#i wanted to try and redeem this somehow by being pretty but gods i really hate how this turned out

[pyonzzz]

【 portrait of a rabbit 】

[itsss4t4n]

Helloo!! Could you write Gn!reader x Ethan Nakamura headcanons where they go from enemies to lovers? Not only that but reader is still in CHB which is why they're enemies at first. Don't be afraid to fully put all your thoughts, I'd love to hear them! 🫶 Thank you so much.

a/n: Sorry that this took so long to write. For some reason writing headcannons is way harder for me than actual fics. I still hope you enjoy them <33

warnings: none, light mention of bullying (barely really), mention of family issues and trauma (no detail or description just that he has it), my headcannons are bad

- i think until the battle of new york they only knew about ethan from waht percy and annabeth told them. 

- knowing his reasonings they probably felt kind of sorry for him but it wasnt enough to make it okay in their eyes.

-during the battle they fought each other at least once and they recognized him because of the eyepatch.

-when ethan somehow survives the final fight with kronos and is at camp again, they are still really wary of him.

-ethan honestly is trying to redeem himself and is helping in camp whereever he can.

-at some point they are sparring together and get to talking, and realize that they have a lot in common, and ethan explains a little more  why he joined kronos and about his past, etc.

-i feel like when you are finally civil with each other you would become friend pretty quickly

-he feels like he can actually trust you, especially if are also a child of a minor god, because you can understand his feelings pretty well

-at some point you develop feelings for each other but both of you are oblivious idiots and need some talking to from each of your friends to realize it.

-you think your friendship is already to fragile because of how it came to be, so you dont want to risk it by telling him about your feelings.

-it kind of slips out when one of you gets hurt during capture the flag.

-now onto your relationship:

-honestly you fit realy great together, weither you are really similar and kind of scary when you're together or you're polar opposites, somehow it just makes sense.

-being a son of nemesis he would probably take revenge on anyone that is mean to you because you didnt deserve it.

-i feel like he would be kind of scared of intimicy and especially PDA at first, but after some time he gets more used to it.

-at that point he would seek out physical contact with you. Holding your hand, having his arm around your shoulder or waist, just anything to touch you.

-i also think he has severe abonment issues so that also plays a part in the touching. he is constantly trying to make sure that you dont leave him.

- he loves hugs, hug him. The first time you did, he almost cried because it had been so long.

-hes got so many issues and so much rauma honestly just help that man

-he loves kisses

-kiss him

-go on

[sunshine-in-a-bottle]

hello, suds :D

i come with six ships for the shipping bingo card (pick and choose which ones you want to do): c!dreamnoblade, c!dreamza, c!awesamdrunz, c!aswesamdream, c!awesampunz, c!drunz (for the first two you can also use the bingo card from here (https://www.tumblr.com/sunshine-in-a-bottle/764332055865835520)

I am frothing at the mouth. God you are being so nice to me right now and letting me be insane. I appreciate you so much.

DNB^. I did both because of course I did. I love your template I Needed To Use It.

DNB obviously got a lot more for the second bingo than the first because they are objectively the healthiest possible pairing you can get here. Look at them. Theyre perfect for each other. Theyre narrative foils, theyre parallels going in opposite directions but forever side by side in their path. It would have to be a very specific universe for them to even BEGIN to be able to make each other worse.

I know because of the way things worked it couldn't be called something canon, but in a world where the DSMP was made in a different medium, DNB would have been an excellent endgame for both of their characters. It maximizes their healing. They both get to be understood at a fundamental level, and seek comfort that they just wouldn't be able to get from other people.

Techno gets to take care of someone who really needs that care, someone who laughs at his jokes and finds him funny, someone who is rewarding to try and make laugh, because god knows Dream tries so hard to be insurmountable. Dream gets that personal attention he so desperately needs without being enabled or placated, or shut down for expressing clear boundaries. Literally my only gripe with the pairing is that its so healthy that I can't go batshit insane about problematic behavior like I like to do.

But honestly the yearning can be so intense that it makes up for anything else. My god can these two yearn, quietly but intently.

Dreamza^. By god this is the greatest crack rarepair to have ever existed in the history of ever.

Its so incredibly unlikely to happen just because of how canon went, but they have so much hidden potential as both a character study and for Shenanigans. They're both admins. They meet for the first time because Philza broke into Dream's server. Philza's son has made Dream's life miserable. Dream is like a younger version of Philza in all the confidence and control and burgeoning power that leaves Philza with both a sense of deja vu but also makes him feel like he's back in the old days, when things were a little less complicated. Dream is reckless and has no self preservation, but even if he has the skill to back it up, Philza still can't help but want to watch his back. Dream's trust is fragile and intense and hard-earned, and doesn't it feel good to earn it? To see this silly young man who endures the world feel safe to reach out a hand to Philza and let Philza take it?

Also the AU concept of Dream being an insane coder with no training VS Philza who actually knows what he's doing and is fascinated and horrified by how Dream runs the server is funny, okay?

Also Kristen can watch them fuck, no notes.

^Awesamdrunz. Listen. Listen. I experience mental illness. I'm going directly to super hell. There's so many things wrong with them, and with anyone else this would go terribly but somehow they make it work. This is somehow the healthiest relationship they could achieve. They can make each other so much worse in some ways (excusing each others crimes) but they could also make each other so much better in others (Dream heals, Sam is redeemed, Punz feels less alone.) I read 100 fics about them and they were all my own. I too want to be an evil necromancer who is consistently loafed on and gets self care.

I didn't mark "I wish more people would ship them" because honestly I'm pretty content with the amount of people who do ship them already. This ship is one part porn, one part crack, one part angst, and three parts kidnapping, I'm not expecting everyone in the fandom to turn around and go THERE IT IS. THE SHIP OF ALL TIME when its such a specific flavor of insanity and doesn't have a ton of canon merit. I like being able to bother my friends about it, and everyone who wants to sit with me on tumblr and ao3 and rotate it with me is nice and good. This feels comfortable.

^Awesamdream. I had to take a break from writing this and came back wondering "why didn't I put that they were perfect for each other." maybe it was for Torture in Prison reasons??? Maybe I was thinking about how they aren't a ship that is perfect in a healthy sort of way, theyre both so mentally ill about each other from prison after all, and Sam's control issues don't naturally blend with Dream's control issues.

But I kind of don't mind that they aren't perfect for each other? I don't think they need to fit like a glove, weaving in and out of each other and completely complimenting the other. Their hands don't fit perfectly- if its post prison, especially, since Dream's lacking a couple fingers- and Dream steps on Sam's feet when they dance. But it feels good to write them a little messy, a little fucked up, but still able to Be Good to each other, Sam towards Dream especially. Not healthy, but happy.

(admittedly, I had to write them like that myself for the most part when I first joined the fandom. Most of what Awesamdream was at the time was torture porn and angst, because YKnow, Prison, but I really wanted to explore them Being Happy and wasn't sure where to start. I'm really grateful for the dreblr discord server for giving me a place to write a lot of my early fics for them.)

^SamPunz. Do you understand how delightful these two are? Do you understand The Vibes that they give when they're together. Listen I'm rapidly running out of braincells but I love to imagine just. In the CKAU the way that Punz fundamentally changes Sam for the better by forcibly instilling boundaries that Dream can't instill on his own.

The way that Punz is so misanthropic, so distrusting of people and so angry at the world and at Sam for what he did. Punz isn't sure they want to believe Sam's capable of change, because in their mind it would be so much easier to kill him and be done with it.

But Dream wants and hopes that Sam can be better if they just try, so Punz is forced to Not Kill As A First Solution. Punz is forced to deal with the an absolute travesty of a creeper. Punz goes from "humanity can't be saved lets kill the server and everything on it and becomes gods" to "actually people might be able to change and become better. I don't like having feelings about this. I don't like having to reckon with my own humanity. Goddamn it Sam."

Listen I'm just rotating Punz pushing Sam against the wall, holding the Communication Knife to his throat, and threatening him. Sam is trying very hard not to find this extremely attractive. He is failing.

I need them to fuck.

[pinkprimrose05]

character asks bc other anon was a coward: blade

HAJFTOVNWHYFAGDYSDNTJ

General opinion/How much I care about them: Ren Blade Yingxing my beloved beloathed depressed miserable angsty bastard aaaaaaa-

This man, oh my god. This edgy mess is somehow the second fastest blorbo to be coined as such in my blorbo-having history, and I think that alone says a lot. But even if not, he has his special little spot for being: 1) my first HSR fave, 2) my current main (the gameplay is ridiculously fun holy shit), and 3) the reason I downloaded the game at all (shoutout to Bronya, of course, but it was mainly Ren).

Also I really like the fact that he's genuinely batshit insane. An unapologetic menace to the galaxies. He can be so unhinged and evil sometimes, and that's a new flavor of fave in my collection. Did I mention the story doesn't try to redeem him at all? Because it's true! Extremely uncommon win on the hyv writers' part there; doubly so because they manage to balance this aspect with the subtle gap moe they love to give to all their stoic characters.

Yes. Ren is simultaneously edginess incarnate and a tired grandpa that sucks with words and doesn't know shit about technology. Oh and he keeps getting roped into Situations by his colleagues- and goes along with them all the time! The dude was literally asked to pose for a movie cover and he just. did that. No questions asked. Nothing.

I care about him a very normal amount. He's so neat and- oh my god I forgot to mention the aesthetic. Black/blue/red/gold is such a banger color scheme. He also has a spider lily motif and that looks very cool! And the pretty ribbon on the back of his coat is a 10/10 design choice. His only problem is that the game keeps forgetting to edit his silly beta design sneakers out of splash art, and that the washed out jeans clash hard with the coat. But otherwise? Perfection. I could (and did) stare at him for hours on end.

A ship I love: Kafblade is one of those pairs that you can read as romantic or platonic with equal efficacy and I love that for it. They're partners in crime! There's a great sense of trust and faith between them! They're each other's guardian and tether and the one who understands them best and they're such an awesome dynamic, good lord.

Honorable mention goes to jingren for the old man yaoi potential to take the relationship in a very (bitter)sweet or very sad way. There's something to be explored here and I wish canon could give it consideration someday.

A non-romantic relationship that I love: Stellaron Hunter agenda!!! They're so awesome individually and as a group, and the comedy is just lovely. You have Ren wrangling two terribly reckless women because in some way, by some miracle, he happens to be the braincell holder among the three. You have him trailing after Kafka on one of her shopping sprees with a whole bunch of bags and coats, you have him going to an arcade with Silver Wolf because she wanted to show him this brand new game she's been talking about nonstop for four days, and you have him in an impromptu shooting session with them both because they wanted to make silly movie covers and needed an extra actor.

They're one small hilarious family and I adore them so so much, you have no idea. Can't wait until Sam and Elio make an appearance in the story so I get more fuel for shenanigans.

The NOTP: None here sir, as long as the ship is normal it's fine by me.

My biggest headcanon about them: Ren is autistic and you will pry this hc from my cold, dead hands. He's stuck in his own head 80% of the time. He doesn't do conversation at all. Back when he was still Yingxing, he used to spend so much time at the forge when inspiration struck him, to the point of tuning out everything until his friends physically dragged him out to touch grass. He's an autistic nerd through and through, and even several thousand deaths can't take that from him.

An idea for a fanfiction I would like to write/read about them: One idea I've been curious about lately is what would happen in a roleswap scenario, where the Astral Express crew find Ren before the Stellaron Hunters do. He may not make for a great archivist, his state of mind may be less-than-stellar, but it's interesting to imagine the dynamics between him and the crew- and hey, who doesn't love taking sad guys out of situations for a change?

I'm filing this concept for later, just in case. Who knows? The writing ghost visits when I least expect it.

Something that makes me think of them: Everything these days The flute, the sound of wind blowing, red spider lilies, and -to the immense detriment of my composure in public- mentions of the word blade in any context ever. Why gee, thanks for permanently altering my brain chemistry.

[cleocatrablossy]

Stupid fucking gf au where the axolotl forces Bill to stay at the mystery shack post theraprism to ‘redeem himself’. He doesn’t really manage it I’d bet, I mean he destroyed his whole home dimension- y’know? Ford immediately tries to shut this down, then Stan comes outside and also tries to shut this down. But there’s only so much you can do against a fucking god(ol’ Ax over there) so they’re stuck with him. Night one Stan tries to feed him to the wolves, it works until Ax brings him back. The axolotl is way too invested in trying to get Bill to better himself and so keeps. reviving. him. Probably as some sort of personal soap opera(not really, he’s just being stubborn. Also it’s pretty funny). Moving doesn’t work either, whenever they tried to buy a new place it’s somehow always changed back to the deed for the shack. The axolotl will not let them kill Bill, or avoid him until he’s ‘better’.

Then the twins show up, they are horrified by the news but there’s nothing they can really do about it. And so the games begin.

Dipper probably has the least amount of a reaction, he just pointedly ignores Bill. He’s annoying sure, but because he probably wants attention and Dipper has no reason to give him any. Plus he made the decision to take Bio over the summer and has to put a decent chunk of his time into that, so it makes the perfect excuse.

Stan is absolutely Livid about the fact that Bill is in the shack, but after realizing punching him again won’t do anything since he comes back Stan has resorted to mocking Bill as much as possible. If fists don’t work, words will and making fun of someone who sees themself a god is absolutely devastating. He once also tied him behind the boat when they went fishing, not trusting him at the shack alone figuring Bill might start breaking stuff(he’s absolutely right).

Ford has also taken to pointedly ignoring Bill outside of interrogations on the theraprism, what exactly he did beyond weirdmaggedon, what he’s supposed to do to ‘redeem himself’, if he’ll get lost if he does this, what is with the Axolotl and why won’t it let them kill Bill. He also will sometimes lock himself in his lab(9/10 older siblings recommend this method for getting tiny and annoying bastards to leave you alone), with a changed password that literally everyone but Bill knows.

Mabel at first seemed to have the most positive reaction, just staring in shock and leaving, until she returned with guacamole and a saw in case ‘cracking him didn’t work’. She gets a lot closer to Ford and McGucket as she tries to learn how to make various Rube Goldberg machines in an attempt to rules-lawyer a way into killing Bill. Her reasoning: The axolotl said that they couldn’t kill him, but if it was an accident or Bill technically killed himself it could work. So far through a comedy of errors it they have at most resulted in mild harm to him, and more commonly miss by the slimmest margin so it’s still unclear if the tactic could work. The absolute most committed to seeing the triangle die.

I’ll work out more later but this was just a random thought I had while cutting foam

[shokos-lazy-life]

Hi!I am new to your blog and I noticed you read the Demon Slayer manga so I hope I don't spoil something for you!The thing is I am brainstorming this idea that I may or may not turn into a fanfiction of reverse demon slayer thing but instead of Tanjiro and Nezuko,it's Yoriichi and Kokushibou?Any help?Do you think you maybe have any ideas?Thank you in advance and also I love your blog, it's really pretty!

Oh my god,you are adorable!

Thank you for the compliments!

And welcome to the Kimetsu no yaiba fandom,I promise everyone is lovely,well so far I haven't seen anyone making any fuss.

I think we are all too sad for that hahahh.

You are writing a fanfiction?!Go for it!I am sure it is going to be amazing!

No worries I don't mind spoilers.

and reverse?

As in Yoriichi and Michikatsu are the main characters?One a demon and another a slayer trying to turn them back?

That is an amazing idea but gosh it sounds daunting I wish you all the best.

As for if I have any ideas?Sure,I am no writer tho.

Also you didn't specify who's the demon and who the slayer.

I think I saw fanart,really good ones too,of Kokushibou as Nezuko and Yoriichi as Tanjiro somewhere,that could be used as inspiration,I am sure.

But since Yoriichi has been through enough in my very biased opinion I'll go like this!

So that last interaction between Yoriichi and Kokushibou was their final moments too.

Let's go with Yoriichi blitzed Kokushibou and one shot him out of misguided guilt or because he wanted his brother to find peace or whatever.

Like I don't think that screws with the canon that hard,like Muzan will find a new Upper Moon who cares.

So they both died leaning on each other and as Yoriichi is older and human he dies faster and falls on Kokushibou disgusting him in process because Kokushibou gotta Kokushibou,until the little flute falls out and Kokushibou spots it.

And then it's tears and guilt fiesta and lamenting and feeling sorry for oneself as Kokushibou ought to do.

And finally Michikatsu is back.

And promises to do better,to protect Yoriichi in their next life,to be a better brother. Because here Yoriichi went against himself and his own vow of not wanting violence to fulfill his duty,like the shock and sadness probably killed him here.

Realistically Kokushibou would still be mad but shhh we need that guy to have some redeeming qualities.

Michikatsu dies clutching the flute and Yoriichi's hand.

Yoriichi dies crying and clutching his brother's hand.

Upper Moon 1 is no more.

Hopefully his clothes stayed with Yoriichi's corpse and someone found them and buried them because anon the fact that we don't know what happened to Yoriichi's body after he died haunts me?Okay?Haunts me!

We know what happened to Uta,but Yoriichi?Nada!

Gotoge I need to talk!

Was he even buried?Did Kokushibou eat him?Did he bury him?Was he just left there to rot? Kokushibou was obsessed with what he left behind and made sure along with Muzan that Yoriichi basically got erased,did he just use some blood art fuckery to erase him? Hopefully someone buried my guy.

I got sidetracked.

But yeah in this au maybe Yoriichi gets buried with his brother's kimono and the flute.Hopefully by either a Hashira or one of the countless people he saved.

God forbid the Kamado's or Sumire somehow find him.

I am a big supporter of that amazing idea that Yoriichi got banged by the Kamado's like a screen door during a hurricane.

I mean Tanjiro bears such a resemblance for a reason yes?

Of course it could have been gods being cruel enough to reincarnate Yoriichi into Tanjiro or just basically curse Tanjiro with Yoriichi's life.

Seriously what if the reason we didn't see Yoriichi waiting for Kokushibou like every other demon got is that he is physically there as Tanjiro and therefore unable to be there?

Now that I think about if this crazy idea has any merit than Yoriichi got what he wished for and by the people he saw as family too through Tanjiro!A simple life with a family that lives him but Muzan still fucking exists!

That whole the people you help,help you back thing really is applicable here!

It's either that or Sumire,Suyako and Sumiyoshi all sat on Yoriichi and he is weak for them so..Only explantation I am allowing.

That or Kokushibou deserved eternal damnation but damn you can't tell me Yoriichi wouldn't have fought god himself to give that fucker a hug.

Again side tracked.

So some years pass and Yoriichi and Michikatsu get reborn again as twins because irony.

Now you can choose who's older and what families they have,do they have more siblings etc.

I personally would have put Michikatsu as a older brother to,you know,repent?

But it works even if Yoriichi is older because Michikatsu would have a brother complex anyway.Man just built too old Japanese.

So Yoriichi hopefully gets a clean slate because trauma and also give him some peace damn.

But Michi probably has some complex and self worth issues because he constantly thinks he isn't enough.

Maybe he remembers a la Tanjiro,thru dreams and random phantoms getting him down a peg or twelve.

Their names could be completely made up,the same,they could be descendants a la Muichiro and Yuichiro,could be Kamado's,whatever you want works.

You have extra guilt points if they belong to Tokito's or Kamado's with Michikatsu's jealousy about Kamado's obvious if he remembers.

Anyway they went to town or stayed home or whatever vague reason you could give so these two can meet Muzan.

And considering Muzan is a crackhead really anything works.

But whatever they are just walking or sleeping or minding their damn business when they see Satan.

Muzan obviously shits himself out of anger and fear both because Kokushibou and Yoriichi are both standing there.

So he grabs Yoriichi.

Instead of killing him which would be the smart choice,he turns him into a demon obviously.

Because Muzan is nothing if not pathetic,dramatic and ineffective.

Thing he panicked hard and was going to grab Michi first but instead in blind feral panic got Yoriichi, because like the ultimate asshole he was,he was about to recreate Kokushibou and have him kill Yoriichi because Muzan sucks like that.

And so gave him a huge amount of blood and panicked and gave him more when he noticed it Yoriichi hoping he would just explode or something.

But nah gods aren't done laughing at all of us so Yoriichi does turn and jeez he is pissed,that fucker tried eating his brother.

Meanwhile Michi is horrified because what the fuck or frozen if he remembers anything at this point.

So you just have demon Yoriichi and Muzan shitting himself and duking out and Yoriichi fucked him up but no nichirin blade so they have to wait until the sun.

A Hashira runs in to a most horrifying and baffling scene ever.

The progenitor of all demons is getting his ass whopped by what looks like a twelve years old juiced on demon blood and his brother is there holding a random object as a weapon.

There is gore and viscera on the floor everywhere.Muzan eventually throws in the towel and blasts off,leaving because Hashira or the sun is up or something.

A very pissed off Yoriichi and shaken Michi and a baffled Hashira stand there until Yoriichi notices the Hashira and starts attacking.

Michi finally get his shit together and jams the flute into Yoriichi's mouth and like fuck is Yoriichi running that precious gift so he calms.

Hashira tells them to get the fuck out off the sun because demons burn in it,but nah it's been the morning for a few hours now and Yoriichi just swinging his legs on the porch completely fine.

Because his existence is meant to fuck with Muzan,and yeah he conquered the sun immediately.

Now the Hashira has the daunting task of explaining all this bullshit to the others and Oyakata-sam somewhat coherently.

Bonus points if the Hashira is either Muichiro or Rengoku for double gut punch.

Now Michikatsu gets to be a slayer,a poor main character and hopefully a better brother with Yoriichi as his overpowered cute sidekick.

Chaos abounds!

Now for the short points:

Yorii is on demon time all the time and instead of people the sun powers him so he is yet again the boogeyman to all the demon and a personally insult to Muzan because fuck that guy.

Yorii is straight up feral,he bites,kicks,growls if you look at him or his brother wrong and his blood demon art thing is probably some unholy mix of sun breathing and demon magic bullshit,like he kicks you and now that part is permanently sun burned,so he is lethal to fight against and as fast as the actual sun.

Yorii adores kids and babies especially, everyone is too afraid to ask why.Like give him the butterfly triplets and he is entrained for hours playing hide and seek with them.

He looks demonic all the time because the amount of blood he was injected with,so like slit eyes,hair probably blood red and a unholy cross of sun shading and blood shade tips in his hair.covered in head to toe in the sun mark that of course sprouted on his forehead because of course it did.

Yorii walks around in his twelve years old form unless he needs to help someone reach something and then he turns 6 ft and gives Michi a hear attack.

Yorii prefers the kid form,he can feel his brother is uncomfortable with his adult form.

The flute is constantly in Yorii's mouth and he has this adorable habit of calling for Michi by playing a short tune on it.

So far only Uzui and Michi figured out the flute language down.

Hashiras are just baffled and sometimes unnerved by the small demon just lounging in the sunlight but it's completely peaceful,surely it's just a child?

A victim yes?You only get his side eye if you have some evil intention to his brother or whoever Yorii adopted into his family.

Michi of course has a guilt complex over 9000 here.

Especially if he remembers,dear god.

He failed,dear gods,did he fail.

And now he is also feeling guilty for anytime he envied Yoriichi,he is kinda offended that even Muzan's blood doesn't matter to Yoriichi tho.He really is blessed.

But all the guilt and self hate works out here because he gets decent company to tell him just how stupid he is.And he gets to beat demons with a stick.

He doesn't have people comparing him to Yorii now either.

The wonder of having better people to talk too.

He probably learns fire breathing or water breathing but modifies into Moon breathing baffling everyone because that's a thing?

He hangs out with Muichiro,Rengoku,Uzui, probably Shinobu?

He is always praising Muichiro on his talents but despairs over his lack of tact and manners.

Muchirio finds him an encouraging nagging mother hen and his brother a weird little bird.

What friends he has depends on how much you change the canon?Are the upper moons the same?

It will hilarious because Michi is such a chaotic idiot but loves to pretend to be a straight and honorable man and that leaves the Hashiras completely bamboozled because the man can be peacefully meditating and then turn around and yell at Muichiro because manners you ill mannered brat!How did descendent turn out like this?!!

And what was that even supposed mean?

This weird crochety old man who's actually a twelve year old!

Yorii doesn't give a fuck,his brother is the best brother.

And then the angst and anger you could pull if the Hashiras find out who Michi actually was and the angst of meeting Muzan again.

But hopefully by now he would have a better support group and more perspective and a knowledge that he isn't the only person important or wronged in this world!

As I said this fic has a lot of potential,a little research to be done sure,but if you are passionate about it,go for it!

I would personally read it and most certainly love it!

Also I haven't asked what genre you wanted so if it was horror or humor or smut?

Go ahead and ask,I am not here to judge after all and I love trading ideas!See ya and all the good luck to you!

I hope this helped!

[mysteriouspenguin29]

i can’t experense how underrated Allen in some writing were he wasn’t so  awful how he hint to be kind of awesome one stories and slighter newer say he just really cool with Lilly being Asexual and not really wanting anything to do with sex saying he doesn’t need sex in his life to be happy with her god that kind of underrated line of mine.to Lilly who try to understand Allen understated but acknowledge of his kink of being tied up. Lilly doesn’t treat it as oh it must something Allen has gone through into the past. he just really fucking Like being dominate  by women and men   understand enough he like that and finds enjoyable.it even kind hinted though it never explored that she dabble into it. it never treat as bad thing. to her even talking about her feeling for another guy to him to thank god not be monsterly  jealous but really hearing her feeling out and them try to make this relationship into a poly relationship he pretty chill with the idea. dear god Allen who called zackery  in the very ancient  stories to be kind of possessive at point to him fucking killing her daughter and her being just fine with it. to now just being a healthy relationship  can’t be under stated

character now a day some fan fic and art tend to just go for the classic jealously and misunderstanding. which i know people in real do, but it just so seen these fan character kind of being Possessive a little of their partner for daring to talk to some else. i get we have doubt and insecure  if often written that way too. but i kind of sick of seeing so often.

i just really like writing now a day  characters fucking talking to each other for once in their goddamn life to see from their preservative. Vincent and Raphael has been really healthy friendship from the beginning they has always been these great pair of friends who i love to draw and write. while yes Lilly tried to ask Astrid what went wrong with their friendship to Astrid to never say is cruel but given how awful implied they were as friends maybe Astrid to be silent is just kind of her saying were to begin or everything just to her not begin what went wrong when it was always wrong., though Astrid and Lilly relationship never really get explained which i want to do more. Astrid when she was first written was just the villain with no backstory to her and Lilly having this hating relationship for no good reason. it implied Astrid mother is so awful person who tell Astrid what to do, dictated her life so much Astrid really never had a say. as it says Astrid mother planned Astrid future with her having no say how it goes.

Astrid was always to me meant to be a complex bully character who really never changes cause she doesn’t see her attitude problem  i seen so much the bully rich girl in Disney getting redeemed as it so often the case their parents are dicks. their suffer trauma blah blah blah. it interesting that Astrid while having some element of a tragic backstory and dick parents. she is also rich and a bully doesn’t change her way cause we got to face the fact that some bullies don’t change as people until their just punched in the face for it. i often see how kid even me where taught just the ignore them and they’ll go away as you just feeding into them somehow while ignoring in a way  is feeding them. what I’m saying that statement is goddamn big ass lie i ignore my bullies as they said i should did they go away fuck no it made it worst. it often said the bullies to be really taught anything is the need a swift kick or punch in the face from the victim as they realize their victim is not taking their crap anymore. i see people talk about how once they hit their bully the bully just left them alone. the teacher saying oh violence in isn’t the answer when they take no action on acting solving the issues. the bully may getting a talk to from adult but often then not they don’t learn a goddamn thing they just go back to their old way while faking promising they’ll try better when they don’t.

anyway enough about my experience with bulling back to Astrid i guess she was kind of defy that character type in the way.  wasn’t this about Allen was been here longer and not Astrid a very new character.  I’m sorry I got carried away with ranting about my passion with these goddamn character.

[sakebytheriver]

This fandom had no problems shipping Willow with her lifelong bully Boscha, but the moment Willow is shipped with someone who respects and is clearly interested in her suddenly everyone and their mom are clutching their pearls crying about age gaps and trauma (nothing against bosch//low but all this discourse is really grinding my nerves)

Oh God, don't even get me started on B*schlow, remember those Notps I talked about?🤮 (tbh i could prolly write a pretty long rant post about that ship and my points would have a lot more logic in them than any of the antis in the Huntlow tag, but guess how many posts in the B*schlow tag you'll find written by me)

Tbh I think a lot of people see a gay ship and think that that automatically makes it somehow better and healthier than a m/f ship without even thinking about the dynamics or how the characters fit together. Like no doubt people have been making posts about how Huntlow isn't as good or subversive as B*shlow or H*ntric because it's an m/f ship instead of being gay without taking into account the fact that it's an interracial ship with a fat woc.

But also shipping and the romantic relationships the show makes canon are not about how many boxes you can check off to get diversity points. Huntlow is a ship that was clearly meant to have some more kind of depth and development to it from the little we can see from the show so far, like the parallels of them both being considered "Half-a-witch", the way their character developments basically start and end in the opposite directions, how they both came from a place where people put them down and belittled them for their shortcomings but they've both found people who help them find their greatest potential, the mutual respect and admiration they have for each other, it is clear to me that the writers are trying to speed up a ship timeline that was supposed to be a lot longer than the timeframe they're forced to work within, with the multitude of different ship dynamics they have clearly tried to inject into this couple with what little time they have left. There's a reason why B*schlow was never going to canon, the characters don't fit together the same way, the dynamic is one that was always meant to be one dimensional bully that serves more as a plot device for Willow's character development than the Lumity dynamic the fandom tried to push it towards, not to mention that if the ship was to become canon then Willow would be acting as Bosha's teacher and redeemer which she basically already had to do with Amity, but with Huntlow they're both meant to be fully fleshed out main characters that come together in a dynamic that strengthens their characters in a mutually beneficial way that serves both of them individually as well as a couple, they meet each other near the end of their original character developments meaning they meet at the right time to walk together towards their next character developments, because the two of them went through entire arcs individually learning to stand on their own, the next obvious step for their characters is them learning how to be their new selves while with another person

Tbh I just really don't get what the issue with Huntlow is here, like why is this the ship that broke the fandom? I mean, the obvious reasons are there, of course, the racism, the fatphobia, the general uproar that comes when the fandoms favorite white boy falls for a woc instead of the other pretty white boy or girl they wanted him to fall for, but like God I was not expecting to have to fight this hard for this ship when we've only got 3 more episodes left before this show ends for good. Like are there not more pressing things we could worry about other than a very cute, very nice, very healthy ship between two traumatized kids who have never been seen as anything worth looking at twice until the other person saw them

[xerayn]

You were heading home from work when it happened.

Frankly, it was an exhausting day. Not only did several people complain you needed to get something done, or you were late on a deadline (It wasn't your fault that you had to balance uni work and a full time job, while somehow having free time. There wasn't enough hours at night)- you had to fix the coffee machine and the photocopier for everyone else. With no thanks.

When the workday finally finished, you were barely keeping your eyes open. You did manage to find your car keys and switch the radio onto the local station before having the usual power nap. After that, you then began the tedious journey to get back home, barely moving a metre every minute due to the heavy traffic.

A song that you knew came on the radio, and you began to hum while tapping your finger on the steering wheel in time. A horn honked loudly, and you frowned, confused. There was more cars about in the area than usually, maybe there was an accident? The usually busy shops were strangely empty too.

The song ended, and with it, all sense of normalacy. The radio host began their usually calm and upbeat discussion between songs panicked, and uncomposed.

"Wait, what?! Really? Oh, woops. Uh, anyone in the Shibuya area, specifically around the Scramble crossing, vacate immediately! A huge battle is going on with the Misfits and otherworldly beings. Officials are starting evacuation protocals, but it is extremely dangerous."

You looked around and silently cursed. You just wanted to get home, not have to deal with yet another event in history.

"Updates will come swiftly as soon as we can get them. In the meantime, enjoy this next song, an absolute banger by-"

You tuned out after that. No way were you going to listen to another, most likely cringey, popular song when you might be dying in the next few minutes. Slamming the door shut behind you (and yes, you were right, a horrible catchy song had started playing), you weaved in betweeen stationary cars and people rushing to get away from the scene.

It's not your fault you were curious. You had a bad day, might as well try to redeem it slightly with an awe dropping scene.

And it was beautiful.

Monsters, in all sorts of forms, were being vanquished by young adults, members of the self-dubbed "Misfits" who appeared out of thin air seemingly to defeat the monsters. There were two members closest to you, one of each gender. One was a tall, muscular boy with short grey hair, who swung a peculiarly shaped (and heavy, it must not healthy to be swinging that around in that way) sword? Weapon? He was moving too fast to tell. He dealt in close combat, naturally further away from you and closer to the source of the action.

You were inclined to ask the boy later, before the cops arrived, how to get his sword. It would make a good party trick, and make you look cool.

The other girl was a little closer to you, but not by much. Her black hair reached her shoulders, the tips dyed a bright red colour, contrasting her tanned and freckled face. She held a staff, that you could tell, which was curved and wooden and old and wise looking. She shot out what could only be spells, because oh my god she just incinerated a monster without even flinching just by muttering and moving her staff. She was long ranged and covered for the boy's blind spots that nearly got exploited.

Now that you think about it, she's coming closer-

"Look out!"

You were pulled to the ground suddenly, back complaining. Oh great, these new clothes were now dirty too.

"You should evacuate along with everyone else. It's dangerous out here," The girl pulled you back up. "Also fyi I go by they/them, non-binary."

Great, you accidentally misgendered them too. But things were looking pretty bad, and you were wanting to watch your favourite show in an hour so...

"Ok. Sorry. For the pronoun thing. And you're awesome. That's all. Bye." You spluttered out while you began to embarassingly cooly slid over the bonnet of a car. They nodded back in response before joining the sea of battle again.

And, to be fair to yourself, you did run away. Just... slowly. The scene was pretty, even though this was most likely a traumatising event. You were probably just coping.

It was about fifteen minutes later when somebody flew by you, and landed harshly in front of you. It seemed to be a young ....girl- you were nervous now in case you misgendered someone again- who had some sort of dark mist around them and in their... clothes? Who were you kidding, this was some sort of video game plotline.

Your eyes widened at the realisation. This was Gwynn Satsujin, the kid who was kidnapped for two years, who escaped but did not remember anything, but then combated the monsters that arrived at her school with powers unknown. The leader and person who named the Misfits. The one who was on the run from the police.

You were pulled out of your thoughts by the girl groaning, and the mist disappearing around her, showing her deep cuts and pale skin. Her eyes suddenly became tired, and the bags underneath became darker.

"Are... you ok?" What a stupid question, she flew through the sky and the cuts.

"The best I've felt in a long time." She chuckled sadly, pulling herself into a sitting position. You hovered, unsure.

"Um..." Wait, she looked familiar to you. More familiar than just seeing her face on the news all the time.

"That probably doesn't make sense to you. Nevermind. I haven't seen you in a while."

Ok. Now that confused you. Before, it was just a vague feeling but that statement just made the feeling stronger. You racked your brain trying to remember where you had seen her before.

"Tell me... are you still sick of the routines of this reality?" Gwynn was coughing blood now, and you tried to help her. This was why you should've taken that First Aid course instead of playing on the school computers.

"Uh, kinda. Days get boring and tiring. But never mind that. You are bleeding. Are you ok?" Why did you keep on asking that.

There was nothing remarkable about her at all. There was everything remarkable about her. Except that she, a complete stranger, a friend sat down next to you & said with sincere compassion, “I am so sorry old friend, but you’ll have to face it alone now.”

It was that look of pity that stuck with you, and not how she died the very next moment.

Not how peaceful she looked at such a gruesome death, nor how she looked so thin, and how pale. How she aged two years in an instant, and yet not at all. How new injuries appeared in an instant and her clothes did not have the black mist veins in them anymore.

No. It was the fact you said hi to her in the corridors in your last year of high school every time you saw her. Just because her hair was a nice shade of pink and others seemed to ignore her.

It was that she called you a friend, and she looked at you with such sadness.

You couldn't help but cry.

There was nothing remarkable about her at all. Except that she, a complete stranger, sat down next to you & said with sincere compassion, “I am so sorry old friend, but you’ll have to face it alone now.” It was that look of pity that stuck with you, and not how she died the very next moment.

[omg-just-peachy]

just Steve being voted Best Hugger by all the avengers 🥰

he totally WOULD BE and tony would totally think he is the sole recipient of Steve Hugs and find out that this isn't true when they're on TV or something

****

"Most likely to eat your leftovers?" Jimmy's gaze lingers on Clint, and he cackles when everyone says "Tony" unanimously instead.

"Excuse you? Whose leftovers have I eaten?" Tony pretends to pout at the camera. "Clint is way worse than me... Bullseye over there has no scruples!"

"Ah ah, don't try and distract us with big words," Nat says, lifting an eyebrow and smirking at him from her seat three chairs away. "You're a menace after a night in the lab, nothing is safe."

Tony tries to catch Steve's eye, see if he'll come to his rescue, but he's laughing, too, his eyes crinkling up at the corners in that way they have when he's really having a good time. It's hard to even pretend to be mad when Steve's looking like that.

They're on Jimmy Fallon after saving slash destroying the city. Fury had decided they needed to redeem their image in the eyes of New York, which is how Tony came to have his character assassinated by his teammates on live TV.

Tony rolls his eyes. Know Your Avengers is the internet's favorite game, apparently, and Jimmy's team had collected hundreds of thousands of replies on Twitter all day in preparation.

"Oh, okay this is a good one. Who snores the loudest?"

This gives them pause, because after years of living together and falling asleep watching movies, they've all heard each other snore. Tony whirls around to face Thor, since his snoring is truly out of this world loud, but the group seems to be divided between Thor and Steve, making the audience laugh.

"I'll ask Jarvis to run the data when we get back," Tony promises.

"Aww, this is a nice one actually," Jimmy says, holding a card aloft and looking between them again. "From Maisie in Florida, who wants to know which Avenger gives the best hugs?"

"Steve."

Tony hears the name leave his mouth, which makes sense, since they're dating. But since when did the rest of the team go around hugging Steve?

"Unanimous! There you have it folks, Steve Rogers is the Avenger with the best hugs. The rest of us can only wish to be wrapped up in Captain America," Jimmy teases before they break.

Tony leans down and squeezes Steve's hand. "You get best hugger and I get biggest raccoon, how is that fair?"

Steve smiles at him, softer now but just as genuine. "You're a very cute raccoon."

Tony scowls. "Plus, since when are you giving out hugs?"

"Don't be jealous, Tony," Bruce says on his other side. "Steve's just a very calming presence."

"I know that, but—"

"I hug him all the time," Nat says, cutting in. "Not that we're going to talk about that on live TV," she adds.

"You?" Tony's pretty sure he'd be more likely to get a hug from an actual, venomous, Black Widow Spider than he would from the woman sitting in front of him, but what does he know.

"Steve is strong and very firm, but still somehow soft," Thor chimes in sagely. "The perfect ratio for hugs."

"God I didn't know there was a scientific equation for hugs," Tony huffs. He isn't jealous of his friends and teammates. He isn't.

Not that much, anyway.

"You're my favorite person to hug," Steve says, smiling over at Tony now. "Promise."

"Yeah, yeah," Tony says, though as silly as it is, he can't help but smile when Steve takes his hand in his and gives it a squeeze before they're live again.

[overwatch-does-stuff]

"How pissed would I be if they got a heterosexual love interest in OW2?" - a tier list

Explanations below cut:

"GOD PLEASE NO" category:

Bastion: Not that I don't think that Bastion shouldn't have enough agency to flirt, it's only that Blizz would force Bastion to be male and their love interest to be female and THAT would make me furious. Plus there's so much more interesting things you could do with their character. If hetero romance is the only spot where my bot gets screen time there's going to be violence.

Soldier 76 and Tracer: should be pretty fucking obvious lmao

Reinhardt: If I attempted to explain my reasoning on why Rein is aro/ace this post would be incomprehensible. TL;DR I want this old and still single character to not lament about how he's somehow incomplete just because he didn't find a romantic relationship. If I ever hear the words "I regret that I didn't settle down" come out of Reinhardt's mouth I'm assassinating Blizzard's lead writers.

"Mad" category:

Ashe: they'd just write her as a tsundere. Plus have you seen this woman she's so gay. I'm claiming her for the lesbians.

Moira: I just think she'd much rather use the men close to her in her life as lab experiments instead, you know?

Orisa: To be fair, do you really think she'd be interested in any romance at all at this point in her life? Romance isn't going to protect Numbani.

Symmetra: Not that I don't think she shouldn't be in a romantic relationship, it's just that I think she deserves a girlfriend, you know? I can feel it in my bones. Plus I think blizz would try and make Lucio or perhaps a Vishkar employee the hetero love interest and THAT would piss me off so badly.

Sigma: this man needs therapy first, jesus christ

Ana: This woman's already sacrificed her family once in the line of duty. She just flat out wouldn't seek out another vulnerable connection like that, I think.

"annoyed" category:

Junkrat: this dude getting any screentime would annoy me, actually, so I guess I'm not biased against him being straight??

Mercy: She's already so cookie-cutter already!! Being straight would somehow make her even more statistically average as a character!!

Pharah: I would prefer that the writers focus on her mommy issues first.

Sombra: I could see her fucking around to manipulate men for information but I think she's got too much of a complex to actually let herself be emotionally vulnerable in that sort of way a love interest demands.

Hanzo: this man is sad and pathetic. no woman would be attracted to him. (WAIT ACTUALLY ALTERNATE JOKE- he had a wife and now he's post-divorce with zero fix-it tension. I think that'd be funny, actually. I would accept that.)

"Neutral but still not wild about it" category:

Reaper: whatever Blizzard is planning with his old family is probably going to come to fruition, and I can honestly say I'm indifferent as I never was a R76 shipper.

Cole: He's charming enough. Seeing him flirt with women wouldn't be like pulling teeth.

Widowmaker: "redemption through love interest" sort of thing?? I'd probably be madder if I actually cared about her as a character. She's also here because of Gerard shenanigans. Angsty murder-regret-pining for him would be tolerable.

Baptiste: see Cole's notes, but also add in the interaction that confirms he canonically loves MILFs

Echo: "learning how to be human through love with a man" falls just close enough to the manic pixie dreamgirl trope to set off my alarm bells but not enough for me to place her any higher on the list.

Doomfist: I could see him having an evil wife that's doing the evil shenanigans with him. Actually, I would like to see whatever design Doomfist's wife might have. I think that would be badass as hell. But on the flipside there's an equal chance that Blizz could think that pairing him with a non-evil innocent little lady could redeem him or add angst or something and that keeps him thoroughly out "okay" territory.

"Okay, I could be on board" category:

(there's a surprising amount of people here!)

Lucio, D.va, and Mei: These three all fall under the same category for me, and that category is "I think they'd be cute with their crushes". Of all the Overwatch caste, these three give me the strongest hetero vibes. I can't explain it. I apologize

Roadhog: I could be on board with him finding a gal that softens him up. Only caveat is that the gal shouldn't be conventionally attractive either or I will eat Blizzard alive.

Winston: Have you seen this guy? I think it'd be cute as hell to have him try to flirt with girls. "but he's a gorilla-" shut the fuck up. Let him have his moment!

Zarya: okay here I have to explain. You were probably expecting her to be up in the "GOD PLEASE NO" category because you thought I might claim her for the lesbians. And that assumption. . . kind of pisses me off? Because every frat gamer boy back in 2016 looked at her nontraditional femininity and the only way their puny minds could rationalize seeing a woman that wasn't tailor-made for their boners was to just slap the lesbian label onto her. She got labeled a dyke as a very hostile thing against her character, so I think it would actually be more forward-thinking for her to be open to male love interests. Bi or straight women shouldn't have to fear "looking too masculine" in their search for men. TL;DR I think she'd appreciate a femboy

Zenyatta: He's just so sweet! He can be in love with anybody he wants to lol, man or woman or neither.

Brigitte: Okay, okay, this one's on me, but Brigitte reminds me way too much of my sister, who is happily married to her loving husband and I can't get that out of my brain. I apologize.

Genji: He's almost exclusively here for the joke that he's been happily married to a loving wife for three years now, and nobody knows about it because he keeps his private and work life extremely separate, and he just never thought to bring it up until Torbjorn mentioned anniversaries. Just to really, really stick it to post-divorce Hanzo and whatever Soldier 76 has going on with Vincent. (I'm not sure why this bit is funnier when it's a wife instead of a husband, but it is. Trust me.)

Hammond: I want him to have a human girlfriend back in Junkertown. No explanation. She even knows he's a hamster. She doesn't care.

"(Canonically married to the opposite sex)" category:

Torbjorn: Torb my beloved you're doing amazing sweetie, you go spoil that wife of yours!! You treat her nice and well!!!

--- tag section

@ow-anteater I apologize but I need you to see this. You should make your own tierlist lol I'm interested in your thoughts on the matter.

[zuffer-weird-girl]

I may be hella afraid of birds but that wont stop me from making this.

Injured wing

The poor thing was in the balcony of the apartment. Making sounds and flapping their wings at ferocity to try to take flight again as you watched in pity.

Taking a warm towel from the dryer, your boyfriend's one since it was the comfier to be exact, you picked up the squirming little brow winged creature and took inside. You didn't had the heart to leave it out there, especially due to the snow.

While taking things out of cabinets, you didn't noticed your phone buzzing with the notifications of a certain... top hero calling you.

.

.

.

"A nightingale." You mused as you read on the internet what type of bird was now having fun on bathing on q small pot of water and singing to its heart content "How adorable!" You gushed as it shock out of the droplets of water as you carefully put a sorta of a tiny sling on a popsicle stick to mantain its feather that seemed to be broken stood on place.

"Sorry buddy, guess you're gonna have to stay like this for some time." The bird seemed to calculate your words before tweaking as you giggled at its cuteness.

That is until you heard the door opening and clicking shut.

Fuck. Keigo.

You grabbed the bird delicately and put it on a box filled with a soft towel and placed on your bed before going to open the bedroom's door to see a soaked wet, hair flat and worried hero with a frow.

"Is this some sorta of revenge or what? I was worried sick (Y/n)! You weren't answering your phone so I thought something happened." You picked your phone in confusion.

"You did?" Shit "oh..."

"Yeah. 'Oh.'" He crossed his arms before sighing cupping your cheeks "Why did you stood me up? I thought we were going to have dinner together on that restaurant."

"God!" You face palmed "I totally forgot! I'm so sorry Kei!" You whined as he let out a chuckle.

"Is fine. Although I would like if you compesate for m-"

Before he could finish his sentence, you both froze when a couple of chirps were heard. You analyzed his expression and soon giggled in nervousness at seeing his wings puff up in alarm.

"Was that.. was that a chirp?" He yed you, his pupils dilated as you took a step back with a smile.

"I.. I dont know? Maybe they are out there singing." You rolled your eyes and sweated when he towered over you as you kinda protected the nightingale inside the box with your body.

Yet the chirps intensified...

"There is a bird in here." Hawks more accused than asked as you giggled in nervousness once again.

"A bird? Why would a bird be-" the nightingale manage to escape the box and tweaked at both of you "...here."

"What is he doing in here?" He asked, if you didn't know Keigo enough, you could assume he was... unpleasant.

That's why you were so hesitant on showing the little nightingale to him in the first place when he showed up. You werent blind, and knew Keigo had some bird attics that showed up here and there. It wasn't as frequent as it would be however he was resting if the commission hadn't somehow put their hands on it. But Keigo didn't hold much strings around you. So... you could clearly see that your boyfriend wasn't happy when another one of "his kind", especially a male, he could tell somehow it was a male by the chirping dont ask why, was beneath the same rooftop as him with his partner alone.

"Is here because he is injured Kei, he needs some treatment." You cupped your hands together for the nightingale climb in it as Hawks hlardd holes at the little thing.

"Take him to the vet or something kid, this ain't a clinic." You flinched at his words but still remained strong.

"No I am not." You said "I dont know if they are going to sacrifice him or not Kei, I cant take chances."

"Do you even know how to take care of a bird in the first place dove?!" He asked, hands up as his wings puffed even more which made you snort and arch an eyebrow at him as the fella in your hands chirped.

"Well, I do have some knowledge of wings. And have to take care of one on daily basics." You giggled at the expression of shock and insulted Keigo did before walking off and leaving him groaning and sulking at knowing you wouldn't get rid of that street bird...

.

.

"Keigo Takami." He froze when he heard his full name coming from your mouth "Put that phone down. That little bird is going to stay until it gets better." He did just as you said with an eyeroll before pouting in anger at seeing the bird at your shoulder.

That's his place to put his chin on and snuggle your neck with his face. His.

"And you have to carry that thing whenever you go now? That must suck." He tried to joke, leaning with crossed arms on the kitchen counter as before his face completely fell as you simply chuckled and said it didn't bother you at all.

"Seriously?" He asked in disbelief before grabbing his mug taking a few gulps before you widened your eyes and giggling "What are you laughing at?"

"Is just that mug was full of water early and maybe our little friend may have took a bath in it." Your boyfriend stood up so fast and soon you heard disgusting noises of vomiting .

"For god's sake KEIGO I WASHED IT!"

"I DONT CARE THAT THING SHOULDN'T BE BATHING ON MY STUFF WHAT THE HECK?!"

You sighed, waiting for your boyfriend to be back as you feed the little bird with some seeds carefully, soon being met with Keigo, still brushing his teeth.

"Drama king." You chuckled as he groaned "You know he is not a thing Kei, is a nightingale."

"Great knowing it." He said with a mouthful of toothpaste before spitting into the trash, saying something about not dirtying his bathroom with other birds germs or something.

He looked at you a bit in defeat at seeing you feeding the bird as you noticed his wings drooping a bit.

"What is wrong now bird brain?" You giggled at his expression.

"You should be feeding me ... your boyfriend." You snorted before picking a sunflower seed and showing it to him.

"I thought you didn't liked this stuff?" Yoh asked cheekily as he groaned.

"There is chicken, takoyaki, nuggets heck everything that I eat!"

The bird chirped and you nodded thoughtfully as he stared at you in confusion.

"Cannibalism. I agree."

"Oh cmon I thought we were over this..." he sighed before getting something from the fridge as he scowled at the chirps following after.

.

.

.

He glared at the bird chirping a song as you hummed in delight at the sound, staring lovely at the nightingale.

"Oh cmon Kei!" You poked his cheeks which was puffed "You have to admit is a amazing sound! Nightingales are famous for that!"

"Hawks are famous for other things too y'know?" He grumbled before widening his eyes at seeing you werent giving him attention, instead grabbing your phone and recording the nightingale's chirping.

"Hm? What did you say Kei?" You looked up at him with that smirk which made him scoff and stood up with crossed arms and going to the kitchen.

You stiffled your giggled, going to your pouting boyfriend and hugging him lovingly after putting the injured bird back to safety.

"You're really jealous huh?" You carresed his chest as he breathed in and out, cheeks red at being so obvious about his feelings.

"Is a form of flirting birds singing to their mates. That little shit." He mumbled, earning you a laugh that made him smile as feeling you peppering kisses all over his neck and jawline before he caught your lips with his.

You broke apart with a goofy smile as he chuckled before deadpanning at hearing chirps before puffing and straightening his wings on all glory before shouting at the nightingale:

"GO GET YOURSELF A PARTNER! THIS ONE IS TAKEN YOU PIECE OF CRAP!"

You never laughed so hard in your life. A sound that, for Keigo at least, was far more beautiful than any chirping, singing or melody on this whole world.

.

.

.

After a few days you saw Keigo's hatred for the nightingale easing slowly but surely. Yet you never thought that coming home late on one of Keigo's day off, you would see your boyfriend, layed on the couch with a finger up holding the bird he claimed to hate it and whistling some similiar tone along with the nightingale's chirping.

You stared in shock yet awe at the look of your boyfriend directed to the bird as the sounds came out of his lips before chuckling.

"Your wing soon will be better by the looks of it. Isn't (Y/n) a great nurse?" He mumbled, a sadness deep down on his gaze as he saw the bird clapping the wing that wasn't wrapped up "You got freedom and my dove's attention bud, how could you and (Y/n) not expect me to get jealous?" He chuckled sadly as you frowned, walking slowly towards him, pretending to not overheard his monologue.

"Hey pretty thing, back already?" His cheeky smile was back as you looked at it in awe before kneeling in front of the couch he was layed on and kissing him deeply, making him close his eyes in bliss and pull you closer with his free hand by the neck.

You broke apart as he panted with a glossy yet pleased look. Ignoring the chirps for a bit, you carresed his golden looks as he closed his eyes with a smile.

"Redeeming yourself for giving attention to this bird and not me for these past few weeks?" He murmured happily yet drowsily as you giggled and kissed his forehead softly.

"You could say that bird brain." You stopped for a bit, hearing him whine miserably for you to get back, cupping your hands for the bird to get in.

"Cmon..." he whined, arm dropped over his face as the other rested on him until he felt you tugging on his shirt.

"Just get up lazy, I'm giving you all the attention you want." At this, you saw his golden eyes practically glow in bliss as he stood up as fast as he could.

.

.

.

He stretched his arms as he sitted up on the bed. Hair untamed and eyes unfocused until they dropped on the bird that had exited his box and was flapping both of his wings. Both.

"Huh. You look all better." He smirked as he felt you shift and rest your chin on his shoulder with a drowsy look.

"Who is better?" You mumbled before he pointed at the bird jumping and trying to take flight.

"Your friend there." You squealead as hs chuckled, grabbing the nightingale in one hands as he unwrapped the the made up sling as he waited patiently for the little fella to flap its wings and fly just a few centimeters above his palm.

"Cmon dove." He ushered you to follow him on the balcony as he had a gentle hold on the nightingale "Go little buddy, being stuck on a unknown place forever isn't goog for anyone."

And with a little movement of his hand, the nightingale took flight with beautiful chirps that made you smile but soon look at your boyfriend with a sad smirk as he watched the little bird fly away.

It wasn't sadness because he got attached to the nightingale. It was because that, even a small bird as he, could be free and not him. A grow up man that had a partner but was still caged by the comission...

You carresed his arm before hugging it and placing a sweet kiss to his cheek which brought his attention back to you.

"How about some hot cocoa my handsome? You still got some minutes stuck with me until you go to work." You said softly in Hope's to cheer him up.

He looked at you in some sorta of shock before chuckling and bringing you close enough to him to hear his heart beat and feel his warm yet chapte lips on your forehead.

"Being stuck with you is the only way that keeps me going to be honest."

[minkyumami]

I also think there’s something so beautiful in the this season shows team free will coping with their depression, hopelessness, and vulnerability.

Sam falls for Lucifer’s “visions from God” because he’s still desperate to be a chosen one / be holy / be redeemed. It’s what he wanted in season 8 with the trials he was angry at Dean for taking it away from him in season 9 with Gadreel, and he really leaned into the whole “sacrificial hero” role in season 10 when he tried to heal Dean from the Mark of Cain despite not knowing what the consequences would be. And this instinct to sacrifice himself and blindly take on a stronger opponent is mirrored in Lucifer’s very strong, very unwise desire to battle the darkness one on one — he also wants to be redeemed, in his own way. It’s ALSO mirrored in God’s initial plan to allow Amara to cage him, even though he knows that this would give her more power over the Earth (which we know from the visions Chuck gives Sam in S15, would result in the “monsters winning”). When he is placed into the role of a victim, backed into a corner, God/Chuck, like Sam, and like Lucifer (AND LIKE JOHN WINCHESTER) has repeatedly been shown to have no problems leaving his family behind for what he believes to be the greater good — which the ppl closest to them view as abandonment. Sam is always trying to slay his dragon, and in s11, I think he genuinely feels like he’s achieved that by saying no to Lucifer this time. I think it’s also interesting how, when Dean reveals that he can’t kill Amara, Sam responds in a very empathetic, but also sort of paternalistic way. He’s calm, he tells Dean that he doesn’t blame him for it, and that it’s clear that he has no choice in the matter because Amara “chose” him. Sam has already experienced a similar situation with Lucifer and the apocalypse.

At the start of s11, Dean feels extremely guilty for everything he did under the influence of the Mark of Cain — even though his driving motivation was love for those around him, he comes close to destroying them, just like Cain himself. Dean craves punishment — and I think deep down, he does believe that he deserved to die, and that it was a selfish choice for him and Sam to kill Death and set the darkness free. Dean responds to all of that guilt and shame by taking it out on himself. That’s why, after Cass beats him up (under the influence of Rowena’s spell), Dean refuses to let him heal it. He insists on recovering from his wounds slowly, just as Cass must slowly recover from being cursed. Dean always feels like whatever bad thing is happening is somehow his fault, because he wasn’t strong enough or brave enough or competent enough or — yes — masculine enough to make the right choices. From day one Dean has felt that his tendency to form very deep, loving attachments is his greatest weakness. Sam pretty much tells him this in season 9 after everything with Gadreel. When shit hits the fan, Dean often blames himself, and seeks out either punishment or self destruction. In S11, he believes that he deserves to die, but his attachments/obligations keep him alive — his relationship to himself also mirrors his relationship to Amara. He believes that she should die, but he can’t bring himself to end her life. This completely fits with both Amara and, Michael’s characterizations. The former is desperate for her brother’s love and attention, and the other is desperate for his father’s (and maybe his brother’s as well) — but both feel that they’ve been wronged and abandoned. Amara is willing to destroy what Chuck has built in order to make him prioritize her, and Michael is willing to do the exact same in fulfilling his role in the apocalypse. Dean has pretty much been acting out the same exact pattern with Sam since the start of the series, and it started with him pulling Sam out of school in order to search for their dad.

Now Cass, who has always been a foil for both Sam and Dean, is, as always, an interesting case. But we see him dealing with the same exact problems as both characters this season. After he recovers from Rowena’s spell, he seems to fall into a depression. As Dean has in the past, he disappears into a long tv-binge. When he comes out of it, he’s shown feeling guilty and traumatized by a lot of things — and we see multiple shots of his fight with Dean while he was cursed this season, as well as his fight with Dean last season when Dean had the mark. When Cass later has an opportunity to kill Metatron — at the same time that Dean has an opportunity to kill Amara — he can’t bring himself to do it. With Dean it looks like he simply can’t, but we’re later told (by other characters) that he doesn’t really want to kill Amara, even though he wants her dead. Both Dean and Cass are struggling with their passivity/impotence in the face of “evil,” their tendency to want to show mercy when their opponent seems weak, and the sheer amount of times that they’ve been manipulated by people who showed up when they were at their most vulnerable, and seemed to be powerful/righteous enough to lead them. And again — that’s literally what Amara is! Someone/something who seemed powerful enough to put a stop to something bad. The Mark/the power of the darkness is what gave Dean the strength to defeat Abaddon and Cain (though he failed to overpower Metatron, who had been strengthened by the God tablet). Cass, like Dean often does, gives into the first person who offers him the power he needs (not to redeem himself as he’s tried to do in the past, and as Sam always does), but to become strong enough, and to protect/preserve those he views as family. His feelings of unworthiness come from his guilt over repeatedly hurting and being hurt by Dean in retaliation, his perceived weakness, and his belief that he’s too merciful/trusting — and he reacts to that by submitting to a higher power, in this instance, Lucifer.

I think it’s really important to note that in most cases, whenever Sam fails to see something through, it’s not due to a lack of strength, brutality, or resolve. When he’s left to his own devices, Sam has all three of these qualities, almost to an extreme level. Whenever he fails at his goals, it’s due to an outside source (usually Dean). even back when he was drinking demon blood, Sam always chose to believe that there was a higher purpose, purity, or selflessness driving his actions — a godlike power, rather than a demonic influence. When he goes to Ruby, he does it as a sacrifice, when he says yes to Lucifer it’s a sacrifice, when he does the trials it’s a sacrifice. He always chooses to leave. Cass had a similar tendency to believe in/hope that God was guiding him, but he, unlike Sam, and a lot like Dean, was always troubled by his own weakness/doubts/attachments to others. Sam was always the independent child who was driven by his own sense of right and wrong — rebelling by both his fathers and Deans attempts to parent him — while Dean was always the one who would seek out a parental figure to guide him — someone or something to submit to. Cass, again, has a tendency to do both. If he can’t lead, he will quickly find someone or something to follow. But where Dean’s sacrifices, usually driven by his feelings of guilt and unworthiness, often preserve his need to have some sort of family or support system, both Sam and Cass are often very willing to leave people behind the moment they start feeling unworthy.

And I think maybe this is a big part of why Dean stands out as the one most connected to Amara, and why his biggest problem is his attraction to her — which is all mixed up with sexual desire, romantic desire, and his continuous need for a parental figure/family. And again, Dean has been this way since day one (remember that vampire hunter? I forget his name but you know him — the way Dean initially clings onto and follows him after John dies). Dean is always willing to do “bad” things if it means he can fulfill that need for closeness.

But this also gets us into Sam’s relationship patterns too — how he seemed to have no deep emotional attachment to Ruby outside of her usefulness. And, in season 8, when he throws himself headfirst into this relationship with the dog lady (sorry I can’t remember her name). His romantic relationships (the only sort of relationship he seems able to maintain long term besides his sibling relationship with Dean) always seem to come out of a need for an escape from his life as a hunter and his attachments to his family. When he’s with Jessica, the relationship itself represents a “normal” life — his idea of what a good life is supposed to be. One free of monsters and darkness. When he’s with the dog lady it’s the same exact thing. He doesn’t tell them the truth about what he’s been involved with, because he’s chasing the very heteronormative American dream, “pure” version of a hood and healthy life. Whenever he gets pulled back into the fight, it’s not because he wants to, but because he feels like he HAS to. Even when Dean is with Lisa in s6, he isn’t running, he doesn’t want purity or escape — she already knows some details about his life — but he stays with her out of mutual obligation. It’s a relationship that fulfills his need to care for and be cared for — which Cass, at the time, failed to give him by returning to Heaven and, as we find out later in s6, not turning to Dean when he needed help.

Which is also why it’s so interesting to me how broken up Dean is by Cass’s decision to let Lucifer in, while Sam considers it a rational choice.

Also interesting, but sort of an aside, is the fact that, when they confront Dean about his inability to kill Amara himself in s11, Sam, Chuck, and Lucifer are all sitting at the same side of the table, looking at him the same way, and all pretty much on the same page — while Dean stands alone. They’re all sort of judging him because, as much as Sam understands being at the mercy of a cosmic being, I don’t think he really understands how Dean can choose to take a passive role in the fight. Cass has also, in his own way, chosen to be passive, but it’s viewed differently because he’s throwing himself/his body in the line of fire.

Also interesting how pretty much everyone agrees — even Cass — that Dean is the best option out of all of them to carry a BOMB inside himself to face Amara. Cass offers to go with him — but no one really challenges his decision to go alone. And I think this makes the most sense for Dean as, like I said before, he’s been feeling all season like he deserves to die, but he can’t bring himself to end his own life UNLESS it’s a situation like this — where most of his agency is taken from him. He’s told this is the only way, everyone around him agrees on it, and he doesn’t have to do much except let it happen. It’s the same with killing Amara — he wants it to be done, but he just can’t do it on his own.

this is like my 5th time rewatching the Amara / The Darkness arc and I’m finally starting to feel like I get it. The running theme throughout all of season 11 is vulnerability — and especially vulnerable people being taken advantage of, exploited, or simply manipulated by very powerful people.

Pretty much every character here has experienced this sort of abuse, especially at the hands of Lucifer. Sam, Cass, Dean have all been through this repeatedly, with both Sam and Cass being reeled in by Lucifer at different points in the season, and Dean confiding in Lucifer, not realizing that Cass has let him in.

— but this dynamic of manipulation and exploitation pretty much defines the nature of every significant relationship Dean has had up to now — especially in relation to the Mark of Cain, the first blade, and the time he spent as a demon with Crowley

So of course Dean has this strange, sort of romantic, sort of not, attraction/connection to Amara. She is the product of yet another instance where Dean felt vulnerable and fell victim to the manipulation of a powerful individual (Crowley), with whom he develops a very complex semi-romantic, bordering on obsessive connection, in which Crowley repeatedly attempted to convince him to “rule at his side” — similarly to what Amara wants with Dean — for him to “become part of her.” Crowley both “rescues” and “takes care of” Dean, but he also attempts to possess him.

And Amara herself goes through a very similar cycle as she’s born a human infant, rescued by Dean, and then immediately taken by Crowley. She believes that she can trust him because, for the time being, he’s more powerful than her, he’s taking care of her, offering her guidance on her new life, and giving her everything she desires — up to the point where she (like Dean did in his demon arc) stops complying. The same thing happens with Amara and Rowena (Rowena heals her, but Amara quickly finds out that she’s being played), and then with Amara and Dean (Dean meets with her and pretends to be going along with her plan, but she quickly realizes that he’s just stalling so they can save Lucifer/Cass). Every single time she gets manipulated, Amara matures, comes into her power, and reversed the dynamic.

So the reverse dynamic applies to Dean and Amara as well — with her being an all powerful, ancient being who offers him what he wants most — the “peaceful feeling” he has when he’s with her — literal nothingness, because he’s a character who, at this point, is so so tired of fighting. She gives him an opportunity to simply submit to the darkness, to the monsters, and to the apocalypse.

but she realizes that something is stopping him from committing to her — and that’s CASS and Sam and everything he still loves

I think it’s also important to note that his relationship with Cass is the biggest exception to what seems like a rule in his life. Cass was originally meant to twist Dean’s sentimentality and the intensity of their connection (with Cass being the first angel Dean saw, the person who saved him from Hell, left a physical mark on him, and guided him through his new life as a chosen one) — but Cass broke free of his own manipulation at the hands of his brothers in Heaven. He broke the cycle — and every time he falls into it again, he learns from it and tries to make things right with Dean instead of taking it out on him.

[solarbird]

Pretty Good at Not Being Trump [twitter original]

The headline preview is out of date. 17 exec orders confirmed today. Tomorrow is more pandemic actions. Friday includes restoring Federal collective bargaining rights. Monday is w/e, but Tuesday starts the push to END PRIVATE PRISONS. And it goes on.

Here are the executive actions Biden is expected to take on Inauguration Day President-elect Joe Biden plans to take 17 executive actions in the first hours of his presidency Wednesday, signing a flurry of executive orders

We're back in the fucking WHO. We're back in the Paris Accords, it takes 30 days but it's started.. The Muslim Ban is gone. The Census is being de-rigged, which is PRETTY FUCKIN' IMPORTANT for representation. The anti-LGBT discrimination exo is gone. The 1776 Commission is gone.

I've heard some noise about how Biden's not even good at not being Trump and how that was his only redeeming quality.

Fuck. That.

Did I mention border wall construction got stopped?

Next Wednesday is climate change day.

Sounds like a pretty good job so far of NOT BEING TRUMP.

That doesn't even _mention_ going straight at white supremacy in his inauguration speech, after a President who did everything in his power to reinforce it, and lock it in with a fucking INSURRECTION.

Look. I know. He was part of the Obama team, and they gave way too many passes to way too much shit from Bush II. Certain types of US foreign policy aren't going to get better. But you have to understand something.

HE'S REPLACING A FUCKING FASCIST.

And also:

Basically? The US?

It's the fucking Titanic. Okay?

And it's been headed for an iceberg for a long time, some of us have been saying so for a while, everybody else was listening to the band play.

Then Captain Donkeyballs decided to steer it _straight into_ the fucking thing.

Four compartments open to the sea, except...

Somehow, through some _miracle_ of _intense, sustained labour_...

...we got compartment four shored up.

_We don't have to sink._

The ship - the Titanic, the Third Republic - is _fucked_. Okay? But it doesn't have to sink. It needs to be drydocked and overhauled and there need to be some real design changes.

But we don't have to _sink_.

Sadly, there's still a big problem, in that right now, we're still basically at sea, and the shoring is temporary, and improvised, and even with a new captain...

...the old one and his minions are attacking the shoring.

They want that compartment _open_ again, by god.

I've talked about our job a lot. Stabilise this thing. Get it to shore, or dry dock, or whatever - don't stretch the metaphor too far, no metaphor can take that - and get to work on real structural changes.

But we have another job, too. Or at least, a functional requirement.

And that functional requirement is admitting that there's a _difference_ between the captain and crew who steer _into_ the iceberg and _attack_ the shoring are FUNDAMENTALLY DIFFERENT TO the ones trying to put things _back together_.

We can bring this ship, this Titanic, back to shore afloat. Fix the structural problems. Make the damn thing actually work right this time. Or at least get closer to that.

But you have to realise, you have to _admit_, that even if you don't like the new captain and crew's shoring plan, at least they're working on keeping it _above the water_, and not reopening the hull to the sea.

Electing Biden - and actually getting him into office - was changing captain and crew. If you want to call it mutiny, the MAGAts would certainly agree, but fuck 'em.

These executive orders, what's going up right now, and what's going up next week, is obviously the shoring. It's not a complicated metaphor.

It's also not enough to sail the ship.

But if we're lucky, and we work really hard, and we don't give the old captain and crew the opportunity to wreck shit...

...maybe, just maybe, we can get to shore alive and start to rebuild this goddamn boat.

That's where we are. We have a shot.

Don't screw around and blow it.

[waitimcomingtoo]

In Case You Don’t Live Forever

~chapter two rewritten~

Pairing: Peter Parker x Venom!Reader

Synopsis: you are Peters greatest love and Spider-Man’s greatest enemy

Masterlist and Series Masterlist

Moving and finding an apartment can be an incredibly long and stressful process. Unless you’re you, and life likes to throw a lot of curve balls at you for the utter hell of it.

Your dad dropped dead three weeks after you told Andy you were moving to New York. Coincidentally, right in the middle of you trying to find a place to live. He drank himself to death. Figures. You doubted you’d ever had a conversation with him that he was sober enough to remember. His untimely demise was unfortunate for him, because he died or whatever, but very fortunate for you. As his only child, you got his apartment in Queens and all his smelly hoodies.

You said your goodbyes to Andy and Dani after a night out in the streets of San Francisco. You had originally moved there after high school to start your show, The L/n Report. San Francisco was known for its crimes against the homeless population and you wanted to start with a story on that. You ended up interviewing Andy at the police station while investigating a missing person, and dated him for two years. Now, you were spending your last few hours in San Francisco with the very boy you once loved and the very girl he now did.

“Are you all packed?” Dani asked you, snapping you out of your thoughts.

“Pretty much. I gotta put my toothbrush and hairbrush in my suitcase in the morning. Other than that, I’m good to go.” You answered her. She smiled fondly at you as she linked her arm through yours.

“Hey, I’m really gonna miss you. More than that guy over there.” You whispered, nodding towards Andy, who had his head buried in his phone. Dani laughed and nodded in agreement as you continued to walk.

“I’m going to miss you too. You’re my best friend here.” She sighed sadly.

“I’m glad we’re friends. Most women in our position would hate each other.” You thought out loud.

“Uh uh. You’re thinking of women in films. It’s 2021, baby. Women support women. You and I are two talented, smart, beautiful women who would never be caught fighting over some boy. Especially not one who can’t take his eyes off his phone for two seconds.” Dani said loudly and smacked Andy’s arm. You laughed at the domestic moment but couldn’t help feeling a pain in your heart knowing he used to be that way with you.

“What, sorry?” Andy looked up. You and Dani looked at him before looking at each other and laughing.

“What’s funny?” He asked, growing annoyed.

“We’re laughing at you babe. Put your phone away. It’s Y/N’s last night here.” Dani scolded playfully. Andy sighed and reluctantly put his phone in his pocket.

“Right, sorry. And it’s not her last night here. She’s coming back. You are coming back, right?” He asked you. You nodded, though you weren’t entirely sure.

“Of course I’ll be back.” You shrugged. “I just want to experience something new for a while. I’ve done a million pieces on homelessness and poverty. I want to see what fresh stories New York has to offer.”

“You’re quoting the Daily Bugle, aren’t you?” Dani teased you.

“That is verbatim what they said to me.” You admitted with a laugh. “But hey, it worked. As of tomorrow, I’m the Daily Bugle’s newest investigative reporter.”

“Who are you reporting on anyway?” Andy showed a rare interest in your work.

“Some guy named Cletus Kasady.” You answered. “He’s some hot shot serial killer down in Queens. No one knows how he’s hiding his victims bodies. Apparently none have ever been close to being found.”

“And they want you to write the story on him?” Andy raised an eyebrow, always with the condescending tone.

“Well they heard about the whole Carlton Drake situation and decided I hadn’t been through enough trauma in my career.” You replied, earning a laugh from Dani but not Andy. You and Andy had already broken up by the time Carlton Drake contracted a symbiote and tried to kill you and Venom. You stopped him before he could hurt anyone and wrote a career defining article on his lethal human experiments. You managed to leave out all information regarding symbiotes from the article, so your secret was still safe. You were a fairly well known reporter since the incident and your next job was waiting for you in New York.

In the morning, You and Venom got on a plane and made your way to New York. Being on a plane with Venom turned out to be the equivalent to traveling with a toddler. You tried to sleep, but every two seconds you had to stop Venom from getting into trouble. She kept trying to open the window, even after you explained to her that everyone on the plane would die horrible death if the window were to open.

“Stop that.” You whispered when you noticed a black tendril creeping towards the window. The lady in the seat next to you shot me a look of confusion. You gave her a fake smile and turned back to the window, doing your best to conceal the small black tendril that was coming out of your body and fidgeting with the airplane window.

“We want it open.” Venom replied telepathically.

“Do you also want us to blow out of the plane and into space?” You said through my teeth.

“We didn’t anticipate that but it’d be appreciated.” Venom answered, making you groan. The rest of the plane ride followed in similar fashion.

Seven hours later, you arrived at the apartment building. You had never been to your dads apartment, you didn’t even know he had one. You wondered what happened to your childhood home as you looked around the place. The apartment wasn’t too small but not too big either. The rent was practically nothing compared to how expensive San Francisco was, and The Daily Bugle offered to cover your expenses until the story was done. You figured after some redecorating and moving in, it would make a fine new home.

The first seven days in the apartment went by smoothly. You unpacked, with little to no help from Venom, and set up the furniture. On the eight day, you sat on the couch, aimlessly flipping through channels in the TV when you had a thought.

“Oh shit.” You said out loud.

“What?” Venom, who was curly nestled around your neck like a neck pillow, asked.

“I forgot mail exists.” You frowned. “We better go check the mailbox before it overflows.”

You and Venom grudgingly walked to the mailboxes and back again. No one was around, so she manifested herself and rested on your shoulder as I looked through the mail.

“Oops. I grabbed someone else’s mail too.” You clicked your tongue when you read a strangers name off the envelope. “I gotta find them.”

“Let’s go.” Venom said and pulled you towards the front door.

“Sorry, babe. This is a me thing, not a we thing. You know I love you but I don’t want to scare our neighbors. Not yet anyway.” You reasoned. Venom grumbled and went back inside your body.

You checked the address of the envelope and discovered that it belonged to the apartment directly across from you.

You knocked on the door and patiently waited for someone to open it as you mindlessly cracked your knuckles. Just as you were about to walk away, the door opened.

“Hi, are you May Parker?” You asked right away. You looked up from the envelope and your face instantly flushed. The person staring back at you definitely wasn’t May Parker. It was a boy around your age, maybe a little younger. He had soft brown eyes and wavy brown hair. It was gelled back loosely and you could see the outline of soft curls. To your surprise, he was just as flushed as you were. You stared at each other for a moment, no one wanting to be the first to blink.

“Yea. I’m May Parker.” The boy said finally. He shut his eyes in embarrassment and shook his head.

“I mean, no I’m not. But that’s my Aunt. May is my Aunt but I’m not May. That’s my Aunt May. I’m her nephew…obviously. Aunt May is my Aunt May. I…what?” He stumbled over his words and somehow turned even redder. His blush reached all the way down his neck, to his blue jumper that read “Midtown Tech” in yellow letters. You recognized the name of one of the most prestigious high schools in New York, already impressed with your new neighbor.

“Well hello, not May Parker. I’m also not May Parker. But I seemed to forget that when I grabbed your mail this morning. Sorry about that.” You said sheepishly as you handed his mail to him. The boy rubbed the back of his neck as he looked at it and attempted to redeem himself.

“It’s not problem. She and I always forget to check the mail so you actually helped us, um, whoever you are.” He smiled weakly. His voice was cute. He had that Queens accent that the people of San Francisco lacked, for obvious reasons.

“Oh, right.” You laughed in embarrassment. “I’m Y/N L/N. I just moved here from San Francisco. I live across the hall.”

You pointed to the door behind you as if he didn’t know what “across the hall” meant. You didn’t know what was wrong with you. You were never this awkward.

His eyes lit up a bit once you told him where you lived.

“Really? I thought that smelly guy lived there.” The boy said and you stifled a laugh.

“That smelly guy was my father. He died a little while ago so I live there now.” You told him, malign the boys eyes widen. They were so brown. Like little pools of honey. Or little pools of the Hudson River. You had seen a million pairs of brown eyes before, but none like his. They were quite distracting to be honest.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry! I had. I had no idea-“ he began to frantically apologize but you cut him off.

“Don’t worry about it. We never got along. And you’re right, that man stank.” You chuckled. It was the first thing you said that felt like your old self. You hadn’t really talked to anyone since moving to New York, with the exception of Venom and the occasional phone call from Andy or Dani. You liked talking to this boy, though you still had no idea who he was.

“Oh thank God. I thought I screwed this up before it even went anywhere.” He immediately turned red when he heard his own words. You saw the regret in his eyes and decided to throw him a bone.

“Well it certainly can’t go anywhere until you tell me your name.” You flirted. Again, he relaxed. You felt a surge of confidence knowing he wanted this to go well.

“Parker. I’m Parker Peter. I mean, Peter Parker.” He fumbled over his words again, making you smile fondly.

“We like him. He’s cute.” Venom said telepathically. You looked down at my shoes and blushed, knowing you liked him too.

“And he looks delicious.” She added, ruining the moment.

“It’s nice to meet you Peter Parker.” You gave him your best smile. “I’m glad there’s someone my age around here. Everyone I’ve met so far is either an old bitty or a creepy uncle type.” You regretted it as soon as it left your mouth. You didn’t know what his sense of humor was like and he might not find you the slightest but funny. Andy always told you you were bad at telling jokes, and you feared he might be right.

Lucky for you, Peter burst out laughing.

“Ah. I’ve seen you’ve met Henry.” Peter pointed a finger down the hall. “Yeah, I’d stay away from him. He asked me if he could have pictures of my feet once. He said he’d “pay me handsomely” for it too.”

“Damn. So he beat me to asking you.” You pretended to be upset, which made Peter laugh again. The sound of his laugh made your heart pick up speed. You weren’t used to feeling like this. Boys rarely impressed you, Andy was just lucky you liked a man in uniform.

“Yeah. You better stay away from him.” Peter advised.

“It might be hard.” You clicked your tongue. “Our mailboxes are pretty close. I’ll make a mental note to never check my mail while wearing flip flops, though.”

Peter smiled at your joke. He had the kind of smile that you would make the person laugh just to see it again. It was brilliant.

“Well my mailbox should be directly above yours. So don’t worry, I’ll protect you.” He grinned, and you grinned back.

“My hero.” You gushed as you put your hands over your heart. The tips of his ears went pink, like he was shocked that you said that.

“I’m no hero.” He sounded almost panicked, like you touched a nerve or something.

“We’re hungry. We need to eat.” Venom interrupted abruptly, causing you to jump. Since Peter couldn’t hear her, he looked at you strangely, not knowing the cause of your sudden jolt.

“Sorry, I uh, I thought I saw a spider.” You lied.

“If there was a spider, we’d eat it. We need food. Now.” Venom demanded.

Peter looked up at his doorframe for the imaginary spider.

“Yeah, New York is full of them.” Peter said skeptically. “Not that full, though. And some spiders are nice. One might even call them friendly.”

“Right.” You laughed at his strange wording, unaware that you were both keeping a secret.

“Would…” Peter began but trailed off, seemingly mulling something over in his head. “Would you like to eat dinner with my Aunt and I? I remember when we first moved in, it took us a while to get into the swing of things and make dinner every night. If you like, you could join us. And, you know, we could get to know each other.” He offered. It all came out in one breath. You could tell he was nervous and that only drew you in more.

“I’d love to Peter.” You said, and he smiled in relief.

“Great.” He gave an awkward thumbs up. “We usually eat around six so maybe come around then? She’ll be so happy to meet you. She loves cooking and she always tries to get me to learn but I once burnt cereal and I still don’t know how.” Peter began to ramble. He cut himself off and shook his head again. “Sorry. I’m rambling.”

Then, you did something stupid. You put your hand on his arm like the dumb bitch you were. You barely knew this guy. Who the hell were you to touch him? He must’ve been thinking the same thing, since he instantly froze under your touch and stared at your hand on his arm.

“Don’t apologize. I can’t cook either. Unless you count making tater tots as cooking. Then I’m Gordon Ramsey.” You assured him, feeling him relax under your touch.

“You’re just gonna mention tater tots without warning us first? Our mouth is watering. Can we eat Peter?” Venom asked, making your eyes widen.

If it was socially acceptable to scream at your symbiote in public, you would’ve yelled “NO, WE CANNOT EAT PETER” from the top of your lungs. But since you didn’t want to scare Peter and the rest of the neighbors away, you merely smiled and made another mental note to smack the shit out of Venom later.

“I love that man. “Where is the lamb sauce?” Peter mimicked in a bad British accent. He had no right being as charming as he was.

“No no no.” You shook your head. “His best line is “I’ll get you more pumpkin and I’ll ram it right up your ass. Would you like it whole or diced?”. He’s said some pretty wild things but that one makes me cry.”

Peters laugh rang through the halls. To be the cause of that laugh was a feeling like no other. You stood there for a while, just looking at each other. His eyes grazed down your body, but not in a crude way. You berated yourself for not dressing better when going to meet the neighbors, clad in nothing but a grey hoodie and some leggings. Peter looked cute, but you had a feeling he always did. His jumper was pretty baggy and you could see a collared shirt poking out the top. He was dressed almost professionally and you found it incredibly endearing.

You wanted to know more about him. You wanted to know his secrets and his hobbies and what makes him itch. You wanted to see if he dresses this way on weekends too or what his summer clothes looked like. Your gawking was interrupted by Peters phone ringing. He broke out of his trance and answered it quickly.

“Hi, Mr. S. No I’m not busy. I mean, I’m super busy but I can totally make time for you. Yea, Happy talked to me. Okay. Okay. Where? Okay. See you in a bit.” Peter hung up and looked at you apologetically.

“That was my job. I have to run but I’ll be back in time for our dinner. I live at…you know where I live. I’ll see you then. Don’t be late.” Peter called as he ran down the hallway, towards the elevator.

“I won’t. See you later.” You called back.

You went back to your apartment and like a kid, broke out into a happy dance.

“Venom!! Did you see how cute he was?” You gushed. “And how funny he is? I have to get ready for tonight.”

Venom manifested and swirled around my arm.

“Someone has a crush.” Venom smirked. Well, as much of a smirk as she could muster with that huge mouth of hers.

“I don’t have a crush. I just think he’s cute okay?” You replied coyly. “Cute. And funny and sweet and charming and amazing. But that’s it.”

“We can feel your heart beat.” Venom reminded you. “It was going ten miles an hour. What would Andy say?”

You had been rummaging through your closet and stopped in your tracks. With Peters new inhabitance in your mind, you had forgotten all about Andy. You moved to New York to avoid his wedding and his moving on, and you might’ve succeeded.

“I don’t care what he’d say.” You decided. “He’s not my boyfriend.”

“But we want him to be.” Venom insisted. “We want him back, remember?”

“I don’t know what I want.” You answered honestly. “I just want to get ready for tonight.”

“Why are you getting ready now? You have 5 hours until you have to be there and it’s right across the hall.” Venom teased.

“Only 5 hours?” You sighed. “We better get moving.”

[roger-that-cap]

doubt comes in

orpheus!bucky barnes x fem!eurydice!reader

summary: a retelling of orpheus and eurydice for an extremely late entry for a mythology challenge!!

warnings: uh- yeah i was not playing with this myth lol… fluffy beginning, uh, that’s all imma say about that and ALSO i haven’t edited this so haha, i am running on fumes but had to post this jeez 

word count: 11.3k good god

There were gods that were unexplainably strong. There were some that could bend fire and metal to their will, some that could string up love and cast it upon others, and others that knew more of war and how to win more than they even knew themselves. Others were the faces of glory, like Zeus and Hera and the sun god Apollo and so many others. There were many that were worshipped by humans every day of every week, and others that were forgotten until they were desperately needed. There were some that lived immortal lives and demanded respect from humans and gods alike, and then there were the ones invested in their art, in themselves, in the beauty of life itself.

That was Bucky. He was so immersed in song, in the gift that he had inherited from his mother, Calliope, that it was all he could think about. It was what made him different, it was what made him stand out from the boys that he grew up with that were just plain old strong. He had a talent, he had a mother that was a myth and a legend alike, and he had a lyre. He had a lyre, a lute, his voice, and a bit of speed, and that was all that he would ever need in life. That, and a pretty landscape to look at while he strummed his golden strings. But that was all he ever thought he would need- which was why he was knocked right off of his planted feet when he saw you walk by.

You were a human. You were a beautiful girl, probably the most beautiful being he had ever seen in his entire life. He had met goddesses and nymphs and princesses alike, but never had he met someone who had such a sweet face, such a gentle aura, and even more, a beautiful voice. You had only said a few words to someone else that were delivered with a gentle smile, but he could have sworn that your words were a melody. Before he knew it, your entire being was stamped into his mind, and he knew that he would never be able to forget you.

It was by complete chance that the next day, he decided to wallow in his sadness by a fountain in public, strumming his lyre too quietly for anyone else to hear. Anyone who knew him knew that he was devastatingly off. And coincidentally, the only ones who truly did know Bucky were Steve and Sam, two forest nymphs that had been his best friends since he taught them the ways of the lute years and years ago. They were sitting by him in silence on the marbled fountain, waiting next to him for the second shoe that they doubted would ever drop. But then, like Bucky was a sunflower following the sun itself, his back straightened, his head perked up, and his mouth dropped, his eyes wide and swirling with admiration as he watched you- the same human woman he was enamoured with- walk through the square again, a woven basket full of fresh fruits on your arm and your lilac dress swishing in the wind.

“No way,” he heard Sam mutter, and Steve poked his side.

“You were always such a doubter,” Steve mumbled, but the smile on his face was audible through his tone. “There she is, in the flesh.”

Bucky could hardly hear anything but the soft melody stirring up in his mind, louder than his racing heart, and just as tender as the feelings swirling inside of him. He saw you wave to the older woman you were talking to and then start to walk away, and he knew that he couldn’t let you go, not when the Fates so obviously gave him a second chance. Without a second thought, he slid off of the fountain, leaving his friends and his lyre, striding towards you with the brightest smile, trying to cover the fact that he was nervous.

His clumsy feet were carrying him a little too quickly, and he could hear the snickers of Steve and Sam from behind him. He craned his head backwards to look at them and laugh too, but he tripped over his own left foot, barreling right into you and knocking you flat onto the ground. His half immortal heart beat heavy and hard in his chest as he watched you wince under him. He scrambled up, cheeks flushed and hand shaking as he watched you sit up and brush the dirt off of your dress. He was looking down at you with a look that he prayed wasn’t as desperate as he felt. But he had to know you.

“I’m Orpheus,” he started, and when you turned your bright eyes to him with your brows furrowed, he shook his head like he was trying to get water from his hair. “No, I meant that I was sorry- I’m so sorry. For knocking you over, miss.” He extended his hand to you again, and he swore that he saw your lips quirk up a bit at him. You took his hand and stood up, brushing the fabric of your dress once again. He caught a trail of your scent, and he was immediately overtaken by the scent of fresh flowers and lavender.

That was when he really got a good look at you for the first time. The first time he saw you had been brief. You weren’t even looking anywhere near his way, and he only caught a look at your stunning side profile before you walked away. His vision had been practically blurred from excitement while he walked up to you, and he was so embarrassed about crashing into you that he was subtly trying not to look in your eyes. But… damn, he had been missing out.

He swore that time stopped. His own heart stopped beating, even the sluggish beat leaving for a few moments. The noises from the town square were so dull that they seemed muted. The stares of Steve and Sam felt so far off that he didn’t even notice them. All he knew was that he was utterly entranced by you, and for a second, he could have sworn that by the look in your eyes, you felt the same way. But like the blaring of an alarm, something knocked you both out of it, putting you in the present, with present problems.

“Oh, the fruits,” you muttered, looking at the peaches and apples that tumbled right out of your basket, bending over quickly to collect them despite the fact that they had gotten bruised. Bucky’s heart jumped to his throat with guilt when he realized he had ruined the fruit you had either picked or paid for, and then he was rushing to get them even faster, praying to the gods that you didn’t automatically hate him.

After looking into your eyes, he doubted he could live with himself if you even so much as disliked him. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to, I don’t have the best footing,” he apologized again, gently placing the fruits back into your basket.

“It’s okay,” you said, and your eyes trailed behind him to look at his friends that were howling with laughter, holding onto each other. He saw your displeasure, and his heart dropped when he understood that you probably thought they had sent him over just to mess with you. Your eyes whipped back to Bucky, and he blushed something fierce. He felt his cheeks warm up under your scrutiny, and then there was a smile creeping back onto your face. “I'm Eurydice.”

Oh, Gods. Eurydice. He swore that he had never heard something so beautiful in his life. He had grown up with the Muses, even had a mother as one, and was surrounded by music and poetry and epics every second of his childhood. Music was imprinted in his mind, every note embedded in his everyday life, yet still it was the most beautiful- “But I go by Y/N.” No. Eurydice was now second. But your name, the one he knew you had chosen for yourself, was the most beautiful thing that life had ever offered him to hear.

His brain was going many miles a minute, as quick as Hermes on a mission, but all he could do in the end was blink and offer his true name first, like politeness called for. “I’m Orpheus,” he extended his arm again to you, and you shook it twice. Your hand was soft, so soft that he didn’t want to let go of it. He would never forget the feeling of your hand in his, and the way he swore that the nerves under his skin were alight with the gentlest and sweetest of fires. “You can call me Eurydic- I mean, Bucky. I’m Bucky.”

You could both hear the laughter coming from Bucky’s friends, and while you were cracking a small smile, Bucky was dying on the inside. “You like to be called by other people's names?”

“I wouldn't mind being called by yours,” he blurted softly, his words coming out as a quick and uncalculated slur. He blinked abruptly when he realized that he was truly having the worst first introduction he had ever had in his life, and it was the one that somehow meant the most to him. “I- only because Eurydice is such a pretty- so is Y/N- I… I’m sorry.” He shook his head, knowing that he was so close to just having to walk away. Instead of embarrassing himself further, he just gave you a short smile and waved, turning on his heel.

“I’m Orpheus, then. Maybe Bucky, too.” He slowly turned back around, a shocked look on his face. Had you really spoken to him again with your own free will?

Bucky knew that he wasn’t ugly. No god or demigod was ever ugly, other than poor Hephaestus. He knew that he had his own sort of charm and that he could bring the roughest of people to tears and the saddest of people to joy with his music, but he didn’t know anything else. He had three redeeming qualities that swirled in his head constantly- he was pretty, he had music, and he had a famous mother.

“Are you a singer?”

“Huh?” So much for eloquence.

You bit your lip. “You speak… you speak like you have a song in your heart. Are you a singer?”

He was stumped. Most knew at least of his music if nothing else. He was the most famed god or man to ever strum a lute besides maybe Apollo. Most knew nothing of his personality and nothing about him other than the fact that he was born to play and sing, and you didn’t? Where had you been living? “Well, I’m Orpheus.”

There was a grin on your face, and Bucky knew that he never wanted to see anything other than that for the rest of his life. “And that makes you a singer?”

He opened his mouth again, ready to talk about who he was born from and where he learned to play and who taught him, but when he looked deeper and saw the spark of mischief in your eyes, he leaned back and held back a small smile of his own. His heart fluttered and grew two sizes. “You know who I am, don’t you?”

“Maybe I don’t,” you said, obvious teasing in your voice, and somehow it still stayed kind. “Maybe I do, and just wanted a free song out of you.”

She knows me, he thought, and his heart may as well have let out a lovesick sigh from within the confines of his chest. She has never heard me sing before, but she will. I’ll sing her a thousand songs.

“I’ll sing you all the songs you desire if you marry me,” he blurted, and while his mind was scolding him for uttering those words so quickly, his heart was steady on beating and so sure of itself that he told his mind off.

To his subtle surprise, you didn’t look shocked. You weren’t disgusted by his rather bold approach and most importantly, you weren’t laughing at him. He held onto your silence in limbo, waiting for you to say something that would either crush him to bits or send his soul rising so high that he reached the cloudy gates of Olympus.

“If you can make me a song that can make the skies open up and weep without singing a word, then I’ll marry you.”

His heart soared. His hands shook. He could have sworn that even his toes clenched. But all you could see were his wide, boyish eyes, and the hopeful look that dawned across his face. He nodded quickly. “I’ll do anything.”

He saw your lips pull up into a smile, genuine and even a little shy, and he couldn’t help but want to step closer. But he knew he had already been up front and abrupt, and the last thing he wanted to do was scare you away.

“Okay,” you said, nodding your own head slowly. “I’ll see you soon, then, Bucky.” You took a step back, eyes still connected to his blue ones until you finally turned around and walked away with the same basket on your arm, same dress swaying with the tuneless song of the wind.

The three of them stood in silence, watching you walk away, taking pieces of Bucky’s heart with you in your cradled arms. The bustling of the town was loud, moving about like nothing of significance had happened right where they were all standing, and Bucky found it nothing short of insane. Did no one else just see how the world stopped turning for that one girl? How the Fates put a pause on the clock just so that they could meet?

Steve’s voice brought him out of it. “Did you just ask for her hand in marriage?”

He didn’t even have the energy to shrug. All the swirled in his mind was love, passion, music, and you. You, you, you. “I had to.”

“How will you even find her again?” Steve asked, his logic once again being the only thing that held Bucky down to the ground.

“I know the work of Eros when I see it,” Sam said to Steve, shaking his head somewhat fondly at the pale boy with brunette hair who was still staring off in the direction you left in, like you would miraculously appear again. “They’ll find each other again soon enough.”

The hours went by and then the daylight turned into night and back to day again, and Sam’s words couldn’t have been truer. Your spirit and your face and your voice found Bucky with every few seconds that passed by. He couldn’t blink without seeing you. He couldn’t listen to anyone without hearing you. He couldn’t breathe without smelling your beautiful scent. Everything tasted bland, looked plain, and sounded like white noise after he met you. He knew that until his last (and unlikely) breath, his heart would ache for nothing more than to be yours. He wanted his ring to be on your finger, and yours to be on his.

So he began to make a song.

§§§

He worked tirelessly. The hours below the sun that used to be spent laughing and playing with Steve and Sam were exchanged for hours of composing. His normally perfect posture was hunched over as he tried to find the melody that had stirred in his heart when he first saw you- because he knew that was it.

By the end of twelve days of pure struggling, most of the song was finished. He was a fast worker, so fast that it made everyone else’s heads spin, but he felt it was going too slowly. But then again, he was fast at everything. The melody was as stuck with him as his skin was to his body. He was sure that it would never leave him, even if he wrote a thousand more songs. And part of him never wanted it to go, because it was so you.

He had only held one conversation with you, and it wasn’t long enough, but he felt like he had known you for years. He felt like he had sung to you hundreds of times and danced with you a hundred times more. Your soul felt so familiar yet so foreign that he had to chase after you, and had to discover anything that he could have missed. He knew that you were his destiny, and he had a feeling that you knew he was yours.

The song he was writing wasn’t sad, but it brought tears to his eyes all the same. It wasn’t about longing or loss or chasing after something that would never come to you, but it made Steve and Sam wipe their eyes all the same. It was about your beauty, your inherent wit and kindness, and the way that you set his soul free from chains he didn’t even know of. It was about a love he had never dreamed of finding or even thought to be true, and that was enough to make the three of them weep.

“I think it’s finished, Buck.” This came from Steve after he wiped his eyes again, sitting through the full song again even though his heart aches for a love he had never felt before. “Sam thought it was done days ago.”

Sam had left the two of them alone days ago, claiming that he couldn’t stand to hear the melody and cry each time, claiming that it was beautiful but too much. It made sense. Even Bucky himself was starting to feel the effects of it. But Steve was a stubborn thing, and he would sit through it for as long as Bucky would play it.

“You think it’s enough to make the skies open and cry?” Bucky breathed out, loosely quoting the words he had heard from you not too long ago.

“Even if it’s not, it will surely win her over,” Steve said. “She was already wooed by you, you’re a fool not to see it. She was excited enough that you even agreed to make the song in the first place, anyway.”

Bucky sat there for a few minutes as his fingers tingled, expecting to be used again to pluck the magnificent strings. But he set his instrument down on the log he sat on, sighing and placing a hand under his chin, his thoughts trailing over to you for the thousandth time. “I hope she accepts it.”

Steve just looked at him. “I think that if you came empty handed and told her half of the words you tell me and Sam, she’d follow you anywhere.”

Steve was right. Steve had to have been right, or he was going to wilt right in front of you. He had to be. The brunet nodded, biting his pink lip before opening his mouth again. “Where do you think I’ll find her?”

§§§

It didn’t take long to find you at all. Bucky went to find you alone, finding you because something inside of him told him to search the flowering fields nearby, and there you were. There was a hat made of straw over your head to cover your eyes and face from the sun, and you had the same basket on your arm that you had the other days. It was empty this time, and he had no doubt that you were looking at the flowers for fun before going to look for fruit. He couldn't help but smile fondly at you from across the field, and then he was gripping his lyre and taking a deep breath.

“Y/N,” he called out, his voice full of emotion instead of being the strong sound he wanted it to be. Nonetheless, it caught your attention, and then your pretty eyes were wide on him. Immediately, your feet turned in his direction and you made your way across the meadow, and he followed suit. He met you in the middle, so nervous that the grin that was deep inside of him wasn’t coming out at all.

You were both at a loss for words as you stood close to each other. His hands shook at his sides, aching to hold your hands in his. He wondered if they were as soft as your voice, or as smooth as the petals flowers you admired. “You came?”

He blinked. Of course he did. It was all he could think of doing. “My only regret is not coming sooner,” he admitted, and he watched you angle your eyes downwards, and he smiled at your shyness. “Would you like to hear it?”

Your eyes were connecting with his again, and he could have sworn that your smile could have put him in an early grave. He was momentarily stunned by you and your brightness, so stunned that he hardly even heard what you said. “Of course I would.”

“So then you’ll hear it,” he said softly, his heart and mind completely taken over by you in your presence. He fixed his lyre into position, his fingers already fixed into the correct spots as he began to play your song.

His eyes were shut as he strummed just as he had practiced thousands of times, but he knew it felt different. His body was buzzing with excitement and something else he couldn’t identify, but he loved it. It made him play stronger. His eyes shut even more as he felt the music, swaying side to side a bit as he felt his heart open up to you, finally content with you hearing the song.

He didn’t even realize that he was done until all he could hear was quiet sniffles. He pried his left eye open, almost too scared to look for your reaction, but when he saw that you were just looking up at him with watery eyes and a wobbly smile, he opened his other eye, ready to spring into action.

The only thought going through his mind was that it was impossible that you liked it. The way you were looking at him reminded him of the way people looked at sculptures of ancient monsters— a muted type of awe, but also a sense of discomfort. He brought you to tears, and not in the way he wanted to. He ruined it.

“I- was it bad?” He blurted out, and he cursed himself at ruining his own chance. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry you didn’t like it-”

“How long have you been playing that song?”

You were too beautiful. Too gentle. You were melting his brain into mush, and he doubted that he would be able to pick up his lyre for another round even if you begged him. “I… I just made it. For you, I made it with you in mind.”

Your facial expression didn’t change. “Where’s the ring?”

He blinked. “I’m sorry?”

“The rings we’re going to wear when we wed,” you said, almost teasing. “Do you have them?”

His eyes widened. “You want to marry me?” He asked, leaning forward a bit in shock. “The sky didn’t- the rain never came.”

“I cried,” you said, a small smile on your face. You still hadn’t wiped your tears, and he watched them frozen on your face, stuck in time. “I didn’t expect the work of the gods. I just wanted you to play for me.”

He was bewildered. He had half of the mind to ask you if you truly meant it again, but he took his excitement and ran with it. “And you… you feel this too?”

You took his right hand into yours, and he swore that his souls ascended to the gates of Olympus and waltzed right in. “I felt it the second I saw you, Bucky.”

He blushed something fierce before looking down at the ground, shame overtaking his sheer admiration for you. “There’s something I should tell you before you say you want to be with me.”

“Tell me anything,” you encouraged softly, one of your hands coming up to brush his warm cheek.

“I don’t have much.”

And he didn’t. He had Sam and Steve and a nomadic lifestyle. He never stayed in the same place for long, and he didn’t have a roof over his head. He didn’t need one. Rain and wind and fire didn’t bother him. He preferred to live under the canopy of trees and the protection of nature. But he knew humans didn’t. He knew humans— especially women— liked when their partners brought things to the table, and he had nothing but strings and whistles. He had nothing materialistic. He had no gems, no coins, no house, and fancy clothes— nothing money could buy. But he looked at you and saw that you deserved it all, and even more he saw that he had no way to even provide it for you.

“I live in many different places, I don’t have a home. I don’t have money. I don’t have… I can’t buy you dresses or shoes or any of the stuff you would probably like… and I’m sorry. I know that will probably change everything, but I just wanted you to know.���

You took a step forward, strong and secure, and then your chin was tilted upwards. “Like I said, where are the rings?”

Bucky grinned.

§§§

The day of your wedding was blessed by the gods, whether they admitted it or not. You married each other in the meadow Bucky found you in with a small crowd of people, and when you kissed as man and wife, peace washed over the both of you, and it felt like your marriage had been approved by all far and wide. The kiss that you shared to make the wedding official was short and sweet and full of the most innocent of passion, and he felt so adored by the soft touch of your lips that he felt a singular tear cross the terrain of his pale face for the first time in years.

He didn’t even deny it.

He didn’t deny the way that you danced together was perfect. He had never guided you, had hardly even danced with another woman, but it was perfect. It was like he had practiced with you before a hundred times, and the feel of your hands in his was what kept him sane. He was convinced that you could do anything new with him and it would feel like you had done it before, just because you were so familiar to him as a whole.

He had known you for what felt like seconds in the grand scheme of things, but you knew him inside out and he knew you better than he knew himself. He could find you in the dark, you could identify him with just a whisper of his voice, and he could fall in love with you over and over without even touching you. He would perform the Sisyphean task of falling in love with you over and over again if it meant that he could be next to you.

And luckily, it turned out that you didn’t need the things that Bucky was sure you were going to. He got you a small house just for the two of you to come back to, and he still roamed around in the area. Steve and Sam would walk off and come back weeks later, just like they used to when it was the three of them together. And there would Bucky be, at the house he made possible for you, and happier than ever.

Bucky lived an extremely modest life with you, and he liked it. Farming and getting water from wells and working for the food that was on your tables, cutting wood to feed the flames in the pit in the middle of your main room. Life was somewhat repetitive, so repetitive that he was scared he would lose you to your wild imagination and beautiful, adventurous heart. But it had never been as fulfilling as it was with you.

The little things were what made his day. It was waking up with you at his side, tucked into his arms and still sleeping soundly while he made songs up in his head dedicated to you that made him smile. It was listening to you hum to yourself while you washed corn and peaches and squash in the buckets of water you had carried down the hill that served as your property. It was the way you would pull him out of a funk by taking his hand and leading him out of his chair, dancing to music that didn’t exist, or the way you would coax him to sing to the moon because you wanted a longer night. A longer night meant more time spent with each other.

When you woke up after your long nights, sometimes you would coax him out of bed for some daily challenge, a challenge that usually he would end up beating you at. Part of him believed that you just wanted him to show off, but you always said otherwise. You would challenge him in singing only to have him go first and not even sing, claiming you had already lost. You would tell him you wanted to race him to the stream and back, knowing that you would lose by a long shot. He could run circles around you if he hardly tried, and that was just in his godly blood. But there was never any jealousy, never any animosity, never any bitterness. It was all just sweet, it felt.

You were just so magical. It was so simple, the things that made him happy, but he knew that just one call from your soul to his was more than just communication. He craved it. He knew from the moment that he met you that his soul would always seek yours, even into the afterlife. He knew that every day with you would be as beautiful as you were on your wedding day, shining brighter than any gem or any star in the night sky. And none of it would ever change.

§§

Things changed. Just as the sun rose and set, so did time. It cranked on without a single hint of Bucky aging, and you were still as youthful as you were the three years prior. Life was still beautiful, and that was all that mattered.

You had traveled around the world with him, kissed in so many different cities with different kings and different cultures and different music. You had met so many different people, lived so many different lives, just to go back home and settle there. It was wonderful. He loved you, and you loved him. It was the kind of love that was never at risk of fading or thawing away. It was the kind of love that was only spurned on as the years crawled by, the days acting as twigs added to an already strong fire. It was such a beautiful thing that he had with you, and every day with you felt like one that was blessed by the gods themselves.

Until it didn’t.

Bucky had never felt fear in his heart like he did when he heard your scream travel across the meadow. He didn’t even put on his shoes before tearing off to find you, torn between begging you to make another sound so that he could hear you or pleading the gods to make the sound of your distress stop and never happen again. His chest rose and fell with the exertion, and he knew that he had never been so afraid in his life.

The scream was all that echoed in his mind when he ran through the woods, and as he stumbled upon fallen fruits and flowers that he just knew were yours. He realized he was at the end of a ravine almost too late, and when he looked down, following the steep curve of the slope with wary and partially-knowing eyes, he immediately doubled over.

There you were in all your fallen glory, legs bent unnaturally and neck twisted even worse. The light yellow of your dress was stained with brown and dark green, and in some places a deep red that made him sick to his stomach. Your eyes were looking up at the sky, staring right into the sun as it shone down on your figure, taunting him just like the breeze that began to make your dress look so lively.

Bucky fell to his knees right on the edge of the ravine, his heart not even lurching when he lost his balance. An arm reached out to you, like it was stuck in the moment before you fell and he could reach you. Tears were coming down his face slowly, steadily as he fought to get breaths in. He called your name.

He didn’t know how many times he called your name, or how far the sadness in it traveled. It must have been loud and long enough, because before he knew it, there were hands on his shoulders. They were warm and familiar and even the smallest bit comforting in that moment, but not enough. He wanted your hands.

“Let’s get away from the edge, Buck.” It was Steve’s voice, strong and gentle and the backbone of the situation. Bucky’s eyes pried open at the feeling of Steve’s sturdy hands pulling him backwards, and he retched in his mouth at the sight of your broken, soulless body at the bottom. He hadn’t even realized he had gotten so close to it himself.

“I’ll go down to…” Sam started, trailing off with a soft and distraught look on his face when he caught sight of Bucky again, and Steve nodded at him.

“Let’s get you up, Buck. Up and Washed off.” He hadn't even realized he was dirty at all. His hands were covered in dirt and under his fingernails were the same earthy brown he was used to. He had been pulling up grass from where he grieved without even noticing.

His sobs were so loud that they hurt Steve’s ears. His dragging steps were causing such a disturbance to the land around him that animals seemed to crane their necks at him and cast their glances his way, as if wondering how on earth a person could be that distressed. His mouth was moving, but it looked and sounded more like babbling and trembling as waterfalls came down the canvas of his pale skin.

“Buck, you have to calm down. You’re about to have an attack.”

He didn’t know if he meant heart attack or a panic attack, but it didn’t matter. All that mattered was that you were dead, all twisted up at the bottom of a ravine. Your soul had left the earth, left your body, and you were just laying there like you had never been alive. Like you had never held his hand, or kissed his cheek, or wore his ring or laughed or sang or read fine poetry while eating the fruits you had picked. Seeing you down there with your open and dim eyes felt like you had never lived at all.

“Keep walking with me, buddy. You’re going to be just fine.”

But he wasn’t. Every step he took away from you made bile come up in his throat. He wanted to be as far away from your lifeless body as possible, but he didn’t want to ever let you go. He wanted to hold you close to him until it felt like you were alive again. But as his heart beat seemed to freeze up but race like a horse all the same, he realized that you would never be alive again. You were only as alive as your last few moments, whether they were filled with the joy and freedom of having the wind on your face or the fear of falling. He could do nothing to change it.

But he would try to do everything.

§§

He spoke to everything and nothing. Steve and Sam would take turns coming to him after they celebrated your life. It reminded Bucky of the way that his mothers friends used to come watch him while his mother was off and away somewhere, and how it felt like they thought of him as a cute little burden. He knew deep down that his friends cared for him more than anything and that he cared about them just as much, but he couldn’t think about anything but you. He wouldn’t.

It was a service that made the skies open just like you said they would for his voice. The day lilies that surrounded you and Bucky seemed to be weeping with him. The wind came from east to west and west to east, spinning around and throwing in the scent of the flower with the smell of oncoming rain, reflecting the turmoil he was feeling on the inside. He could have sworn that the earth had trembled just like his hands that held your cold and still ones. But if the world had caved down under him at that moment, he wouldn’t have moved. He wouldn’t have opened his mouth to scream, or even say a word. He would have only held your hand tighter.

He spoke to the moon more often than he did Steve and Sam. They hovered, but it was the kind of hovering that Bucky felt he would appreciate sooner or later. He would sit every night and talk to the moon with his legs pulled into his chest, small and in such a vulnerable position that it would have made him feel uncomfortable at any other time. But he was vulnerable. He had been knocked off of his feet and winded. The world kicked him while he was down more times than he could count, and they had opened his chest and peeked right into his heart before seeing it was unworthy and walking away from him. It left him bleeding out in the forest while he listened to the birds eventually go on back to chirping, and watched the flowers push through and grow, and people laugh and smile and talk like nothing changed.

He was doing just that. He was lying in the flowering fields that he would always swear belonged to you, the both of you, when he heard soft footsteps. He didn’t care to look up. He knew it wasn’t Steve or Sam, but why would he care? He had nothing to be scared of now that you were gone.

“You’re Orpheus.” It wasn’t a question.

He didn’t even blink, but an annoyance he couldn’t shake bubbled up inside of him at hearing the name his mother granted him coming from a stranger. As much as he wanted complete silence, he couldn’t help but say- “Bu- sure. I’m Orpheus.”

“Everyone heard, you know.” The voice was of an old, frail woman. Bucky knew that without even looking, He ignored the fact that pity was strong in her voice, and that he knew exactly what she was talking about. He ignored the way he knew that she thought that she had the right to talk about his wife, about the way he had lost you far too soon. She knew nothing. But he let her speak. “I’m sorry.”

He didn’t say a word. He didn't even recognize words as an option. He would stay silent and wait until she left. Maybe if he was quiet enough or stared up at the sky in such a still manner that it scared her, she would leave him. If he pretended to be as dead as he felt, he was sure she would leave.

“There hasn’t been a good song since you’ve stopped playing.” He heard rustling, and then he dared to look off to the side to see the old woman struggling to sit, cane wobbling in her hand as she finally plopped her frail bones onto the ground near him. He sighed heavily and looked back up to the sky. “You know, you’ve gotta be the most moving musician to ever walk the earth, from both god and man.”

It was a compliment that would have had him blushing years ago. It would have had his young mind fumbling for his lute or lyre and clearing his godly voice, asking if she wanted to sing with him or just listen. Now, it incited nothing. It meant nothing. “I doubt I’ll ever play again.”

“You pleased god and man,” the old woman carried on, almost like she had never heard him open to speak with that raspy voice of his that was so uncharacteristic of him that it hurt to hear. “Anyone would have done anything to hear your music.”

He finally turned to the side to look the old woman in her face, and he blinked at her. “I’m grieving.”

“You could persuade anyone with seven strings and five notes, don’t you understand that?” Her voice was almost angry. It was hard and nearly pleading, so different from her previous tone that Bucky snapped his head her way. “If I were you, I would have been at Death’s gates.”

They were staring at each other. Bucky was looking at the decrepit woman with curly gray hair that looked like she had dodged a visit to the Gates of Death herself more than once with shocked eyes. His heart started to beat again, like her words were arousing some kind of vicious hope that he never even knew could exist.

“The gods blessed your union. They won’t ever say, but they did bless your marriage. What makes you think that if you beg, you won’t get a blessed reunion as well?”

She disappeared within seconds of her final words, leaving a revelation swirling around in his mind and haunting his every thought.

§§

His feet ached. His hands were beginning to blister from stroking the strings of his tired lyre, and his throat was even beginning to strain. He had been singing for hours, pouring his heart out at the hidden gates of the Underworld, begging for an audience. But above all the physical pain ranked the ache in his heart, the unbearable feeling of your death sitting on his shoulders and ripping him apart from the inside. His grief was destroying him.

Hades might as well have had ears plugged up with the same wax that was used by Odysseus and his men. Usually he went undisputed, because just as life was certain, so was death. There was no questioning the decision of it, or the Fates, or the rule of Hades and his acceptance of his dear Eurydice into his kingdom. Everyone was allowed to plead and beg, but no one ever went down to the gates of the Underworld to ask for the release of a loved one, whether they were man or god. But there he was, standing in dirtied pants with fingertips plucked pink, and tears running down his face.

He didn’t know if he would ever gain the strength to leave. He didn’t know what he would do if someone even bothered to humor him. He wasn’t going to be able to have you back. He was never going to be able to bring you back up above, have you under the sun and shining beautifully like you were born to do. What would he beg of them? For them to let him see that your soul ended up in the Asphodel Meadows? For them to let him hold you one last time before you drank from the Lethe and forgot everything that happened? What if you had already drank from it? Each thought made his stomach lurch more, and his music grew louder and more desperate, like the final battle cry of a warrior.

His back was up against a tree as he sang out again in the night, praying for someone to hear him and take pity on his poor soul. Strike me down and send me with her, if you cannot give me the gift of seeing her again. The same tears that had been steadily pouring down his face were gathered in a puddle at his unmoving feet, yet he didn’t mind. He couldn’t.

“You have woken my wife.”

Bucky’s playing stopped immediately. “What?”

The man before him was dark. He was tall and seemed to take up almost the entire space even though he was only a bit wider than Bucky. His shoulders were broad and his chin was strong, and his eyes were sharp even under the gloomy look they had to them. His cheekbones were sunken in and his eyes had a ring of black around them, like he hadn’t slept in a thousand years. His lips were set in a hard line, but he didn’t look displeased. Most notably, he had a dark aura surrounding him, even black most coming from behind him and nearly encasing him.

“I don’t repeat myself, and luckily, it looks like you heard me the first time.” His voice was deep, enthralling, like a song that Bucky would never dare write himself.

What was a man this terrifying, this powerful, doing in the forest? How had Bucky woken a soul when he was in soulless territory? He hadn’t seen houses for leagues.

Something inside of Bucky begged him to apologize. It begged him to get into his knees and look downwards towards the growing grass and hope to be spared. If this was before he lost you, maybe he would have listened to it. But what did he have to truly live for now that his darling was gone?

“I’m sorry to have brought you out of your dwellings because of my grieving.”

There was a certain kind of silence that would have made Bucky’s skin crawl if he even dared to look the being’s way. “Grieving?”

“My wife.” He breathed out, finally letting his arms loose as he let his trust lyre fall down to his side. “She… has fallen prey to death.”

“Ah,” the man said, his voice nearly a scoff. “I see. The circle of life.”

“And now my life shall go in circles, on and on and down the same miserable path without the woman I love,” Bucky stated, resting his head back against the tree. “I wish I knew a man that grieved. Me… I live amongst gods. We don’t grieve. We don’t die. I have never met a man who had an inch of grief in his heart. I feel like the first to ever feel it.”

“We can lose people in other ways than death,” the man said. “Death is the most absolute, but it seems to hurt a lot less than voluntary abandonment.”

“This is my first brush with death, and I have to admit that I’m not the biggest fan.” What an understatement.

“That’s a shame. My wife is quite the fan of you and your… grief. She says it’s the most moving thing she’s ever heard.” Bucky just nodded, eyes far off. “She wants to meet you.”

“I don’t really want to meet anyone.”

“You don’t want to see my wife? You don’t want a two way ticket to the world you’ve been singing about taking passage to for days now, Orpheus?”

His head turned slowly, eyes widening as he tried to piece thoughts and facts together with his sluggish mind. “What?” But he knew. He knew with another glance at this man that he was no man at all, but one of the original gods. He was Hades, in the divine flesh, standing right before him with a glint in his eyes that meant he was satisfied by Bucky’s shock. He went to his knees, kneeling as a sob piled up into his throat.

“Your Excellency,” he began to plead, recalling back to the times he was a young god, listening to his mother explaining the way that he should speak to all the gods who came before him- especially one as powerful as Hades. “I apologize. My mind is not set right— the loss of my wife has taken a toll on me. Please forgive me.”

“Your grief blinds you.”

There was no point in lying. “It does.”

“I, too, was blinded by grief. In fact, it happens every other six months, though I suppose you young gods and humans call it winter and fall. My wife would leave, gone with a stroke of wind and then come back only to wilt again. But she, just like your own wife, will learn that there is nothing we can do about the situations we are in. Destiny will have us where she has us, and your Eurydice’s path above has ended.”

Bucky wanted to scream at him. He wanted to refuse him and tell him that Destiny and the Fates would have to bend to his will, because there was no other way. He couldn’t last another day without you, let alone a lifetime. But the god he was speaking to was Hades, and Bucky was just Orpheus, a low level demigod.

“However, my wife still wants to meet you. She wants to hear your song clearly, where it’s not muffled by distance.” His heart began to race. His hands were shaking. His eyes were wide as he tried to take in a deep breath, waiting for the gloomy god’s next words. “If you agree to see her and play her that song of yours, I’ll let you see this wife you speak of. Does that sound fair?”

Nodding was all Bucky could do to stay awake.

§§

The Underworld was just as gloomy as it was in the stories. Black and grey ran together to create a shadowy world, dismal and dark. It was full of strange sounds, like the whistling of thick wind that almost sounded like wailing humans. The air was so heavy that Bucky was finding it hard to breathe, and there was a mist so hard to cut through that Bucky could hardly see more than three feet in front of him at a time. Hades led him, and the only reason he could see him was because of his true height showing, and the fact that his dark smoke was even darker than the mist.

His hands shook. Both of them held onto his lyre for dear life. It was close to his chest, strings facing away from him, but still it felt like he could feel the vibrations of it, like the air was mocking him back by playing a song of its own. He resisted the urge to close his eyes and fall to his knees, the environment putting him in near shock.

But he had to find you.

Hades stopped in his tracks, turning his sunken face towards Bucky, who had to fight to not flinch. “If you play for my wife and she likes it, I’ll take you to see yours.” He nodded his head quickly, putting his lyre into position, his arms trembling with anxiety. The double doors opened without the old god even touching them, and then Bucky was faced with an ancient throne room, elegant and dark all the same.

The first thing he did once he got near the sitting Queen of the Underworld was kneel. Tears were already swirling in his eyes, and his throat was lurching. If he were a human, he was sure that he would have been throwing up. He prayed silently to his mother, calling upon the strength of the Muses and their talents into his blood once more.

It was silent until the queen finally spoke. “So you’re the musician?”

“Yes, Your Excellency.”

“I expected you to be much older,” she said, her soft voice a plain contrast from her husband’s, and the dark setting of the Underworld. And then, Bucky understood that the stories weren’t embellished. At first thought, she didn’t seem to belong down there, least of all with Hades. He didn’t dare look up at either of them. “Your grief seems to be centuries old.” It felt like it was. The hole in his heart felt older than he was.

“This is Orpheus, son of Calliope,” Hades explained. “He can’t be more than a few thousand years, if I remember correctly.”

“Young, very young.” Persephone mused, the tone of her voice almost curious. “And what causes you to play this song?”

He explained it. He explained all of it. Your death, his need to see you, his stupid hope of bringing you back home where you belonged. He left it all on the table for them both to hear, even though he knew that the odds were unlikely for him. He didn’t care. He didn’t care if he got ridiculed or thrown back out of the gate, all that mattered to him was that he tried his hardest to get you. And that you knew, deep down in your forgotten mind, that he tried.

“Your music has moved me so, truly.” Persephone said, and then Bucky looked up. She was beautiful, flowers all over her body. She was the brightest thing down there, no doubt, and she still had that godly glow that all the other gods had, a golden rim around her body. She turned her face toward her husband without taking her eyes off of Bucky. “And I want to give you a chance.”

Bucky’s heart stopped. “Your Excellency?”

She was facing Hades now. “Give him a condition.” She muttered, her hands gripping the arms of the throne she sat on. “But let him try.”

Hades frowned. “If I let her go, how many humans do you think will hear of this tale and try to do the same?”

“None.” The goddess answered quickly. “They’re afraid of you. This boy is not. And unlike gods, humans accept death. They know that it is a part of the cycle, and they wouldn’t dare dispute it. This is just a confused young god. He hasn’t seen death before. This will be the only time anyone will ever ask this of you, Hades.”

It was pure silence. It seemed to stretch on for eons as Hades contemplated his wife’s words. The lyre had fallen to the ground minutes before, and Bucky felt himself reaching for it. Tears were streaming down his face now. “I’ll play for you again. I’ll play for you for a decade straight if you let me take her home at the end, if you let her remember me.” He added desperately, body trembling with anticipation.

Hades had dark eyes, and those dark eyes were full of uncertainty and something close to anger while he stared at Bucky, with a look on his face that was so blank that it frightened him. His wife’s hand was on his chest as she pleaded with him on Bucky’s behalf, yet he only stared Bucky down.

“If you can walk your way out of my domain without turning back to look at her, you can take her with you above ground.” Bucky sobbed. “If you look back, boy, she stays in the Asphodel Meadows.”

Bucky sobbed again.

§§

His back faced everything. He couldn’t hear anything except for the beating of his own heart, the heartbeat that seemed to extend all the way down to the fingertips that gripped the infamous lyre in his hand. He shook with every breath, and every blink was harsh on his eyes as he tried not to cry.

He wished he could hear you. He wished he could hear your soft voice reassure him, tell him that you remembered everything, that you were right behind him and that you would follow him everywhere, just like he would follow you. Just like he had followed you. He wished he could hear you.

He wished he could feel you. If your warm hands could just ghost over his shoulders and push him forward without quite letting go, he would have made the trek a thousand times. If he could feel your hands brushing away the hair out of his line of sight, he would have been walking before Hades even gave permission. He wished he could feel you.

He couldn’t. But he would walk anyway.

He hardly heard Hades give permission, his ominous tone echoing through the otherwise empty cavernous area, or the sound of Persephone’s whispers. But he could feel it in the air, suffocating and burying him.

Every lift of his foot was agonizing, every step far heavier than he ever imagined he could bear. But he would do it for you. He would push. Every whisper of doubt that crossed his mind, he would throw away.

It didn’t matter that at times, he wasn’t sure if you got what you needed from him. It didn’t matter that he felt like you weren’t fulfilled by the life you had with him. He had faith. It dwindled with every step, but he had faith. He would keep it and nurture it with every breath he had inside of him on the long journey back home.

Seconds started to feel like minutes, and minutes started to feel like hours. He hated it. His throat was closing in on itself like his voice was his enemy, like the voice everyone thought was so golden was the voice that would be the final nail in his coffin.

His feet were still aching, but the ache had become dull. Louder and more painful was the feeling of the cold biting his skin, like it was a reminder to stay conscious, to stay alert and thinking. Thinking was his vice and virtue. The silence was too loud. His mind was in pain, his heart even worse as he started to feel like the cold was his antagonizer. It was cold up above. It was in the cold where you suffered the most, where you struggled to stay positive. It was in the cold where he could hardly provide for you. It was in the cold where he had to hold you so close to him that air didn’t stand a chance between the two of you because every other man had already chopped the good wood.

But at the same time, he began to feel warm. It felt so warm to his skin that it felt like he was about to step into Tartarus. And it was in the warmth that you dressed in that pretty, short dress that got you harassed by men without humanity. It was in the summer that he found he couldn’t defend you. It was in the summer that he had a flash of realization that he wasn’t strong enough. It was in the summer that he got an even more fleeting flash of the thought that he wasn’t enough at all.

It was in the spring, in the months where there was sun and soft breezes, that he realized again that he was of no help. He had gotten a job one spring that was honest work, but brought in a lot less for the household than you did. He was working with the hands that were already calloused over to help men far more experienced than him craft things to sell to the town. He worked hard to come home tired just to know deep down that for all his work, he had not much more than chump change and a positive outlook to his name.

It was one autumn that he realized how much he had failed you, and he swept it under the rug like he did every other season. One autumn, he walked in on you crying in the arms of your friend- the local plum vendor that Bucky always used to buy from- about how you were terrified of being pregnant. As he walked through the Underworld, he asked himself how he could have ever forgotten that moment. Because what you said had shaken his heart to the core.

“There’s no way I would be able to take care of it.”

It wasn’t the certain doubt that was plants in your mind. It wasn’t the fact that neither of you had noticed Bucky hovering in the door because you were sobbing so hard. It wasn’t the way the woman comforted you better than he thought he was ever able to- because with him, you just never addressed the bad. It was as swept under the rug as dirt was. It was the way you said “I”. Alone. By yourself. Him and his contributions weren’t even in the picture. Were they even contributions?

It was never his voice that was his greatest feature and his worst. It was his mind. His mind was his killer. His mind was a killer, his poison and his weapon, and he was turning it right onto himself. His legs trembled as he fought the urge to look, to crane his neck and get his disappointment over with. Were you following him? Did you even remember him- or had you already drank from the river that would steal all of the life that you had before? Had Hades tricked him into leaving quietly?

And if you did remember him, why on earth would you follow him? You would be following him back to a land that was full of struggle and making it through day by day. You would be trudging after him this time only for him to bring up the rear in everything else. He would be the one smiling at you after you came from working to the bone, providing for him and yourself. That was all he ever had to offer, a smile and a song. What could he truly trade for a smile and a song? What could he get you?

Nothing.

What could he do if you got hurt again?

Nothing.

What could he do with his life when he surfaced and found you not there, far behind in the Underworld?

Nothing.

The doubt piled up. It replaced the faith like the faith was a forest and doubt was a wildfire. Every footstep added to it. He was convinced. He was sure that the result of him turning around at that one moment could be no worse than him turning around when he got to be above ground and away from the suffocating death. You weren’t going to be there. Whether he turned right then or in a hundred years, you weren’t going to be there. If you were in your right, beautiful mind, you would have seen him begging and turned your eyes from him and pretended like you hadn't known him.

He couldn’t tell where he was. His breathing was too shaky for him to think about anything else but breathing and thinking about you. It was too dark. His feet hadn’t touched grass yet and he knew he had to try to keep pushing, but he couldn’t wait any longer. He was bursting at the seams to confirm something that he already knew was coming for him.

His feet dragged. His steps sped up but it felt like he was fighting quicksand. He was struggling to walk through it, fighting to take breaths in it. The shallow breaths were somehow pitched high, bouncing off of the rocky, cavernous walls he began to hate. The only thing on his mind was doubt, doubt, doubt. It was a fever he couldn’t sweat out. A tremor he couldn’t shake away. A dark color he couldn’t paint over. A shadow he couldn’t run from. And just when he couldn’t fight it anymore, he saw light.

He never ran so fast in his entire life. He wanted to escape the feeling clawing at his throat and chest, the dread and preparation for pure disappointment. He wanted to step into the light, step into something he knew, before he allowed himself to collapse in grief again. It felt like the light was getting closer, and then it would fade again and come back lighter. He didn’t register the sound of sobbing until the sound faded out and stopped echoing, and then he was aware that his feet were touching the grass.

His feet were touching grass.

His hands shook as he raised them to his face, cupping his cheeks as he came to the realization that he was out of the nightmare that was the Underworld. Emotions were rushing into him faster than he could understand what they were, and then his mind stopped. His face was dry. His head whipped around.

Your eyes were wide and watery. Your dress was torn and bloody, just like it was when you had died. Your hair was a mess, and you were shaking from crying so hard. You stood there like a ghost, transparent and out of place, but crying real tears all the same. The sobs he had been hearing weren’t his own. They were yours. And you were still encased by the shadows of the Underworld.

You had been trying to catch up to him.

“Oh!” His exclamation was more of a dying moan than anything else. His trembling hands cupped his mouth again as he watched you cry again, crying even harder than that one time where the leaves were falling. He uttered your name once, and then once turned into four times, and as your cries got louder, his muttering turned into a shout, your name the one word he was calling out over and over again.

“I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry baby.” He watched as you opened and shut your mouth over and over, shaking your head as silence was all you could produce. “Y/N, I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.” He was drawing blood from how his fists were clenched. “Baby, my sweet love, my darling,” the names were dripping from his tongue like honey, like it was a balm that could soothe the both of you. His apologies were just as tender, as quiet and disbelieving as the language his eyes were speaking. He couldn’t help but reach out to you with a dying apology on his lips, his foot crossing the barrier you would be stuck behind forever, and just before he touched what must have been your cold skin, there was nothing but air.

Nothing but your lingering presence and his poisonous mind.

§§

He never thought that life could be so meaningless. Even before he met you, he felt like he had a purpose. He was an entertainer, a traveling man, a man who brought joy and music with him effortlessly wherever he went. Not anymore.

He was empty, and he felt like an empty glass jar. He wasn’t even an empty box— he was something anyone that had eyes could see right through. Everyone saw him and knew he was the one who had lost a wife and in turn given up all his divine talent. They looked at him through lenses that were wet with pity. He hated it.

He hated himself for doing the same to the humans who had lost loved ones. He felt horrible for giving them those looks, for telling Steve and Sam their stories without really knowing it. Now he was going through the unimaginable.

Nothing mattered, he learned. He thought that thought over and over again every time he woke up and every time he was going to sleep. He thought it while he sat in the cold on one winter night with no fire in the fireplace. It was something that would have made him worry a bit, or made him irritated at himself. Nothing really caused him to get angry or sad anymore. He was just there. It was like he was living yet another death by extension. The world gave him his cards and he played them in the worst way possible. But that’s what he did. He couldn’t change it.

He couldn’t change anything. All he could do was pray that you forgot the way that he failed you time and time again, and then where it was most important.

He would remember enough for the both of you.

****

hi guys! i feel like i literally have come back from the dead with all the time i’ve been in and out of here. it’s been so hectic and busy that i’m proud i got this out so soon lmao- i worked hard on this, so if you were feeling it please like and reblog!!