#i know he was on earth in endgame

[amelia-mariee]

I know a lot happened in volume 3, but we're kind of ignoring Quill coming back to earth. He's living on earth for the first time in almost 40 years. You know how much he missed? At some point he probably visited or saw a picture of NYC and was like "hey I don't see the twin towers" and Jason Quill had to sit down his 40 year old grandson and teach him about 9/11.

[llamaisllama777]

THE VILLAIN UNIVERSE SURVIVED?!?!?!?!!?

I wonder if this universe will come in handy at one point.

Seriously, I'm so happy this universe survived Ruin's little multiversal cleansing.

[jonsnowunemploymentera]

Everyone arguing about Stannis, JonCon, Jaime, god forbid Jorah being the 1000th commander of the NW….when it will be Jon again 🌚

[mwagneto]

im sorry but "oohhghbh im in love with the wife of my brother who died 15 years ago but we have to hide it coz it's Wrong even if he's dead" is literally like thee most boring conflict a character could possibly have. like who give a shit

[naggingatlas]

i think people's takes on jev being this like thousand year old creatura are fascinating and fit even my interpretation of his character and place in the story (as like. a representation of the setting at large. an archaic force being shoved into a simulation/loop/machine. cosmis horror kinda shit) but i also think it's 1. funnier 2. scarier 3. more emotionally scarring to imagine him as like. a 30, 40, 50 year old man. just a quirky little guy. he had a childhood, maybe he got picked up by seam as an urchin and they were a travelling magic act and clownery and judy n punch duo and they stole apples from the market and he climbed trees w his little paws before someone made him wear shoes. he was a brash teenager and he played the accordion and kept all of his trinkets in a little chest he used to sleep in. seam made his suits, from his own crayon drawings. he was a middle aged man disenchanted with his work and he sought shelter from the boredom in bothering others. and he ran away so many times and he slept outside and he helped seam make their own beer and mead and they still played the accordion and the hurdy-gurdy together. isn't it scarier to make him a normal man? who turns into what we see? doesn't that hurt more doesn't that make his character even deeper. he was just like you and this means That can happen to you too, grounding stuff like that is like one of the basic rules of horror. and then he just goes to jail they straight up lock a mentally ill guy with all those horrors in the basement - not an old-as-time-itself demon, not a savage beast, but. a man. jevil russian sleep experiment au.

again im not calling anyone out its just an interpretation ive NEVER seen anyone else come up with and i genuinely wonder why and if my other jev readings continue to be weird as fuck to other people

[nyxire]

btw according to apple books i am only 80% thru orv which means there's still 20% and about a 1000 pages and an 100% chance for kim dokja to fucking die again

[catdammitjackie]

well now i can't sleep because i just made myself mad for no reason

[amarriageoftrueminds]

I've seen people try to excuse it by claiming Steve created a new timeline where he fixed everything horrible that happened in his timeline but:

you can't claim that a movie portrays something when it literally physically does not. Not only is Steve creating a new timeline not shown in the movie it's not even referenced, not even in a single throwaway line of dialogue!

(You wouldn't need to make shit up to say Steve did it to explain things if the ending had actually made sense as-shown and been in-character. Ditto showing us a Peggy who's supposed to be in her 50s but doesn't look it -- because that would highlight how fucking weird this whole thing is -- while ignoring that she's working in a "quasi-fascistic black site." Steve going cruising for GILFs in a Hydra base? It's like something out of Deadpool it's so moronic.)

Even if Steve had egotistically made a new timeline, that still doesn't address the fact that a lot of those horrible things in the original timeline happened because of Peggy, the person we're supposed to believe Steve would give a shut up ring. She hired both Zola and Fennhoff to SHIELDra -- jointly responsible for the Winter Soldier and the rise of Hydra in the 20th century. So how can Steve be 'fixing' the horrifying timeline while married to the person responsible for the horror? Is he going back to teach Peggy how to be an actual good person? To poison the wedding cake??

Even if he had made a new timeline, that still means Steve abandoned 'his' Bucky to go and protect a version of Bucky who doesn't have all of his Bucky's trauma, and marry the person responsible for it... Which is just. despicably cruel.

(And that's before you add on that it leaves Bucky alone, as the 'man out of time', the only person in the future who remembers 'their' time, which Steve's whole ending depends on us believing is a terrible thing to happen to you. But it's fine if Steve did that to Bucky...? Is it in-character for Steve to get Bucky back from the dead and then immediately ditch him in the cruelest way imaginable?)

On top of burdening Sam with a difficult legacy, with no thanks and no help for the transition, Steve's ending also means he has done nothing to bring Natasha back from the dead, despite having all six magical stones that can do anything including bringing people back from the dead. And old-Steve, in their present, also did nothing about any of his friend's problems.

On top of which, Steve's ending (returning all the Infinity Stones from the place and time they were taken) means he met with Red Skull, aka the Nazi so extreme he thought Adolf Hitler was mid, who had just murdered Natasha... and instead of fighting him, Steve gave him an Infinity Stone? (Is it in-character for Steve to quite literally empower Nazis and ignore that they murdered his personal friends?)

Since day 1, the MCU has been chipping away at Steve's decent characterisation with this subplot of 'okay yeah he's saved the world and made friends or whatever 🙄 but does it really count as happiness unless he has also attained pussy in a god-honouring way??' 🤩

And annoying as that was, it was more or less tolerable because they kept the rest of him in-character.

But that shit collapses if he isn't otherwise 90% in-character and the plot completely salts and burn every established trait just to make comphet happen.

Guys, I know it was five years ago but Steve’s ending still makes me so mad, like are you seriously going to tell me that he left to go live a life with Peggy and didnt even try to stop the pain and torture that he knew his best friend since childhood was enduring?? I can kind of get over him living with peggy, like, I get it, he’d been fighting his whole life and he just wanted some peace, and if living with peggy meant peace for him than that’s understandable, but the fact that he knew what was happening to bucky and did nothing to stop it, despite fighting tooth and nail to protect him ever since he learned he was alive, just doesn’t sit right with me

[thewertsearch]

The heroes chose to accept this bargain, and scratched their session. In doing so they jumpstarted the reality in which the twenty-four figures of legend would together be created - and I as well - and then sent back in time to take our places in history. Though I was delivered well before history even began, before the dawning of life on their planet. This time around, I would oversee its development, and thus fulfill the mother's promise of an aggressive, ruthlessly prepared group of heroes. One that would not rest until victory was secured.

It sounds like Scratch's changes weren't really about combat ability at all. Instead, he was more concerned with ensuring the trolls were psychologically prepared to face the game. We don't really know what made the pre-Alternians so bad at Sgrub, but Scratch solved any and all such problems by replacing them with a group of belligerent power-gamers who sought to conquer the universe they made. Thanks, Doc!

Also – this might be a little pedantic, but did the post-Scratch session really count as a victory? I mean, when your frog is terminal, your universe is sealed off, and your species is almost extinct, can you really say you won?

The pre-Alternians might have grounds to sue, is what I’m trying to say.

The young twenty-four would again be scattered in two groups, twelve modern contemporaries, and twelve ancients. But in addition to losing their memories of everything that had happened before the scratch, there was another catch for the failed heroes. In the new reality, they would not serve as the heroes. They would mature to become the ancestors of the twelve they formerly regarded as theirs, and this twelve would be chosen for glory.

...the Ancestors were Alternia's original Players.

I speculated that the kids might change Guardians after the reboot - but for some reason, I never even considered that a Guardian could become a Player. If this is how a Scratch actually works...

This... this changes everything. This is Act 6's hidden twist - the fact that we're not going to be getting our kids at all. Homestuck's new heroes, the next session's champions, are Joan Egbert, Roxy Lalonde, Dale Strider, and...

and...

PEN-PAL IS THE SCRATCHED VERSION OF GRANDPA.

Jesus christ, everything fits. He's a child with Grandpa’s mannerisms because they’re time-duplicates, and it's looking increasingly likely that memories can bleed between the two. He recognizes Jade as his 'grandmother' because in his timeline, Jade arrived before he did, and became the new matriarch of the Harley family. He knows about Earth culture because he grew up on another Earth. His access to the bunny's endgame weapons... is still a little confusing, actually, but this fits literally everything else. I am absolutely, 100% confident that this is the answer to Homestuck's most maddening riddle.

I can't fucking believe what I'm reading. Literally every prediction I have about Homestuck's future is going to have to change.

[tevaselmundogiraalreves]

BUDDIE FIC RECS PART 2

Okay heres more fics cause ive been reading so so much lately, i cannot and will not be stopped. Heres the first list. I will most prob keep on making lists cause i honestly cannot stop reading. Once again, in no particular order:

Songbird by @colonoscopys - Goes first cause i just finished reading this one. FREAK EDDIE IS MY PASION. I said it already but at one point eddie eats bucks hair. Its awesome! FreakxFreak DumbxDumb

a bleeding sun on a silver screen by @hoediaz EVERYONE ALREADY READ THIS ONE RIGHT? IF NOT WTF ARE YOU EVEN DOING GO! ACTORS AU YOU WILL NE FAMOUS FOREVER.

chess inside my chest by @buick118 - HELLOOOO THIS ONE FIXED SOMETHING INSIDE MY CHEST "heart clipped in the backseat with his headphones already secured over his ears." I NEED AN EXPLANATION FOR THIS WRITING ❤️‍🩹

Two, Three Times in a Row by leslie_knope i honestly have no words for how much i love this fic, i reread it all the time, like ive reread it so much its embarrasing. Some of the best smut ive read.

wanna do a bad thing twice by @coldbam BUCK IS SUCH A FREAK GOD HE IS SUCH A FREAK

(You know what actually there are 2 more fics were buck is the freakiest hes ever been so ill put them right below ⬇️)

slow motion, double vision in rose blush by @saryasy Eddie Diaz. His friend. His Eddie. Has kissed a man. Which is strange because Buck is sure as hell he'd remember kissing Eddie.

Me at Buck: FREAAAAAAAAK

Also special mention to that flashback WOW!

i can tell just what you want (you don't want to be alone) by @tallsinspace Buck loses it every single time this is so awesome, it was so FUN reading INFIDELEDDIE this hiatus 🫶🏽

songs and poems and promises by @lesbianrobin buck summer of disatisfaction turns around thanks to eddie god they are so in love! Also special mention to chim well and maddie lets fucking goooooo

we keep this love in a photograph by @burnthatbridge its just so so freaking beautiful. Buck chooses eddies pics for his dating app after he comes out...

the tortured poets department by @colonoscopys once again the kind of fic that you wanna reread again and again.

"The first time Buck touched him, Eddie blew an ambulance up."

still sitting in a corner i haunt by @cal-daisies-and-briars i just love this one so much, should reread it, trust me its worth it.

we're not in love (but the sex is good) by elless. Idk i loved this one. Buddie are not even friends they just want the benefits as soon as they meet. The transition from that to them actually getting to know each other so naturally and start caring about each other is so beautiful.

in the passenger seat by @livingincolorsagain Evan Buckley was put on God’s green earth to drive Eddie Diaz around.

Just BEAUTIFUL.

tying you to me by @hoediaz ONCE AGAIN PERFECT TYPE OF WRITING. Buddie meet each other after 5x11. SO ORIGINAL GOD.

the soft animal of your body by @hattalove . This is a coda to another fic but can be read on its own. Just beautiful beautiful love making. I think i commented that i felt like they were making love with the words they were saying to each other just sitting on the kitchen table talking.

we could follow the sparks, i’ll drive by @markofalover bucks kink should be people calling him mr. diaz and thinking hes eddies husband.

Wait for me there by @kitkatpancakestack Childhood friends reunite after 8 years. I just really really loved this one. Those flashbacks to the past are so beautiful.

wanna be your endgame by literalmetaphor gotta be honest dont see this happening in canon at all cause the second eddie confesses buck would go down on his knees lets be honest. BUT this was so great! I loved it.

Pivot Tables by rainbowninja167 Does it show that i love reading buddie being so freaky and so kinky. Ill just say this: educational sex. Buck brings on the clipboard. Obsessed with this one.

I Broke What You Gave Me, But You Kept Giving More by rcdwings. memory loss buck cant remember his husband. Listen im not always a fun of memory loss fics but i loved this one i loved the twist.

there's a word for it, I'm sure by @ithilien-writes i have to reread this one asap cause i loved it so so much they are just so in love with each other but cant admit it so they just start having sex about it. And god they love esch other.

i could give you fifty reasons by @marviless buck FLIRTS with eddie cause he just want ti help. God this one was so much fun. I remember laughing out loud. I gotta reread.

beating the horse by @doitbuckley Eddie is moving to Texas. Buck finally figures out what he wants. Perfect read to the end of 8a.

In the Back Seat, Windows Up by @semperama SEX IN THE BACKSIT OF THE TRUCK LETSFUCKINGGOOOOOO

Play Me For Keeps by @semperama this one made me feel so MANY things in less than 1k words I WAS WONDERSTRUCK HONESTLY SMILING FROM EAR TO EAR

would you lie with me and just forget the world by @colonoscopys reread this one recently GODDDDD if you havent just go read it right now!!! Childhood friends to lovers for the win always.

your beauty (not just a mask) by @aashiqeddiediaz these next two fics GOD well i have a thing for mirrors and sex in front of mirrors apparently so... this i top tier for me. This one is the shorter one in front of the bathroom mirror 100/10 no notes.

my mirror (staring back at me) by @aashiqeddiediaz this one is longer. Mirror in the bedroom......... Eddie notices bucks insecurities and well he does smth about it ❤️‍🔥 such a fave of mine. It has everything!!!

Dreaming of a White Christmas by rosebuddiekin . Oh boy!!!... just gonna leave the blurb here cause no words could ever be enough: "Buck accepts a challenge to be edged in his and Eddie's own version of the 12 Days of Christmas and loses his mind a little more with each one." (Btw if someone knows the author please lmk. They put a link to their tumblr on ao3 but it doesnt work for me.)

[bridoesotherjunk]

Okay, so it's been a handful of days since I've seen Venom 3.. and I think I've finally got my thoughts together.

This review will have spoilers, so it will go under the cut.

these are all my opinions, so don't take my word as gospel or anything...

Anyone who knows me and my blog knows how much I've loved these movies since 2018, so to see me not ranting about the third Venom movie should be evidence enough how I feel.

I... don't feel like this was a satisfying conclusion to the Venom franchise. I really feel like there was so much more that could have been done, and should have been, instead of what we got.

I truly feel that introducing Knull into the story was a mistake. The first 2 films were so much smaller scale. Expanding all the way to the fucking symbiote god after only having done Carnage just felt like such a massive leap. And they really didn't do much with him anyway.

It felt like they included Knull because they were obligated to. Like Sony made them in order to have a weird spin off involving Knull trying to kill stuff. I don't know. He didn't do much besides tease future movies where he's the villain again. And that's kind of boring...

I will sound so narcissistic saying this, but I truly feel that the story I came up with, where the villains of Venom 3 are former Life Foundation employees angry at Eddie for ruining their lives, made way more sense. In terms of scale, you know? Much less "huge universal threat" and more of the small scale "threat to Eddie and Venom specifically" type story. Even Riot, being a threat to the Earth, was smaller scale than Knull. Knull is just too much. Too big. Too unfocused. It felt like too wide of a net. It felt generic, i hate to say it. It just felt like every other dumb ass gritty movie where the bad guy wants to destroy all life as we know it. (And quite frankly, he could have been taken out of the movie and not much would have changed. Venom and Eddie could have been hunted by the xenophages for any number of reasons.)

The part of the movie that I enjoyed most was the beginning. The part that felt like Venom. Where we saw Eddie and Venom working in sync to free those dogs. I loved that. I loved seeing how far the two of them have come and how well they work together. .. seeing their journey in a montage later? That felt... lackluster. After seeing them literally working together just an hour earlier in the movie, it felt kind of cheap. The way the story ended for these two didn't feel like a victory. It felt like the Avengers Endgame "well we gotta get rid of this character because their contract is up" situation.

The movie was definitely a fun time. I enjoyed myself watching it. But I was left feeling a sense of "That's it?" That I haven't felt since Avengers Endgame.

I'm happy that Tom Hardy got to do these movies. I absolutely will forever adore the first 2. They're fun, they're goofy, they're gay, and I love them. .. but this third one just... yeah. I'm disappointed.

I will always love Venom. That much is not going to change. I love these two gay losers and I'm so happy I got to have them in my life. They brought me so much joy, and so much brainrot, and I will miss the fuck out of them.

[its-avalon-08]

Hello! I was wondering is y/n was a Verstappen!sister what would be her dynamic with the other drivers??????

hiii! okay so i would visualize y/n verstappen as a stunning, crazily intelligent, super stubborn and talented woman. just like her brother she would be an absolute terror (in a way that she is so insanely talented in her profession). also if i were to write a story about her, i would make her one of the engineers in redbull. she would be fiercely protective of max even though she's younger than him. { she is terrified of jos and max often covered her ears when they were younger to silence his shouts and screams } as for her dynamics with others on track -

max verstappen - being her older brother, he is super super super protective of her, often chasing away slimy men in bars. kelly and y/n are the closest of friends. y/n and p's relationship is the cutest ever, since p absolutely adores her

charles leclerc - close friend and almost like a second brother. charles often looks after y/n and alex's drinks in the bar when they are dancing. y/n loves alexandra and is best friends with her.

carlos sainz - y/n and carlos used to date when max was in toro rosso. max was furious when he found out. carlos was y/n's first. they still have a great deal of respect and affection towards each other but have moved on in a romantic sense. they are now close friends and often pull pranks on charles and max.

lando norris - boyyyfriendddd <3 they started to date in 2022 and fell deeply in love. they dated in secret for 6 months but max found out after seeing lando and y/n with matching hickeys (ooopsss) and swapped hoodies. he was so angry, but not because they were dating but rather because y/n didn't feel comfortable to tell him. he got over it fast enough after a crying session with y/n. lando adores the ground y/n walks on. he is openly whipped for her and has no shame about it. he posts her all the time over instagram and publicly sings praises for her, he often tries to ask her how she makes the redbull car so fast but y/n just laughs in his face. and btw they are so endgame <3

sergio perez (checo) - he is like a father figure to y/n. he gives good advice and helps her calm down when she gets angry at lando or max. he protects her from jos's tantrums.

oscar pisatri - they are good friends since they know eachother from F2. to be fair y/n likes lily more than oscar <3

daniel riccardio - he is y/n's best friend in the whole world ( much to max's dismay and jealousy ). he absolutely adores her to the ends of the earth. he is the same smiley guy who pulled y/n out of her eating disorder and spiral of shame after a bad race where the car underperformed. y/n assures him that his future in f1 is safe <3

part 2 soon!

BONUS { esteban ocon - no words required, she hates him. }

[ailoda]

updated: 09.02.25

ᯓ★ angst

When It All Falls Apart (❅): the fate of the universe was in your hands. Bucky and you had been sent to retrieve the soul stone, a seemingly simple task. Unbeknownst to you, there was a hefty price to pay for such an exchange. You’re able to return to Earth, but it’s soon apparent part of you was left in Vormir. - avenger!reader (@bucky-bucket-barnes)

The Same Thing (❤✧): during a mission, you put yourself in harm’s way to protect bucky. back at the avengers compound, he wants to know why. (@appocalipse)

I Don't Care (❅): following the events of Endgame and your death, Bucky gets fatally injured during a mission. Things don’t look too good, but is that really a bad thing? (@delusionalwriterr)

Can I Be Him? (❤❅): when Bucky finds something of yours, he hopes against hope that you feel the same way about him. (@literaryavenger)

Obsessed (❤✧): your crush on Bucky may be getting out of control. (@literaryavenger)

Consequences (❤✧): Bucky is a bartender and he has a favourite patron. (@duuhrayliegh)

I Will Always Come When You Call (❤❅): when reader accidentally calls Bucky, he comes running to find out what’s wrong. (@eat-limes-bitches) (warning: mentions of depression)

Bullet (❅): before he could comprehend what was really happening, he noticed the red liquid dripping through her fingers. Shock transformed into horror as they both realized that blood was literally flowing out of her body. Nobody needed to be a doctor to know the bullet had most likely struck through a major artery and that she would be dead in a matter of minutes. (@leascorner)

Timing (❅✧): Bucky and Steve bump into a very familiar woman. (@writtenfangirl)

Crawl Home To Her (❅✧): stranded without coms, alone, and bleeding out in the middle of a Russian snow storm, Bucky is content to let nature take its course. Only you won’t seem to let him go. (@wkemeup)

Sweetener (❤✧): when the vacation that you've been planning for months gets canceled due to a last minute mission, you can't help but feel bummed - the bright side is that you're being sent on a mission with Bucky. (@flowersforbucky)

Devil's Backbone (❤❅): when you fall in love with Bucky Barnes, you start hunting down anyone who has ever wronged him. What happens when he finds out? (@aquaticmercy)

Man Of The House (✘✧): without each other, Bucky and you wouldn’t know how to be. (@buckysfaveplum)

new! Red Light, Green Light (❅✘): sex with Bucky is better than you’d ever experienced, but he has a habit that draws your attention. (@bucky-bucky-bucky-bucky)

new! The Sun (❅): after the events of the snap, you find out news that's both heart wrenching and warming. what happens five years later when bucky's back? (@yourmidnightlover)

new! Five Years That Felt Like a Millenium (❅✧): it’s been five years since Thanos snapped his fingers. Five years spent all alone. Now Sam is back and he has a new friend. Will Bucky be the one to uncover the secrets behind the bruises lining her body? (@rosepetalsinwinter) (warning: illusions and mention of violence, abuse, manipulation, and cheating - nothing explicit)

new! He Hates Me, Doesn't He? (❅✧): you hurt Bucky's girl, and now he hates you. (@winterarmyy)

[marvelstoriesepic]

Angstober (day 17)

Pairing: Endgame!Bucky x Reader

Prompt: “Shhh…”

Word Count: 3.4k

Warnings: allusions to deep depression; very slight mention of suicidal thoughts; mentions of an eating disorder (neglecting food due to mental health problems); sad!Reader; sad and desperate!Bucky

Author's note: I'm so late, so sorry!! Actually planned on ending this way more angsty but I just couldn’t. Hope you still like it!

Angstober Masterlist

Not that you’re counting, but it has been 14 nights now. Two weeks. Nearly 340 hours since Bucky returned. He came back, along with everyone else who had vanished for five long years. But nothing else seemed nearly as significant as the feeling of seeing him again - the man you loved before the blip, during the blip, and thereafter.

Obviously, this was supposed to be a moment of pure, unadulterated joy. And it was for a moment. But you never felt the weight fall off you, that great release where all your problems just go away and nothing is left but love, relief, lightness - the kind of peace you can finally sink into.

But peace is far from what you feel.

You carry something in your gut; a stone lodged deep, heavy, and smooth to the touch but sharp on impact, that pushes your insides down and twists the knots in your belly into nausea. It’s guilt. So thick and visceral, it hurts, your body trying to reject it, to shake it, but you can’t breathe it away.

Because it’s also the 14th night of you leaving the warm and cozy embrace of two arms - one flesh, one metal - and the feeling of a chest pressed against your body just to sit out on the balcony, the exact same you spent ceaseless and lonely nights on when the world had emptied itself of Bucky Barnes.

Back when this place was only yours for the better part of the blip. With an old armchair placed to overlook the stars and form changing moon blinking at you from the blackness overhead. As if each of those tiny bright dots stood for something specific.

Bucky is asleep inside the bedroom, you’re supposed to be in right now. Wrapped safely in his arms, surrounded by the comfort of having him back. But the truth is, this comfort you should feel suffocates you.

You’re frozen. Stuck between two worlds. The one where you lost him, where you had to endure five long years without him, and the one where he returned as though no time had passed at all.

Five years living without him just for him to return to earth within the blink of an eye as if it was nothing. As if the time spent alone wasn’t agony in the worst sense of the word. As if your suffering didn’t even happen and everything just went back to normal in seconds.

You don’t know how to react. You don’t know how to be normal again. How can you just slip back into a love that feels like it was frozen in time for him but battered and painful for you?

It hasn’t been easy for anyone, you’re aware of that. Disappearing or not. Suddenly re-entering a world that had moved on without you, a world you never knew you even left, is a scary thought. But, honestly, it’s so much worse for Bucky. Your stomach, again, churns in pain.

Bucky has already lost so much of his life, trapped in decades he was never meant to live, a ghost haunting the wrong era. The world keeps slipping through his fingers, time moving around him while he’s frozen in place. Literally even. And now there goes another five years.

But you just can’t turn your head off. And you hate yourself for it.

The truth is, you’re not the same person you were when you met Bucky, started dating him - the one he fell in love with. A bright spirit, an effervescent soul, full of light, energy, softness, with a laugh that was infectious. That version of you is gone, taken by the same breeze that took Bucky years ago. What’s left was a hollow shell, lost in the grief of your greatest love story.

Time wore you down, erode pieces of you that you didn’t even realize were fading away until there was hardly anything left. Just bare bones of who you once were - a thin foundation, fragile, with crumbs already falling to your darkest depths, ready to be swept away for good.

How can you possibly go back to the person Bucky expects you to be? How can you pretend to be the version of yourself he fell in love with when it doesn’t exist anymore? When what’s left of her is irredeemable, too far gone to be resurrected?

You’re certain you’ll only end up disappointing him. If you haven’t already.

Fourteen nights you’ve been out here, on this balcony, sitting in that chair, wrapped in the dark, keeping yourself apart from him when you know you should be beside him. When all you ever wanted was to be beside him again.

Thirteen of those nights, Bucky has noticed your absence. The first night he found you out here, sitting in silence, you nearly snapped at him, frustration and confusion at the way you feel bubbling up so fiercely, you didn’t know how to contain it.

You told him to leave you alone. Insisted on it for so long until he finally, reluctantly relented, slowly retreating back inside with a tremble in his breath and clenched fingers. You knew he would respect your request. You also found out that he didn’t sleep a wink that night, since you didn’t come back to bed, wearing circles under his eyes that matched yours as he made you some breakfast in the morning you barely ended up stomaching.

Since then, you haven’t asked him to leave. Though you don’t really engage him in conversation either, only letting him linger. His presence is gentle, never pressing, always so patient, but it doesn’t make it easier. If only, it worsens the guilt, its fingers tightening around your chest, digging into your skin painfully. You don’t know how to let him back in, not when you’re still so tangled up in the person you’ve become - someone so worn-down, you don’t recognize yourself anymore, afraid to be confronted with the harrowing reality by looking in a mirror.

And every night, you wonder, silently asking the night sky, how much longer it’ll be before he realizes that the person he loves is someone he lost.

You’re waiting. Waiting for him to notice that this new version of you isn’t enough.

Every time, Bucky comes out to you, bringing you something - blankets, jackets, his hoodies, a cup of tea still steaming in his hands, or thick socks to warm your feet. He gets you all the things you never thought to grab in your rush to escape to the balcony, to get lost in the night air that bites into your skin but usually feels oddly comforting in its coldness. The chill always manages to give you a small sting of reality.

You never make the first move to wrap the blankets around yourself or pull any of the clothing items on, so Bucky usually does it for you. And he’s nothing but kind. Patient and soft in ways that almost hurt to witness. It’s in his eyes, in the way he watches you, never pushing too hard, never demanding more than you can give.

But his worry is etched into every corner of him like he is carrying it in his very bones. It’s heavy on his brows, weighing them down in a furrow that never seems to ease, lips pressed into a slight frown that tugs at the corners even when he tries to soothe it out.

It’s in the way his hands twitch, as if he’s fighting the urge to reach out and pull you close, but stops himself because he’s unsure if you want him to. He’s constantly walking that fine line, balancing between the space you seem to want and the need to be there, to comfort you, troubled with his own helplessness.

It’s in every considerate gesture, every thoughtful thing he does to make sure you’re okay, or at least giving you a sense of solace.

And yet, you can’t bring yourself to really talk to him. To explain what’s going on in your mind. To voice the fear that now lives there and which places it travels and where it settles down, lodging itself deep into your conscience, roots spreading and festering.

There’s no way to explain what drives you out here night after night, sitting in the darkness while your returned love waits for you inside.

It’s not that you don’t want to. God, you want to more than anything. But the words just won’t come, not making it past the lump in your throat. You’re trapped in a loop of thoughts; confusion, and guilt guiding them to twirl in your head like an indecipherable storm.

How do you even begin to explain that the person he’s so worried about isn’t really there anymore; that you’re afraid you’ve changed too much; that you’re not sure how to go back to the way things were, or if you even can? So while you remain silent, your mind races and your heart aches with the weight of everything you can’t say.

There are so many ghosts in his life and you don’t want to count yourself as another. But you don’t have it in you to do something about it.

As expected, the door to the balcony opens, quietly, slowly. It gets shorter, you notice. The time it takes him to realize you’re gone. As if he instinctively wakes up the second you leave his embrace. As if he barely has to stir to know you’re missing, to feel the cold, empty space where your warmth should be.

You wish he had given you just a little more time. Woke up just a little later. Nausea pools in your gut.

“Sweetheart.”

You pick up his whisper. You intended to ignore it, just as you had intended to ignore the quiet shuffle of his steps, the way he appeared in your peripherals like he always does. But the way his voice reflects so much of a fragility you can’t and don’t want to describe, your head lifts almost on autopilot, responding to him before your mind can even catch up.

He’s crouching down to your level in front of the chair you’re perched on, carefully lowering himself to your eye level. You hadn’t even acknowledged the bowl of pasta he brought until he set it down on the small table next to you, food you hadn’t even glanced at all day. As well as the blanket draped over his forearm he now deliberately wraps you up in. His hands linger on your arms longer than needed until he almost reluctantly pulls away.

He doesn’t take his eyes off you. Not for a second. Gaze so intense and solid, it undoes you. They’re filled with everything you try to run from, everything you try to bury deep inside yourself, everything you try to hide from.

You avert your eyes at the new wave of pain that tears right through your chest, intended to knock you off that chair, perhaps even off that balcony. Your silence is wearing on him and you know. You know that his brows are creased in worry, that his hands are trembling as they grab onto his knees to prevent himself from reaching out to you because he thinks that’s not what you want. That his touch is unwanted. His lips are pressed together as if holding back the flood of words he’s too afraid to say out loud.

Still, you don’t open your mouth. You don’t move closer to him to feel some of his warmth. You don’t look at him. All you do is let him down, night after night, as he watches you drift further away.

From yourself.

From him.

“Please eat something, love.”

His pleading voice again reaches you with the force of a knife, thrown straight to your heart, tearing through the blanket, your thin clothes, your skin, to embed itself into the organ that once held something so precious. A love so fierce, not only for the man in front of you but for the woman he fell for. For the woman that’s now lost in a body filled with coldness.

“Not hungry.” The words fall flat from your lips, monotone, your voice as hollow as you feel inside. There’s no weight behind them, no energy. They’re the same words you’ve been giving him all day, all week - really, for two weeks straight.

Actually, you haven’t been hungry in what feels like forever. The idea of eating, of caring for your body, feels so distant, so unimportant, perhaps even ludicrous, that you’ve stopped thinking about it entirely. Your stomach knots itself in protest but the thought of offering sustenance to your weary body pales in significance amidst whatever storm is brewing inside your mind.

Bucky never relents. Never gives up. Never stops trying.

But it’s heavy on him.

The pained sigh that ripples through his body, drags his shoulders down, his entire frame. His desperation is so evident, it’s standing out like a light that wants the attention of the darkness around you. His pain almost echoes like a sound, ringing in your ears.

He bows his head, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment.

Another stab. Another twist of the knife, that never really leaves your body anymore. It’s always sharp. Always intense. Always piercing. Because it never ceases to hurt when Bucky is in pain.

And he’s in pain because of you.

It’s always because of you.

His despair now is an extension of the love that triumphed against odds, yet now feels so misplaced, so undeserving in the wreckage that was left behind.

Every line of his body screams misery and it’s so unlike Bucky to carry it so openly. He’s not able to stop his hands from shaking, even though he’s clenching them into fists that leave his skin white. He’s not able to ease the tension in his jaw, the way his breath catches as though he’s holding back more words, more pleas, more desperation.

You know it’s your fault. You know this is a love he still holds for a person that doesn’t deserve it anymore. He holds on so tight. So fierce. And that’s what hurts the most.

A new sensation wells up, one you had consciously buried for the past 14 nights. One you hadn’t let yourself feel every time you got lost out here. It grips your throat, wraps itself around it, and squeezes, cutting off the flow of air. It’s choking you, as if in triumph, confronting the tidal surges of emotion you’ve been holding back for so long. It stings behind your eyes, making them swell and burn as tears form faster than you can stop them.

The sob that forms in your belly takes shape in a revolting way and you can’t grasp it properly.

So, when it finally escapes, it’s heart-wrenching. The sound rips from your chest violently and guttural, tearing through your lips before you can do anything to keep it inside. Your hand flies to your mouth, desperate to stifle it, but it’s useless.

Bucky’s head snaps up with so much vigor, and he stumbles in his rush to reach you, arms shooting up, eyes wide with alarm. His hands move toward you without hesitation, disregarding the fragile boundaries you had set, the cautious distance he believed you’d wanted.

You’re shaking, shoulders trembling with the power of the cries that rack through your body and he pulls you against him.

He cradles your head against his chest, his other arm pulling you closer, closer, closer. His grip is so full of anguish, holding onto you like his very life depends on it, his warmth fighting against the chill that’s been living inside you for such a long time.

Your sobs come harder, sounds muffled by the fabric of his hoodie. Bucky tries to hold you tighter, letting you crumble against him.

Minutes stretch out and your cries don’t let up. Each breath you take is painful, rough, and with every shudder that convulses your body, Bucky grasps you firmer.

“Shhh… it’s okay, baby, I got you.” His voice sounds so soft but frail, hoarse with the effort of keeping himself composed. He keeps whispering, though his words tremble on his lips as if he’s battling the same ache that’s threatening to break him apart all the same. His face is buried in the crook of your neck, and you can feel his breath against your skin, shaky and uneven, trying so hard to be the anchor you need.

“Shhh…” he breathes again, but there are tears in his tone. He’s holding on so solidly, gripping you as if letting go would mean losing you entirely.

“I’m sorry,” you cry, the words tumbling out over and over because it’s all your scrambled mind manages. It’s the only thing that feels true in the mess of your awareness. The silence, the distance, the weight you’ve placed on him, on his shoulders, which should be free from burden after the hell he’s been through. He’s only just come back from five years of being lost to the world, and now you’re drowning him in your own grief. And that makes your tears come without control, the guilt crushing.

“I’m so sorry,” you sob again, the only thing you can offer. An apology isn’t enough but it’s all you have. Because you don’t know if you’re supposed to hold onto the hope that maybe, one day, he’ll forgive you for being too much, for not being who he needs anymore.

Bucky shakes his head against yours, strong, fast; his breath broken. “No,” he breathes, rough and thick. “No, baby, don’t apologize. There’s nothing to apologize for.”

Squeezing your eyes shut, you try to drown out his voice. He’s too nice. Too sweet. Too forgiving. Too patient. Too Bucky.

Shaking your head, you grip onto him. “You should leave me.” It’s louder than anything you’ve said the whole night. It’s more resolute. It sounds more like you, but it still doesn’t seem to come from you. Because never in seven years did you believe those words would ever make it past your lips. Would ever even be formed in your mind.

Bucky pulls back. Not harshly, but urgently, in a panic, determined. His hands cradle your face and he only moves his head away a little to get a better look at you. His eyes, wet and glassy, lock onto yours, filled with pain so stabbing it matches your own. But there is a resolution in his eyes, a firmness in the small glimmer of blue.

He shakes his head as if something is breaking in him.

“Don’t say that. Don’t ever say that,” he whispers, his thumb brushing away the tears on your cheeks that keep rolling down even as his own spill over. His touch is so gentle, so tender, so loving and you feel the guilt that settled deep inside you in a war with the longing you had felt for so long. The longing to feel his touch in a way that always knocked the breath straight out of your lungs. The longing to have his eyes sear right through you as if you’re the only thing in the world that holds worth.

“This isn’t your fault,” he continues. “None of this is your fault, Y/n! Alright? Nothing you could do would make me leave you. Hear me when I say this, my love. Hear me when I say that I'm here. And I'll stay.”

A sad, wobbly smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. “There’s no getting rid of me, sweetheart. Nothing you could do would ever scare me away.”

Something cracks open inside you. His words, his touch, his gaze, everything is so full of love. And even if it’s just a little, the compressing weight of guilt loosens. It will take many more nights for it to completely leave you but Bucky will walk this road with you. You’re sure; because in his eyes, the way he holds you against him, you finally see that he’s not asking for the person you used to be. He’s asking for you, as you are, as you’ve become, broken pieces and all.

He’s still loving you with a depth your guilt could never reach.

[love-byers]

i had the misfortune of ending up on mileven tiktok by accident and found some gold

dude. how many times do we have to say its not the fact that they're standing next to each other. its the fact that they're standing next to each other when all the other characters are paired off with their significant other with significant space between them. they are SANDWICHED between two couples that they have numerous other parallels with. like you have to be playing dumb if you think we're just saying byler is endgame because they're in the same proximity. and WDYMMMM MIKE ISN'T EVEN LOOKING AT HIM why does that matter?? the whole point is that they're all looking forward at the fucking apocalypse beginning. nancy and jonathan weren't looking at each other, joyce and hopper weren't looking at each other. why does that matter?? and holy shit watching them try to analyze media is hilarious. the byler commenter was very concise an respectful and ofc the mlvn has to be backhanded. no, the 2 minute scene of mike saying i love you is not random, it's actually meticulously crafted so that we're able to tell mike is lying...

uhh because WILL IS THE MAIN FUCKING CHARACTER OF SEASON 5 AND THE WUOLE POINT OF AN ENDING SHOT OF A SEASON IS TO FORESHADOW THE NEXT SEASON???

do they think we're making this up???

he is the center and lead of season 5 and his arc is going to tie the whole series together. but nah they just paired him with mike and left him in the background on the hill just because el needed to be in front. they could've done a million other set ups where it actually comes off that mike and el are a team and in love and want to work together. they could've had those couples together and then had will alone or behind them and done a close up like they did with el in the actual scene, but no, he had to be with mike. and not only is he with mike, he and mike are paired off together and CENTERED. the CENTER of season 5 is CENTERED in the final shot of the season and he is standing with his long time best friend who he is desperately in love with. and all of this is foreshadowing for season 5, which if you've forgotten, is all about connection and finding belonging with others.

"People talk about mythology and The Upside Down, and all that is huge, but the magic of S5 are the characters who find a sense of belonging with other and through that connection, become heroes."

"[Season 5] It's about a group of people who question their value, who find each other, and who find superpowers in connection."

remember when mike beat himself up and questioned his value as a person because he feels weak and powerless and stupid next to el and then will gave him a painting where mike is a literal knight in shining armor and and confessed his own feelings about how mike holds everything together and makes him feel like he's better for being different and gives him the courage to keep fighting and how he'll always need mike and that finally made mike feel reassured

yeah...

alright you guys have to be lying. you can't think of a single reason why people would ship byler?? not a one??? you know what actually, you're right. why on earth would people ship two characters where one is canonically in love with the other, they've been best friends since the first day of kindergarten, they are always a duo, they have a special friendship compared to the others, one said asking the other to be his friend is the best thing he's ever done, one thinks home isn't the same without the other, they hold hands, put their arms around each other, always look out for each other, etc etc ETC. no yeah i don't see it

was the person who confirmed this named mike wheeler...

no yeah we just say random things. those of us using the knowledge we gained in film school/creative writing school to analyze a form of media are just saying random things. i just love making shit up!

mlvns are so silly lol like they really think they know more about film/writing than people who STUDY IT AND DO IT FOR A LIVING

[loveindefinitely]

༊*·˚ FOREVER WINTER (IF YOU GO) — task force 141 x reader

08 — HONEY, HELL IS WHEN I FIGHT WITH YOU

featuring. simon 'ghost' riley + johnny 'soap' mactavish + kyle 'gaz' garrick + john 'bravo six' price + (non-endgame phillip graves)

warnings. nsfw, fem!reader, fmmmm, enemies to lovers, slow burn, polyamory, ghostsoap, pricegaz, alerudy, heavy angst, requited unrequited love, graphic violence

series masterlist. read on ao3. read on wattpad.

<- previous part | next part ->

Chicago looks stunning, at this time of night.

Some windows shining with artificial light, the odd shop sign lit with neon colour. Driving alongside the river, you watch as the water ripples, knowing that Gaz and a team of Marines will be down there. Next time you get a chance, you’ll ask him if he has a surfboard or two.

It’s cool, in the SUV, Laswell behind the wheel while you sit in the passenger’s side. A laptop sits on your thighs, running hot against the cargo, opened to a screen you can’t even begin to understand.

“First, we find the missile,” she says, eyes focused on the road as she manoeuvres down the quiet late night streets. Soft music plays from the radio – a way to steady you both more than anything. “Then, once this is over and the boys are getting ready to head back to base, we’ll talk.”

“Just worry about, y’know,” you start pulling your hair back, “Saving lives, and shit.”

Laswell hums, amused, and you figure it’s as good as a laugh coming from the put-together woman. From what you know of Sarah, they seem to be a perfect match.

Your window’s down, the past-midnight breeze brushing your face. It’s cool, leaving your hair to stand on end and lips to feel dry. Swiping your tongue against your bottom lip, you look to the rearview mirror, seeing nothing but road and city behind you.

It’s then that the laptop starts flashing, a red dot pinning a warehouse shed three blocks from where the two of you are driving. Laswell immediately looks to it, switching her radio on in the next moment.

“Watcher-One to Bravo-Six Actual. Perimetre is secure. We have a possible hit on the missile container. We’re moving in now,” she reports, steadfast, as her foot presses down further on the accelerator. You wind your window up, looking between the laptop screen and her.

There were many different conditions to experience, when being trained for Special Forces, or a position of leadership. It wouldn’t always be as simple as being given a building to raid and neutralise, or having a detonator in one hand and a pack of ammunition in another. Sometimes, there were covert missions, ones where no fighting or blood would be necessary.

But you could say with absolute, complete certainty that you’d never experienced something like this.

It’s somehow more exhilarating, more terrifying than any sniper’s scope focused on you, to be sat beside Laswell with the task to find a missile. Even when you don't have to do anything but watch, listen, it makes your blood run cold where it trails from your heart.

Laswell’s eyes are narrowed, a determined glean to them as she pushes down on the accelerator further, the speed of which she’s driving sending spikes of adrenaline to your heart.

“For what it’s worth,” you say, looking to her from your peripheral vision, the lights of the city cascading her skin in an array of colours, “I believe in you. All of you. You’re going to save lives, Laswell. I know it.”

She doesn’t respond, but her frame eases, and her fists loosen slightly from the wheel, her knuckles quickly gaining their colour once more.

The laptop starts flashing once more, vibrating, too, and when Laswell quickly scans the contents, she slams her palm against the wheel with a hiss. Your eyes go wide, heart pounding in your chest, foot going tap tap tap.

“Watcher-one, we’re on the target floor. What’s your status?” Price’s voice crackles through the radio, and the sudden rumble of the earth beneath the vehicle is felt down to your bones.

You’re not a specialist in missiles, or technology, for that matter.

But you can guess that this isn’t exactly good.

“Laswell, Sweetheart – what the hell was that?” Price asks, voice as close to panicked as the headstrong man can sound.

Meeting your eyes, Laswell gives you a knowing look, before saying, “John, the missile is active, it's in first stage. Be advised- controls are not in the container.”

How the men tasked by Laswell can find all of that in a matter of minutes, you’re in shock. The two of you were serving as main communicators and on-ground support, connecting the two different goals of the mission. You would get out if it came down to it, but all things considered, you were the only one in the operation without a direct assignment. 

“That means Hassan has them,” Price curses into the radio, “We’re pushing into the target area. Out.”

A spark starts at the base of your spine, travelling up in bursts of movements. A reaction, a warning, your intuition coming into play again.

“Laswell,” you say, tap tap tap, “I need to get to Ghost.”

She looks at you, then, like you’ve truly lost it. Maybe you have. Maybe this is the beginning of you gaining it, after everything else has been taken from you.

Maybe this is the beginning of the end.

“Alright,” she says. “Alright.”

She takes the left.

*

“Fucking hell.”

Your shoulders ache from the weight of the bag strapped to your back, sweat clammy where it sticks to you like a second skin. The night breeze caresses your exposed skin, your gloves burning hot from the friction of the pulley underneath your fists.

Ghost, you realise now, had had it very easy. Got dropped off from a helicopter, no scaling needed.

But you, and your shitty gut feelings, mean that you’re trying your damnedest to get to the top of this building, lack of planning or concrete evidence the least of your problems.

The pulley pulls to a stop as you use the momentum from a swing to grip your hand onto the edge of the roof, using your arms to pull you up, torso flattening over the concrete. With a few kicks and leverage from the wall, you manage to scramble full-body onto the floor of the roof.

“Christ,” you curse, head aching as you stand on wobbly feet, hooking the rappel onto your belt and bundling up your rope to slide into your vest.

Just as you’re about to look around to find the very man of whom you’d come to greet, the feeling of silver against your throat and a chest against your back has your body stiffening. The silence, and that miniscule scent of timber has recognition ringing in the back of your mind.

“Starting to think you get off on holding me at knifepoint,” you say, words coming out breathy as the knife presses just above where your previous wound’s been wrapped up. Your lips remain parted as his chest meets your back, his head above your own. The stars glisten around you, the darkened night the only thing you can see in the distance, apart from the building where the mission’s taking place.

“I can assure you,” he grits out, words brushing against your ear where he crowds your space, “When I ‘get off’, you’re the last thing on my mind.”

“Well that’s not fair,” you retort, eyeing the ground around you, attention spiked, “Your little Johnny gets all the fun, hey?”

The knife clatters to the ground, the weapon being replaced with Ghost’s strong grip, his hand bruising your windpipe where he squeezes. You let out a small cough, eyes watering when he continues to apply pressure.

“Don’t pretend to know anything about me,” he squeezes harder, and breathing is suddenly a very difficult task, “Or him. Or us. You’re a distraction from our goal, and you will do well to be reminded of that.”

He releases his hold on you, and you find yourself falling to your knees, coughs a grating sound in the quiet of the night. You inhale deep breaths of air, eyes squeezing shut against the ache in your head. Turning to look at him, you meet his dark eyes with a snarl.

“Why do you hate me so much?” You ask, the words coming out without conscious volition. The words are croaky, your expression a mix of disbelief and pleading. “Tell me, Ghost, what it is you have against me.”

He takes a step forward, truly looking down at you like you’re nothing but a roach on the ground.

His eyes blaze with something you can’t quite place when he kneels down, picks up his blade, and meticulously places it back into his belt. 

“I will not let you hurt them,” he states, “Even if it means killing you.”

The crease between your brows softens, and your throat works around a swallow as the two of you remain in a suspended silence. No radio, no warnings – just you, him, and the cool of the night.

“I’ve given you ample time to go through with that threat, Lieutenant,” you reply, standing back up to your full height, head tilted back to meet his gaze head-on. You study him as his eyes flit over your features. “I think your hatred runs deeper than your love for your men.”

“Do tell me, Colonel,” he bites back. It’s as if nothing exists apart from the two of you, in this moment. “Tell me what could possibly be worth more than my men.”

You don’t back away, don’t loose a single breath out of place.

“The fact that I outrank you,” you challenge, rising to his bait, rising to the tips of your toes, “And that I fit in easier than you ever have.”

He stumbles back.

Like you’ve delivered an actual shot from your rifle, or a swipe of your blade.

His eyes are wide, beneath his mask – stark against that of his greasepaint. The very same greasepaint spotting around your own, mostly wiped off from the day’s work.

Opening his mouth, he’s about to say something, anything, a threat, a promise –

Sharp pain strikes through the edge of your cheek, a pained gasp falling from your lips a moment later. 

Ghost raises his gun, bodily stepping in front of you, eye to the scope of his rifle as he fires a shot. The crackle of your radio starts a moment later, the side of your face throbbing, blood trickling down from the wound.

“Bravo Zero-Seven, we’ve just stationed more men for overwatch. Several unknowns have been reported to be heading for your position!”

One of the members of Bravo Team – he sounds panicked, frantic.

Stepping from behind Ghost’s shadow, you unhook one of the guns Laswell had lent you from your backpack, switching off the safety and looking around the perimeter of the building. 

It’s…

“Clear,” you say, lowering your gun in confusion. “Where the hell was I hit from?”

Ghost turns, then, immediately focusing on your cheek. He goes to raise his hand, taking a step closer, but thinks better of it and lets it fall back to the weapon in his hand. Your hair blows with the increasing wind at this height, catching in the blood on your face and making you hiss.

The way he stands over you, now, feels like a complete one-eighty to how he had when there was bloodthirst in his eyes.

No.

Right now, he’s looking down at you like he has a responsibility to uphold, a mission to protect you. Split between looking to his wrist, and your bloodied and injured face, he mutters under his breath as he pulls something off of his ligament.

“What…” you start, but trail off as he gestures for you to turn around. You raise a brow, and deliberately cock your gun, making sure he eyes the movement, before you do.

He can’t kill you when you’re about to fight for your lives, you think. And, he might be a bit of a nutjob, but he wouldn’t actually kill you.

…Right?

Your thoughts pull up to a halt, however, as the hair on the nape of your neck stands on end, a flurry of sensations jolting you into standing to your full height.

Gloved, large fingers brush your bare skin, threading through your hair. They brush against your face, too, gathering excess strands with the mass already gathered in his fist. Wrapping a band around the ponytail, you feel yourself shiver as he pulls away once more.

He’d.

Tied your hair back.

The sound of boots against concrete and the shifting of leather has the two of you disbanding immediately, getting into familiar battle positions.

A tiny voice in the back of your mind screams, your intuition was right!

“Charlie-One to Bravo-Three,” you murmur into your radio, “Unknowns scaling overwatch point now. Will report when we’ve neutralised all targets. Out here.”

You switch off your radio – and look to Ghost with a small nod. He gives one back; and you think, briefly, that it’s the first non-hostile interaction you’ve had with the Lieutenant. Except for the doing your hair thing, something that you will most certainly discuss with the man later.

The first unknown grapples onto the building, and your heart sinks.

You switch your radio on as Ghost delivers a clean shot through the soldier’s head.

“Bravo-Three, Watcher-One, they aren’t unknowns.” Your heart thunders, and your eyes narrow as you pull the trigger on another to your left. 

“They’re Shadows.”

*

There are many times in your life where you’ve had to make an impossible decision.

When you were just a child, you had to choose between mourning the death of your mother, or using the pain of her absence as a way for you to grow. For you to become.

It had been impossible, then, but you’d made the choice. Made the best one, even.

Now, it feels much the same.

Ghost, bullet in his thigh, unsteady on his feet, is going hand-to-hand with the last Shadow. 

Soap, hidden in the destruction Hassan’s floor’s become, is silent, painstaking with every passing second.

You, left arm bent where it sits uselessly, are struggling with the blood in your eyes, the throbbing in your head, the weight of one last mag in the sniper set on the edge of the roof.

Oh, how things have gone sideways. The pain of watching your men be pit against the 141, against you like this, is an unimaginable sort. Not unlike a splinter in the tip of your index finger, or a bruised, painful stubbed toe.

Ghost is yelling something. That much you’re sure of.

Soap looks damn near unconscious, from your position.

“Sweetheart, Ghost…” Your radio crackles, the faint voice of Soap like a shot to your system. Both you and Ghost reply, simultaneous, pained and unsure, with his name. 

“Soap.”

“Watch the window…” Soap grits out, and even with the sounds of grunting and kicking and violence behind you, you lean into the sniper, eye against the scope as you move the gun, before stopping as you spot him.

And, oh, what a state he is in.

Blood splattered all over his frame, head hanging limp as Hassan drags him to the shattered window, careless with the man’s broken body.

If Ghost wouldn’t kill you for it – if you wouldn’t run the risk of killing him – you’d try and shoot the man atop of him with the sniper. A fruitless cause, with their frantic tossing and turning, the pride and stubbornness of the Lieutenant fighting with everything he has.

Seconds stretch out into what feels like hours, before you’ve lined up the notches, perfect shot aimed for Hassan’s head.

You’d never been one for long-range weaponry. Always was an on-the-ground kind of girl, better with blades and short-distance guns. Preferred the weight of them in your hands, the grim of which the dirt slid against your uniform.

Snipers had never been your thing.

You could count on one hand the amount of executions you’d performed with one.

A breath in, a breath out.

Ghost lets out a grunt, and another punch sounds. Wind whistles through your ears.

A breath.

You pull the trigger, and Hassan falls.

Black filters in your vision, pulsating spots, mind a mess with the impact and previous concussion and pain in your arm. The adrenaline crash, after all this time, it was happening.

And it was happening fast.

Soap says something, you think, but you aren’t sure. Can’t be sure, not with the state of your body like it is.

On your knees, your good arm supporting your weight, you blink with heavy eyes as Ghost and the last Shadow roll around, guns having skidded off of the roof. Just fists, flesh and vengeance.

Why were they here?

Just to sabotage the mission? Even if it aligned with Graves’... Shepherd’s goal, too? To take you back? To kill the 141, witnesses be damned?

Your backpack. A pistol, in one of the front pockets. A way out. One last opportunity.

Shrugging off the pack with unsteady hands and filtered vision, you wrestle out the small gun. It fits into the palm of your hand comfortably, and you raise it, arm wobbling and every ounce of energy sapping out of your body, as if magnetised by an invisible force.

It’s so dark. Night encompasses everything within its grasp, including the men in front of you, including yourself. 

The mission was a success. Hassan was neutralised. The missile self-destructed.

Ghost and the Shadow struggle, and with sluggish movements, you manage to rise to your knees. Stilted and slow, you find yourself upright, feet on the floor, and frame bent over.

It’s something, a more reasonable position, a hope.

Jumping back to his feet, distancing himself from the Shadow, Ghost goes to stomp the man’s face in.

Your bullet is faster.

It rings in your ears, eyes trying to flutter shut as the gun shakes in your hands, body taking an involuntary step forward. 

Ghost, too, is fast, wounded or not.

Just as you find yourself fading, falling, allowing every last drop of adrenaline to evaporate from your body, your injuries and emotional turmoil catching up to you, hands wrap around your torso, and a warm chest keeps you upright.

You think you hear something, but you can’t be sure.

If you’re at all reliable, it’s Ghost.

“I’m going to be the one to kill you, Sweetheart, not a bloody Shadow.”

taglist. @lilpothoscuttings @jng-yuan @iruzias @insatiablekittie @1wh4re1nova @kaoyamamegami @supernaturalstilinski @inthemiddle0feverywhere @msecho19 @nogood-boyo @alfa-jor @lalashhyl @letmeapologise @honeybeeznutz @1mawh0re @oreo-cream @lalashhyl @someonepleasedateme @letmeapologise @uhhellnogetoffpleasenowty @inarabee @simp-sentral @littlecellist @clear-your-mind-and-dream @browtfyoudoing