 //

Cast

Updated: June 15th

[raincitygirl76]

Damn right. I actually really adored Steve/Peggy in Captain America: The First Avenger.

I also shipped Steve/Bucky in the same movie, without feeling conflicted about it. Somehow. I could’ve seen them as a promising longterm throuple if they’d all survived the war. Steve would’ve married Peggy, and Bucky would’ve been the roguish bachelor uncle who stayed over a lot and was secretly fucking both of them.

There are some great OT3 fics set during wartime. But Bucky “died” in December 1944 and Steve “died” in January 1945, which means canonically, Peggy was the only one left. Until Endgame totally fucked the timeline, as well as assassinating both Steve and Peggy’s characters.

Both seasons of Agent Carter are set shortly after WWII has ended, while Peggy is still grieving Steve’s death. And we see her processing it, and realizing that the man she loved is gone. But she remains, and her life after his death can still be a meaningful one. There’s important work to be done, people to be saved, sexist assholes to beat up. She doesn’t have super-serum, unlike her dead sweetheart, but she’s still fighting the good fight.

And you can see she’s still carrying a torch for Steve, but she’s slowly healing. It’s seems plausible that at some point after Agent Carter S2 ends, she falls in love again and gets married. Steve can’t be the only guy from the 1940s who appreciates Peggy’s kickass, take no prisoners personality. Although Steve will always have a special corner of her heart. But Steve’s dead, she’s alive, and Peggy’s a practical woman.

All that character growth for Peggy in the late 1940s over 2 seasons. Plus, ninetysomething Peggy in the nursing home in CA: The Winter Soldier, surrounded by photos of her children and grandchildren. Also her long career with SHIELD. Peggy had a life after Steve crashed that plane and was presumed dead.

And Steve’s sorrow in CA:TWS after he got defrosted, because his wartime sweetheart is now in her nineties and has Alzheimer’s, while he’s still a young man. But at least he knows Peggy had lived her life to the fullest during all those decades he was frozen under Arctic ice.

Endgame took it all away. As well as taking away Peggy’s history with the man she canonically eventually married instead of Steve, and had kids and grandkids with. And Endgame took away her career with SHIELD too, probably.

Also, in Endgame Steve, knowing his best friend was a brainwashed slave of Hydra, went back to the 1940s, not to try and save Bucky from being captured by Hydra again in December 1944 when Bucky supposedly died. Nor to rescue Bucky from Hydra once he had been captured.

No, Steve used those Pym particles to marry Peggy right after the war ended, and settle down with her in the suburbs and have 2.6 kids with her. And ignore the fact that for decades, Bucky was being mindwiped and tortured and used as a weapon. He was a POW from 1944 to 2014, Endgame Steve knew all that already, and he never tried to save him??!!!!

Steve is the guy who went AWOL and parachuted into Nazi occupied Italy alone just on the off-chance Bucky might be a POW instead of already dead. Steve canonically risked his life just on a faint hope Bucky might possibly have survived and been taken prisoner. And that Steve, if he managed to get behind enemy lines, just might possibly manage to locate wherever Bucky and other captives were being held.

Yeah, as it happened, it worked out. Steve didn’t get captured or killed himself, he found the Hydra factory where the POWs including Bucky were being held, and he did a one man rescue mission to liberate them all. But the odds beforehand were terrible. Steve knew that and went on a suicide mission to try to locate and rescue his (probably already dead) childhood best friend anyway. That’s canon.

In Endgame, Steve using Pym particles to go back to 1945 and shack up with Peggy forever, but not lifting a finger to help Bucky makes zero sense, given the canon of every movie Steve appears in prior to Endgame. Endgame Steve knows damn well Bucky was captured by Hydra after supposedly dying in December 1944. That Steve went back to 1945 and didn’t try to help Bucky makes no sense.

And I’m not just saying that as a Stucky shipper. Peggy would’ve kicked Steve’s ass if she’d found out Bucky was a POW again, and being brainwashed and tortured by Hydra. Peggy is the one who risked her career to help Steve go on that unauthorized suicide mission in Italy in the first place, in canon!

Also, Steve caught up on postwar history after he was defrosted in 2012. Are you telling me STEVE ROGERS wouldn’t have intervened to try and prevent Martin Luther King Jr’s assassination from happening in 1968, for example? He wouldn’t have tried to intervene to prevent JKF’s assassination in 1963 either?

He would’ve stayed silent during the Red Scare and never revealed himself to Joseph McCarthy? Turned his back when the Freedom Riders were signing up volunteers? Been silent and done nothing to stop them when his white neighbours threw rocks at school buses full of terrified black children during school desegregation?

We’re talking here about the same Steve Rogers who through sheer bullheadedness made Gabe Jones and Jim Morita part of the Howling Commandos during WWII, long before the US Army desegregated in 1949. And there must have been screams from the Army brass and half the politicians in DC that Captain America had insisted on personally recruiting a special ops squad who included a black man and a Japanese American, segregation be damned. Again, this is canon.

Steve wouldn’t have done anything to try and subvert the meat grinder that was Vietnam before it started? Pod!Steve would’ve hidden away in the suburbs under a false name with Pod!Peggy and just ignored all the evil in the world that happened after 1945?

And never tried to rectify any of that postwar evil, despite knowing about it before it happened. Despite having super serum and a powerful desire to get involved when innocent people were being harmed? The same Steve Rogers from all the movies before Endgame? THAT Steve Rogers? Little Stevie Rogers who grew up sick, poor, and Irish in the tenements of Depression-era Brooklyn, getting his ass kicked for standing up to bullies and standing on principle?

The Endgame ending for Steve was fucking BIZARRE. I know Chris Evans’ contract with Marvel had expired, so I pretty much assumed they’d kill him off in Endgame. In a way I wish they had. The character assassination they did with this plot twist was bizarre.

And it wasn’t character assassination of Steve only, also of Peggy. Because Agent Peggy Carter was a boss bitch in the best possible way. She would not have been happy hiding away in the suburbs as a housewife while she and Steve spent decades NOT fighting the good fight, the way both of them always did in pre-Endgame canon.

Did the Russo brothers even watch CA: The First Avenger before writing the Endgame script? Did they have amnesia regarding the events in CA: The Winter Soldier and CA: Civil War? The Russos themselves wrote and directed both those movies before writing and directing Endgame. And CA:TWS and CA:CW both establish Steve as a fiercely loyal friend who will never walk away from or give up on a friend who’s in danger. Until, in Endgame, Steve suddenly does. The Russos ignored their OWN movies in Endgame, to give Steve that ending!

A great example of why the MCU perhaps should have never messed around with time travel and traveling universes is - and keep in mind that the Loki series and Multiverse of Madness confirmed this stuff - things are gonna get fucked up. MoM said that if you go to another universe? Yeah, you’re going to cause an “incursion” and one universe is going to die. The Loki series was all about “don’t mess with the timelines!” 

So! One of my most hated decisions was in Endgame where Steve went back in time to be with Peggy. Again, he went back in time, he didn’t go to another universe because he used a time machine, not a universe hopping machine. And what some people love to use as an excuse that “oh, he was meant to do that all along, so no problems arose from that.” 

Really? So Steve was meant to prevent Peggy from marrying the man she originally married and had kids with? Steve was meant to go back in time and not do a damned thing about Bucky, his best friend? Steve didn’t even try to rescue his best friend that he knows was in the hands of Hydra? The same Steve who said “fuck you” to multiple governments and shit in Civil War to save Bucky? Steve, knowing all the shit that went down in history, didn’t try to do a damned thing about any of it? Steve, the guy who never gives up and always tries to help those in need, just… didn’t? Yeah okay. Sounds like a pod person, but okay. 

The MCU should have kept the time travel stuff and universe hopping stuff in the comics. 

[complete-idiot-in-love]

Once Upon a Witchlight: Episode 45 (SPOILERS)

Oh no, a warning for graphic themes? If someone died im crying so hard

KEEP YOUR DAMN CLOTHES ON TORBEK OR I SWEAR TO THE GODS

My S/I would be so happy to finally explore the material plane!!

Father twin giggle sesh :D

Kremy is going crazy again

When Torbek is worried about YOU, then you know you're acting crazy /j

Gideon and his old man glasses omfg, I love that image so much

“Empath” Gricko gives off astrology girl vibes and idk why

I WAS RIGHT, HE DID A GEMINI JOKE OMG

NAT 20 FOR GIDEON LETS GOOOOOOO

My S/I would be having so much trouble in the desert because of them never having experienced a dessert before and the whole satyr fur thing

My bestie, the eldritch abomination of a bugbear <3

Gricko getting the party into trouble against a desert hydra is so him coded, bro would get the group in trouble at a damn Wal-mart

ANOTHER NAT 20 FOR GIDEON, THAT HYDRA IS SO FUCKIN DEAD!!!

OMFG A THIRD NAT 20 FOR GIDEON!!!! THAT HYDRA IS GONNA BE MUSH!!! (Im stimming so hard right now, my hands are flying like crazy fr fr))

Mace has the same amount of object permanence as I do /j

OH FUCK, I HATE BUGS! KILL EM, KILL EM

I LOVE KREMY’S OMINOUS JAZZ AND NEON FORM :D

OOOOO NIKKIE GOT A NAT 20

What is with all these nat 20’s this episode, loaded dice? /j

Of course Gricko would try to befriend the monster

Mikey's dice bag being full of bananyas is so damn funny

ALCHEMIC WHAT? FLEASHLIGHTS??

NOOOOO, TORBEK GOT A NAT 20 TOO BUT NIKKIE DREADED HIM

WHAT? HUNGER OF HADAR??? KREMY IS OP AF

Hootsie is so smart to not deal w that bs fr fr

Kremy accidentally kills his teammates via mind fuckery /j

My S/I would be so confused during the hunger of hadar thing, they'd be screaming shit like: “IS THIS NORMAL IN THE MATERIAL PLANE, AND WHERE IN THE HELLS IS EVERYONE???”

All these dudes are so OP in their own ways but also complete idiots in others, I love them all so much

NOOOOOO GIDEON IS IN QUICKSAND

“That's from Agwe you dumb ugly bastard!” is a great like Gideon, good job

NAT 20 FOR TORBEK FINALLY!!!!! AND HE KILLED IT YEAHHHHHHHHHH

“Longscarfing it” is my new favorite thing

Fighting with an erection mention lmao XD

They're freaking out about Nikkie playing swamp music lmao

NOOOO DON'T AWAKEN GOREBEK

We love the swoose (Swan + Goose)

Also wasn't one of the cookies Bavlorna gave Torbek a swoose, and Nikkie is using the same accent for the swoose as she did Bavlorna

“Recount the tales to me x3, of a troubled past and what set you free” ARE WE GONNA GET SOME BACKSTORY ON THREE OF THE DUDES???? PLEASE LET ONE OF THEM BE TORBEK, BRO IS AN ENIGMA

GIDEON BEING KIDNAPPED AS A CHILD AWAY FROM HIS PAW IS SO SAAAAAAD, WE NEED TO REUNITE PAW COAL AND MY DAD TOGETHER AND HAVE A HAPPY FAMILY AGAIN (T-T)

“We hit rock bottom and picked up shovels” HAHAHA

I wonder what Andy’s theory is, My theory is that Zybilna is the fourth sister or at least connected to them in some way

[pandagirl45]

Tony being asked who his favorite character from inuyasha is (the song is in my head)

He watched because it was on and he needed some things to feel the silence once music got repetitive.

His favorite, is Koga.

Then years later he see bucky and he got the summer tan going and hydra shifty dna fuckery and

Tony is trying hard, trying so hard to be good. So good but he just *screams into his hands*

Everyone confused except rhodeyvwhen he bought Tony a Koga plush and no one knows. A bucky bear and koga plus toy.

What can go wrong

[darcywho]

continued from x || @tahitiwoke

“To be fair, some of us had front row seats to Wanda’s televised trauma, so I don’t really need the slo-mo replay,” Darcy quipped, glancing away from the grainy recording. “But I feel the need to re-emphasize that I’m an astrophysicist not the ‘Sorcerer Supreme’ or whatever it is Stranger Things is supposed to be.” She paused to take in the reddish tint of the Hex once more. “I do have an idea on potential containment should such fuckery transpire again, but I’ll need access to the readings I took before Director Dickwad pulled a HYDRA and got his sleazy ass pinned with an ice cream truck--by yours truly in case that detail escaped your notice. ‘Cause you’re basically asking me to come up with the anti-Big Bang.” 

[madasacrow]

AAAAAA its so cool that our ages line up w that!

I'm gonna try to be brief lol. Also hi this is a sideblog for my superhero paracosm aka where I dumped my old mcu paras.

The plot changed around a lot but the basic idea was that HYDRA somehow got DNA from the main 6 Avengers and made clones of them. For one reason or another, the clones escape and eventually wind up at SHIELD, where they're taken in and given semi normal lives. These are my original test tube babies 😭

The new plot (aka the one in this paracosm) is relatively the same, except instead of HYDRA its this organization called "Arcaynis" that does all sorts of weird experiments ... tbh even though I don't focus on them much now, they're still pretty paracosm-important/relevant bc goddamn does Arcaynis do a lot of fuckery. Fuck Arcaynis all my homies hate Arcaynis.

JORDAN STARK (THEY/THEM)

I actually still daydream about them fairly frequently! They're part of a different paracom now, but still have origins in Assembled Monsters.

Being a clone of Tony Stark/Iron Man, they don't really have powers. They're more of a "guy behind the chair" person yknow. But! They were usually the one to kickstart the clones escaping. Wait sometimes they had electricity and super speed. Idk why stop asking questions. The power of ✨imagination✨

Oh they have a prosthetic arm! Yeah Rex/Laz ripped it off when they were about 6ish. Fun times.

REX (HE/HIM) & LAZARUS BANNER (HE/HIM)

Clone of Bruce Banner/The Hulk ... idk how HYDRA managed to get the "two for one" deal, but they did! I always waffled on if they were the same person or were more like the Jekyll/Hyde situation that Bruce had.

Despite Tony being my favorite, Rex — and Laz, I guess — were usually the focus/main characters of the daydreams I had back then. By now they're basically AM's poster child 😭

Rex is radioactive! His blood, sweat, & other bodily fluids are acidic and actual biohazards. Rip buddy.

Laz is a cannibal. Technically. He's not human (clone + can transform into this giant...wolf cat thing idk i never finalized their "hulk" form ig). This does cause problems for him & Rex but they come to a deal where Laz can only eat "bad" people aka criminals and whoever SHIELD deems an enemy.

MAXINE ROMANOV (SHE/HER)

Clone of Natasha Romanov/Black Widow.

For some reason she has telepathy! This makes more sense now bc magic just kinda exists in MaaC/all my paracosms but back then I didn't have an explanation it was just sort of a thing.

Close w Rex! I guess this reflects how Bruce & Nat's relationship progressed in the movies ... BUT tbh I based most of everything off of the 2012 Avengers & Age of Ultron, a lootttt of stuff was cut out. 2012!MCU was an ERA im sure you remember.

But anyway, she was paired with Rex in order to control him bc his abilities were ... unstable, to say the least. But they're good friends, both then and now. She's basically his sister?

The others weren't as important tbh, but yknow. I still love them.

Christine Rogers, Steve Rogers/Cap's clone. Steve & Bucky adopt her! Stucky was also a thing I think idk. Probably.

Brandon Odinson, Thor's clone. He was taken in by Jane.

Zethri Barton, Clint/Hawkeye's clone. For some reason he was aquatic/like a siren? Idk it was the Clint in Vents Era, did we ever find something for that man to do.

Khole & Lorelai, also Bruce's clones and technically Rex's "siblings". Tho fun fact, their "birth order" goes: Khole, Rex, Lorelai. So. Rex is a middle child 😭😭

Holly Rose, who was just a girl w plant powers idk where she came from but she was there sometimes! She was kinda like the team mom I think.

And then I think there was Kit, a clone of Dr. Strange? She was connected to Strange somehow but I forgot. Probably related to him somehow lbr.

hi this is random but I love that you have marvel/mcu fictparas! I used to have an MCU paracosm when I was younger (the mcu had a chokehold on me from like ages 8-15). I still have some original paras from that time...kind of. I think about them sometimes lmao but they do exist in the background of my paracosms. guess what im tryna say is mcu our beloved <3 (also please give tony a hug for me he was my dad fr 😭)

OMGGGGG!!! CAN YOU HEAR ME ABSOLUTELY SCREAMING??? I can't believe we have that in common!!! MCU our beloved, indeed <333

I started getting into the MCU at about 13(?), and that's when I introduced it into my paracosm, so even our ages kind of line up, lmao! I'd love to hear about your paras, though! Even though they're background characters now, I think that's so cool that they stuck around since then!!!

And, of course I'll give Tony a hug for you! This makes for great timing, too, seeing as he just won the Hunger Games, so I'm sure he's in a pretty good mood, hehehe!

(Also, he is such a great dad, frfr! And I'm saying this as someone who literally had to fight him for custody of Peter, lmaooo!)

[trekkele]

I had a sort of weird? idea for a fic,

So Hydra realizes they aren’t any closer to figuring out Erskines version of the serum, and they want it, despite having the soviet version (and zolas version) sort of available, and hey, Cap is un-frozen and running around, it should be relatively easy to get some genetic material right?

So they figure, ok all we need to do is get someone close to him and ya’know, let nature take its course and whatever, shouldnt be to hard we even know exactly what he’s into -

And Steve is finding it really weird, ok, he’s used to get attention and even getting attention when he’s out, but lately every girl who’s hit on him has looked like Peggy, to an almost worrying degree, almost like someone’s been throwing them -

Well fuck. He thinks. And he tries not get mad, he understands that this might be the russian assassin equivalent of leaving dead birds on his porch, he can have this discussion like an adult.

But Natasha, instead of getting smug or apologizing or whatever, starts getting twitchy, and worried, and asks if he has any of their numbers or where he met them and no, Steve, this is actually really concerning there are no such things as coincidences -

- Yeah I know that that’s why I figured it was you -

- and do you think I’m going to throw your not-dead girlfriend in your face, no, I would be way more subtle I am insulted, Steven, but we have bigger things to worry about.

Anyways thats as far as I got.

(Edit: they didn’t send anyone who looks like Bucky because Hydra are nazis, homophobic, and idiots.)

[moonythejedi394]

Mating run: I'm picturing mutual pining- Bucky would love to claim Steve but Steve is super into omega equal rights, trying to get the run banned. Steve is skinny and smol, thinks Bucky deserves a better omega. Both stupid in love. Bucky going to run to help drive off other alphas since Steve has managed to insult and anger every big alpha knothead in town by running his mouth and sticking up for other omegas. Alpha knotheads who could catch Steve and force a claim. Bucky won't let them.

y’all

if we’re thinking the same things, let’s think extra. let’s go big. let’s go – 

dystopia.

be warned, there’s something even worse than a dystopian society below the read more – math

the mating run is definitely an infringement on omega rights. it’s pretty much the hunger games. omegas ages 18 to 22 are gathered by force mostly, stripped naked, and tossed into an arena with simulated forest habitats. alphas pay to run in the game, and that shit is expensive. this is why bucky can’t run with steve; omegas younger than 22 must be mated during the run, literally, elsewhere omegas and alphas have been ripped apart, alphas executed, and omegas just given away to other more wealthy alphas for the crime of loving outside capitalism. 

bucky is dirt poor. him and steve have been in love since they were babies and every second leading up to the run is spent plotting ways to keep steve from being caught and mated in the run, bc let’s be blunt, if he’s caught, they lose, steve has no voice in being mated by the alpha that catches him. their only hope is that steve can last all 4 years without being caught, or

bucky can win the lottery. every year, like five dirt-poor alphas are given the gift of being allowed to run. in every lottery, one alpha wins the opportunity to run alongside the top 10%.

granted, they gotta pay a bunch go buy lottery tickets, like one entry is $1, 1 entry out of all the middle and low class alphas out there. normally I say that the population is divided by 60-40 to Alpha/Omega genes or Beta genes, then both of those percentiles are cut in half for male Betas and female Betas then Alphas and Omegas, so that’s roughly 30% of the population that are alphas. but, real quick, why are omegas suddenly being so drastically policed?

let’s say there was a massive outbreak of disease that targeted omegas, the previous 30% population that were omegas were cut in, let’s just say fuck it, half. sure, lots of people died, but mostly omegas. like, there are 327.2 million people in the US right now. this disease, let’s say, killed 30%, that’s 98.2 million and of that number, 80% of them were omegas. the population is now 229.04 million and the omega gene is overrun by Betas, and as we know, dystopias are racist, Betas are largely people of color and clearly, the nazis in the white house don’t want to have babies with women of color.

so the population is now 60% Betas, 30% Alphas, and 10% Omegas. *(there are a lot more male omegas these days, small upside?) but anyway, original math, with 229.04 million people, 30% are Alphas, let’s be generous and say 10% of them can afford to participate on the mating run on their own. that leaves 1,236,816 in all 50 states that can’t afford it. 

so that’s bucky’s odds of winning the lottery, 1 in 1.2 million. sure, he can buy lots of tickets, but so is everyone, in order to really significantly change his odds, he might as well spend the money to participate in the run, which we’ve already established he can’t do.

so bucky’s odds are shitty, steve’s odds are not much better. there’s more than one run in every state; for new york city, there’s 603,610 omegas according to my bullshit math, probably about a thousand fit into the age bracket of 18-22. steve is one of a thousand omegas. how many alphas fit into the incredibly generous top 10% of alphas in new york city that can afford the run?

181,083‬. nearly 2 to 1 against Steve. bucky’s odds are 1 in over a million, but steve? steve could feasibly survive all 4 runs, come out the other end, and be allowed to mate with bucky. 2 to 1, but as we all know, when it comes to Steve Rogers, you’d better put your fucking money on the underdog.

still, bucky’s gonna blow like $100 a year on the lottery. and while we’re putting our money on the underdog, somebody’s gotta win the lottery. and i’m in charge here. that 4th run, steve’s survived three, and then the day before, bucky’s given his winning ticket to the lottery.

*cracks knuckles* let’s get down to business, kids

[imaginetonyandbucky]

little bit of me, little bit of you

Part II | Part I | Part III

It has to be a coincidence—a weird, improbable, very uncanny coincidence—and Bucky really, honestly tries to convince himself of that, at first. Because even in a world with actual aliens living and working among everyday humans, super soldiers and superheroes running around New York, and hot dogs costing more than two fucking dollars, what are the chances that Bucky, somehow, had a child with current crush more than a decade ago without either of them remembering anything about it?

They’re pretty slim, is what they are.

Bucky has ample reason to doubt that he was in any way involved in creating Gabriel, and one of the biggest one is Steve. Bucky’s memory is, admittedly, still full of holes and untruths, but Steve’s known Bucky since they were toddlers, and he’s always been excellent at remembering even the most asinine things, even long before he got the serum. If there’s one other person aside from Bucky who’d see any potential similarities between Bucky and Gabriel, if there were any, it would be Steve.

But Steve hadn’t said anything before moving Bucky into the tower, and had only tilted his head, shrugged, and said, “Huh, you think so?” when Bucky had made a joke that wasn’t really one about how Gabriel could be his little brother or cousin, looks-wise.

So, Bucky tries to let the whole thing go. And fails, miserably.

(More after the break!)

He can’t explain why, or how, but he just knows. He knows there’s something more here, something he can’t recall, something just beyond reach, that was stolen from him, and he’s determined to find out what, exactly. And get it back.

The very first thing he learns—and probably should’ve expected—is that tracking down baby photos of someone who’s supposed to have died over seventy years ago, and has no more living relatives is a huge pain in the ass. He does eventually find a few, in a private art collection centred around the Howlies, of all places, but the owner is more than happy to send him copies in exchange for one of those tacky autograph cards Avengers PR insists they all carry around with them.

Once he has the pictures, carefully laid out on his kitchen counter, Bucky has to admit that he can’t blame Steve for not noticing. At first glance, Gabriel looks like Stark, just like his brothers, and doesn’t seem to have anything in common with Bucky at six, or fifteen, or twenty. They all have the same colouring, the same basic facial structure, even the same cheeky smile. Stark’s gene game is pretty strong, to put it short.

But it’s there, in the details, the resemblance that had initially thrown Bucky so much; that stubborn hair whorl that seems nearly untamable, the dimple in the left cheek that only ever makes an appearance during full-on belly laughter, the tiny little beauty mark under the right ear, some of the distinctive mannerisms, like the way the both move, sometimes, when they tuck their hair behind their ears, or try to hold back a smirk.

None of it is obvious, though, not unless someone’s actively looking. And Bucky can’t seem to stop, once he has admitted, to himself at least, that Gabriel has to be his.

Natasha’s silence is simultaneously skeptical and judging when Bucky calls her up to ask for a favour. He doesn’t delude himself that he won’t be interrogated about his sketchy behaviour eventually, but Nat promises to get him the HYDRA mission reports involving the Winter Soldier from the year before Gabriel’s birth, and that’s all that matters.

With that done, all Bucky can do, unfortunately, is wait. He briefly considers just flat out asking Tony about it, but he doesn’t actually think Tony knows much more than he does himself, as unlikely as that sounds. Tony hadn’t seemed like he’d met Bucky before, when Steve had introduced them, or acted like he was hiding something, or keeping secrets. And they might not have known each other for too long yet, but Bucky refuses to believe that Tony’s the sort of person who would lie like this, about his own child.

Before Bucky can drive himself crazy by overthinking the situation, and going over what little evidence he has again and again, Tony himself actually, albeit unknowingly, gives him his next clue.

The boys are parked on the couch when Bucky walks into the penthouse, not arguing or bickering for once, but all talking at once and over each other at the smiling man on the screen of the tablet that sits on the coffee table in front of them. Gabriel is talking about his science project, while Max whines about how unfair Tony’s being about something or other, and Theo just throws out all the Spanish words he’s learned recently, from the sound of it.

“Come on,” Tony says, appearing in the kitchen doorway, “they won’t even notice you’re here. They haven’t talked to Léon in a while, I think they’re updating him on literally everything that’s happened over the last two months.”

They settle at the kitchen table, where both Tony’s tools, and a cup of coffee for Bucky are already waiting. Tony’d suggested moving their maintenance sessions up to the penthouse a few weeks ago, as long as no bigger machinery or anything was needed. It’s definitely more comfortable, and usually ends with Bucky staying for lunch or dinner, and then a movie or games with the kids. Or just the food, movie, and games, more and more often.

He’d jumped at the chance to get to know Gabriel the first time Tony had invited him to stay for grilled cheeses and creamy tomato soup—it had been Theo’s day to choose lunch—but it’s not only his curiosity that keeps him coming back. He’d grown up in a huge family, with five sisters and little cousins always around, and he misses it. Still having Steve helps, a lot, but playing, snuggling, or roughhousing with the boys just settles something in Bucky, and always manages to calm him down or cheer him up, depending on what kind of day he’s had.

And getting some quality time with Tony is a definite plus, too.

“So,” Bucky says, once Tony’s knuckle deep in the wiring of his arm, and conveniently not looking at Bucky to see how much he’s currently failing at being subtle, “I’m assumin’ Léon is the famous Tío Léon?”

It’s not that Bucky’s jealous, because he’s got neither the right nor a reason to be—he gets to see the boys and Tony at least three to four times a week, these days—but Tío Léon is a constant topic of conversation in the Stark household. Still, he doesn’t expect the question to make Tony pause, and chew his bottom lip for a moment before sitting back, a strangely intense expression on his face.

Bucky is about to apologise for overstepping when Tony says, “He’s their father. Max and Theo’s.”

Even though he’s not sure why, Bucky can tell Tony’s being defensive. He must realise it, too, because a moment later he deflates, breathing out in one long whoosh, and sheepishly rubs at the back of his neck. “Sorry. I—not everyone’s happy with our arrangement. I keep getting shit for it still, which. I can brush it off easy enough, but I don’t want my kids too see or hear any of that.”

“Fuck those people,” Bucky says, frowning, and Tony snorts, the last of the tension leaving his shoulders. Then he points at Tony, and warns, “I’m not puttin’ a dollar in the jar for that, the boys didn’t even hear.”

“Fair,” Tony allows, but the silence that follows is uncharacteristically awkward, for them.

It’s Bucky who breaks it after a moment. “You don’t have to, obviously, but you can tell me, if you want. I’ll listen. An’ only judge you quietly.”

“Asshole,” Tony quips back, smiling again as he kicks Bucky’s foot. Then he groans, tipping his head back, clearly embarrassed when he says, “Theo was my midlife crisis, I think. I just. Woke up one day, and realised I was almost forty, and that if I wanted more kids, I should probably get on that. Léon was happy to help out again.”

Bucky has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep himself from saying something dumb like, “I bet he did,” but he manages.

“And Max—I was an only child, and I hated it,” Tony sighs, absently playing with the small drill in his hand. “I didn’t want that for Gabriel. And having children had always been a vague plan for the future, so. After Gabriel, I knew I definitely wanted more, and I didn’t want to wait forever. And so we had Max.”

“But you’re not together?” Bucky guesses, trying to not sound hopeful. “Anymore?”

Tony shakes his head. “Never were. We met in college, kept in touch over the years, hooked up sometimes when we were both single. I love him, as a friend and the father of my children, but it was never more, for neither of us. He agreed to help me, uh, make Max and Theo, but he never wanted to be a dad. Which was perfect, really, since I wanted kids, not a boyfriend.”

It feels like he’s pressing his luck, but he most likely won’t get another chance like this one. Hiding his trembling hands under the table, heart feeling like it’s about to beat out of his chest, Bucky asks, “And what about Gabriel?”

- Potrix | AO3 

A/N: This is now officially a story full of cliffhangers, I guess? Also, I’m thinking of Oscar Isaac when I talk about Léon. Just imagine how gorgeous those kids have to be? Part III on Monday! 

[chronicillnesscaneffoffplease]

So uhhhhh turns out the iron tablets are doing less than nothing!! And my ferritin is now at a 6 when it was at a 20 (30-165 is normal tho so) in may,,, I’ve taken iron tablets for so long i forget what normal poop even is. I just want an iron infusion at this point 🙃 but luckily the nurse says my gp is likely to green light the infusion because my numbers are so bad now and a year+ on supplements hasn’t helped any, my numbers are actually worse. It’s not even like I’m bleeding anymore, my period is significantly lighter than before, no clots even, and I do eat stuff which has iron in it so at this point is looking more and more like malabsorption issues. This body of mine smh 🙃🙃🙃

[madearmor]

BOY howdy.... i really don’t like a lot of tony’s history with 616 currently lmao. like, sure entertaining to read for some (re: the bear is the best and i love her and that is that on that) but mostly i’m not about that life bruv.

sometime this weekend i plan on etching out things i want to explore and things i definitely will not because i said so. highkey: there just won’t be a whole ‘im adopted?!’ thing happening. his being a stark and their family being chinese-hawaiin is important to this entire version tyvm.

[buckyalpine]

Snow White and Seven Soldiers

18+

Soft dark!Winter soldier bucky x reader

Idk tf is wrong with me. Many things tbh. This idea popped into my head and refused to leave so now you can all suffer with me. I’m aware this is a little fucked up, okay?

Warnings: smut, dub con, just absolute fuckery. 

A second part just cause 

Imagine y/n, the sweet pretty little scientist working for Hydra, tasked with creating a serum to create a deadly assassin. You don’t want to be there but they’ve forced you and held you captive, giving you no choice but to help them in building their super soldier army.

You hated the pained screams of the man they dragged in, watching them destroy him from the inside out. They relentlessly tortured him until they were satisfied. His beautiful blue eyes were now soulless, his arm replaced with silver vibrainium. 

The first assassin. A super soldier for Hydra.

You helped him secret, tending to his wounds and treating him with gentle touches and sweet words after his missions. You cared for his weak body every time his memory was wiped, always holding him for a moment longer before he fell asleep in his cell. 

He never remembered much after, but he always remembered you.

He recognized your voice. The soft feel of your hands. The sweetness of your words. You were so loving and warm. Like a little kitten.

His котенок. 

After their first successful super soldier, they decide it’s easier to create clones instead of capturing and training new people each time. 

You watched them file out from the chambers. 

7 super soldiers. All with a metal arm. Icy blue eyes. Dark chestnut brown hair. All with shared memories of you.

Hydra didn’t anticipate them escaping their clutches. They didn’t anticipate their very creations turning against them. The soldiers take you with them before destroying the base, your the only form of love and touch they know; they’d never leave their sweet angel behind.

You stay in a safe house with them, and the longer you stay with them, the more they need you. All of you.

They’re all touch starved. 

Craving you to take care of them.

You help them in every way possible. All but one. And the need to be touched to growing more each day. Your gentle care wasn’t enough anymore. Your sweet scent was overwhelming with their heightened senses, your skin soft and warm.

“So beautiful” The first solider watched you carefully as you brushed your damp hair, water droplets clinging to your body from your shower. He could smell your arousal, they heard the way you tried to muffle your moans while you showered, your hand between your legs, playing with yourself, thinking of him. Them. 

“Come with me” Before you could ask him what he needed, he took you hand, leading you down the hall. “Now” 

You clutch onto your towel, your heart racing as they stood around the room, eyes burning into your half naked form. 

“Take care of us darling just like you always do”

“H-how?”

“Make us feel good” He cupped your face, his lips tugging at your pouty bottom lip. “It hurts” He takes your hand, guiding it down to his thick boner and you can’t help but grasp it, your body acting on its own. “Make it go away malyshka”

You swallow thickly, trembling, you could feel your slick sticky between your thighs. 

“I-how?” 

He coos at your innocence, your doe eyes lost as you gaze up at him. 

“You don’t have to do anything котенок” He reassures you, “Lay down for us”

You’re laid out in the floor, your towel thrown off, your heart racing as they stood around you, admiring the pretty angel that took care of every need they ever had. You can’t help but squeeze your thighs in anticipation, hearing the unzipping and removal of tactical gear, identical gorgeous bodies surrounding you. You watch their hands stroke their thick cocks slowly, the room filling with low groans, eyes raking up and down your body. 

“Open”

You gasp, as one drops to his knees to push his cock into your mouth while the other spreads your legs apart, his lips sealed onto your clit. All you can do is moan and cry on the floor as they take turns pulling orgasm after orgasm out of your exhausted body, using your mouth while each taking their time tasting you. 

“So wet darling”

“Cum for us princess”

“So pretty dripping and crying on the floor”

“You belong to us”

“Sweet little cumdoll”

You can’t help but move your hand to play with your overstimulated clit as they stand above you, their cocks dripping, ready to claim you and mark you as theirs. You feel warm drops and ropes of cum spill onto your body, as they reach their climax together, ensuring there isn’t a single space of your skin left unmarked. You nearly sob as you reach your high again, your body warm and soaked with their cum dripping off every inch of your skin.

“We’re not done malyshka”

You gasp, when he licks the cum off your tummy before smashing his lips onto yours, letting you taste him. 

“Let us clean you up princess”

Their hard again within seconds, ready to wreck you all over again. Now that they had a taste, they wouldn’t be holding back. 

“Now we want to fill you”

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[pandagirl45]

Bucky would bark because he is just that thirsty. He is absolutely a menace. He is ridiculous and he would howl if it gets his point across.

Whatever shame he had before the crap that was HYDRA and their fuckery, is gone. Long gone. That is okay.

If you catch Bucky doing something close to a cartoon wolf grin, fangs, and all, Tony won't take criticism or listen to well-thought-out advice. He would say,

"You think I am afraid of a little fangs?"

Tony would purposefully miss the point, but who said they were logical.

Bucky: *barks seeing Tony in a fitted suit*

Sam: do you have no shame?

Bucky: *deadpan* awooga

Tony: *heard it all bright red* shit, I make you go all wolf for me?

Bucky: I can get a cartoonishly large hammer to show more

Sam: I am leaving you both to your weird ass flirting *leaves*