#maybe it’s guilt??? and it’s just compounding on itself????

[terrence-silver]

which do you think is the most unusual or surprising kink for each TIG character?

---

― To me, Terry McCain always seemed like he actually, deep down, liked subbing. Or rather, someone else taking charge and relieving some of his tensions and all the stresses that come with his particular line of work --- which are many. There's a lot of stresses in being a Detective --- in being in Law Enforcement --- trust and believe. Guy's immensely dedicated to his profession, his badge, his colleagues, his duties, those he puts behind bars and does he doesn't even more so; he works too hard, he kicks, he fights, he's a bit unhinged and very impassioned by nature and needs to blow off some steam lest he blows a fuse. These are just facts. Not to mention, it's hard to explain, but something about a very temperamental man like him being so full of perverted innuendos, being so cocky, hotheaded, naturally volatile and conventionally Catholic (with a tinge of guilt that might come with unconventional desires) yields itself to be the belief that he'd enjoy being reigned in and topped and letting loose through that, even if he doesn't realize it and nobody else realizes it either, because he has all the supposed markers of someone who takes charge, right? Right!? Wrong. In my humblest of opinions, it's usually the people who are full of bravado and excessive excessiveness that enjoy being put in their place once in a while and silenced; Terry McCain is one such person, I feel.

― Gus Travis has a thing for domesticity. I think he likes aprons, housewives, someone devotedly waiting on him and he likes homes in general, or rather, homeliness and its overall setting and atmosphere; could sound unusual, but when you live a criminal lifestyle, robbing, stealing, being on the run, spending time in compounds, harbors, boats, ships and on living the life of a felon, the concept of domesticity becomes rare and attractive irregardless of the fact that Gus always just dreamed of sailing out and never coming back. One doesn't cancel out the other. He enjoys fucking someone bent over a counter. Over furniture. While they make him dinner. While they draw him a bath. He wants to approach them from behind while they iron clothes or lounge at them and get handsy while they're carrying in groceries they picked up at the supermarket as he angrily demands to know where were they and what took them so long. He might just enjoy spicing up his kink for domesticity by playing the role of a jealous husband, which is everything but a role. He really is like that. But, as for the rest? He wants to be everything he's not; A man who's happily settled down in a sleepy suburbia; the big bad criminal fucking and despoiling his person on every surface ordered from some glossy catalogue like a man on dry land should.

― Just going off of sheer logic, you know what a Vampire who's been bereft of the sun undoubtedly want most? Just making love somewhere out in the open. Unfettered. In nature. Under God's sky. Maybe a summery, abandoned beach somewhere, absolutely uninhibited and unburdened, as naked and free as Adam and Eve in the garden before the fall. That feels like Jan Valek. Profoundly so. Because, lets face it, he's for sure tried everything --- he's had six centuries to try everything, not limited by stamina, exhaustion or basic human needs. Blood play and being telepathically connected with his whole coven, feeling everything they feel, copulating with them, copulating and seducing his victims too, eating them and drinking them and all sorts of unimaginables that we could reasonably subscribe to the Father of the Damned himself, but the one thing Jan couldn't have is, say, sex under the sun. Just simply basking out there, feeling someone's skin warmed by the rays from above next to his; a fantasy so prevalent, out of reach and overidealized in his mind that it turned into a dream as well as a sexual desire. Proof his soul has been regained. That he's whole. Liberated. He's wanted this all his life and couldn't have it. Maybe it's precisely why he aches for it.

― You asked for surprising and unusual kinks these characters have, but would anyone really be surprised if I said Jack Blaylock has a fixation for lust murder as a concept? Would anyone really be surprised by that? That he's an Erotophonophiliac and Autoassasinophiliac in equal measure? That he likes death? Fetishizes it, rather. Putting someone in potentially mortal danger and bringing them back from the edge before actual harm can come to them? That he finds it to be an artistic craft? Killing in a lovely way? Killing gruesomely? Killing neatly and killing chaotically? Pretending to kill and making it look and feel real? That he finds it erotic? Like an artist painting a canvas for commission? That his sexual fixations are just as fatal as his profession? That the fact he terminates targets for hire bled into what he wants in sex? That he finds the dead beautiful? Alluring? That he could very well verge into flat out Necrophilia? Thing is, he wants to wrap his hands around your windpipes and press down enough to make you lose consciousness, or dig the tip of a sword to a jugular just precisely enough to where if he moved a mere centimeter, he'd bleed you dry. Maybe have you lay down perfectly still, pretending not to be alive anymore, while he trails his hands across your arms, legs. Yeah. There's a thought.

― Being a dirty cop who likes making his profit on the side through extortion, abductions, embezzling and kidnapping, having his professional (and unprofessional) criminal career leanings possibly blend in with his kinks, I think Cash has a deep abiding relish for when his hostages actually...get a load of this...manage to escape. Or rather, to be more precise provide good sport and offer him the opportunity of a good chase. Not so much to where they actually endanger and sabotage the mission, but certainly enough to where he can intercept them, capture them, subdue them, threaten them up close and personal and retrieve them back. He doesn't mind a good fight. A good kick. Some spitting. Some blood. Doesn't mind meekness and surrender either, so long as there was some unexpected spice to the whole issue at hand. Something to quell the often repetitive catch and grab home invasion tactic that makes him his profit and the long, tense, tedious hours and days of negotiation actually needed to earn him that ransom money. And even though he's all strictness and he might tell a hostage to sit down, stay put, be quiet and obey, Cash actually wants them to misbehave and show some spunk and teeth in spite of what he says. It's exhilarating, it's lively, it pumps up the blood, and most importantly --- it's hot.

― I think Terry Silver's tried every type of sex, fetish and kinkery under the sun throughout his life, so if one thing that could be surprising or unusual in the bedroom with him is that he's actually a sucker for plain old intimacy and someone just taking care of him. Someone he can put his guard down with. Be 'weak' with, considering he's someone who places immense value into strength and supremacy as an ideal and this is precisely why this desire for someone's dedication is so oddly transgressive for him in the first place. He wants someone he can be vulnerable with behind closed doors, as much as Terry can be vulnerable in the classical sense. A kink for someone being his savior, even, considering trauma, personhood and sexuality correlate and intermingle very deeply with him, and the many times, and that one particular crucial instance he was saved during the war quite literally set up the trajectory of his whole life from there on out. As such, on some guilty, immensely hidden and pathological level Terry gets a kick for someone standing up for him to the degree it actually turns him on because he correlates it with love. He doesn't need anyone to do it. He's stronger, more capable and cunning than anyone he goes toe to toe with, but it's the act of devotion itself --- oh, the act of devotion that works as a potent aphrodisiac when Terry sees you speaking up for him, defending him, championing him that just does something to his brain that makes him want to excuse himself to go and fuck you that very instant.

[yourlocalviolet]

The Weight of Freedom

(GIF is not mine, All credits go to original creator)

Sad post for today, i'm watching 1883 rn and the sad vibes are spreading to my writing

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You hated this place. Hallways that were once filled with children laughing and happy families were now crowded with angry people with little to no hope for humanity. Maybe you were one of those people. You knew what the last men had done to the children that once lived in the zoo, and how now they were tearing them apart for some sort of ‘cure’. You knew that you were just as bad as them for letting it happen. Guilt filled your heart, and yet you were still here. Johnny was what kept you grounded, and kept you from turning into someone who commits those horrors. The peace shared between you could never last however, as war brewed on, and your own thoughts continued eating at your self esteem. Maybe that's why you had agreed to leave this place with Rani. While you would like to tell yourself you wouldn't leave Johnny behind, you knew you couldn't stay in this place any longer, even if it meant leaving the only person you truly loved. The last sliver of hope you had was supporting the belief that he would agree to escaping and living the rest of your life in peace, together. Deep down however, you doubted that would be the case.

It was dark as you sat on his bed like you had so many times before. Happy memories of the two of you fill your head, the smiles and laughs shared between each other, the stolen kisses and light touches. Tonight would not be one of those nights. He sat across from you, his expression blank. You both knew what was going to be said, and neither of you wanted to face it. Rani had tried to convince him to come only hours before, and you knew what his answer was. The feelings of your guilt didn't go away as you were with him like they usually did. Instead they seemed to multiply by the minute, being joined by the feeling of dread. The tears were impossible to hold back as the wet invaded your eyes. You hadn't remembered the last time you let yourself cry in front of another person. “Don't cry. Please.” Johnny mumbles as he places a hand on your shoulder. Once upon a time the action may have comforted you, but now the feeling was different. It made the tears even harder to stop. “Come with us Johnny. Please. You know you can't stay here. None of us can!” You cry out, your voice rising with every word. You don't mean to yell at him, but you just can't help it. It's too much to handle, too many emotions at once. Johnny knows that, but the look on his face looks like a puppy you had just kicked. The silence rings out as you look up at him. He avoids eye contact, and you know you can't stay much longer. “You have to come with us, because if you don't, I won't stay here with you.” you say, and he knows you mean it. “I can't. I dont have anyone else other than him. I can't go. I'm sorry” You know this is the end and that he won't change his mind. Tears are running down your cheeks once again, and you struggle to find the courage to look at him. You won't see Johnny again after this, and your time together is dwindling. “I have to leave then.” You say, voice cold and emotionless. You rise off of your seat on the bed, and leave the room. If you had some part of hope he would chase after you, it died as he stayed seated. 

Rani was with you now as you stood outside of the compound. As you looked back at the building, it felt like time itself had stopped. Everything you once knew, the hatred, the sadness and the guilt that infected your being would fade away with time. But, along with that, your love and happiness with Johnny would fade with it. And for this you cried. You cried for the death of love, for the death of the children you helped capture, and for the death of the ties that had held you bound for so long. You were free, but with all freedom comes choices you could never reverse, and you knew you would feel the consequence of leaving Johnny behind.

Maybe you were making the right choice, maybe your life would become better and you would be happy like you were years before the crumble. But maybe, just maybe, you were leaving your happiness behind you, in the one place you dreaded the most. 

[plenary-indulgence]

Okay so I know it was just a lil meme/joke, but out of curiosity if he WERE to get sent to silent hill what sort of emotional baggage wouldve sent em there and how well would he handle it?

first of all i HATE that u asked me this on anon b/cuz the fact that you a) looked at my post at all and b) took the time to ask me about it is making me insane and i want to send you a handwritten thank you note all tied up with like a ribbon and stickers and shit

anyway i definitely haven't thought about this at all clearly

ehehe had to get that out of the way it makes me laugh every time i look at it even though it's my own joke (i am one of like 7 people in the world who actually liked sh4)

i love the idea of silent hill aus and using them as a creative tool to really explore what makes your wol/oc tick in all the ugly ways but i personally feel like im not really clever or creative enough to do it well myself (kind of like konami after they fucked over kojima and made homecoming/downpour AM I RIGHT FELLAS!!) i can say with some certainty he wouldn't handle it WELL, there would be a lot of running away and panic and hiding and praying and swinging a lead pipe EXTREMELY INEFFECTUALLY because that's just how he handles things outside of silent hill too, by running away and hiding and praying. not so much the lead pipe maybe, that's a contrivance. :)

but i think primarily coconeja's biggest problem is his insecurity and his inability to really self-actualize and believe in himself as someone who matters in the world and how he just wants so badly to be what he thinks everyone else wants him to be, instead of just accepting himself for who he actually is. i think then some of the manifestations would be twisted versions of himself, or rather all the coconeja's he wishes he were but fails to be. and since it's a flawed premise to begin with, there is no "ideal" coconeja, they would all sort of be half-formed, misshapen things. pathetic grotesqueries. but with flavors!! the coconeja he thinks yshtola wants, who is clever and worldly - but physically weak and has to drag itself along the ground and oozes ink and has all the answers - but can only speaks backwards in riddles the coconeja he thinks thancred wants, who is quick on his feet and graceful and confident - but has no substance, and barely exists, and can only sort of shift ineffectually in and out of existence miserably the coconeja he thinks his parents wanted, which is just a sad little shadow who sits in a dark room full of dead fish all alone and counts, endlessly

you know!! stuff like that!! so on and so forth. a whole bunch of fucked up little coconeja ghoulies, so messy, so miserable, so gross.

oh and yea i guess there's the wedge thing; but joke photoshops aside he really deep down truly does not see wedge as anything other than good or as something that could ever hurt him. he loves wedge, and all the pain and the longing and the loneliness - all that baggage comes from inside, from him. he doesn't blame or resent wedge at all!! so if wedge did show up i don't think it would be as a monster i think it would be more conceptual. like something coconeja's searching for, or trying to reach, but can't. haunting this particular narrative in a way even though he's not dead.

although the more i think on it - while wedge himself is not at fault coconeja is REALLY AFRAID AND AWARE of how his status as the wol affects others, especially people he cares about, and how it can get them hurt or put them in danger. and i mean thats literally what happened with omega. compounding factor here that he thinks confessing or pursuing wedge in the way he wants WOULD hurt him and is wrong and like, not even doing anything but knowing he WANTS to - the shame and the guilt really do be eating him up.

mm like he really internalizes the fact that it's him, wanting wedge as something inherently wrong and hurtful and something to keep secret and locked away. in reality its BECAUSE he cares so much and would never do anything to hurt wedge, but has such a low opinion of himself and is terrified of the idea that just by having these feelings at all he's already ruined everything. idk im going in circles here. this particular aspect of coconeja is very stupid and hard for me to articulate lmao

i also think it would be dope as hell if there were just like, a giant godzilla sized flag. i mean you could make it relevant and say like "ohh well the giant godzilla sized flag is a representation of coconeja's inability to connect with people, his best friend is an animal because he's afraid of how he thinks real people won't accept his perceived inadequecies or whatever" and i guess like give him 3 heads and rusty muzzles and fucked up antlers that are just like a constantly twisting mess of human hands grasping at nothing hell throw in a bunch of rotting lunar tears all over him so i can even shoehorn the nier raid stuff in there and that's sort of coconeja's pyramid head figure, always just sort of looming off in the distance, watching, being a physical reminder of his fear and self-loathing and doubt

and of course as far as the actual silent hill itself, gotta go with the CLASSIC foggy town. or not so much a town, but the streets of uldah completely devoid of the hustle and bustle that defines it. it's cold and it's empty and it's rotting and it's quiet (aside from coconeja wailing his fool head off as he's running away from himself and swinging a rusty lead pipe at nothing)

anywho, thanks again for the ask!! thank you!! thanks!!

[ussgallifrey]

(She Moves With) Shameless Wonder | 19

✦ Summary: Your badge clearly said SHIELD consultant, so you weren��t entirely sure where Fury was getting this whole make you an Avenger idea from. But you had a feeling it might have something to do with the recent discovery of an artifact at the bottom of the Arctic Sea.

✦ Pairing: Steve Rogers x Female Reader

✦ Warnings: Canon divergence, language, mentions of WWII.

✦ Word Count: 5.4k

✦ Playlist: Here

✦ Author’s Note: And now we officially enter the Age of Ultron arc. This section of the story will be experiencing some of the biggest changes to the canon as I try to fix the mess that was the second Avengers movie.

[Master List]

The work you did was strictly off the books, so to speak. After the fall of SHIELD, you quickly disappeared into the shadows - much like the infamous ghost of a man who had been used like a puppet by the infernal organization that had grown within the once trusted global security organization.

Humans were used to that from you, though. Unlike the flash and fantastic showboating of Tony and his suits, or the iconic alter-persona of Dr. Banner, you were just in the background. You rarely appeared on newsreels after the Battle of New York, three years prior. And only a few glimpses of your person were to be shared in the aftermath of the Triskelion disaster. 

No, you preferred it this way. So similar to the way you used to exist within these mortal confines on Earth.

Nick Fury had changed that aspect of your life once the trickster god seemed fit to cause chaos in the human realm. You enjoyed the anonymity of your previous existence and it was one you were more than eager to return to - especially when said ex-Director requested your help in dismantling the old regimes of HYDRA.

When Agent Carter dropped the entirety of SHIELD’s files onto the internet, far more than what should have ever been buried was recovered. Maybe it was a sense of guilt - knowing you had participated in years of the organization without noticing this evil growth from within - that sent you on trail after trail. 

Like connecting points on a spiderweb, the bases and old headquarters appeared from within their dusty tombs, encrypted evidence falling to the wayside in the aftermath.

Warsaw is one more checkpoint on the seemingly never-ending list of missions. Deep within the depths of the Political Science and International Studies building, lost behind fake walls and hidden staircases rests yet another HYDRA remnant of post-war Europe.

The air itself is stale and stagnant from disuse. Dust floats down in an ongoing cascade within the beam of ancient overhead lights. You had suspected as much - this close to the general populace, it would have been a miracle if this place was still in operation. But still, you sweep the rooms - from the offices to the medical ward, to the holding cells. Carefully skimming through the few remaining documents left behind by the previous occupants.

You had only discovered the location of this particular bunker two weeks ago. And from there, it had been over a month since finding the vague mention of a Polish bunker within the notes of a report from a facility in Finland.

The surprisingly large underground compound must stretch beneath the entirety of the central university, so you assumed. With its twisting hallways and flickering lights that give it an all too familiar eerieness about the place. Not to mention the time it had taken you to scout out the entrance and finally calculate a time in which you could slip inside unnoticed by the students.

Nick would be content to mark another check on the list, even if this particular place gave you little information that wasn’t already common knowledge for HYDRA operations.

As you exit the ex-commander’s office at the end of the hall, a folder of possibly useful files in the crook of your arm, you come to an immediate stop when you hear the sound of muffled voices up ahead.

Pressing against the wall, craning your neck ever so slightly to try and distinguish the sound. You had observed this place for well over two weeks now and never once had you seen a single person stop at the hidden wall entrance. The amount of dust and decay within proved that you had been one of the first people to open this particular tomb. But perhaps an unknown alarm had been triggered?

Preparing yourself, as the sound of feet grows closer and the voices come to a sudden deafening silence, with a steadying breath you round the corner of the hallway and immediately have to throw your arm up to block the attack.

Sharp rounded metal meets the backside of your forearm, bouncing off of your body with a reverberating sound as the object hits the wall before being swiped up by the assailant once again.

Bringing your hands up to a defensive stance, the adrenaline rushes from your body as you stare down the three familiar faces just a few feet away.

“Steve?”

The supersoldier, with his shocked gaping mouth, slowly lowers his shield and takes a hesitant step forward - as if expecting you to vanish from sight. 

“Athena?”

Your lips break into a smile as you cross the floor to meet him halfway, eyeing the shared look that Nat and Sam share just behind the man’s back.

“Wow,” he blinks, lips curving up into a warm smile though his features are slightly obscured by the harsh lighting in the tunnel, “Are you… are you good? I wasn’t expecting to - you know,” the supersoldier gestures vaguely at your arm.

With a laugh, you say, “Come on, you know it’ll take more than that shield of yours to get me.”

He shakes his head, chuckling, “Right, right. So… still doing Fury’s work?”

Tapping the folder once, you reply, “You know it. Better question, what are you three doing in the middle of Warsaw?”

It had been nearly three months since you had last caught up with him in New York. And between Nick’s request for limited contact, you were really only able to tell him about the various locations you tackled after the fact.

At that, he glances back at his companions, looking a hint hesitant to admit, “This was one of the first places Buck was taken to after… the train.”

With a little hum of understanding, you pull back, “I’m not sure what exactly you’re expecting to find here, but I only grabbed these from the commandment’s drawers - nothing more than a collection of generals and possible locations.”

He gives a terse nod, deciding to take a look around for themselves anyway. Without another word, you return to the interior entrance of the bunker - by the concrete stairwell - to wait for your friends.

You knew that Steve had continued looking for Bucky after the events in D.C., but the few times you spoke about it together he had made very little progress. Even with the help of Tony and his access to the millions of cameras within the nation’s capital, the man had still managed to disappear without so much as a footprint left behind.

It wasn’t any wonder that Steve had turned to tracking him through the past. Who knows what little piece of information could give value to his old friend’s current whereabouts?

The four of you walk companionably through the University’s main courtyard, trying to look as inconspicuous as possible - though with Steve walking next to you, even with his baseball cap and sunglasses, it was hard not to be noticed.

He had not found whatever it was he had been searching for, apparent in the grim frown on his face as he emerged from the hidden bunker complex. It had merely been a stop between the Alps and Moscow in Bucky’s journey, he told you. Maybe there had been records at some point, but with the University basically destroyed to its foundation in the war, and the way the Nazis had departed when the Soviets came in, well… it was a miracle that any record from 1945 had survived.

“So, where are you staying?” you ask, glancing over at Sam.

He huffs, eyes flicking further over to Natasha who’s walking beside him, “Nowhere yet. And I’ve had my fair share of trying to sleep on the jet.”

The thought of the three of them crammed into the seats of a quinjet makes you smile, “Well, there’s plenty of hotels and such around here, pretty cheap too. Though, I’m sure you - ” you direct that towards Natasha, specifically, “ - probably have a good contact for that.”

She nods, typing something on her phone, “That I do.”

“And you?”

You turn to look at the man on your right-hand side, pausing at the crosswalk for the busy street along the river. He looks calm in the afternoon light, with only the faintest dusting of worry around his eyes. Steve shoves his hands into his pockets, rocking back on his heels for a moment as he stares you down - a small smirk ready to form on the outer corner of his lips.

“Where am I staying, you mean?”

He nods. The crosswalk clears of traffic.

Clutching the folder to your chest, you answer, “Nick has a place for me in Old Town. Been there since the fifth. Right above a tea house.”

You can feel the heat of his body next to yours, though your arms barely even brush as you walk down the sidewalk, side-by-side. Behind you, you can hear the very muffled noise of Sam and Natasha conversing, though you can’t make out the words for the life of you as cars zoom by and more tourists pass you.

“So,” Steve’s forearm lightly collides into your own, “You’ve been in Poland since the fifth?”

You laugh, having to crane your neck slightly to get a better look at his face, “No, I’ve been in Warsaw since the fifth. I was in Lębork before that, and Koszalin before that. So… about six weeks or so?”

“What?” Sam chimes in, “Can’t use your zap zap teleport powers?”

Your features furrow for a moment, “Not since the fall of SHIELD. Thanks to Nick, Pierce got a hold of the formula they used to track my arrivals. Cosmic energy released on a small scale, but noticeable enough if you know where to look. So, I keep the journeying pretty limited these days.”

The other man gives a thoughtful ahh, looking like he wants to ask possibly more questions of you, but seems to find a reason to close his lips once again. You look over at Steve, but his own gaze seems to be pulled in the opposite direction.

Eventually, the colorful brick masonry of Old Town comes into view. Castle Square is bustling with people: tourists posing by Sigismund's Column, locals seated outside of the Italian restaurant, all set to the sound of a plinking street organ grinder somewhere nearby. 

Glancing over at two of your companions, you watch as Natasha pulls at Sam’s forearm to which he replies with a hushed okay okay. Steve seems oblivious to them as he slowly takes in the Square. You instantly feel the need to move alongside him as he squints against the radiant light from overhead.

“First time in Warsaw?”

He blinks, gaze lost in a realm known only to him as a distant voice passes his lips, “No… not my first time.”

At once, you understand in so few words. You nudge his arm with your elbow as you lean into his space.

“It took years to get it back to this. Had to rebuild everything from scratch, basically.”

He sniffs, eyes a little glassy when he asks, “When did you…?”

“April 1945. And again in ‘52, ‘65, ‘83, and ‘91. I’m probably missing a date or two, but I think that’s the gist of it. I worked at the National Museum for a year, you know,” you watch as his eyes seem to pull their focus back towards you and away from whatever long-gone memory had held his attention.

Steve turns his body towards yours, interest piqued, “Where did you work?”

With a knowing smile on your face, you look up at him, “Would you be that surprised to hear that I oversaw the Gallery of Ancient Art?”

At that, he tilts his head back and laughs.

“It’s a bit of a personal specialty,” you say with a playful curve to your lips.

“Hey! Shieldmaidens.”

You both turn towards Natasha who has a permanent smirk on her face, though there’s something else there - in her eyes. Steve gives an exasperated huff, clearly in disagreement over the given nickname.

“I’m gonna take this one,” she pulls on Sam’s arm, “and get the three of us a place to stay for the night.”

Steve presses forward, “Okay, we can catch up later - ” he smiles down at you, a hand on your shoulder as he goes to leave.

“Hey, you two go on. Looks like you were reminiscing and talking about shared interests or whatever it is you two do,” Sam grins. “I’m just carrying the bags and then I plan on passing out once she gets us a room.”

“Yeah,” Natasha agrees. “Don’t let us spoil you two catching up. It���s been, what Rogers, three months?”

The supersoldier in question coughs roughly into his fist, all of his attention focused away from you, “If you’re sure,” he says with a slightly biting tone that you’re surprised to hear.

“Positive,” Sam beams, allowing himself to be led away by the redhead.

The silence stretches between the two of you as you watch your companions walk away, disappearing into the crowd of people and down one of the first brick roads. Steve seems rigid beside you now, as he flexes his fist next to his side. You’re still not sure why there’s been a sudden change in his demeanor, but it had been three months since you’d had the chance to catch up with each other.

“So…” you start, feeling shockingly cautious as you turn towards the man next to you.

With a long exhale, Steve slowly turns towards you, “So…?”

The tea house is off the tourist path. A small sign next to the door is its only indicator of existence - though the larger sign for the pub next door seems to garner most of the attention from passersby. At the end of the entrance hall stands two sets of stairs: the keycard-locked wooden staircase that leads up to the rental apartments and the slightly curved stairs that lead down to the hidden restaurant.

Steve has to hunch his shoulders and duck his head to make it through the bottom stone archway.

The room is cave-like with its candle-lit aura. Curved archways made of light-colored bricks make up the small room. Several small petrified log tables line the outer perimeter of the chamber, with cushioned ottomans and wooden chairs dispersed evenly throughout. A luminescent counter rests along the back wall between a shelf of tea boxes and the main seating area, with antique teapots lining the wooden serving surface.

You pick the table in the far corner of the room, in a small alcove where the outline of a now bricked-up window resides. A carefully stacked bookcase rests beside the table where a long white-stick candle is already lit and waiting.

For the middle of the week, the patronage is low for the time of day. With only a group of young women occupying the table next to the stairs.

Steve takes a seat on the ottoman opposite yours, ruffling his hair with his hand after pulling his baseball cap off and tucking it away on his knee. His sunglasses remain folded on the hook of his shirt collar.

After tucking the folder away for later, you shyly meet his eyes in the low light of the room, “So… how bad is your Polish?”

He folds his hands onto the tabletop, taking a long sweeping glance around the room before answering with a genuine, “Bad. Very bad.”

With a knowing smile, you drop your elbow onto the table and stare at him - glad for the companionship once again, “If we were anywhere else in town, you’d be in luck. Almost everyone speaks English, German, or Russian here - helps with the tourists.”

His blue eyes seem to sparkle as he rests his cheek on his hand, “I’m guessing there’s a but to that?”

“However,” you smirk, “You’re very fortunate that your dearest friend is quite fluent in Polish these days.”

The blonde laughs with a warm chuckle, muttering a low, “Very lucky, indeed.”

You order for the two of you at the counter, seeing the way that Steve has turned almost fully in his seat to watch you from across the room.

Poproszę grzane wina i czarne herbatę. Och, i lawendowy sernik, you tell the server before returning to your table and immediately telling the supersoldier that he’ll just have to trust your ordering-ability and maintain a little bit of patience.

An indie rock station plays in the background as the two of you sip from your drinks - you from your mulled wine and Steve from his black tea. He had spent an inordinate amount of time looking over the painted porcelain of the cup and saucer he had been given by the waitstaff.

“So,” you begin, lowering your drink, “If you’re retracing his steps, where’s the next stop?”

His eyes flick over his cup to your face for a moment as he finishes drinking from his tea blend, carefully placing it back down on the saucer before responding.

“I don’t actually know. I was hoping we’d find the smallest lead down there, but… here we are. Square one, again.”

You make a low hum in your throat, folding your hands onto your lap as you watch a new group descend the stairs in search of their own table.

“And I assume there have been no sightings since…?”

Steve gives a shake of his head, eyes pressed closed.

“I’m sorry, for what it’s worth.”

You reach across the small table to squeeze his free hand and his eyes blink back open. His thumb is calloused and warm as it rubs over the back of your hand.

“Thanks,” he ducks his head for a second, cheeks pink from the heat of his drink. “But we don’t have to talk work.”

“Okay,” you lean back in your seat, allowing your hand to slip from his grasp - if only to rest on the table just a breath away from his own. “How’s living with the resident playboy billionaire then?”

Steve huffs into his drink, a smile spreading to his face though he tries to hide it behind his cup, “Surprisingly good?”

Your brows raise in their own volition, “Really?”

He nods as you take a long sip from your wine.

“Mostly stays down in his lab, so not a bad roommate. Bruce is around a lot. Sometimes Clint or Nat. It’s a little… modern for my taste. But, I can’t beat the gym he has set up. Have you ever seen the training rooms there?”

“Once,” you admit, eyeing the lavender cheesecake that the waitress brings over to your table. You wait for her to leave before prodding, “So, are you still looking for your own place in the city or…?”

With a lackluster shrug on his part, “I don’t know. A place in Brooklyn is worth more than I’m willing to spend. And, I hate to say it, but it’s not all that bad living at the Tower.”

Scooping a piece of the dessert with your spoon, you can’t help but let out a small moan of satisfaction as the flavor hits your tongue. You miss the way that Steve’s eyes flash and darken all at once.

“Mmm,” you swallow, offering a sheepish smile, “There’s nothing wrong with that though, Rogers. Probably good for you to be around people like that. Well… maybe not Tony necessarily.”

He chuckles, watching you with a comfortable look on his face - golden light from the candle making his features appear more rugged than usual, “Think I could ever convince you to get a room there?”

Your spoon freezes halfway to your mouth as the words hit you.

“Are you serious? Me? Live there with you nutcases?”

The candlelight’s flickering flame dances in the depths of his ocean blue irises as he stares at you from across the table.

“Thor does.”

You blink.

Steve reiterates, “Thor. He has a room at the Tower. Comes and stays for a few weeks at a time.”

“I… I thought him and the astrophysicist were - they are, were, living together last I knew.”

It wasn’t often that the two of you conversed, you and the God of Thunder. But the last meeting, some six odd months back, he had been gushing over the good Jane Foster, and did you ever try rollerblading? He had grown quite fond of it thanks to her. 

Had so much changed since that last conversation?

“Huh,” is all you can manage, staring into the swirling reds of your mulled wine for a moment.

“Just a thought,” he says quickly, as though it had merely been a silly idea on his part and not an actual very serious suggestion. The rapid tapping of his fingers against the table makes it clear how quickly the conversation has shifted.

“So,” he breathes out in a rush, forcing a smile, “You’ve been here for a month and a half. And the other six weeks?”

Grateful for the change in topic, you eagerly begin regaling your journey from Sweden to Finland, sailing across the Baltic Sea. More bunkers and compounds and abandoned (or not so abandoned) research facilities stretching between Estonia and Lithuania. Traveling across half of Europe without your powers, you remind him.

He listens to your stories, enraptured as your drinks cool in their cups and more and more people fill the tea house.

Steve tells you about training with Natasha and following strange leads across Southern France in search of Bucky. You hear all about Sam’s new baby nephew and how he can’t stop showing them all photos on his phone every time his sister sends him one (per his request). The two of you talk and talk until you can barely hear each other over the sound of the crowd.

Placing his hat back on, though forgoing his sunglasses, Steve holds the folder for you as you collect your coat and go to pay and tip the staff.

Back in the hallway, you can hear the muffled sound of the raucous patrons from the neighboring pub. When you look down towards the front door, you can see the shop lights flickering against the darkness of the evening dusk. The two of you linger, there, in the space between.

“How long do you think you’ll be staying here?”

The supersoldier tilts his head in thought, “Maybe a day? At most.”

A sudden frown seems to find its way onto your lips and it brings with it the startling realization that you aren’t willing to say goodbye to him just yet.

It was silly, really. Nearly two thousand years on this planet, traversing the globe on your own for centuries at a time. And yet, with only three years of knowing Fury’s team, you had grown strangely attached to them all. 

It was almost painful to admit that someone like Steve Rogers had successfully fused himself into your life. Six weeks on your own, with only text messages on a burner phone shared between you and Nick, and here you were aching for the first bit of familiar human contact you came across.

And as you look at your companion, with his looming physique and soft blue eyes, you find yourself asking, “Do you, uh, wanna come up?”

Gesturing at the closed-off stairs behind you with your thumb.

Steve blinks once - twice - before slowly nodding, a smile tugging at his lips.

“Yeah,” his voice is shockingly low in its tone, “Think I have time for that.”

The rented apartment is warm and inviting with touches of older detailing throughout the small space. On the third floor of the building, up a metal spiral staircase to the fourth floor to access the slanted-ceiling bedroom. It was cramped quarters for sure if more than two people were staying there. Luckily for you, it had perfectly fit your needs for the past two weeks.

But with the hulking presence of the supersoldier suddenly there beside you, invading that already small space, things become far tighter than you realized they could ever be.

Steve lays his folded leather jacket over the back of one of the two dining chairs, watching as you slide off your boots and make for the chest of drawers under the small wall-mounted television set to deposit your folder of files at long last.

When you look back at him, it's with a sudden burst of nervousness that makes you laugh and hold out your arms, “Home sweet home.”

He gives a surmising nod, looking over the tiny kitchen in the corner of the U-shaped living area - with the staircase right dead center in the room, “It’s no Olympian temple.”

You catch the playfulness in his gaze as he slowly makes his way over to you.

“Probably for the best. Gold and glamour never really suited my taste anyway.”

“So,” he comes to a stop just a foot away from you, “How long are you staying here?”

That was a much lesser known fate, you had to admit with a shrug, “However long until Nick sends me another location to scout out.”

The huff of breath that escapes his lips sounds sour to your ears as he asks, “You plan on doing all of Fury’s work for him?”

You smooth your hand over your shirt sleeve, “Keeps me busy.”

Truth be told, you probably could have said no to the ex-Director at any given time and he would have accepted it and found another agent to fill your shoes. This job, though, did keep you busy. It kept you from thinking about Olympus and the betrayal of SHIELD. It was a single-track direction with a clear endpoint.

Was it lingering guilt still keeping you rooted in the position? All those years working for the security agency and never once clocking into the nefarious group buried in the underbelly of SHIELD.

Steve’s face softens with the quietness of your voice, offering a gentle, “Sorry. Guess we both have our own reasons for following these old paper trails, huh?”

You give him a half-smile in reply.

“Was a nice surprise seeing you down there today, actually.”

It was more than nice. It was like a breath of crisp winter air - a relieving balm on the ongoing ache of your solitude. Though the position of his body next to your presence sends your heart racing from the close proximity and the tight space of the apartment becoming an overwhelming force. You back away, to the balcony window - in need of truly fresh air.

“You know,” you gasp softly, trying to steady the flush of heat coursing through your body, “You can’t quite get a view like this back in New York.”

That makes him raise his brows with curiosity as you gesture for him to follow you with the tilting of your chin. Pushing the two-paned window open, you hop up onto the sill and tuck your feet in to hop through to the small metal balcony.

The very distant starlight is barely visible over the brightness of the city. Instead, it's the glowing golden orbs of streetlights that fill the night sky. Steve’s boots make a heavy thud as he lands next to you, resting his arms on the railing as he looks out over the cityscape. A boat horn echos off the Vistula River.

You find that you don’t mind the closeness of the supersoldier out here so much as you did inside.

“Sometimes, I miss the way the stars used to light the sky.”

He turns his head towards you but remains silent.

“Before automatic lights and gas lamps and lanterns. When the moon and stars were enough,” you explain with a distant sort of voice. “All good inventions, but… nothing beats the view of an unpolluted night sky.”

Steve’s eyes are nearly black in the low light that emits out of the window from inside the apartment. His elbow is jutted up against yours on the railing and you find yourself wanting to lean into his radiant heat - if only to stave off the chill of the evening air.

“Sometimes, I remember…” he stops for a moment and clears the hitch in his throat. “When we were taking down HYDRA bases, just the seven of us, we’d find shelter in all sorts of places. Blown-to-bits churches, abandoned barns, sometimes just a makeshift foxhole.”

He stares out over the city, but you imagine it’s not what he’s seeing in his mind’s eye.

“Never could sleep much on those nights. Just remember looking up, seeing that blanket of stars up there, and wondering how the hell something that beautiful could remain untarnished by everything going on down around us. You know?”

You meet his pointed gaze.

Staring at each other for a long silent moment, comfortable in each other’s familiar presence. Steve’s eyes flicker across your face as he suddenly turns to face you, a large warm hand reaching down to gently encircle your wrist.

“Athena…” he murmurs, lowering his head slightly as his eyes flicker down to your chin before moving back to your eyes.

There’s a beat of a moment where you think something’s happening. With the sudden closeness of his face to yours. And you almost find yourself slipping into that moment of unknown with him.

But it’s the sudden shrillness of ringing bells that makes him pull back, angrily fishing his hand into his pocket to retrieve a phone. You give him a small smile, backing up enough on the tiny balcony to give him the idea of space.

“Yeah?” he all but barks into the receiver.

You can’t make out the words from the other person, but his brows shift together as he nods, “Yeah, she’s here.”

Tilting your head in question, he continues to listen to the caller with an increasingly deeper furrow on his face.

“Mhmm, twenty minutes. Yeah. Okay. Got it. Bye.”

He presses the power button and stares at the blank screen for a long moment.

“Dare I ask?”

At the sound of your voice, he pockets the phone once again and says, “That was Nat. Tony put out the call. Thinks he has a location on Loki’s scepter finally.”

Your brows raise in surprise. 

It had been three years since the Battle of New York when the STRIKE team had supposedly taken the scepter into SHIELD’s safe hands. It had been a year since the Triskelion. Nearly nine months since Tony had started sorting through every single file and organizing an ongoing list of people and locations and terrorist groups.

“Where?”

Steve rubs his hands together, looking like he’s all but ready to leap back inside, grab his things, and go.

“Sokovia.”

You nod in understanding, “Well, you better get going then.”

His eyes widen slightly and his head quirks to the side as he looks down at you, “Could probably use another person to even out the team, you know?”

Crossing your arms over your chest, you eye him up, “Is that so?”

He shrugs, “Unless you were looking to be Fury’s loyal agent and go searching through more empty bunkers for him?”

There’s a particular teasing tone of voice there, one that you try to ignore despite the growing smile on your face.

When you throw together your duffel bag of items, tucking the latest folder on top of your belongings, Steve leads you down the stairs and out of the apartment. On the cobblestone streets of Old Town, you could pass for any other tourist couple as the man wraps his arm around your shoulders and guides you to an idling car.

At the airport, in one of the hangars, Sam and Natasha are already waiting for your arrival. The other man stifles a yawn behind his hand as the Russian smirks at your approach, pocketing her phone as she calls out.

“Hope I didn’t interrupt anything.”

Steve brushes past her, walking up the ramp of the quinjet with a brisk, “Not at all.”

You settle into the secondary seats behind Steve and Natasha - content to let the humans do the flying. Next to you, Sam is already dropping off to sleep, head lolling to the side as you fly over the border of Poland into Germany.

Every now and then, Steve turns in his seat, glancing back at you. For your part, you’re surprisingly happy to find yourself back on a real mission again after all this time. And if it meant that something as big as the scepter was finally put into the right hands, then it was a much better use of your time than running across Europe for Nick.

Offering Steve a gentle smile, you ease yourself back into the hardback chair and settle in for the next few hours of the flight back to New York City.

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[direwombat]

it’s wip wednesday my dudes! tagged by the ever lovely @socially-awkward-skeleton​, @funkypoacher​, and @poeti-kat​ (tysm!!!!)

and taggin’ forward (but with no pressure): @thomrainer, @natesofrellis, @harmonyowl, @adelaidedrubman, @strafethesesinners, @aceghosts, @schoute, @confidentandgood, @strangefable, @deputyash, and anyone else with something to share today!

been fallin’ behind on nanowrimo and it’s mostly been slapping some tendons and connective tissue onto the skeleton of fragile creatures, so i don’t have much ready to show from that, but I do have a syb+joseph fic that’s infected my brain recently, so here’s what i have of that:

Sybille knew she would find Joseph in his chapel, despite the late hour. “Burning the midnight oil,” her mother used to say, and she wouldn’t be surprised if he actually worked by that kind of lamplight. He’s got that old-time charm to him and it goes hand in hand with the old-time religion he’s brought to the county. Light flickers in the back office, warm and inviting like a beacon in the rain for the worn and weary. She’s both those things, but she also knows she’s undeserving of the kind of salvation such lights promise. 

She’s an intruder here. Any comfort to be found within the wrought iron fences of the compound isn’t for her. Yet, like a goddamn fool, she seeks it anyway. 

Because it would be meaningless coming from anywhere -- coming from anyone -- else. 

She skulks through the shadows, creeps past the armed guards, and slips her way into the church, its heavy wooden door squeaking loudly on its hinges. The air is musty, motes of dust floating lazily about, catching in the moonlight filtering through grimy windows. The building itself creaks and groans with every step she takes further inside. A heathen virus upsetting the belly of a place most holy. The silence is so smothering she doesn’t dare call out to him. She takes a seat on a pew, and even that complains at her very presence, a shrill screech telling her she doesn’t belong here. 

She waits, and for the first time in a long time, she bows her head and prays.

Joseph emerges from that back office not long after her neck begins to ache, and she wonders if he ever puts on a goddamn shirt. He pauses when he sees her, and she doesn’t blame him. Seeing her, the Deputy, in the bruised and bloody state she’s in is bad enough. She can’t imagine what it’s like seeing her, his little brother’s murderer, as well. 

It doesn’t matter that she’d tried to save him. It doesn’t matter that she’d screamed for help, for a medic, or that she tried to restart his heart and put her mouth on his to breathe life back into his lungs. John died at her hands, and that’s all anyone cares about. 

He stalks towards her, cautiously like she’s an animal free of its cage. Ironic, considering she feels more trapped here than she ever did inside John’s bunker. He stops over an arm’s length away, close but just out of reach. He stares at her, his eyes cold and strangely naked without the yellow aviators. Only instead of him being vulnerable, it makes her feel stripped bare. 

“Jacob warned me you had a habit of sneaking into places you weren’t invited,” he says quietly. Then, more sternly, “Why are you here, Deputy?”

“Am I wrong to think that a church would welcome a penitent sinner?” she asks. Her voice is rough, hoarse, still not recovered from screaming herself raw. And there’s a hesitancy and uncertainty to it as well. Coming here was a mistake. She was just going to get herself killed. 

But then again, maybe that’s why she’s here. An eye for an eye, and all that.

He cocks his head curiously to the side and moves closer. “My church is open to anyone who seeks penance. If it’s genuine.”

She blinks slowly, staring through him more than at him. She may not be in the booth, no screen to hide her guilt, but the words of her childhood tumble weakly from her mouth. “Bless me, Father, for I have sinned.” She knows her Catholic words don’t belong to his pseudo-Baptist ideology, but she hopes he recognizes them for what they are. An appeal. A supplication. A confession.

He steps closer, lifting his hands, warm and rough, to gently cradle her face. He examines her carefully, looking for any signs of deceit. He finds none, and the carefully crafted mask of neutrality breaks. Rage flashes angrily across his features, lips curling into a snarl. His hands slip down to encircle her throat. His fingers dig into the skin of her neck, but he doesn’t squeeze. Not yet. 

Her breath doesn’t even hitch. She just swallows, her eyes falling shut, and she nods. “If this is my penance, then I accept.”

[bougiebutchbitch]

Since you also believe that Team Ro cared much about each other, what are your thoughts on an AU where Itachi, after Shisui's death and between the time Danzō brought up the massacre thing but before Itachi does do it, he instead found himself in desperate need of an advice and did the only thing he could think of: go to his Taichō hoping to find any sort of help from one of the very few people he could trust

OH MY GOSH SO MANY CHOICES

CN: mentions of suicidal thoughts & genocide

I wanna say that Kakashi quietly goes and assassinates Danzo & the other anti-Uchiha elders in the middle of the night. But that would have consequences. If he does it anonymously, he risks Danzo being martyred and the Uchiha scapegoated and punished.

So he leaves his own lightning chakra everywhere.

He then confronts the Uchiha with Danzo's head to show both that he's a friend, and that he's serious, and tells them that if they do try and overthrow the village and instate Uchiha-rule, they will be executed. He'll help, in fact, because one clan imposing rule over all the others ain't great. But now there are three council spots opening up, and he's just made himself Konoha's public enemy number one.

He holds out his wrists to Itachi, still holding Danzo's bloody head up by the hair. "If you take me in," he says, toneless, almost bored, "it'll put your clan in better stead."

Itachi feels a bit sick. Danzo won't be the only one headless by the end of today, and Taicho must know that, he must, but he did this anyway.

It shouldn't be a surprise. He's always been a risk-taker, throwing himself into the line of every kunai like he can't bear to commit seppuku but lives only in the hope someone else will do it for him.

Somehow, that motivation would be almost as hard to accept as if Taicho just did this out of some misplaced sense of kindness.

Itachi's hands tighten into fists. "I had a mission," he whispers, voice shaking far more than he would like. I never asked you to interfere. I never wanted you to take the fall for me. I'm not a child, I don't need to be saved -

But a part of him lets itself relax, in a way he hasn't since he was first informed of his family's coup. Deep down, he knows that he is a child. And he did need to be saved.

He just wishes this wasn't the price.

Kakashi-Taicho presses his wrists forward a little more determinedly, one brow raised. "And now you have another," he says.

Itachi ties his hands together, using special ANBU finger-locks so he can't make seals. He takes him in, as he's supposed to. As Captain wants him to. As his family needs him to.

But if the ropes are tied a little looser than they should be, and Itachi staggers into the ANBU compound a half-hour later, head bleeding from a (self-inflicted) kunai scrape, mumbling sometihng about the traitor having escaped... Well, that's no one's business but theirs.

#

OR.

Or.

Another alternative concept for you...

Kakashi offers to do the job instead of Itachi, so Itachi doesn't have to live with the burden of that guilt.

Honestly... I'm not 100% sure he'd spare Sasuke, unless Itachi specifically asked him to.

Itachi still has to go into hiding as the massacre gets pinned on him, but Kakashi accompanies him into life as a nukenin out of some weird messed-up sense of loyalty and responsibility towards his teammate. Maybe they'd both infiltrate Akatsuki together... All while Itachi is growing up and dealing with some very complicated emotions about how Kakashi murdered his entire family... for him?

(And Kakashi is having some very confused emotions about the orange-masked idiot who keeps staring at him for uncomfortably long periods, but that's another story).

There are a lot of directions that this idea could go, and all of them would be really fascinating to explore!

[wintershieldedheart]

☆ riona & margot ☆

@asoulofstars

dev tea room - day three ⛸ :: ice skating in the park when you see a figure sneaking off into the trees

☆          it took Margot all of two months to realize she couldn’t stay in the compound any longer. Being there was a constant reminder of all the people they were missing; all the people she was missing. Margot had lived with ghosts before, but never in a space so big that allowed her to rattle around with them so violently. There were parts of the compound she refused to go into at all, because even though there were people that survived the snap itself, they didn’t stick around afterwards. Her family had been fractured during the accords and the snap had all but shattered it. Margot was maybe the only one that didn’t bother trying to blame anyone for it. She had watched how it had all fallen apart, and the roles they all played in it. 

there was no right or wrong; just broken. 

so the first chance she got, Margot went to visit Thor in New Asgard, not that she really got to see much of him. Thor was battling his own demons, and for all she lost, Margot was starkly reminded that he’d lost his entire planet just before they lost half the universe’s population. The survivor's guilt was suffocating, and she didn’t have the words to make that better. Instead, she put her energy into his people. She was one of the few people uniquely qualified to help them. She had experience with people from other world’s and she was a Midguard native; she could help them rebuild here. Besides, helping them gave her a distraction from all the parts of her own life that were slowly sliding out of place. 

the only real saving grace was that she was still in therapy, and though her therapist had been afraid that she was running away at first ( she had been ) even she had to agree that the move was doing her some good. If nothing else, it brought her to Riona and the kids, and that had brought a sense of peace in her life that Margot had long been missing. Having grown up with a single parent, she knew how difficult it was, and she reckoned having two that were on the younger side was enough to be overwhelming sometimes. So Margot had offered her assistance. She was surprisingly good at babysitting, despite not having a ton of experience with children. Margot had just the right amount of patience, just the right amount of willingness to be a kid and to be the responsible adult all at once, to handle looking out for the littles. 

but sometimes, it was nice getting to just spend time with Riona too. Though Margot was relatively new to adulthood, it was nice getting to spend time with other adults while she adjusted to it. Margot, for all intents and purposes, was easing into it. She had spent the last couple years fighting for her life, and trying to maintain her own freedom. Now, she wasn’t all that sure what she wanted to do with her future, she just knew she wanted to help people, and she could do that here. Case in point, she’d help them set up the ice rink when it had finally gotten cold enough to build one. It was a human activity, sure, but something she thought the Asgardians might enjoy, and so far, she’d been proven right. 

white skates laced up nice and tightly, Margot held Riona’s hands in hers as she carefully gilded them around the rink. It wasn’t freezing out, thankfully, but cold enough that she had a fleece three quarter zip over her sweatshirt and a pair of light gloves covering her hands. ‘ I really think you’re getting the hang of this, Ona, ‘ she grinned. Out of all the winter activities out there, skating was arguably Margot’s favorite, and she was glad to share it with the other woman. ‘ how are you feeling about it so far? ‘ she asked. Margot guided them across the ice, going backward while she pulled Riona with her. She did a slight double take as she watched a figure lingering in the forest. That wasn’t altogether overly suspicious and yet, it was enough to make Margot’s eyebrows knit together. 

turning them slightly, she looked at Riona and then back at the woods, ‘ where do you suppose they’re going? ‘ she asked, knowing exactly how paranoid she sounded as soon as the words left her mouth.

[theevangelion]

Soulmates: Chapter XVI

(Previous Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15)

No more than two steps down and Kara instantly regretted it.

The city didn’t care. The street was empty and devoid of life yet the sound of a busy world carrying on despite her sat in the air, spilled over from the closeness of the city, as though carrying with the black evening clouds and settling on top of the entire street.

The strangeness of it wasn't all that strange. There had been this big, angry and colourful argument. A dramatic escape. A slammed door and pounding, rushing feet. A push-pulling chest. A mind compounding itself. Then two steps into the street and returned to the world, Kara finally looked up and took stock.

It didn’t make sense.

She looked at the empty stationary cars parked adjacent, then the stillness of the streetlamps with nothing making shadows, almost a photograph, all of it without movement or motion. The street was too calm, too still, and Kara instantly felt how little the universe cared about her troubles despite somehow caring enough to create them in the first place.

But there was still all that noise. The proximity of the lower-side district fell on the doorstep. The city always eating away at everything, devouring and consuming any silence. The residential townhouses were central and expensive, tightly packed, sitting beneath it all, and yet the nothingness of the street seemed to compound and echo the thumping constant of a city, as if the world was peering around the curtain—sneaking glimpses and then ducking out of sight—laughing at the state of Kara's life.

For a few minutes Kara simply listened to the noise, gathering herself, standing there and taking it in, rooting herself in something outside her thought processes.

In the distance there were alarms, traffic, laughter and conversation. Then the distinct sound of helicopters choppering through the air, maybe a news helicopter or police surveillance.

Kara sighed, then sighed again. She stood straighter, unsure of which direction to start walking. She had always felt at odds with the universe but right now she mostly felt at odds with herself. One problem at a time; she figured out her feet, got them walking, slow but steady, and that allowed her brain to work again.

The guilt compounded. She regretted every horrible, nasty word that had tumbled over her lips. The ones she could remember. The ones she couldn’t remember. Kara didn’t even want to try. In the moment it had felt beyond anger, something she knew, while hissing hateful things, was little more than cruelty for the sake of cruelty, because how else could she make Catherine Grant understand the effect she had on others?

There it was, Kara thought.

Her carefully curated life online—pretence, filter, pleasantly out of context and glowing—was gone in the blink of an eye. For her, at least.  Kara felt confronted with the truth in a way that couldn't be unrealised.

All that effort to seem less dowdy in photographs, less boring through the lens of a curated life, less ordinary, less woefully Kara Danvers; she realised on the turn of the street corner that it was more for herself than it ever was for a soulmate researching her online.

Just too feel that she was actually interesting.

Beautiful.

Successful.

Someone that she herself might admire and want to know more about.

Then Cat had lifted her blouse and showed her the scar; the permanence on her body that Kara...

Wasn't good enough.

Wasn't interesting enough.

Not beautiful, worthwhile or valuable.

She was just...

Kara Danvers.

Kara Danvers, who had moved here to National City above all other reasons because something in her gut said this was where she would find the one. Just, not that one.

It wasn't supposed to be Cat.

There were emotional justifications to her rage and anguish, of course there were emotional justifications; she had a soulmate who was inconveniently—someway, somehow—not her girlfriend Lena.

“Can I come over?” Kara texted her.

“Of course.” The text from Lena popped up, then another followed immediately. “My flight lands in two hours. Your thumbprint will let you in the front door so make yourself at home. I won’t wake you if you are asleep.”

“I won’t be asleep. Thanks, I love you. I’ll see you when you get home.” Kara replied and put her phone in her pocket, looked both ways, then got her feet going again.

Lena felt, more than anything, to be her person. It felt right with Lena in this settled, certain way in her heart—right the way other people talked about soulmates. It was quiet and correct, solidified and assured, despite a lack of time under their belt, which felt romantic if anything, fated maybe.

More than that, Kara felt like there was this safety that ran parallel to the romance, the sex, the push-pull of wanting to touch her all the time, and how nerve wracking that was. Kara didn’t worry about it, not once, because in Lena there was the safety that came with having a best friend too. This person who was looking at her, really looking; not just seeing the outside, noticing the zit, the sweatpants, but grinning and looking and seeing right past that stuff.

Kissing would slip into giggles, then long conversations about silly things, as though Kara could do that, all night, all week, all her life, sitting on Lena’s hips; nose to nose and consumed with conversations about stuff that wasn’t important.

It wasn’t just happy with Lena.

It was happy like it would progress into some prolonged, always state of happiness. A shared life that would look and feel no different to anybody else’s perfect happy-ending story with their soulmates.

But Lena wasn’t her soulmate; the universe had said so. Kara couldn’t make sense of it, not just because she was head over heels in love with Lena, but because her actual soulmate wasn’t going to be around for the long-haul, and like salt into the wound, Cat made it clear whatever time there was left to be spent—it was not time she wanted to spend with Kara.

In some tiny way, that had been an instant relief, almost like Kara had been spared because Cat refused to even try and love her. Kara didn’t want her too, not as she was thinking about it, pounding the pavement, collecting the events of the day into something that made sense. Kara didn’t want her purpose, her life, her nudge from the universe to point towards making herself a vestibule for teaching Cat Grant how to be a decent person.

Which was silly, Kara knew that too, because she didn’t exactly feel like a good person after the things she had said. She just didn’t know how to make the accounting in her brain square it all away because soulmates were…

Soulmates.

A sure thing.

An inescapably concrete, arranged certainty that people simply did not avoid and ignore. A soulmate wasn’t just a partner—they were a fixed point. A tomorrow that was coming, because tomorrow always came, and that could only mean one thing despite Kara’s conflictions.

So, Kara just walked.

One foot in front of the other down the street, without determined direction, because the truth was that she didn’t know how to be a good person, not tonight; she just knew how to walk and breathe, and there was little else she felt capable of trying to do, so she just did those two things.

Past the first towering office building that sprouted up and welcomed her back, Kara realised there was one other thing she knew how to do; think in prolonged and expansive trails, losing herself, consuming and simultaneously consumed by an overactive mind. It was fine on vast farmland and wheat fields, helpful even, but not smart near busy traffic and tram lines.

Kara lost herself anyway.

Cat felt to be this complex creature who was neither malevolent or benevolent, yet exuded both of these energies abundantly, in a way that felt strange and unimaginable for a shared life—a loving partnership.

Kara walked towards Lena’s home, hands dug in her pockets, crying quietly, unsure of how to process these things. At least, not with heckling conversations back and forthing across streets from neighbours. The raring, clattering sounds of the city colluding and sticking with righteous imposition in her disordered mind. The smells, the traffic, the noise, the unforgiving totality of it was overwhelming.

It pushed her further into her thoughts; into her steps, trudging into internal questions and conflicts, because she could not imagine Cat in any other light or gaze, yet there had to be other lights, other gazes, other moments to be shared with her, all of which would inevitably make sense because right there on her hip…

Catherine.

Kara walked, and walked, and found herself a mile later right in the centre of towering concrete, into the billow of a restless city sprouting around itself. A real city, one that never slept, never ate, never lived or breathed, but just took up all the good views and good air in a way Kara began to realise that she hated and wanted no part of.

She couldn’t stop walking.

She couldn’t stop the inertia of a dense, unimpressive, greyish city.

She couldn’t stop wandering through ideas that felt tentative and uncertain; to imagine what a life with Cat would look like, certain it was a life she did not want.

The main junction was tailed with traffic in every direction. Kara dipped her head; walked through the slow, non-existent movement of traffic, around a stalled hood, then slipped around the trunk of the opposite pushing car, saving no time at all, yet simply feeling as though she should not stop walking.

It was the thought of Cat in a kitchen, at dawn, making coffee and eating toast. It broke her brain eleven different ways. The way that thought did not—could not—sit in her mind long enough to even fathom a picture. It was too impossible and absurd. A flash, a vague idea of comfortable domestic quietude, with an exhausted woman eating toast, naked, some little smile in her bite when she looked Kara’s way and saw Kara looking back at her, but then Kara realised it was someone else’s smile etching in her mind, someone else’s penchant for avocado toast with two eggs and a sprinkle of pepper.

It was at best, on the sixth attempt, a very Lena-esque rendition of Cat, there in her head for just a second, then quickly morphing into jet black hair and a radiant dimpled smile, making crumbs on the kitchen floor in her brain, and Kara did not want to sweep them away, not for a second.

Kara kept trying to picture it, to put Cat in some domestic scene. It was as though Cat Grant, for such a small woman, had made herself too big to fit inside a warm, homely kitchen. Time and life had taken her somewhere else—somewhere too far gone for Kara to meet her there.

There it was, Kara realised on the corner between fourth and fifth, perhaps the only thing Catherine Grant could not afford to buy in any meaningful way. A chipped, used breakfast table with two chairs, a newspaper on top, and a wife sitting opposite to share a crossword with. It was sad. It was heart-breaking and morose; to have all that success, all those fancy things, and yet own nothing quite as important as a burgundy spilled wine stain on the kitchen table from too much laughter shared with someone worth laughing with.

Beyond the mundane, ordinary things that people shared, breakfast in the kitchen, moments of domestic quiet; Kara found herself at other losses. Big and small. She swung her stride into the turn of the pavement, squeezing to the side as the foot traffic grew thicker, somehow three or so miles further than where she started her walk.

Cat was beautiful but she was also greyish, asexual almost, in the same way a teacher feels to be asexual. Kara couldn’t imagine it—her—doing anything of the kind. Cat was…too pristine. Too difficult to imagine as a woman with kinks, and turn-ons, and preferences, and so they didn’t exist because they could not be imagined.

Kara skipped faster when she saw the tram pulled into the spot, it was heading northbound, and she instantly gave up on the idea of walking anymore. It was getting her nowhere fast—literally and metaphorically. She hopped on the back.

There was a little railing and platform just before the door of the cart. Kara stood beneath the shelter of the roof, half-inside, half-outside, cold pricking air on her cheeks. She patted her pockets and didn’t find her card, her purse was quickly rummaged through, but it was late and the attendant at the front didn’t glance her way, so she stopped, strangely, as though an engine had stalled.

Kara stopped entirely.

No movement, no thoughts, just that cold pricking air needling her skin, reminding her of her body.

The day had brought so much stress, her body needed to be without her overactive processing for a minute, just for a pause to get her lungs working the way they were supposed to. It came to her. She remembered how to breathe again, properly this time, and that felt like a battle won.

Slowly, the cart pulled and ricketed along the line which jump-started her brain into movement. Kara stepped into the car, sitting down on the first empty row of seats. She hunched over, all unladylike and almost folded over her lap, rubbing her headache with a hard sigh.

It wasn’t that Cat was totally impossible to imagine in her future, Kara thought around that a little more.

Cat was the boss Kara felt she would tell her children about one day. Twenty-one or two-ish, somewhere between college and real adulthood, convinced they are the first and only person, in the city, in the world, to have an asshole boss who inflicted misery in gleefully proficient ways. Almost tucked away, that was where Cat had been living inside Kara’s imagination of the future.

A story to be told to the kids, everyone sitting altogether on the back porch, with rolling eyes and laughter, because who could ever believe someone once made their mother ensure all the bubbles in the bubble wrap were no more than a millimetre to one another. There Kara had indeed found herself, with a ruler, because the gifted vase being sent to the other side of the coast had the thinnest lacquer of hand-stroked gold that needed careful transport. A wedding gift for some vapid, tenured reality show cast-member.

A story worthy, prize winning, blue-ribbon bitch of a boss.

To Kara, at the time.

Maybe not to the gift’s recipient.

That vapid and self-absorbed reality star, whom Kara found out weeks afterward was actually a former subsidiary employee. A junior weather girl on a local station that Cat had bought-out some long years ago. They had met only a few times, talked to each other just the once or twice, all of it too many years ago for anyone to really remember but Kara had seen the photographs in the archive, the two younger women chatting politely to one another, and she knew that Cat must have remembered it all quite perfectly.

Sometime after the nice young weather girl left, though years before she became famous for other things, Cat had heard about what the charming news anchor at the same station had been saying and doing behind closed doors. Handsy, but certainly charming and successful enough that it would never stand up under investigation—not on the complaint of a young, unimportant, unremarkable weather girl.

Kara couldn’t be certain of the facts because there were no official documents or complaints, but maybe just like that junior weather girl who had curiously left the station quickly and quietly, despite gushing to Cat, wide-eyed and optimistic, in the archive footage Kara saw online, how she had wanted to be a weather reporter since she was in second grade, how amazing and exciting it felt to be living her dreams.

Cat fired him the same afternoon she heard the allegations.

And some years later, she sent the vase as a gift for that unremarkable, unimportant weather girl’s wedding day; made sure on the most explicit terms possible to her temping assistant that the bubble wrap was to be checked, twice over, just to make sure it was proper for such a nice vase, and that it should be wrapped neatly in gorgeous paper, a handwritten card with no words—just her signature—tucked neatly into the crease.

Cat Grant was many things, forgetful didn’t seem to be one of them. She sent Kara the navy-blue dress after all, despite knowing what Kara did not know at the time. Cat must have felt some sense of wrongness in her soul, small as a seed, it had to have taken root somewhere, yet she sent the navy-blue dress and gala invitation.

She waved her wand, sent Kara to the ball, and if Lena didn’t want to go then that was too bad—she told Kara to go ahead and take her anyway, because Kara was young, in love, and the dress was very beautiful, one had to make haste of such things.

The cart came to a slow stop to take on passengers, and Kara continued to wonder on the reasons; why Cat would care enough to send the dress, but not enough to tell Kara the state of things, because there had to be reasons, and Kara hoped for lovely ones.

It made Kara feel less terrible, less confused, entirely less awful. Until she remembered the things she said—shouted—while glaring Cat down in the hallway and bitterly wishing her well on a lonely, sad voyage into the end.

“Smile.” Kara jerked up and met eyes with the old woman sitting across. “Whatever he did…he is either not the one you’re supposed to cry about, or he’s the one who is going to make those tears worth it in the end.” She winked.

“Thanks.” Kara sighed and took the backs of her hands across her cheeks.

“Soulmates aren’t easy.” She lifted her sleeve and pulled it up to show a mark on her wrist—a name that was blurred and old like an aged tattoo. “Harry was difficult. It took work…men always do. Would you believe there was a Harold before him? I had a Harold before Harry, for three years, and those were good years—the best years.” The woman’s eyes went calm with a certain light. “Love is very difficult, and it’s a younger woman’s game, I remember that.”

Kara pushed a small smile and nodded, “What happened, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“What always happens, dear. I met Harry.” Her eyebrows lifted. “Tall, plain, not terribly handsome or exciting. Till, one day, I see this mark under his shirt collar. It was summertime and he had unbuttoned the top of his shirt and I had seen it before but never…” Her expression became furrowed. “It was my birth name, from before I was adopted, that the nuns had gave to me when I was a baby. It’s still so strange but until that moment, seeing it there on his neck, I had never thought about my birth name. I never told a soul about it.”

“What happened after that?” Kara asked curiously.

“Three children, plenty of arguments, thirty years of marriage, a life that went how life always goes.” The woman smiled.

“But the first Harry?” Kara blinked. “You just…” She wanted to say left, abandoned, deserted him as though he had never existed, because those were her own feelings from the day, but she said nothing and let it hang.

The stranger sat there with her expression calm and paused.

“Well.” Her coat buttons were fiddled with. “The heart wants to believe what it knows, what it feels is right. Harry—the first Harry—he had this birthmark on his bicep with my name. It was my name, the name he knew, but not the name I was born with. It looked…different to other people’s marks. I always used to tease him about that.” Her eyes shone a little, then she sniffed and gave nothing else away. “A tattoo, not a birthmark. He had it put there. To trick me. To…try and stop the natural order of things.” She exasperated as though it were understandably deranged.

“So, you left him?”

“Mhm.” She nodded, surly. “He had noticed me before I ever noticed him. He saw my birthmark and introduced himself by his middle name, Harry, not his Christian name, Edward.” Kara was enthralled and conflicted by each detail. “He said it was love at first sight, but love is so far above us, it’s the universe’s business, and you do not need to trick or lie for it.”

The last part made sense; Kara felt inclined to agree.

The car slowed toward Kara’s stop, a ten-minute walk from Lena’s apartment. She got up, gathering her coat and purse.

“Did your husband, the second Harry, the right Harold.” Kara looked back over her shoulder to the older woman, inhaling and working herself up to it. “Did he love you like he was trying to always get better at it, to keep you for always, or like you were something he had a right to? Like, he didn’t need to try because the marks said so?”

The older woman didn’t verbally respond, she didn’t need to, her expression gave her and the truth away with little more than silence. It was as though she flinched slightly at the unexpected question, her eyes flickering as she thought about it, and the fact she had to think about it told Kara everything she needed to know.

“I think if somebody adored me that much, looked at me and felt things so deeply that they tattooed my name, figured what the hell, they would just love me like they were playing for keeps, because I was more than enough for them—” Kara imagined that first Harry, some idealistic young man, stood on a street corner with his heart thump-thumping wildly in his chest, so desperate and certain of himself that he had just locked eyes with the woman he wanted to grow old with. “Well. I…I think I would have made a different decision. I think I preferred your first love story better.” Kara turned back and got off the tram.

Maybe it was a choice.

Maybe a soulmate wasn’t what her life had been lacking, Kara thought.

[emodennis]

🪄🪄🪄🪄🪄

Send me all kinds of lyrics I love lyrics

hiii milo ok u sent five so i’m giving u five :) and they’re all going to be k. flay because i loooove her and she has so many lyrics that just hit me hard.

from “giver:”

this just encapsulates a lot of the guilt i feel about my depression that compounds with the sadness itself which can then escalate to anger andddd yeah

from “my name isn’t katherine:”

this comes near the end of the song, which is a lot about names and identities and changing as person and coping with the life you’re given (at least those are my take aways), and just hits especially hard for someone who has changed their name. like yeah we’re just thrust into the world without consent and we have to find ways to take agency of our lives and being trans and having that courage to be authentic and not subscribe to the things we are told/raised to be… ok i’m rambling lol

from “so fast, so maybe”

this one is obviously relatable but i Really like the rhythm of the rap here and the emphasis she puts on “wasting mine,” it’s just a catharsis for those kinds of thoughts and feelings.

from “no duh:”

this one i’ve been wanting to get tattooed for years now. it’s a little cheesy but i just love this as a way of expressing your uniqueness. like i’m not for everyone but the people i am for, i fit really well. it’s like a fuck you to the people who think i’m too weird basically

from “zen:”

this was THE quarantine song for me. this line just … ugh. totally captures the way social distancing affected me (and most people). like being cut off from other people feels like fucking dying (maybe she meant something else tho idk i just rly like the connection).

this was really long but u asked for it 😂😈

[seer-cant-knit]

patterns in my ravelry library: 547

skeins of lovely yarn in my stash, of various weight/yardage: 609

combinations that will actually get made this month and feel exactly right enough to make my brain want to do more of the thing without feeling mildly frustrated the whole time: 0 prob idk anymore

[mostlybarnes]

It’s My Party, You’re Not Invited (Part Two)

Summary: The morning after Bucky threw a party, you confront him but it doesn’t go according to plan.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

Warnings: more angst, arguing, Bucky is an asshole, language, not proof read, mistakes are my own!

Words: 1,567

Author’s Notes: Wow. I absolutely can not believe the support on part one! I’m so happy you guys liked it, and of course I’m always happy to give people what they want and since so many of you asked for part two, here it is! Really hope you won’t be disappointed, please let me know what you think. And don’t worry, there WILL be a part three. This isn’t the end!!

As you had predicted, you got no sleep. Your night consisted of you tossing and turning and occasionally groaning loudly into your pillow.

Your pillow was your closest friend, it captured your falling tears, and provided you with comfort when you couldn’t rest. The morning sun was pouring through your parted drapes, a new day was beginning and you knew you definitely wouldn’t be getting any sleep now.

Lazily, you threw the blankets off of you and sat on the edge of your bed, your palms on either side of you, digging into the mattress. Bucky not inviting you to his party shouldn’t have bothered you, but for some reason, it did. It was the reason you got no sleep, and you were annoyed by how Nat and your friends treated you last night. They were laughing and you couldn’t help but feel like they were laughing at you, even if they weren’t. Today would be the day you would confront Bucky, no matter what. But first, you needed a hot shower to try and wash away the tension that was rolling off your shoulders.

The shower itself would have taken a good ten minutes on a good day, but you spent almost an hour on the shower floor with your knees tucked under your chin and fresh tears disappearing under the shower head. Pathetic, you told yourself. Crying over something that wasn’t even your fault. How dare he treat you this way and make you feel broken. Speak of the devil, through the sounds of your cries and the water cascading down around you, your thoughts snapped back to reality when you heard his laugh from the hallway again.

Enough was enough with his games, you needed to know why you didn’t get an invite, it was just a simple little question.

Standing up off the shower floor with shaky legs, you turned off the shower and stepped out to grab the towel off the rail and pat yourself dry. In your haste to get dressed, your clothes were mismatched and your sweater was turned inside out. You didn’t care about that though, you needed to speak with Bucky. You needed answers.

You left your room and followed the sounds of the chatter coming from the common room. Your feet quickly carried you there, stopping in the doorway and noticing the room was completely trashed from last night’s shenanigans.

Broken glass was scattered over the marble floors, there were literally hundreds of solo cups all over the tables, there was even a broken window.

What the hell happened here? You wondered, stepping into the room, being careful not to tread on glass.

“Watch your feet!” Bucky warned, holding his hands up to halt your footsteps. “There’s glass everywhere.”

“No shit.” You scoffed, folding your arms across your chest and rolling your eyes. You heard him click his tongue as he worked on sweeping up the glass. “I heard you had a party?”

“Uh yeah, just some close friends and stuff.” He shrugged, and ouch if that didn’t fucking hurt.

“Really? I didn’t know you were– were close friends with people from…. statistics?” Anger was rushing through your veins, his nonchalant attitude wasn’t making this any easier and neither was the lack of sleep. You wondered what had happened to the sweet guy you knew. The shy Bucky who couldn’t even make himself a sandwich because he was afraid of being mocked by the other avengers. Or the Bucky that loved to sip herbal tea at 3 in the morning. Where did that Bucky go? Who is this Bucky? It was like a switch flipped and he changed overnight.

“What is this about, Y/N? You walk in here with some kind of an attitude problem and I’m tired, it’s early and I’m not in the mood.” He snapped and that was it for you. If he was tired, you were something else.

You stepped into the room regardless of the broken glass still all over the floor, not caring if any shards cut your feet as you stand toe to toe with Bucky. You shove him, but not surprised when he doesn’t budge.

“Where was my invite? What did I do to you to make you forget about me? It shouldn’t even be a big deal but–”

“Then stop making it a big deal! Is that what this is really about huh? It was my party and I invited the people I wanted to be there!”

“Wha– but you invited everyone but me!” You cried, your voice breaking at the end.

“Then maybe that tells you something.” He offers no sympathy to your state of distress. At least not to your face, it’s when you turn your back and he hears you cry harder does his own heart break. He didn’t mean for this to happen and the Black Widow’s footsteps behind him is about to remind him of his mistakes.

“You’ve really messed this up Barnes. I’m not sure Y/N will ever forgive you.” Bucky turns to look at Nat. Guilt and anger written all over his face.

“You don’t think I know that?! I did it to protect Y/N!”

“Well, what are you gonna do about it?”

“I don’t know.”

////

The day away from the compound was exactly what you needed. The air was refreshing and cold, biting against your skin. It helped to clear your thoughts that were running in circles since you talked to Bucky. You still didn’t have a clear answer as to why he chose not to invite you, and that bothered you more than anything, but what he did say replayed in your mind. You suppose he had a point, it was his party and up to him who he chose to invite but it confused you because you thought you were on good terms with Bucky. Did you get it wrong? Where did it all go wrong?

Your fingers wrapped around the mug as you sat in the corner of the quiet coffee shop with a friend as they watched you watch the world go by.

“Okay, what’s going on?” They asked, blowing into the hot liquid before taking a quick sip.

A deep sigh fell from between your lips. Your body and mind felt exhausted, it was hard to concentrate.

“I don’t even know. I feel like I’m overreacting.” You shrugged, licking your lips and looking into your coffee as if seeking the answers to your unanswered questions.

“Overreacting? Did something happen on the mission you just got back from?”

“No, no. Something that happened after that. You know Bucky, right?”

“Bucky Barnes?” They asked with a raised eyebrow. You nodded and swallowed the lump in your throat. “What about him?”

“I just– I– would you be honest with me and tell me if I’m overreacting?” You bit your lip nervously and your friend nodded.

“Of course! Tell me everything.”

True to their word, your friend sat and listened to every single word without interruptions or sassy remarks. They didn’t stop to ask you questions, and they didn’t make you feel pathetic like you felt. Talking about it out loud made you feel stupid, maybe it was stupid to get angry over something so small. That maybe deep down Bucky had a good reason not to invite you. Maybe you just weren’t close to him after all.

“I’m so stupid, aren’t I?” You shrugged, the wooden table becoming more of an interest.

“You’re not stupid. He’s stupid but I think he likes you.” Your head snapped up and so did your eyebrows.

“You’re insane! Didn’t you hear what I just said?”

“Of course I did!” They defended with a smirk, “and here’s what we’re gonna try.”

///

Your friend’s idea was so stupid and this dress was far too tight for your liking. You felt like your your body was spilling out at the seams, a complete opposite to what you were used to wearing: comfortable clothing or pajamas.

Walking in heels was another problem for you. Any second now, you were sure you were gonna have to call Dr Cho because you had somehow broken your neck. However, after a few laps around your room, you felt confident enough to walk a few blocks in them. Grabbing a purse and a jacket from your closet, you staggered out of your room and into Bucky’s chest.

“Whoa there, you alright?” He asked, pushing you away from him. He eyed you up and down, making you feel naked under his gaze.

“Why wouldn’t I be? And what are you doing here? Outside my door?” You folded your arms across your chest, big mistake as it pushed your cleavage together and with the height difference, Bucky had a pretty good view. He was a gentleman though and kept (or tried) to keep his eyes glued to your face.

“I came to apologize. Where are you going dressed like that?”

“It’s a bit late for an apology. I got your message loud and clear from this morning.” You scoffed. “And I’m going out with my real friends, not that it’s any of your damn business.”

“A party?” He wondered, his jaw clenching at the thought of you dancing with other people that weren’t him.

“Yes, and you’re not invited.” You smirked, turning on your heels and walking towards the waiting elevator, ignoring his calls of your name.

Bucky watched as the metal doors closed, his hands tugged his hair so hard he was afraid he would rip it out. He’s fucked up, Natasha was right. There was no way of fixing this.

“Fuck!” He yelled, kicking a hole in the wall next to your door.

Taglist [50/50]: @w-wolfhxrd @kennedywxlsh @team-marvel13 @rosiahills22 @fallenoutofrose @sourpatchspinster @hazeljean2 @divergent-llamas-03 @jasminweasley @gearhead66 @loudbluepancake @pinkybee926 @furiouscopshepherduniversity @moonlacebeam @chipster-21 @rottenstyx @mundaytuesday @legacies-roserussell @gallifreyansass @supernaturalcat7 @osterfieldshollandgirl @daeguboysmykt @serendipityharry @shittyfuckinweeb @wanniiieeee @hopplessdreamer @wordacadabra @josis-teacup @barneschoco @the-nonsenseblog @angywritesstuff @cherrytop02 @spn-obession @dottirose @veroxloki @wildeausten @directorofmylife @unholyhazza @bababasti @mrslilyrogers-ficrecs @study-aesthetics01 @sophieisinlove @merlin-288 @cable-kenobi @beananacake @johnmurphys-sass @slytherdoravenger @thesnoweclipse @townwitchbadbitch @sxtansqueen

[winter-soldier-vibes]

avenger!reader who suffers from depression and is really hard on herself/themself and blames themself after a mission went wrong and locks themselves out, bucky is worried abt them and comforts them

Bucky Barnes x reader

Word count:3102 (wow I went off the rails a bit huh 😅)

Warnings: self-blame, mentions of death, nightmares, panic attacks, breakdown, lots of tears, this one’s really angsty, flashbacks, some fluff/comfort but so much angst

A/N: I loved this request and had a great time writing it. This one’s a lil more angsty than I usually do and deals with some heavier themes than some of my other ones, so please take care of yourself and heed the warnings. I love you guys so much!

There was nothing you could have done.

You were the first off the quinjet, anxious to get out of the unbearable silence.

You kept your head down as you walked quickly to your room, trying to make as little noise as possible, stumbling to get into your room as fast as possible, locking the door behind you as you let the tears fall.

You looked up at the ceiling, trying to stave off your breakdown as you tried to keep taking even breaths.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y.?” you said in a small voice.

“Yes?” the AI responded.

You took a shaky breath, trying to keep your voice even. “Turn on soundproofing, please.”

“As you wish. I am picking up on signs of distress, would you like me to call Sergeant Barnes?”

You shook your head violently at the thought of anyone, especially your boyfriend seeing you like this. “No.”

“Are you sure? Would you like me to call -”

“Don’t let anyone in this room.”

“As you wish, Y/n.”

You heard a noise indicating that the room had been soundproofed.

And you lost it.

You brought a hand to your face and sank back against the wall, shoulders shaking with the force of your sobs. You pushed yourself back against the wall, trying to ground yourself. Your mind flashed back to the mission you had just returned from and you let out an agonizing scream.

You’ll never forget the looks on their faces.

“Y/n, come on we have to go!”

“Wait - no I almost have them!”

“Help us - please - no don’t go!”

Blood curdling screams that didn’t belong to you, followed by your own.

A building had collapsed on an innocent family in the aftermath of the fight. You tried to get them out, but you were too late, Steve pulling you away at the last second before you were taken out too.

You were so angry, you had been so close - if you had seen them sooner, if you had just a few more seconds, maybe you could’ve gotten them out.

The last thing that they saw was their only hope being pulled away from them before being suffocated.

You were the last thing they saw, you had promised to get them out.

And you had lied to them.

The last thing they felt was hope that they’d see another day. No - the last thing they felt was betrayal and fear when they realized that one of the world’s greatest heroes couldn’t be their hero too.

The moments that had followed were a blur, your eyes frozen on where their eyes had been, shock coursing through your veins. You had seen someone die before but...not like that. Not when you could’ve maybe saved them.

The shock quickly bubbled into anger as you turned to Steve.

“Why the FUCK would you do that? I could’ve saved them!”

“You would’ve died Y/n!”

“If you hadn’t been distracting me then maybe I would’ve gotten them out in time!”

You had angry tears in your eyes, hitting Steve’s chest and doing exactly nothing to his broad form while he tried to console you.

“Get the fuck away from me! I could’ve saved them, this is YOUR fault.”

The ride back was silent. No one dared to talk to you about what had happened. You felt bad after a while but you couldn’t apologize without completely crumbling. If you opened your mouth you were certain that sobs would come rather than words.

You did feel horrible for what you said, because it wasn’t true. It wasn’t Steve’s fault.

It was yours.

So you waited until you returned to the privacy of your room, screaming bloody murder over the guilt you felt. Replaying what had happened, telling yourself everywhere you had gone wrong, every hesitation that could’ve given you an extra few seconds.

You felt like you’d never stop seeing their eyes, paralyzed by fear.

You were the last thing they saw, and now you would remember their last moment for the rest of yours.

You couldn’t imagine the amount of pain and fear they had felt when they realized they weren’t getting out of the rubble alive. That they would die as a part of a warzone they didn’t intend to be a part of. The feeling of hope draining from their bodies, blood running cold as they realized they had mere seconds left.

“No!” you screamed at the top of your lungs, body curling in on itself as you drew your knees in and wrapped your arms around your torso, sick to your stomach.

This was your fault, and you would never forget it.

---

The rest of the team had sighed as they watched you get off the quinjet, walking a bit too fast to be alright. They shared concerned looks with each other, watching your form disappear into the compound.

You weren’t okay, but after what had happened when Steve tried to approach you, they thought it best to give you some space.

The rest of them entered the compound, going their separate ways as Steve sat to down and ran a hand down his face, trying to get his mind off of what had happened. He was shaken up too, but he couldn’t lose you like that. You would die protecting strangers, and while he thought that was noble, he wondered when there wouldn’t be someone to pull you out in time.

Bucky had come down to check on you, knowing that the team had gotten back from a mission. But before he could knock on the door, F.R.I.D.A.Y. spoke. “Sergeant Barnes, Y/n has requested that she not be disturbed.”

Bucky furrowed his eyebrows, both in concern and confusion. Usually when a mission hit you hard, you would talk to him about what had happened. So either you were just tired, or this was worse than it had ever been.

He clenched his jaw and stood there for another few moments before he walked away, heading towards anyone who may be able to tell him what happened on the mission.

He came into the common room, seeing Steve doing a mission report. Well - the mission report was in front of him and he was staring blankly at it.

“Steve?” Bucky said softly, trying not to startle him.

Steve didn’t look up.

“Steve,” Bucky said a little louder.

Steve looked up from the papers, shaking his head slightly. “Hey, Buck. What’s up?”

“Are you okay?” Bucky asked, taking in Steve’s tired appearance and how his mind seemed elsewhere.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” Steve said, barely looking at Bucky.

“You know, I’ve taken care of enough black eyes from mister back-alley hero to know when you’re not really fine.” Bucky said with a small smirk.

Steve’s eyes flicked up to Bucky’s as he sighed. “It’s not me you should be worried about,” he muttered.

“What happened?” Bucky asked.

Steve recounted the mission to his friend, Bucky getting increasingly concerned about you. He knew you had a tendency to blame yourself for different things, and he knew what blaming yourself for someone’s death was like, even if you couldn’t control the situation.

Bucky was brainwashed. You were too late. Two different things, but the survivor's guilt was excruciating.

“Is she okay?” Bucky asked nervously.

“She didn’t get hurt, if that’s what you mean,” Steve started, “but she seemed pretty shaken up. You haven’t talked to her?”

“She doesn’t want to be bothered,” Bucky said.

Steve nodded. “Just give her some time,” he said, worriedly.

Bucky nodded, though unconvinced. He bottled up his emotions until the two of you met. Ever since the two of you never kept anything from each other. And he knew that seeing someone die and feeling at fault for it could destroy you. He wasn’t sure if time and space was what you needed.

But it was what you wanted right now. So he wouldn’t get in the way.

----

Back in your room you were curled in a ball on the floor, sobs wracking your body as you lost all sense of time and space and all you knew was it hurt and if you closed your eyes they were right there and you couldn’t do anything about it. You had a hand pressed to your chest as you tried to breathe but eventually gave way to a new surge of agony when your mind went back to how people died and you couldn’t help them.

You tried to calm down but then your mind would remind you that they had a family and they would never see them again and it was your fault.

“Stop, please just stop,” you put your hands over your ears as you tugged slightly on your hair.

They died terrified.

“Please make it stop,” you sobbed.

You were supposed to help them and you failed.

“No, God, please stop…”

They died because of you

----

You had fallen asleep on the floor at some point, when, you weren’t sure, but you woke up to your own screams. You were drenched in a cold sweat, dried tears on your face and chest heaving as you tried to breathe. You brought your hands to your mouth when you realized it was just a dream, sobbing once again.

You didn’t know why these people’s death was hitting you harder than any other death you had seen. This wasn’t the first time you had seen people die - far from it. You’d killed your fair share of agents without a hint at remorse. Because they deserved it.

You’d seen buildings burn down, fall apart, innocent people die - but you’d never felt as responsible as you did this time. Because they were right there. And you were so close.

But they still died and you saw their last moments. And you were theirs.

And it was destroying you.

----

You didn’t leave your room the following day. Or the day after that.

Needless to say, the team was extremely worried about you. Especially Bucky.

He knew what survivor’s guilt could do to a person, and he knew being alone with your thoughts wasn’t helping. He also knew that pushing the topic could do much more harm than good, causing you to retreat further into yourself.

He tried texting you, wanting to let you know that he was there for you, that he was worried about you, and that he loved you.

None of them went though because your phone was off, you having not even looked at it since coming back from the mission.

F.R.I.D.A.Y. was still telling everyone that you did not want to be disturbed, as you had requested. Obviously Tony had the power to override the locks, but again, no one wanted to push you.

When it had been 3 days since you had seen any sunlight, Bucky had had enough. He knew you couldn’t be taking proper care of yourself and he couldn’t let you do that to yourself. He had Tony override your locks and he came to your door, knocking gently.

“Y/n?”

Silence.

He knocked again, a little louder. “Y/n? I’m coming in, alright?”

Silence.

Bucky took a deep breath before he opened your door slowly, peeking his head in. it was the middle of the afternoon and your room was dark, the only light coming from the hallway and from the cracks between the shades, which were drawn shut.

Bucky let himself in and turned on a lamp, shutting the door behind him. He looked at you with worried eyes as he took in your appearance.

You were pressed up against the headboard of your bed, knees drawn to your chest as you stared blankly, your eyes fixated on your bedsheets. Your eyes were red, face blotchy, your hair was a mess and you were still wearing your uniform from the mission.

“You shouldn’t be here,” you said quietly, voice raspy from yelling these past few days.

“Y/n -”

“Get out,” you said quietly, though not angrily.

“I’m afraid I can’t do that, y/n.”

“Please,” you said, cursing yourself as your voice cracked. You didn’t want to breakdown in front of Bucky.

“It’s not your fault, y/n.”

You pushed yourself off of the bed, shaking your head. “I’m not doing this right now, Bucky.”

“You’re going to have to talk about it at some point, y/n.”

“Not if I can help it.”

“This kind of thing isn’t going to go away, okay? Time heals but not by itself.” You weren’t listening as you ran a hand over your face, overwhelmed.

“Please, talk to me y/n. You’re going to make yourself sick.”

“I’m fine.”

“This isn’t fine. Not taking care of yourself and living in the dark staring at the wall isn’t fine, y/n. Please, don’t hide from me. It’s just me, y/n.”

You shook your head, eyes glazed over like glass. “I could’ve saved them.” you said simply.

“Y/n, there was nothing -”

“BULLSHIT!” You yelled. “There had to have been something I could do, if I had gotten there earlier or - or if I had moved faster or been stronger then I could’ve gotten them out! It’s my fault they’re dead okay? I couldn’t save them and that’s my fault!”

Bucky walked over to you slowly, asking you to look at him. “It isn’t your fault, y/n. The building collapsed, no one could’ve gotten them out.”

“I could have saved them.” you said again, tears falling down your face. “I could have gotten them out. I was the last thing they saw and you know what I was doing? Being carried away like some coward. They died afraid because a superhero couldn’t save them. And that’s on me.”

Bucky shook his head slightly. “You can’t save everyone, y/n.”

“So what, am I supposed to choose? I’m supposed to choose whether I save people or move on because they aren’t part of the mission? Am I supposed to let them die?” you asked incredulously.

“You can’t risk your own life like that, y/n.”

“What? And pretend like my life is any more important than theirs?!” you exclaimed.

“Y/n -”

“No, why do I have the right to walk away from people because I’m afraid of getting hurt when they’re about to die? What gives me that right?”

“Because I can’t lose you!” Bucky exclaimed. “Yes, those people matter, but goddamn it y/n, you have helped so many people and you will keep saving so many people, but you can’t do that if you’re dead. We help who we can and mourn the rest. It’s not your fault that those people died. There was nothing that you could have done.”

“But if I had a few more seconds -”

“The building still would have fallen and you’d be asking yourself for a few more seconds. There is nothing you or anyone else could’ve done.”

You stayed silent, more tears falling from your eyes. Bucky pulled you in for a hug as your shoulders started to shake with more sobs. “I know it doesn’t make it hurt any less, but it’s not your fault.”

“I can’t stop seeing the look they had on their faces,” you shook your head. “Everytime I try to sleep I see them and I can’t make it go away. And I want to forget but I don’t deserve to and it hurts but I don’t deserve to forget.”

“I know, I know,” Bucky said, knowing all too well what being haunted by the fear on someone’s face was like. “But it’s not your fault. You didn’t let them die, y/n. You would’ve given anything to save them, if Steve hadn’t pulled you away you would’ve died with them. You didn’t run away even though you knew you would die if you stayed. You do know that right?”

“I don’t care.”

“I don’t think you mean that,” Bucky said softly. You felt new tears fall from your eyes as you hid your face into Bucky’s chest.

“You can’t tell me that nothing could be done. You can’t tell me that innocent people were going to die and that’s the way it has to be. That isn’t fair,” you spoke through your tears.

Bucky pulled back to wipe the tears from your face and look you in the eyes. “They were in the wrong place at the wrong time, and you did everything in your power to save them. It’s not your fault that you got there too late. Those HYDRA agents who destroyed the city - it’s their fault. Not yours.”

“I’m supposed to protect people,” you said as you shrugged and shook your head slightly. “If I can’t do that then what am I?”

“A person who is trying their best. You don’t always have to be everyone’s hero. You don’t have to take responsibility for everyone, that’s too much to expect of anyone. It’s not your responsibility to save everyone because you can’t. But you’ve saved so many people that would’ve died if you weren’t there. You are so important, but you have to stay alive to help more people.”

You took a shaky breath. “Those people were going to die no matter what,” you whispered, more to yourself than to Bucky. Your chest tightened again and you felt sick. “Oh my God,” you said, the acceptance of the fact brought on a new wave of emotions as your knees felt weak.

Bucky pulled you back into his chest again, rubbing a hand up and down your back. “It’s not your fault, y/n.”

“Then why does it hurt so much?” you sobbed against his chest.

“Because you have a good heart.”

You shook your head against his chest. “I don’t want one if it means it’s going to hurt this much.”

“It’s okay, y/n. It’s gonna be okay, I’ve got you.”

“Please make it stop. I don’t want it to hurt anymore.”

Bucky felt tears sting his own eyes at your pain, holding you tighter against him. He cleared his throat before saying “I can’t make it go away. But I’m here to hold you and do everything I can to make it better. I’m not going anywhere y/n.”

He held you against his chest, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “I’m not going anywhere.”

--------

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[mochie85]

Darkside Of The Moon

Chapter 22 of my Mayari series

Mayari Masterlist | Complete Masterlist

Summary: Loki struggles with the fact that you might not come back. But when you do, are you still the same deity he fell in love with? A/N: I took liberties with "The Punishment of Loki" in the P. Edda. It's a rough retelling/sampling of what the myth was. This entire series is inspired by songs. The complete playlist can be found here on Spotify. Word Count: Over 3.4k Warnings: Angst Dividers by: @firefly-graphics Artwork by: Starry Goddess - pinkincubi

“THOR! I can’t lose her, Thor.” “She’s alive, brother. Don’t worry. We’ll make sure she gets well.”

“Loki, I need you to step out of the room.” “The hell I will. I am not going to leave her, Banner!” “Strange is here. I promise we will get to the bottom of this. But right now, this isn’t helping her. Or you. You can watch through the window, but you need to get out of this room!”

Beep…Beep…Beep…

“She will find her way back to you. If you believe in anything, believe that she loves you enough to find her way back to you.” “Thank you, Agent Roman…” “Loki…call me Nat.”

“She’s stable. Her heart rate and blood pressure are a little low. We’ll keep her in an IV for now. I don’t know the proper dosage for a Vanir, but I assume it’s similar to you Asgardians. Her x-rays came back, and we removed the splinter of bone that broke off from her ribs when she got stabbed. Luckily we got to it before it punctured her lungs. She did crack her patella on her right knee. She’ll be unable to walk for at least six weeks. Maybe sooner because of her lineage. We won’t know anything else until she wakes up…and that is a mystery itself. She should be awake. Neither Bruce nor I know what’s going on with her. We think she might be in a self-induced coma. But again, we don’t know until she wakes up.”

Each time Dr. Strange listed off a problem, Loki felt a sharp stab right in his chest. It was twisting and sinking deeper and deeper into his heart. He hadn’t slept in days. He hadn’t eaten either. “Now as for you, I suspect trauma and depression, possibly guilt…”

“Don’t push it, Strange.” Loki snapped.

“Let’s put it this way, how are you going to take care of her, if you’re not altogether here yourself? She’s going to need you in the next couple of months, Loki,” Strange admonished him. Loki let out a sigh. He ran his hands through his dark hair staring into your room. There was bruising on your arm where they had tried to stick the IV initially but failed. Loki almost beheaded the nurse for that. Your right leg was in a brace, post-knee surgery to fix your broken patella. You had gotten to the compound four days ago and you haven’t woken up since.

“He’s right, brother. At least have something to eat. She would hate to see you like this.” Thor said gently.

“Go take care of yourself, Loki. We’ll be here. And we’ll have FRIDAY contact you as soon as she wakes up.” Tala nudged him. Loki nodded, finally accepting some relief.

“Tala,” Loki said slowly. “There is a word in our realm to describe what your sister means to me. The words do not compare when translated into any Midgardian language. ‘Loyal Girlfriend’ just doesn’t seem to encompass all the love and support Mayari has given me. The word ‘girlfriend’ alone seems insulting when she is so much more. She is my Sigyn.” Loki watched you through the window one last time. You were lying perfectly still with wires and monitors attached to your arms. Loki looked at Thor, then at Tala. She cupped her hands on Loki’s face. “I apologize dear Tala. She is your sister. This must be harder for you.” Loki realized.

“Kuya, we all worry for her. We do it in our own way. Don’t worry, she’ll come back to us.” She said with borrowed confidence. “She is always victorious. She always gets her way, doesn’t she?” 

“With all that she has been through, and then picking you to be her sjelevenn, she has proven to be tough and unbending. She will undoubtedly pull through. She is too strong-willed to let this stop her.” Thor said wrapping his arm around Loki’s shoulder. He nodded his head and started to walk towards the private rooms.

He had to make this quick. A shower, a change of clothes, and he’ll make a sandwich to eat while on his way back. He doesn’t want to miss being there when you wake up. 

The shower felt refreshing. It was relaxing to feel water spraying him, to know that he hasn’t lost all his senses. He felt numb after coming back to the compound. He lathered himself with soap and tried to wash off the bad mood that was settling on his shoulders. He rubbed and squeezed them, trying to massage the tension away.

He stepped out of the shower and dried himself off with a towel nearby. He wrapped it around his waist, his hair still wet, dripping water on the tile floors. He came face to face with himself in the mirror. His eyes had formed dark circles and his face looked gaunt and lifeless. He looked sickly and it was heightened by the fact that he had started growing a beard hiding his face. One that almost rivals Thor. He didn’t like the look of it. He searched the drawers for a razor and thank The Norns, there was shaving cream too. He dressed in his most comfortable shirt and loose slacks. Then made his way to the kitchen.

“Hey, Loki.” Barnes greeted him from the small dining table. Loki was surprised to see him here. He nodded a quick hello and made his way to the fridge to start making his sandwich.

“When did you arrive?” Loki asked.

“We got to the tower yesterday evening. I drove up here with Sam after the debrief.” Barnes said, taking a sip of his coffee. There was silence. All that could be heard was the hum of the fridge. Loki continued to spread mayonnaise on a slice of bread, his butter knife scraping against his toast.

“Are they all dead?” He asked Barnes, breaking the silence.

“Apart from Dreykov who escaped. Ya, we got’em all Loki.”

“Pity. I’m out of practice. I could’ve used new targets.” Loki said, taking a bite of his ham and cheese sandwich.

“I’ll make sure to save you one next time.”

“There had better not be a next time…if she knows what’s good for her.” Loki chided.

Barnes let out a small chuckle. “We all knew this was gonna happen. I think that’s why the team tried to keep it from her. How is she though? I was just down there and she’s still under. Tala was sleeping on the couch and Thor…well he was very stoic.”

“A lot of blood loss, a broken rib, and a broken knee. Strange says that she won’t be able to walk for at least six weeks. That is if she even wakes up.”

There. He said it. He didn’t mean to. He tried to be positive, but the thought that you might not even wake up from this ordeal…scared him.  Loki threw his sandwich to the counter and leaned over it. His head was in his hands, his elbows supporting the weight. One silent tear dropped onto the counter.

What happened? His whole life was upended. He felt pain and grief. Feelings he swore he would never allow himself to feel again. He felt anger and rage so violently that he blacked out from the fight until Thor had to pull him into his senses. He’s never acted so out of decorum before, and it was all because of you.

But because of you, he’s also never felt so free. He’s never felt so loved and wanted. Because you unapologetically love him, you allow him to be himself around you. The thought that you might take that all away the moment you leave him, was enough to crush his soul.

He heard Bucky’s chair scrape across the floor as he got up to go to Loki. Bucky gave him a reassuring pat on his shoulder. “Come on. You said you were getting rusty. Let’s go train. Get your mind off things.” Loki straightened up and let out a sigh. “After you finish your lunch.” Bucky continued. He could see the strain under Loki’s eyes. He hasn’t been taking care of himself. Loki nodded his head and picked up his sandwich again, but he honestly couldn’t take another bite. He threw the sandwich down the disposal and washed his plate.

An urgent alarm blared through the intercom system. “Mr. Laufeyson, you are urgently requested in the medical wing.” FRIDAY chimed in. Loki started running. His worst fears seized his mind. He didn’t have a contingency plan if you left this world. He wouldn’t know what to do.

Bucky followed closely, keeping in time with Loki’s long strides. They happen upon Thor and Strange crouched down in a defensive position. The nurses and doctors behind them huddled for protection.

You were awake! And you were pointing your daggers out to Strange and the other medical staff you weren’t acquainted with.

“Ate, he’s fine. He’s healthy. He’s alive.” Tala said on Thor’s other side, trying to comfort you.

“Where is he?” Your voice resonated. It had weight. It rang through Loki’s ears reverberating in his mind. You were working your way to stand up. Despite the many cables attached to you, the only thing that stopped you was the cast on your right leg.

Loki used his seidr and collected your daggers. It flew from your grasp onto his waiting hands, nearly scratching Tala. You both had locked eyes then. His ocean blue to your all-black ones? What happened to her? Is she in her moon form? Your markings were there and more defined because now they weren’t illuminated, they were etched on with the blackest ink. Your hair was not the shimmering silver-blue he was used to when you were in your moon form. It was a haunting shade of nothingness. It was devoid of color or form as if the space it occupied was just erased from existence. Just absence – black matter. You were in your moon form, but dark.

You reached out to him with both arms, unable to stand off your bed. He ran up to you and wrapped you in his arms. You started weeping. Your hands grabbed him tighter, pulling him closer to you.

“I thought you died. I thought I had to carry your soul to the underworld.” You whimpered in between cries. Loki tried to shush you. Tried to comfort you. He patted your hair and wiped the tears from your face.

“I’m here darling. I’m not going anywhere.” He assured you as he caressed your face. He looked you in the eyes, bewildered. You were alive! You were awake. You had survived. Everything else you can figure out together, later.

The other nurses and doctors left; thankful they weren’t compelled to do something. Thor and Bucky were next.

“We shall inform the others. Welcome back milady.” Thor said giving you a small smile.

“We’ll be around doll. Don’t do anything stupid.” Bucky said. Tala was the next to leave. Loki moved aside to give you two your moment. She cupped your face, and you cupped hers. Your foreheads touched as she cried for the first time since she got here.

“You have to stop doing this!” Tala cried. She locked eyes with Loki and smiled. “See, she always comes back,” she said to him. Loki nodded and smiled. “We’ll catch up soon. I love you.” She whispered to you.

“I love you too.” You whispered back. As she left, your eyes caught Doctor Strange standing by the doorway.

“Yup. Still here.” Strange had quipped. “I need to assess you, considering you just woke up from a coma.” You nodded your head as Loki introduced the doctor to you.

“Darling, this is Doctor Stephen Strange. He helps the team out from time to time. And occasionally, he can be very useful.” The doctor rolled his eyes at Loki’s little quip.

“He was the surgeon that operated on your lungs and knee.”

“Thank you, doctor.” You said to him.

“It’s nice to finally meet you, goddess.” Strange listened to your heartbeat and checked your eyes and ears with the otoscope. Loki sat next to you on your bed. He observed you. He watched you breathe. He examined your eyes blink and your lips quiver. You weren’t lying lifeless on the bed anymore. You were awake and alert.

“Ok, your heart is fine. I can hear a slight wheeze in your lungs. But that’s to be expected considering the surgery you just had. I can’t see your eyes. We might have to make appointments regularly for us to figure that out. (Sigh.) Just relax for now. I’m going to call Bruce over, maybe Tony. I’ll see you in a bit.” With that, Strange left, leaving you and Loki alone.

 Loki clutched your hand in his and kissed every knuckle. He massaged his way up to your elbows, following the now dark lines of your markings. He wasn’t used to this look on you. He didn’t know if this was permanent or temporary, but it didn’t matter. He ran his fingers through your hair, pushing them away from your tear-stained face. His fingers disappeared into nothingness. He could feel the texture of your hair, but it was just, black. He let you cry again until you had calmed down.

The room was quiet except for the beeping of the monitor behind you. You started with a whisper, “I was empty. I took a part of your soul. Then I took the others. I had become a vessel. My payment for living was to become a bridge, a guide for the souls I took to the next life.” Loki listened intently, watching you with subdued fear. “I had your soul with me. I didn’t want to let it go. It was different, unlike the others. I recognized that it was you and I selfishly kept it with me. I hid it from the Great Snake River, where all the souls flowed into the next world. I followed it back here, where I woke up. I thought I had lost your soul. If I wasn’t there to protect you, you would’ve gone towards the world beyond. I didn’t want to wake up. I didn’t want to wake up in a world where you weren’t in it.” You cried again. He wrapped his arms around you, embracing you with all his love.

“My darling girl …my goddess divine. You had stayed in that awful purgatory because you wanted to be with me? Not even the real me, but a small token of what I am? All because you didn’t want to live without me?” Loki asked, awed and humbled by your admission. “How could I ever equal the depths of your love? I will spend the rest of my long, immortal life, loving and proving it to you, my Sigyn.” He kissed you. A long searing kiss filled with passion and longing.

You broke the kiss, out of breath, needing reprieve. Your lungs had started aching. Something was coming out as if something were sucking out your soul. A bright glowing sphere had left your body, knocking you down onto the pillow. It flew into Loki causing him to stumble down as well. All at once, Loki felt full and rested. He felt calm and energized.

“What was that?” he asked.

“I think that was your soul. The one that guided me home.” You said smiling, your eyes drooping. “The one that guided me to you.” You sighed weakly as you stayed lying in the bed. “I’m so tired.”

“You had a long journey, my dear. Sleep. I will watch over you now.” With his hand in yours, you closed your eyes and fell back asleep.

“What does she mean, ‘a bridge to the other world?’ Is she the Grim Reaper now?” You heard Tony ask. You woke up to voices in your room.

“Keep it down. You’re going to wake her up.” Strange had said. You felt Loki’s hand squeeze yours. He knew you were already awake but kept your eyes closed.

“Tala, dear, has she ever done this before?” Tony asked your sister.

“No. Not in the thousands of years I have known her.” She answered.

“There are some sects in ancient Greece that believed that the moon carries the souls of the departed with it across the sky. I gather, they tried to explain the waning and waxing of the moon. The dark side being the souls it collects. Ultimately, helping them find another body in rebirth or their final resting place in the beyond.” Strange offered.

You could feel Loki’s hand tense in yours. “How do you explain me?” Loki asked. “She took my soul first. And according to her account, she led that soul back here to me. I was still coherent. I was up and about while she was in her ‘supposed’ coma guiding the other souls to the beyond.”

“It could be because you are another deity, maybe?” Tony theorized. “Or that you weren’t completely injured. You had to injure those men to give their lives over to her, did you not?” Tony questioned. Loki gave a thoughtful nod.

“For the sake of scientific pursuit, you still looked dead though,” Strange said. Loki looked at him menacingly. You squeezed his hand silently, telling Loki to calm down. “You had not eaten since you all arrived here at the compound. Neither did you sleep. You looked pale and tired. You were not yourself, Loki.” Strange continued. “Now, look at you. She had returned a piece of your soul to you, and you look as annoying and smug as I’ve ever seen you. Like your old self again.” You could hear Strange’s smile even though you couldn’t see it.

“Is that true?” You finally spoke up. Everyone’s eyes turned to look at you. They were all startled that you had been awake.

“Darling…” Loki tried to explain.

“Yes, it’s true,” Strange answered your question. Tony had come closer to you, examining your dark, blank eyes. He was surprised to see you like this. You sat up to greet him. The movement made your hair fall all around you and Tony watched as your hair erased the space it had taken up. As if nothing was there. He was spooked. Not an easy feat considering he’s seen many things as a hero.

“I’m sorry, Loki. I didn’t mean to keep your soul away from you. I didn’t know that you were still here. I would’ve returned as quickly as I could.” Tears started rolling down your face.

“Shh. Shh. It’s ok darling.” Loki said trying to calm you down. “I was fine. As you can see. I was more worried about you. You hadn’t woken up in four days. You had two major surgeries. I thought I was going to lose you. Anyone could’ve deduced that I was just distraught over your absence. That’s all. It wasn’t your fault.” Loki looked at Strange threateningly to keep his mouth shut.

Just then, Thor and Bucky had opened the door. They each carried two boxes of pizza. “Milady you’re awake!” Thor yelled exuberantly.

“Doll, why are you crying? Is the doctor being mean?” Bucky asked and Strange gave an exasperated sigh, throwing his hands in the air. Loki gave Strange a smug grin. “Hope you’re hungry. We bought you Guido’s.”

“Absolutely not!” Strange interjected. “She is on a strict diet for 24 hours until I know her constitution can manage it. I’ll have the nurse send up some food for you.” Strange said to you, as you wiped your tears.

“Thank you, Stephen. For all that you’ve done for me. I’ll find a way to repay your kindness.” You said thanking him.

“No need, my dear. You’re welcome. At least someone here appreciates it.” He shook his head and left to find the nurse. Loki kissed your hand that he still held and went after the doctor.

“Strange!” Loki cried out.

“What is it, Mischief?” Strange said looking over your chart in front of your door.

“Thank you,” Loki said. “I know we might not get along. But I want you to know that Mayari means everything to me. She is my life. It means so much to me that you gave me my life back. So, thank you.”

That caught Stephen by surprise. He wasn’t expecting any gratitude from Loki, especially not one that was so sincere.

“You’re welcome, Loki.” He smiled. “Seriously, though. Don’t give her any pizza. The oil and the cheese…just don’t.”

“I won’t. I promise. But I can’t speak for anyone else in the room.” Loki quickly answered as he closed the door behind him.

⬅️Chapter 21: Destiny | Chapter 23: The Ruler and The Killer➡️

kuya - older brother, até - older sister, sjelevenn - soulmate, Sigyn - victorious/faithful girlfriend.

🏷️Mayari Taglist: @user13cabs @alexs1200 @lokiprompts @huntress-artemiss

[l-artemisia-del-secolo]

Belonging to another, pt. 3

Confrontation

Masterlist, Yelena Belova masterlist, latest fic, hit my inbox

Pt.2

Seconds didn't matter anymore, minutes were not important, hours were lost and days didn't exist anymore.

The concept of time was destroyed for her. She was trapped in never-ending loop of hopelessness and agony. She left the compound the next day after your departure. She saw you everywhere there, whether she wanted to or not, she was cursed with your image.

Once or twice she even talked to you, almost expecting an answer. A few times she reached out to touch you, almost expecting the warmth. In her dreams she called for you, almost hearing your voice.

None of the Avengers stopped her. There was no point. If they did, she would fight them. If they tried to reason her, she would kill them.

She was created to be the force of nature, albeit a calculated one. Which in itself was a paradox. Just like everything Yelena was involved in.

She wanted you to be free from that. Never to slow down, never to look back, never to hesitate. Nat could give you the much needed shelter and confidence. Yelena could give you only chaos.

Chaos that she brought with herself into the new stage of her life. Without so called friends or teammates.

No more calls, no more messages, no more meetings. She was alone, she was grieving. Well, almost alone. She still had her perfect sister. And, unfortunately, she still had you.

Yelena could survive Nat's visits. Barely, but she could avoid giving the answers to incriminating questions. Younger sister was just tired, burned out and searching for a new team to join.

At some point Yelena even started believing in her own lies. Maybe she just needed a change of scenery. Maybe all her memories about you were false. Maybe there was never a connection. Maybe it wasn't love at all. Maybe she just wanted someone that her sister had. A brilliant loophole for normal life. As normal as it could be without you.

But you didn't let her have even that. You were still close. Not enough for her to capture you, but enough to remind her that for a brief moment on that front yard you were hers.

Sometimes you and Nat would visit her together. Perfect couple with no problems. Always smiling, always supporting each other.

You were usually sitting on Nat's left, resting your hand on her knee. From time to time whispering something into her ear.

During one of such visits feeling another wave of pain and disgust Yelena excused herself to go to the kitchen. She needed a drink, a stronger one.

Why were you so happy with Nat? What was the secret? In what aspects was her sister better? In bed, in conversations, in being casual? Maybe it was her sense of humor or on the contrary her seriousness?

All these assumptions attacked her at once. She didn't notice how the glass cracked in her hand.

The sound alerted her guests. In a minute both you and Nat were with her.

Luckily there was no blood, but you were reacting as if Yelena was mortally wounded.

Panic, that was in your words. Care, that was in your touches. Hope, that was in your movements. And all the guilt that was in your tears.

Yelena couldn't believe all those emotions were for her. She tried to capture them, steal them. She allowed herself to be not mistaken, to forget about Nat just for an instance.

You had to leave, you gave away too much. You left the sisters with an improbable excuse, passionate kiss and a friendly wave of a hand.

"How long has been this going on?" Nat was calm and careful with her words.

"What do you mean?" Yelena was taken aback. She didn't expect that, she wasn't prepared.

"You know what I mean. Leaning into her touch, looking at her like that, wanting her for yourself. If I wasn't here, what would you do?"

Of course that one instance of weakness was enough for Nat to understand everything. Yes, she was an expert interrogator, skilled spy. But she didn't even need that experience now. All this time the truth was right in front of her. She just had to pay attention.

"I've no idea what you're talking about..."

"Oh, сестра (sestra, sister). You're a brilliant liar. But today you were compromised. I do understand of course. One act of kindness is sometimes enough for us to forget our disguise."

Yelena didn't know where this was going. Her sister was emotionless, pale and serene.

"You're wrong." Younger woman on the other hand was boiling with frustration. "There's nothing even to talk about."

"Oh, there is. It all makes sense now. Why didn't you tell me?"

"There is nothing to tell." Yelena's words were practically dripping with venom. "You'd better stop."

"Why? Don't you think that I should know that you want my woman?" Nat continued to push.

"I don't want her. Please, just stop."

"Why didn't you tell?" Readhead made a step forward.

"Nat..."

"Why didn't you tell me?" Another step.

"Please..."

"Why?"

Yelena was trapped. There was no point in denying everything anymore. She never wanted to hurt her sister. There was no frustration. Only fear. Fear, that Yelena would never be able to fix everything.

"Because there was no point in that." She whispered. "I would only offend you with this confession."

"For how long?" Nat couldn't help, but pity her sister. Her demeanor changed. She wasn't pushing anymore.

"Immediately."

"You love her?"

Yelena simply nodded. "It doesn't make any difference. You're the one for her. You know what's the funniest thing?"

"What?" Nat finally let her sister have her personal space again.

"That you don't even know, how important are you for her. If only you could see how she worries about you, how she waits for you, how she doesn't want to let you go. If only you knew how she wants to become a part of your family. As important for you as your beloved Avengers. If only you could feel, how she cherishes your remaining time and energy after your adventures"

"She knows what I do and who I am" Nat retorted.

"Yeah, but do you? Tell me, сестра (sister), when the time comes, will you be ready to choose her over the world?"

"Will you?"

"I already did." Unlike her sister Yelena didn't hesitate. She made this choice a long time ago.

Pt.4

[i-try-to-write-stuff]

Heaven's Hell Chapter 1

Warning - Some content may be disturbing.

Another new report on Natasha’s table was about an upcoming vigilante coined lovingly called ‘Seraph’ by the people he saved. It was increasingly becoming a nuisance for governments worldwide. No one could identify Seraph, no explicit information about him. Seraph was taking out the bad guys left and right.

Seraph as a vigilante may be a good guy, but more often than not, they can change, something Natasha knew well. Clint had taken a turn for the worse. For a time, she believed Clint was Seraph, but that doubt cleared when Seraph broke into the banks in Switzerland and Caymans and transferred the money to various NGOs in need of funds worldwide. Yet, there was no trace apart from a simple blur on the cameras.

Natasha sighed when she saw who was calling - Secretary Ross.

Ross appeared

“I want something about this Seraph, Romanoff.” His voice chimed without even bothering to say a polite hello.

“We do not have any credible sources. We have nothing but a blurry image. At this point, I am not even sure if it’s a guy.” Natasha replied defeatedly.

“I don’t care. Assemble your ragtag team and get me something to give in the Security Council meeting this year.” Ross chided.

“It is not that easy. You know avengers are just a shell of itself after the snap.” Natasha said as she tried to keep herself from crying.

Ross mellowed, considering the family Natasha lost, Fury, Laura, Lila, Cooper, Nathaniel, and Clint, her mentor, still riddled with grief.

“Natasha, we all lost people, but we have to save whatever is left of the world. And the world still needs the Avengers.”

“I will see what I can do,” Natasha replied defeatedly, feeling the pressure of the responsibility.

Natasha decided to call Clint, Rhodey, Steve, Bruce, Thor, and Tony. She sent them the details on Seraph received from Secretary Ross. She knew that the morale was low, and maybe catching this vigilante could help them.

Somewhere in Avengers Compound Conference Room –

Rhodey, Bruce, Thor, Clint, and Tony look sad and pathetic as Natasha feels. It was nice. Misery does love company. Guilt, sadness, the grief of everything weighing them down. There was an uncomfortable silence surrounding them.

“What do we know about this vigilante?” Steve asks, stoically breaking the silence. He was frustrated with the neverending issues. He hadn’t gotten any time to mourn the people he lost.

“Whatever that we know is in the package. There is not much to go on.” Natasha discloses.

“I say we let him do whatever he is doing. It’s not like this guy is doing anything bad, apart from helping out those in need and pissing off powerful people.” Clint suggests.

“From what I see in these reports, nothing is alarming about this guy except that nobody has seen him, nobody can identify what he looks like, and the people he has helped have not even given any consistent information. Every time this guy strikes, nobody seems to remember anything apart from the fact that there is a blur of energy and magically everything is good.” Steve concludes.

“Yeah, Romanoff, I don’t see what’s the whoop here.” Tony agrees.

“This person is doing good deeds. I don’t understand the predicament of Secretary Ross.” Thor asked.

“Well, the issue is that whosoever this guy is pissing off people with money and power, this guy is taking away their leverage on any diplomatic and or financial situation, and governments across the world do not like this dynamic.” Natasha clarifies.

“Yes, someone with this much power and potential. I’m pretty sure Ross wants him on our side. He is not concerned with the deeds. He wants us to bring him in only to flex that he has control over the situation as well as this guy,” Rhodey added mindfully.

“I know that, but we still have to analyze this guy, make sure he is on the right side. I don’t want to bring him in. Accords have already clipped our jurisdiction. I don’t want the one guy who is doing some good jumbled in the bureaucracy of borders and the personal interests of the politicians.” Natasha proposed.

“So we are on the same page. We monitor this person, feed irrelevant information to Ross, and only interfere if and when needed.” Tony replied.

“Sounds good to me,” Clint replied.

“I may have an idea as to where he is going to strike next.” Bruce supplied, looking in Rhodey’s direction. Everybody looked in his direction.

“I was discussing with Bruce yesterday. There has been increased kidnapping of teenage girls worldwide, but governments are trying to hide the crime statistics. And we have a solid lead. There is a suspicious shipment arriving today on Port of New Jersey.”

“Let’s suit up,” Steve ordered.

At the port –

You saw several burly men with big guns guarding a shipping container. They were the traffickers. You decided to wait for the buyer to show up to record the crime on the camera. You could feel the pain and fear of abducted girls in the container. You sent comforting waves to those girls, assuring them mentally, everything would be fine.

Five black cars pulled up within a few minutes. The buyer had shown up with more henchmen with guns. One of the traffickers opened the container pulling out one of the girls. He shoved the poor girl into the arms of the creepy man. You felt your blood boiling with anger.

Blue, red, orange, violet, yellow and green light rays surrounded your body. You moved your hands, flicking your fingers and throwing the creepy man against the wall, swiping your left hand to move the girl inside the container carefully, and adding a protective layer over the girls in the shipping container. You decided to give these men a taste of their own medicine. You broke their hands and legs, hurting them some more... You tied them up together with your magic, putting them in a mental loop filled with pain.

“Who is your boss?” you asked.

“Please, please forgive us,” one of them cried.

“Yeah… not going to do that.”

“I will tell you everything,” someone claimed.

“Start talking, dipshit.”

“Keith Jacobs, he is our boss. He is the one you want. We were just making a transaction.”

“Just a transaction, kidnapping schoolgirls from poor countries and selling them to pedophiles and a life forced prostitution is just a transaction” your anger was peaking now. Your eyes were shining with rage. You closed your fist, crushing every bone in all of their bodies and casting the time spell to back when their bones were whole, leaving them to relive the pain every few minutes for the rest of their mortal life.

You move towards the container to check upon the girls. They were terrorized and murky.

“It is okay. Everything is going to be fine, don’t worry.” you declared.

You close your eyes, combining your strengths, concentrating on the spell to remove this harrowing experience from their memories and transporting them back to their homes. A multicolored energy ball formed and exploded. You opened your eyes to see the empty shipping container.

You take the case full of money on your way out, planning to donate it to orphanages and animal shelters.

Taglist -

@austynparksandpizza

@coffeebooksandfandom

@not-so-electr-phyng

@dontbescaredtosingalong

@kenequa

@leyannrae

@omg-mymelaninisbeautiful

@simpingbutch

@stupendouslovegardener

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@angrykitsune01

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@vicmc624

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@edityourwishingwell

[nocturne-pisces]

Aquarius Rising (3)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Enhanced!Reader

Word count: 1.4k (This one is shorter than the last two, but it’s for a reason.)

A/N: Part 3 in the Zodiac Series. The motivation and backing track to this was drop kicked into my brain by @tumblin-theworldaway – who left a link to Sufjan Steven’s “Mystery of Love” in my inbox with a request for Bucky angst. And who am I if not a complete whore for angst. Big thank you to @branded--with--a--j for beta reading and being a constant aggressive encouragement for my dumbass.

Warnings: Angst. Blood. Mentions of violence and suicidal ideation.

Masterlist

Fingernails splinter and crack and bleed against rocks that should take more effort to throw to the side, but the boulder that’s leveled itself on Bucky’s chest weighs more.

He doesn’t know how long he’s been throwing chunks of concrete behind him; he just knows that he has to bring your body home. There has to be something in the casket when they read the eulogy over your portrait. He has to let you rest properly. Tony helps as much as he can, the burning acid guilt of not having every single piece of information before sending you in eating a hole through him.

Bucky is so careful, shifting only rocks that won’t create a landslide at risk of crushing you further. He has to find you; he has to bring you home, repeating it over and over again like a mantra to keep him going. Your body has to go back to the compound. Back to where you kissed him under the canvas of the constellations. He’d rearrange all the stars now if it meant that he could be in your place. If it meant that he’d be the one buried in a pine box so you could go on.

He knew he was close when the rocks he moved were speckled with droplets of dried blood. The first spray pattern his eyes fell upon a Jackson Pollock of despair that sunk its claws into his heart and twisted. He had to turn away as his stomach heaved and bile splashed against new gravel, the thought of your broken body lying lifeless under all of this stinging his eyes and welling them over.

Why did it always have to be him? Why did everyone want to save him? Sacrifice themselves for him? Not only his best friend but now you, too. He wasn’t worth all of this and sometimes he wished that everyone would just let him go.

Let him rest in the endless expanse of nothing where war could no longer touch him. Where the threat of violence didn't haunt him like a poltergeist too angry to walk into the light.

All rational thought left his head when the toe of your boot peeked out from under the crumpled remains of the steel table that he was kicked from. You’d managed to use it as protection, the rocks caving it in on top of you. A new desperation possessed him, his arms working frantically to lift weight after solid weight from where you were lay trapped.

“Steve!!!” he bellowed, broken and strained, hands bleeding as he dug. He didn't know why he was calling out. Maybe it had something to do with the freefall of realizing that this was all real and not some sick nightmare, a figurative hand reaching for a lifeline to catch him before he hit the ground.

His breathing was rushed, ragged as he lifted one final boulder, revealing your form. His bottom lip warbled as he hit his knees, pulling your limp body up and into his chest as his tears hit the floor, no attempt made to stifle them. From the ground floor Steve looked down into the blown pit, his best friend curled around his love; a shattered, inconsolable, shell of a mess of a man. Natasha stood next to him, her own tears cresting over the peaks of her cheekbones as she curled into his chest.

FRIDAY sounded in Tony’s ear. “Moisture detected inside the helmet, sir.” He drew a heavy breath, blowing it out and fogging his visuals. “I know. Start the jet, will ya?” A few hundred yards away the quinjet roared back to life.

Bucky cradled your head as he pulled your face out of his neck, gently picking strands of hair from where it stuck to your forehead. His breathing stopped altogether when you inhaled that first rough breath, and he would have thought he was hallucinating if he hadn’t felt it puff back against his face.

Breathing hurt. As you swam in and out of consciousness you could tell that most of your ribs were broken. Your vision was whited out and you could barely hear, but you felt someone corralling you close, the familiar musk of Bucky cocooning you.

“Ow,” you moaned. You know you thought it, but you didn’t realize that you’d vocalized it. Bucky’s head jerked up to his friends, confusion painted across everyone’s face.

“Tony?!” Bucky yelled.

Before he had the chance to finish the word metallic footsteps landed behind him and rocketed all of them out of the trench, your head lolling back as Bucky held you close. Steve and Nat sprinted after Tony and back to the jet where he landed. They pulled a stretcher out from under a bench and Bucky laid you carefully upon it.

“We need to go,” he ordered, strapping you down to the stretcher so you didn’t move during the journey. “Get the crash bag.” He laid two fingers on the inside of your wrist, the faintest of heartbeats detectable under your soft skin. He wanted the bag ready in case he lost it, in case he lost himself.

He counted every single heartbeat until they landed at the compound and the medical team took you away from him. Dr. Cho insisted on a medically induced and carefully monitored coma, to give your body time to heal itself. Bruce aided with a formulated sedative that he engineered to keep a super soldier under.

Which is what you were.

A super soldier.

And Bucky was the last one to know.

He stood over your body where it laid in the adjustable bed of the medical wing, more wires and tubes hooked into your skin than he’d ever seen outside of a sci-fi movie. Natasha and Steve stood opposite him; Nat’s head rested on Steve’s bicep where he held her hand. Bucky leveled his gaze with both.

“Did you know she’d had the serum?” The question is soft, a pained betrayal behind his crystal blues that Steve had only ever seen on one other occasion.

Both of them snapped their eyes to Bucky, then to each other, then back to him.

“Buck…”

“Did you know?!” he repeated, his tone biting itself into the growing guilt in their chests.

“It wasn’t our secret to share, Barnes,” Natasha answers, stepping in front of Steve and crossing her arms over her chest.

Bucky pressed his lips into a thin line, his gaze dropping to the sharp white of the hospital blanket as he nodded his understanding. He leaned down and brushed a few strands from your face, laying a kiss on your cheek before stalking out of the room.

He took the elevator up to the floor he shared with you and Steve, but he couldn’t pass the door to your room to get to his own. He stopped in front of it, letting his forehead rest against the pressed wood as tears flowed for the second time.

You were so good. So unequivocally, painfully, masterfully pure. And all it took for you to want to leave this world was for his life to be on the line. After all the blood he’d shed, all the lives he’d ruined, his stomach rolled to think that he’d been the reason you tried to forfeit yours.

His feet carried him before he knew what he was doing; into his room and over to his closet where his duffel bag was on the top shelf. He couldn’t stay here anymore. He couldn’t watch as his friends systematically put his life over theirs, couldn’t bear the thought of anyone else getting hurt because he existed. He had to remove the problem. Had to remove himself from the equation.

He slung his bag over the back of his bike, a small comfort in the way it growled to life under him. With one last look at the window to your room he sped off, determined to never again be the reason that someone put themselves in danger.

Steve watched as Bucky rode away, the rising tide of worry in his chest threatening to drown him.

He knew that his best friend was on the ropes of a boxing match between the love he held for the girl in the hospital bed and the hatred he had for himself and the monster he thought he was.

They'd have to go looking for Buck if he didn't come back soon, Steve knew that finding him would end in a fight.

It always ends in a fight.