#nika 🧡

[thereoncewasagirlnamedjane]

😭 i just love pre serum steve so much that if it were me, this is how i think i’d react. like, i love you but how dare you take that sweet baby boy from me? also not me finding new ways to write about grief all the time bc it’s both therapeutic and fun for hurt/comfort purposes ��

and stoooop, because this—

this was actually the direction i was going to take it, with the fic being way longer and more angsty but i changed my mind at the last second. i needed the comfort this weekend 🥺

ilysm <3

small worlds.

✩ read on ao3 ✩ steven g. rogers masterlist ✩ forget-me-not creative campaign ✩ library blog

‣ pairing — 1940s!steve rogers x f!reader

‣ contents — one-shot, hurt/comfort, somewhere between fluff and angst, implied smut, established relationship

‣ summary — all he ever wanted to do was the right thing. it never occurred to him that doing the right thing could possibly hurt someone he loves.

‣ word count — 1.5k

‣ notes — this is my submission for my own creative campaign lmao 😅 i just got inspired looking at those prompts again, okay? and these are my missing pre-serum!steve hours 😭 and after the week i’ve had, i need some comfort~

prompts used: ✩ geranium = returning joy ✩ plumeria = “well, this is new.” ✩ zinnia = mourning your absence

Bucky had been wrong. 

His best friend predicted that you would be thrilled to see the new him. After all, the girls at the SSR couldn’t seem to stay away, nor could the flight nurses out on the frontlines, no matter how many times he told them he had a girl back home and just wasn’t interested. 

Howard was the only one who knew well enough to warn him; given how Steve had left things with you before he took off on his tour across the country, he shouldn’t expect everything to be sunshine and rainbows when he got back. 

The two of you had fought, the biggest one in the history of your relationship, and hadn’t spoken to each other in days before he had to leave. His efforts to lie his way into the army was always a source of friction between you, and this, being selected as the subject for Project Rebirth, was just another straw on the camel’s back. 

Steve knew you were just afraid for him, as anyone who mattered to him would be, but it was something he knew he had to do. Unfortunately he couldn’t be convinced, but it didn’t mean he wasn’t also terrified of facing the consequences. 

“Be prepared to grovel, Rogers, like you’ve never done before,” Howard warned, giving him a grave look before waving him off. “Hell hath no fury.” 

So, he showed up at your door only days before he had to leave for Italy, holding a bouquet of flowers and shuffling nervously on his feet as he waited. Steve didn’t know what to say when you opened the door, feeling a little awkward himself at nearly two feet taller and about a hundred fifty pounds heavier. 

You stared at him for a moment, almost as if you didn’t recognize him. 

“Hi,” he said sheepishly, giving you a hesitant but hopeful smile. You looked like you might reel back and punch him, no doubt still angry about the way things went down and how he’d returned to you looking like an entirely different man, but then your face crumpled. 

There were downsides to the serum, he realized, as he could smell the salt of your tears before they even reached your lashes. He leaned down, bending at the waist, something he never had to do before, letting you wrap your arms around his widened shoulders. He could taste the relief in your tears as he kissed them away. 

In the hours that followed, however, you remained distant. He caught you staring thoughtfully at him from across the kitchen, only to quickly avert your eyes when he looked up from the hearty dinner you made him. 

You pulled away subtly when he reached for your hand or the soft dip of your waist, flinch when he moved to kiss your cheek, and returned all his dumb jokes with tight smiles. 

“Well, this is new,” he grinned softly as he stepped behind you, his chest firm against your back, grabbing a jar on a high shelf that you were struggling to reach. 

It took you a few moments too long to turn towards him, your lips curving upwards ever so slightly but it never quite touching the rest of your features. 

Even when he lay next to you that night, it felt like you were miles away. He was leaving soon, all the way to Italy and then to god knows where else, and he didn’t want to leave things this way. He didn’t want to go yet, not while he was uncertain about whether you’d welcome him back next time. 

But as always, it’s like you hear the thoughts in his head without him ever needing to speak them. It’s why this works; he broods and you see through him, as though you have a map directly to his heart. 

“It feels strange,” you confess in hushed tones, the two of you lying in the darkness of your bedroom. When the two of you touch, it feels foreign. You feel guilty, as though you were somehow being unfaithful to a version of him that would never come back. 

“I know,” he says, reaching for you. His heart sinks when you pull away. He lays there in silence, his enhanced vision capturing you so clearly in the dark, staring up at the ceiling as your bottom lip quivers. 

“You took him from me,” you whisper, eyes shining so brightly with anguish in the moonlight. It takes a moment for him to realize what you mean. He can hear the tears sliding down your temples and dripping onto the pillow. 

All he ever wanted to do was the right thing. It never occurred to him that doing the right thing could possibly hurt someone he loves. 

“I’m still me,” he murmurs, his fingers desperate to wipe them away, his arms itching to find their place around you once again. 

“To everyone else, even to you, he was always just that scrappy little nobody from Brooklyn. But to me?” You are weeping now, your voice thick with grief even though he’s right next to you. “To me, he was everything. I don’t want Captain America. I want Steve. My Steve.” 

Steve swallowed hard. You always were the only one who did. 

“He’s still here,” he pulls you close and this time, you don’t fight him. You fold yourself against him, crying harder when you are met with the hard sharp planes of his new body, instead of his usual soft edges that always seemed to embrace you right back. “I’m right here.” 

He lets you cry into his chest until, after what seems like hours, you finally drift off into an uneasy sleep, the front of his shirt still damp with your despair. 

But it doesn’t take much longer to find a new normal. 

He still smiles at you the same way as the day you met, a little sheepish and a little shy even after all this time. 

He still does that thing where he intertwines his fingers with yours, his touch a little evasive, teasing you a bit before finally pressing your palms together. 

He still holds you for as long as you need, always letting you be the first one to pull away. 

He still quietly fills the pages of sketchbooks that he hides on your bookshelf. 

He still eats so slowly, taking his time at your dining table because even a slightly bigger portion than normal used to make him sick. 

He still looks at the most terrible parts of humanity and decides that the world is worth saving. 

You slowly get used to the fact that he can reach the higher cabinets in your kitchen now, that he no longer falls ill at each turn of the season, and that while you will never get to see your Steve again—even though you think of him often—this Steve is right: he never really left. 

And when you’ve forgiven him, because there really was no question about it, when you’re ready to give yourself to him again, you’re both a bit nervous and awkward. 

It takes a little bit of dancing to get used to each other’s bodies again; you’re much smaller compared to him now, and he’s afraid he’ll forget his newfound strength and inadvertently hurt you somehow. 

But, much like you did before when he was small and inexperienced, he guides you and you eagerly follow. He lets you come to him, allows you to set the pace and boundaries of how far you’re willing to go, and he always looks at you the same. He even says it again—

“I can’t believe you’re here with me,” he croaks, so close you can smell his aftershave. 

It’s moments like these when you fully realize that while the serum changed him on the outside, it never touched what was inside. As always, he handles you with the utmost care, pulling you cautiously onto his lap, his hands gently cradling either side of your face as he drinks you in, eyes darting back and forth across your face before he finally leans in to kiss you. 

His eyes never once leave yours, even as you abandon your dress and undergarments on the bedroom floor. His fingertips slide down your sternum in a featherlight touch, down the valley between your breasts, before turning his hand over to brush his knuckles lightly over your rib cage, raising goosebumps in his wake. 

You stare into his familiar eyes, the ones that fill your vision with the clearest blue—as if you’re looking into a cloudless summer sky, just like the day you met the boy with a heart ten sizes too big for his chest��and you sigh in relief. 

“There you are,” you purr against his lips. 

His lips stretch into a smile, coaxing yours into doing the same. He remembers a promise he’d made to someone else not that long ago, and he promises it again—to you this time. 

That you will stay who you are. 

That he will never lose your Steve. 

fin.

[biscuitboba]

Can't stop staring at the nika, zoro's three swords, ryuma(?), and luffy doodles on zoro's side of the table... and the nami, bell-mère, and nojiko doodle on nami's side😭😭

[portokali]

@shellcrush tagged me to search my name + core on Pinterest and make a moodboard with the results!

ty wisa! that was vvv fun 😊 I'll now tag some otter besties: @catboyparrish @transcatboymegumi @duvetcoat @asiancatboy @medianaranja @marusyenka @shimamitsu @oasatelematics @pherelpis @byrons @catboykacchan @catboyjosten and anyone else who wants to do it!! go slay legends 🧡🧡

[itistimeforusalltodecidewhoweare]

3, 15, & 39? 👉👈

3. 3 films you could watch for the rest of your life and not get bored of?

knives out, the princess bride, and can i cheat and say a series bc my third choice is black sails. if not i'll go with pride and prejudice and zombies

15. what do you think of when you hear the word “home”?

my bed :') someplace warm and safe and snuggly!!

39. youtuber you’ve been obsessed with and why?

omg i love you i was hoping for this one!! i've been watching christy anne jones' writing routine videos basically nonstop this past week, i adore her content so much <3

questions i think would be fun to be asked

[thereoncewasagirlnamedjane]

Not over this and I never will be 😭 I love these two so much and your writing is like poetry omg

set me free

summary: Once upon a time, a soldier fell from a train. Thankfully, this time, he is found by gentle hands, and a beautiful voice keeps him safe from the cold.

pairing: bucky barnes x nymph!reader

word count: 6.4k

warnings: bucky dealing with the loss of his arm; a pinch of angst for flavour; reader is perceived as female by men in the forties, but what does that really tell us?

please note that my blog is rated 18+. minors dni. ageless/empty blogs will be blocked without warning.

a/n: hi. i really like this one. it combines two of my favourite things, fairy tales and 40s!bucky 😌 title is from the song her voice from the little mermaid musical <3

masterlist | read on ao3

“There was a girl.”

It’s the first thing he says when he wakes up, head wrapped in bandages and his arm … shit, his arm.

He doesn’t react when they break it to him, as gently as you can when you’re tearing someone’s life apart. What could he say?

Steve’s face speaks loud enough for the both of them.

He waits until everyone else has left, until he can drop the act and look at Steve, desperately trying to make him understand that there’s a voice singing inside of him that’s not his, that he feels like he lost two very precious things in a single day. “There was a girl.”

And Steve’s eyes go soft when he tells him, “I know.”

***

There was a story up north, where the waters turned grey with city slick and got forced through ever tightening brick holes, of the nymph that wanted to appeal to reason and got trapped in a barrel where he shrank, shrank until there was nothing left of him but water and vengeance, and who no one ever heard from again after in his last moments, he drowned dozens of them.

Humans.

You hadn’t seen one up close in years, not since they built their stinking railroad and stopped taking the time to walk through the lands adjoining your river. Your life got quiet when theirs got fast. You weren’t used to them anymore, and the constant buzzing in the camp gave you a headache.

Coming here was the most treacherous thing you’d ever done.

You just wanted to make sure he was alright after you’d pulled him from your waters and dragged him to where his friends would find him, down the river where the remnants of the train still burned. You watched the flames from a distance, the fire throwing eerie shadows across the snow for hours, leaving nothing but vapour.

He’d finally stopped bleeding, then.

You weren’t supposed to leave your river for any long period of time, but you couldn’t resist. The thought of the strange soldier with the beautiful face and hair the colour of muddy riverbanks occupied your every waking thought. As if he were calling to you.

You’re treading dangerous waters, your mother would have warned you, and you probably should’ve listened. But you’d never felt this way before.

So you left your voice behind to keep your legs for longer and went in search of your soldier.

The camp was dirty, haphazard, stank of human. None of them even seemed to notice. You almost wished for one of their primitive noses that couldn’t pick a trout from a pickerel.

You found the blond man first. Eyes like the darkest part of a waterfall and built like the rocks that kept the earth standing. His cries had sounded garbled from where you’d hid just below the surface, but now his voice was calmer, like rain.

“Are you lost?” he asked. It sounded peculiar to you, then, English, but you got used to it quickly.

You shook your head, already starting to move past him when he stepped into your path.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” he said with a frown.

Yes, you were.

“How did you even find us?”

It wasn’t hard. Nature was screaming their presence. If anyone wasn’t supposed to be here, it was them. But that wasn’t why you’d come.

“What’s your name?”

You were starting to wonder if humans ever got anything done or if they were spending all of their precious few days just standing around asking meaningless questions. Thankfully, one of the others started shouting at that moment, not even bothering to come closer. You cringed at the loud noise.

“Steve! It’s happening again!”

The blond man cursed under his breath, giving you another appraising look. “Stay here,” he ordered sternly, and then he took off.

You followed more slowly, moving past soldiers and nurses who were all in such a hurry to disguise how utterly useless they felt. None of them stopped you, even though you attracted some curious glances; you looked like them, now, but you didn’t move like them.

The ice cracked underneath your bare feet, but your steps were silent. The winter air did not chill you, even though your breath came up in small clouds of mist, just like it did for the rest of them, and you watched it evaporate into the grey sky.

A strange thing, they must have thought you. Similar enough, but not the same, somehow.

You found him easily, even though you couldn’t see him; it was like he pulled you in with invisible strings. His tug had already started to feel deceivingly familiar.

Another man stood in front of the entrance, holding a flask in his hand. He saw you approach, and he tipped his hat back to stare at you openly. He murmured something in a tongue clearly different from the first, and then he tapped his head and torso in several places, an instinctive, protective gesture.

You smiled at him.

“C’était vous?” he asked, and you nodded.

He looked over his shoulder quickly, and then he held the flaps of the tent open to let you in.

The air inside was heavy with the damp smell of sweat and blood. The blond man’s back almost kept him from your view, but you knew immediately that the convulsing body on the cot belonged to your soldier. They were holding him down, trying to keep him still as he was struggling.

He hadn’t woken yet.

You took another step closer, and then you saw him again. There he lay, still partially covered by your cloak, and the sight of it made you shiver. The obscenity of it all.

It’d seemed such a natural thing to do at the time, to shield him from certain death, but now, surrounded by all these other … humans? You could barely keep yourself from gagging.

You’d sung it into existence to keep him warm, and then you’d kept singing until the bleeding finally slowed.

You were almost done when you heard the others approach, calling out for him, and your head whipped around in shock. So much had you been preoccupied with your work, you hadn’t even noticed them until it was almost too late.

Careful, your mother’s voice warned softly in your head. A moment of weakness is how they catch you, pearl.

Your song hadn’t been completed, and when you melted back into your waters in haste, keen to get out of their view, you could feel something tear inside you as it got left behind.

It made you feel raw.

You were safe beneath your waters, but you’d left part of yourself with the handsome stranger with the mud-coloured hair, and as they picked him up and carried him back through the woods, the missing thing settled like a pebble in his pocket.

And now …

He was lying right in front of you, so close you might have just reached out and touched his damp forehead, but you didn’t quite dare, not with everyone else starting to notice your presence.

“You can't be in here!”

Oh, but you had to be.

You didn’t know what they must have seen in your eyes, but something changed on the blond man’s face, and he did not move when you did. Gently, you leaned over the man on the cot, noticing every shiver and flinch and moan, brushing a strand of hair from his brow. You pulled at the corner of your cloak and wrapped it around his shoulder again, careful not to touch the spattered bandages.

Your soldier sighed, and then his sleep grew dreamless.

The man called Steve let you stay.

***

It took several days before he woke up, and they’d moved him a few dozen metres uphill, where the trees formed more of a clearing and the air was crisp. You’d kept to the fringes of the camp, making yourself useful enough so they wouldn’t dismiss you, carrying hot water and sweeping snow off tarpaulin.

The sun was setting when you felt the pull again, but different this time, more tentative. You dropped your empty bucket and gathered your skirt, hurrying to see what had happened, what had changed.

“There was a girl.”

You came to a halt right outside the entrance to the med tent, hands pressed to your chest because suddenly, you felt ill, as if your heart was trying to burst out of your chest. You couldn’t make sense of the sudden wetness on your cheeks. Had it started to rain without your notice?

“There was a girl.”

You’re not a girl, but it was fine. Humans are so limited, your mother always used to say.

And he remembered your song.

***

The first time your soldier met you, met you properly, they’d wrapped him in blankets and carried him outside to sit in the sun. Like a wildcat, you thought, but his eyes were glazed over, not really taking in his surroundings.

It was a pity, you thought as you watched him, because the woods were beautiful that time of year, when the sun made the white mountain tops glitter like diamonds.

You only dared to move closer once the others gave up on trying to get him to talk. One slow step closer, than another. Finally, you sat down in the grass next to him, your feet crossing easily underneath you because you’d done it several times before at that point. The air was damp with morning dew.

Several minutes passed before he seemed to acknowledge your presence.

“Come to stare?” he croaked quietly. His voice was rough in places it wasn’t supposed to be.

You tilted your head to look at him, shielding your eyes against the sun. He looked magnificent in the light, even though the frown never left his face. You didn’t understand his question.

You didn’t know, then, that humans couldn’t just regrow their limbs like fish could their fins.

But you had no way of asking his meaning, so you just kept sitting next to him in silence, watching life move on in the camp downhill. He didn’t tell you to leave.

His name, you learned, was Bucky, and you wished you could try out the sound on your tongue to see how it tasted. He had eyes the colour of the ocean, but you didn’t know that until later. You’d never seen it before.

He stayed propped up in the med tent most of the time. For observation, Steve explained, worry in his voice, but he didn’t let you disturb Bucky in there. After all, you were just a stranger who didn’t talk or wear shoes, and whose seam was always inexplicably wet, and while you heard the whispers and knew he was smart enough to pick out the kernels of truth, he never told you to leave.

“I saw you that day,” he told you one afternoon, his waterfall eyes keen and focused. “You saved his life.”

A moment of weakness, you thought. You couldn’t help but wish for a lifetime of it.

You snuck in at night, when the nurse had gone to bed, tracing your cool fingertips against Bucky’s burning skin until he sighed in his sleep. In the pale moonlight, he seemed not much older than a boy. Sometimes, he woke up, but he was so delirious he must have mistaken you for an apparition by his bedside.

You silently tucked your cloak closer around him and hoped it was enough.

During the day, you kept close, staying busy by helping the others with the upkeep of the camp or looking for a quiet place to rest for a while. It took a lot out of you, trying to soothe Bucky’s pain, but it was worth it to you.

To him, you were an enigma.

You came out of nowhere into his life, and even though everything he had planned for the rest of it seemed to go up in flames around him and disappear forever, you were determined to stay by his side.

It took a lot of persuasion. You could hear Steve shout at the commanding officers for days, and the wind told you that Bucky heard, too. It spelled out his confusion, and his gratitude. Some part of him sensed your connection to him, even though he couldn’t understand it like you did.

Your boy was only human, after all.

In the beginning, in those early days before you even learned his name, you’d wondered if maybe the simple act of pulling Bucky out of your river had been what had somehow entranced you. If, as time went on, this fondness for him would disappear like the shimmer of light on the surface when the sun was rising; beautiful, but temporary.

It kept you seeking him out whenever you could, silently sitting down next to his chair with a bunch of fabrics to darn as the days kept getting warmer. It smelled of spring. Some colour had returned to his cheeks.

“Steve tells me you’re my guardian angel.” He said it like a reproach.

You merely shrugged and kept sewing. Your fingers were clumsy, not used to the tool, but you’d never been one to give up. When you stole a wayward glance at Bucky, he was watching you. He stirred underneath your gaze, and it made you want to jump up and run, run until you reached your river and could sink back beneath the familiar surface, to stop this racing in your chest, your head.

You tucked your legs underneath you.

It was strange, having legs again. You hadn’t worn them since … When was it, again, that they’d invented those terrible steaming machines that sent angry flares of smoke into the air and made it stink of fire and destruction for miles and miles?

You liked the feeling, though. They stood solid.

You were particularly fond of your toes, curiously burying them in the half-frozen ground until they changed colour, and then rubbing them between your stubby humanlike fingers so that the dirt fell off and they were warm once more.

Still, your soldier barely spoke to you.

You could feel his eyes set on you, though, whenever you walked by or sat at his feet. The cloak around his shoulders was drawing him to you, even if he didn’t know it. There was nothing else to it but ancient spells and unintentional offers.

You tried not to worry about it too much. The spell would fall off him as soon as he was healed enough, anyway, you knew as much.

But you couldn’t help yourself.

You heard his call to you at night, desperate, lonely, searching for some great unknown that he was missing. You felt the tug.

The ache became almost too much for you to bear.

The breeze whispered his name for you, a gentle kiss on his temple, as you lay rolled up in the cot they’d given you, waiting for dawn to bring an end to his nightmares and your untetheredness.

In the daylight, things were difficult in a different way. Oh, you wanted to talk to him, tell him all the stories you’d picked up over the decades. They all seemed so unreal when you were sitting next to him, as if they’d happened to someone else entirely.

The wind lashed out at you in moments like this, clashing fallen leaves into your face and pulling at your hair like a petulant child. Nature wasn’t angry with you, exactly, but she was mourning. She knew long before you did, and did everything in her power to soften the blow.

“How come you’re never cold?” Bucky asked when you rubbed your naked feet across the stone.

You laughed, silently, looking at him with raised eyebrows.

“Right. Yes or no only, correct?”

You smiled and nodded. A light blush spread on his cheeks.

“Yeah, that’s not gonna work out.” Your heart dropped, but he looked at you assessingly, his head slightly tilted to the side. “You don’t happen to know how to write, do you?”

You shook your head slowly. You were able to read human alphabets as well as understand the words, but it’d never seemed useful to you to put something in writing yourself. Whoever would you have addressed it to?

“I can teach you. Still got my working arm left, don’t I?”

He didn’t tell you that he needed this, that he needed to feel like he was still useful in some way, not just a nervous, hollow wreck of a man; he didn’t need to. You could read it in his eyes, and the resignation that was starting to fester at the bottom of his ocean eyes terrified you so much, you barely felt the needle slip before it pricked your finger. You flinched.

One, two, three drops of blood fell onto the fabric, staining the gleaming white. You stared at them, but the swirling thoughts in your head came to stop when he moved next to you and touched your hand.

“Are you alright?” Bucky asked, his fingers curling around your wrist. They were so warm. “You gotta be more careful, angel.”

It was the second time he called you an angel, and though you knew this couldn’t be further from the truth, you felt a strange heat rush through you, to your cheeks and every inch of skin he touched. The blankets around his shoulders had slipped down, and you could make out the silvery-blue edge of your cloak underneath. You bit your lip, and dropped your head.

Bucky let go of you, and the wind couldn’t quite soothe the loss of his warmth.

“I mean it,” he said after a while. “I’d like to teach you, if you want.”

So you went through your chores quickly the next day, and then headed for his tent with a spring in your step. You only stopped in front of the entrance when you heard voices inside.

“The notion came with the mail today,” Steve said. “They’ve made you a captain, Buck. To honour everything you’ve done in the line of duty.”

“Well, look at us, Stevie.” Bucky laughed hollowly. “We’ve both got empty titles to match now.”

You could hear Steve sigh. “Anger doesn’t suit you, pal.”

“It was always good enough for you.”

“I was a kid.”

“And I lost my arm!”

You couldn’t be sure if the cup fell by accident or if it was thrown by design, but it shattered with a spectacular crash, and then there was silence.

It was Steve who left, hands still buried in his hair. He took a moment to notice you, rubbing a palm across his face quickly. “Sorry about that,” he said. “You’re here for your lesson, right?”

You nodded.

“Right.” He coughed uncomfortably. “Well, he’s probably happier to see you than me, so …” He nodded, as if he was hearing an answer you didn’t give, and then he turned, stopping himself again to reach into his coat pocket. “You might need this,” he said, pressing something into your hand before he left.

It was a little red notebook, not much larger than your hand. You stood there, unsure whether you should enter or leave Bucky alone with the churning wave of his grief. In the end, he made the decision for you.

“Are you gonna come in?”

He didn’t sound angry anymore, only tired. You put the tiny notebook into your pocket.

When you pulled the tent open, he was sitting on his cot, and the blurry light falling in from the tiny window cast his face in deep shadows. He blinked against the sun in your back, and some weight seemed to fall off him. You took it for yourself.

It hurt, not being able to tell him everything you wanted to.

You set up outside, using some empty crates as a makeshift table as Bucky pulled out a pen and stared at the blank sheet of paper in front of him. Its edges were flapping in the wind.

He put the tip of the pen down and made a line, almost ripping a hole into the page. His jaw clenched even more. The paper bunched up underneath his hand, and even you could tell he was gripping the pen too tightly.

Carefully, you reached out and held the edge of the paper down for him.

Bucky closed his eyes for a long second and took a breath. Then, he started again.

***

It took another couple of weeks, but as spring grew into an early summer, Bucky began moving around on his own again. He was still weak from his prolonged bed rest, and his walk was off-balance, but more often than not, he picked you up for a round through the camp before settling down for your writing lesson.

You’d assumed that once you’d made your way through the entire alphabet, he’d teach you simple sentences, the ones children started with. Your letters didn’t look much better than theirs, anyway; they lacked the confidence of years of practice.

Soon, however, he was telling you stories.

Stories of places you’d never heard of, of machinery and grand ideas you could scarcely even imagine. Some of them he surely must have made up; they seemed too fantastical to be real. You were supposed to take notes, but found yourself too enthralled by his words time and time again. Trying to focus on your spelling was like swimming upstream; his tide worked against you.

“It’s fine,” he laughed when he’d deciphered your scribblings while you grimaced. “‘Sergeant’ is a hard one. You did great, angel.”

He might have made a wonderful teacher, you thought as you watched him write it down correctly. In a different life, or maybe even in this one.

“Have you ever been able to speak?” Bucky asked one day, in a way that told you he’d been thinking about wording this for so long it finally just fell out as bluntly as this.

Your hesitation, to him, seemed answer enough, because he cleared his throat.

“What happened? If you don’t mind my askin’.”

This was a new habit of his, one that had developed quickly once your spelling got legible. He kept asking you personal questions, and you never quite knew how to answer.

It’s complicated, you wrote slowly.

“Did it hurt?”

You met his gaze, again unsure of your response. You underlined your words. Then, you put up a hand before he could say anything else. The tip of your pen was shaking slightly.

I like this. With you.

He blushed so beautifully, like a sunset lowering its head between the treetops, and he stayed silent for a very long while before he spoke again.

“Could you tell me your name?”

You thought about it. You’d never seen it written down, of course, not in human letters anyway. You weren’t even sure it was proper to tell him.

But his eyes, his rainwater eyes focused on you with that gentle spark of curiosity burning brightly, and you put your pen down again.

You tried several ways of how you supposed it might be spelled before you settled on one that you liked.

Bucky read your name, and you huffed a breath of air. You weren’t one to still believe in gods, but it sounded almost like a prayer on his lips.

The smile that followed it sealed your fate.

You knew, then, that you’d go anywhere with him, if ever he asked. You’d stay by his side as long as he allowed you to, no matter how stormy the waters.

You’d saved his life, but he pulled you to shore.

No nymph was meant to appear a mortal for as long as you had, but you couldn’t help it. You couldn’t bring yourself to leave his side, not once you’d heard his laugh and read his thoughts and felt his heartbeat underneath your fingertips. You no longer wondered what your name would sound like on his tongue; you wanted to taste it.

What a strange feeling, desire.

How very human of your transformed body to wish for things your nature would never allow, how flawed a concept. But then, why did your heart feel so … heavy?

You noticed details in Bucky you never thought a human capable of, like the way his eyes would grow soft when he watched his friends, or how determination did not just make him harden but also tremble with sheltered trepidation.

Trains did not go by often during your stay in the camp, but when they did, he was the first to notice. You couldn’t take those terrors from him, no matter how much you wished for it.

You tried, anyway.

***

Falling in love with Bucky was easy, but falling in love with the human world happened all on its own, and you only caught up when they took you upstream. It was strange to realise; their way of living was so fast, so dirty and hurried and grand. It terrified you, and fascinated you all the same. The city was large, and the people seemed so small against its high buildings and neverending cobbled streets. Tiny, countless pebbles in a river.

You kept tight hold of Bucky’s hand as you made your way through the crowd, your nose twitching. There was an air of excitement amongst soldiers and city people alike, and it only got more jubilant once you’d reached your destination.

You swallowed down your beating heart as you tried to take everything in.

The colours, the smells, so strong you thought you might taste them, the feel of dresses brushing against your skin and the sound of laughter and clinking glasses. And the music. You’d never heard anything like it, loud and happy and right in front of you.

You were nudged onto a stool in the corner, watching wide-eyed as the musicians’ fingers moved so fast you could barely keep track, their beat leaving goosebumps all over your skin. All the while, people were dancing in mad circles around them.

You didn’t know whether you’d sat there for minutes or hours by the time Steve emerged from the cluster of people that had formed around the bar. “There you are!” he called over, and even without looking at him, you could feel Bucky smile next to you.

“You’re saying that like it wasn’t you who got side-tracked,” he said, taking another sip of his drink.

“You should be celebrating, Buck, that’s the whole point.”

“I like this,” Bucky said, looking at you, but Steve ignored him.

“What are you doing at the side of the dance floor, anyway?” he said as if he were settling an old score. He turned to you with a conspiratorial look. “Your man is the best dancer around, and don’t let him pretend otherwise.”

Even though he wasn’t drunk, the alcohol had left mischief in Steve’s eyes. With his dishevelled hair and reddened cheeks, he looked rather boyish, and it suited him, you thought. You wondered what Bucky would look like with that much ease running through his veins.

“She doesn’t wanna dance with me, knucklehead,” Bucky groaned. “Now piss off and bother someone else.”

Steve winked at you, but did leave you to it. You watched Bucky watch him walk away. His face puzzled you; it looked almost pained.

“What?” he said quietly when he caught your stare. You gestured for his hand.

I do, you traced into his palm. His fingers twitched. You didn’t let go.

“You do what?” he asked, carefully.

Your eyes flitted to the dance floor, then back to him. The band still played at a fast pace, something that sent feet stamping and skirts twirling. It looked fun.

Bucky lingered in the same realisation for a moment before he grimaced. “I don’t wanna make you look a fool, angel, I don’t.”

You pulled him to his feet.

Standing on the dance floor, you quickly realised that watching the other dancers had made the steps and turns look a lot easier than they actually turned out to be in practice. Your limbs didn’t want to seem to move in that same weightless, flowing fashion; at least not at that speed.

A tiny smirk formed on Bucky’s lips as he tried guiding your feet with his own, his hand loosely holding your waist. The ever-shifting directions confused you; every time you felt like you’d figured it out, it seemed like the movements changed mid-stream and suddenly went the opposite way. You threw your head back in frustration as you stepped on his foot for the tenth time.

Bucky just chuckled. “Hold on,” he told you quietly.

Before you could give him a questioning look, he wrapped his arm around you and pulled you off the ground. With a silent gasp, your hands tightened around his neck, your body pressed closer to his than you’d ever been as he spun you around to the rhythm of the music, your hearts beating in time.

You’d been floating your entire life, but you’d never felt as weightless and carefree as you did right then, his laugh such a beautiful melody you forgot about the rest of the world around you.

Only when he put you back down did you realise that the song must have changed; indeed, the crowd had dispersed, only a few other couples were still dancing to the slow tune the band was playing now. You brushed a strand of hair out of Bucky’s face and smiled, trying to convey every bit of the happiness you felt on your face.

He closed his eyes and touched his forehead to yours, gently swaying you from side to side. You felt your chest expand with it.

It all seemed so impossible.

For you to be here now, with human legs, in the embrace of this man, this brave, handsome, courteous soldier that you adored more than anyone or anything else; how many drops had to have fallen in the right place at the right time to set your path in stone the way it was supposed to be.

“I like you, you know, I really do,” Bucky said quietly. “If things’d been different, I’da asked you to be my girl.”

You stopped breathing.

“I mean it,” he said, tugging your chin up. “You’re beautiful, and kind, and smart, and you saved my life back in that river.”

You shook with his confession, your thoughts swirling. The temptation to give in was almost unbearable when he looked at you like that, like he wanted to explore every last corner of your soul. But he had no idea how deep you ran.

“What is it, angel?”

You wanted to tell him that this was everything you wanted, and that that was the problem. You didn’t know whether this was him asking, or whether your magic had sunk so deep it confused the very core of him.

On the other hand, if you refused him now and ripped it out all at once, wouldn’t that be even worse? What if it took all the good you’d been trying to do away with it as well? No, you couldn’t risk that. You had to stay with him until he didn’t need you anymore; and whether that took forever or just three more days, you’d have to be fine with it.

Bucky sighed and dragged his hand through his hair, taking half a step back. “I’m being selfish, I know. I just can’t help but feel like there’s something …”

He trailed off, and you put a hand over his heart to urge him on. You could feel it racing underneath his layers. He swallowed heavily.

“I’m being shipped back to the States next week.”

Again, you held your breath, even though this time, his confession was like a bucket of ice water down your spine. You didn’t even hear the next couple of sentences, only listening again when he said your name.

“—I can’t ask you to come with me, it’d be—I’m not even—”

You frowned in question. Why not?

He sighed again. “Don’t look at me like that.”

Like what?

“Like I’m worth your pity.”

Your fingers held tightly to the material of his jacket. Bucky didn’t meet your eye. You both must have stopped moving at some point, but suddenly, you felt dizzy.

Slowly, you reached for his hand. You weren’t sure which one of you was shaking more.

Ask me, you traced into his palm. Bucky shook his head. Ask me, you wrote again, more quickly this time.

“I can’t,” he said, wanting. “I shouldn’t.”

Let me, you wrote onto his skin, and you could see the moment his doubts, for now, washed away.

“Come home with me.”

***

The evening before you were set to leave, you returned to the river one last time to say goodbye. Your legs melted together as soon as you immersed yourself in the water, its familiar touch caressing your cheeks.

“I’m here to tell you I’m leaving,” you called out to the fish, but they already knew. You were all part of these waters, and there were no secrets kept.

No matter how much you would miss it, you were sure about your decision. You’d follow him  across the sea, over any mountain, to the ends of the world, if need be, where the waters were raining into the sky; if only he’d permit it.

You settled down at the bottom of the river for a final time, letting its slick brush over you and stick to your hair, committing every stone and plant to memory. It was then you realised you’d been searching for the sea your entire life only to find it in a human’s eyes.

You were ready to see what else you would find out there.

When you emerged from the water, it was raining, warm and heavy on your skin after the coolness of the river that was no longer yours. You put your head in your neck, your eyes closed as your lungs readjusted to breathing the sweet spring air.

Bucky was waiting for you underneath the shield of your favourite willow tree, his eyes heavy as he watched you. Your neatly folded cloak was hanging over his shoulder.

“I’ve heard stories, you know,” he said, his hand slowly following the seam of it, pulling it closer to his frame. You bit the inside of your cheek. “They’re not just made up, are they?”

You shook your head slowly.

“Why did you save me?”

The question surprised you in its desperation. Still, you didn’t reach out to him. Even if you had dared, you couldn’t; you seemed frozen to the spot. Instead, your hand found its way to your throat.

Waters or not, you were still incomplete.

But your soldier was as smart as he was brave.

He nodded for you to take the last few steps ashore towards him, and then wrapped you in your cloak as best as he could with his single arm. You shivered as it sank into your skin once more. At the scent of him melting into yours. You could almost taste it.

You looked at him, expecting to see the terror they would always warn you about. The hatred. Betrayal. Fury. What you found in his eyes instead mirrored what you could feel leaking from your own: awe.

He gave you your gift back.

You weren’t well-versed in the traditions that your kind had upheld for centuries, but this even you knew, even after all these years on your own. After all, you’d dreamed it up so many times, never daring to hope it would become reality.

This meant a proposal.

But he couldn’t mean that. No matter what kind of tales he’d heard, he couldn’t know. And you weren’t about to bind yourself to him without his knowledge.

So you slowly, reluctantly shook your head no.

“Did I get something wrong?” Bucky asked, his voice cracking with concern.

He wasn’t supposed to make it this hard. He wasn’t supposed to figure out who, what you were, not like this, not for a good time yet. You had meant to take care of him, but how were you going to, now?

A droplet of river water fell off your lashes and he caught it with his thumb before he could seem to stop himself. You pulled his hand away gently.

You don’t mean it, you traced onto his arm.

He didn’t. It was just the spell, and it would release him any second now.

You couldn’t help but wish for your notebook, then, the one filled with his stories and laughter and all the things you could never say. Maybe its familiar pages would help dull this pain.

Your lungs had dried up and your skin grew warm beneath his touch, but his ache was woven into him by outside forces. Yours though … yours was winning.

“I’ve said a lot of things in my life that I didn’t mean, angel, but this ain’t one of them.”

You looked up at him and found his eyes the same. It should be impossible, that beautiful, terrible, hopeful shade of blue. It had been haunting your dreams for as long as you could remember, and it had nothing to do with the spell you wove upon him on that snowy riverbank.

I love you, you thought, and maybe he did the same.

When he kissed you, it tasted of saltwater, the kind of oceanic sadness you’d so often seen in his eyes. It took your breath away, reduced you to a fish on dry land and made you human again. Something settled, then, with his hand on your back and yours cupping his face. It had the taste of finality to it, this transformation.

He didn’t seem to want to stop kissing you, as if you were still the only thing breathing life into his lungs. Or maybe he was returning the favour.

“Bucky,” you whispered against his lips, and a shudder went through him. “Bucky.”

Your voice sounded different to your own ears, but you couldn’t tell if it was the air or something else entirely.

He said your name with such reverence your knees almost buckled, mouth seeking out yours again before the echo of your last kiss had left it. His hand trailed up slowly, to your side, your elbow, your cheek, his thumb caressing the soft skin on your temple carefully, adoringly.

There was a gust of wind as the last bit of magic worked its course, but you barely noticed it. Only at the very back of your mind did you come to realise that your toes had gone numb with the cold.

i live for feedback so please don’t leave me hanging 💙 if you want to see more of my writing, check out my masterlist or follow @intrepidacious-fics for update notifications!!

read more about these two in being understood

[byghostface]

Two V's in the W✌️🏆🧡🩵

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Flatline/Nika and Damian art for donor @/DUKESGOTHAM and @/dcforgaza fundraising on Twitter(X)♥️

[pinkyjulien]

━ The RVC00N Dumpster🦝

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🧡 Thanks to all the chooms who tested and took pics! Afterdark - Altar - Beanie - DesertPirate77 - GenocidalFetus - GlitchGarden - Halkuonn - Kharonion - Lokiina - Lucky38 - MotherHerbivore - Nika - Quen - RainbowCadenza - Sh00kspeared - Vade - Wilxfyre - Winks

▶ On Nexus

[vendrea]

rooting for any team nika roots for 🧡 (i don’t know anything about the euro league)

[intrepidacious]

randomly thought about him today and had to reread as soon as i got off work. yup, i'm still obsessed with him 🫠

•°∘∗ the expedition ∗∘°•

summary: you’re about to make the discovery of a lifetime, so why is it you find yourself more focused on the man you’ve hired to keep you alive?

pairing: mercenary!steve rogers x archeologist!female reader

warnings: SMUT (18+, minors DNI), swearing, mention of: torture, blood, death, alcohol, violence, and knives.

length: 6.8k

a/n: written for my 3k celebration, the prompt is bolded. inspired by national treasure, the mummy (1999), and similar adventure films. the premise of this fic is based on fact/real legends, then the rest is the result of my imagination.

“Steve Rogers?”

The man hums in answer, his gaze fixated on the small television mounted above the bar.

Offering your hand, you introduce yourself. “We spoke on the phone.”

His head leisurely turns, and though they’re hidden behind dark sunglasses, you feel his eyes as they sweep over you before he accepts your outstretched hand.

“You want me to take you into the jungle.”

Glancing down at his hand as it engulfs yours, you can’t tell if he’s asking a question or stating a fact.

Either way, you respond with “Jake said you were the best man for the job.”

Sort of.

[2 DAYS PRIOR]

“Are you crazy?” Jake gawks, “I mean, yes, you’re crazy, but this is like a whole new level for you.”

“I’m not here for your opinion.” You assert, resting your palms on his desk and leaning forward. “I just need someone to take us, someone who knows the area.”

Running a hand through his spiked hair, Jake replies “Look, I know a few guys there but none are gonna buy what you’re selling. Treasure hunters are a dime a dozen in South America.”

“Explorers.” You correct, heaving a sigh. “C’mon, there has to be one guy willing.”

“I’m telling you there’s not.”

Slapping your hands on his desk, you straighten up. “Fine then, we’ll go alone.”

“What?” Jake splutters, “You wouldn’t, you - fuck, you would.” He groans.

Glaring at you for a moment, Jake shakes his head before rummaging through the papers strewn across his desk.

“Do you have any idea how dangerous Ecuador is? Do you know how many explorers die there each year?” He lectures.

“Why do you think I’m here?” You retort.

Muttering under his breath, Jake finds what he’s looking for and meets your unyielding gaze. “I’m not saying he’ll do it, but if you have a chance with anyone, it’s Rogers.”

You grab the small piece of paper Jake holds out to you, but his tight grip stops you from taking it.

“He won’t be cheap.” Jake warns.

“Of course.”

A few seconds pass before he relinquishes the paper to you.

Smiling sweetly, you pocket it. “Thank you Jake.”

Huffing, he gestures to the door. “Go.”

Your smile grows at his exasperated demand - which you quickly obey.

Jake’s voice calls out behind you just as you open his office door.

“Don’t tell Rogers what you’re looking for!”

[PRESENT]

Releasing your hand, Steve pushes up from the bar stool.

You have to tilt your head up and up as you watch him reach his full height.

“That was awfully nice of him.” Steve states dryly, his attention returning to the football game occuring on the television. “You didn’t say why you wanted to go into the jungle.”

Right.

“Well, I’m an -”

A low whistle interrupts you, drawing both your and Steve’s attention.

“Maxwell.” You greet the approaching man, smiling through gritted teeth.

Ignoring you, Max looks Steve up and down before announcing “Perfect, you’re just the kind of brute we need.”

He’s not wrong. Steve Rogers is built like a brick shithouse and most definitely suited for the task at hand.

Stopping beside you, Max extends his hand. “You must be Steve Rogers, I’m Max.”

Giving a small nod, Steve shakes his hand before aptly reminding you both “I haven’t agreed to anything yet.”

You keep your lie brief.

“As I was saying, we’re here to study specific sections of the Amazon rainforest for a thesis I’m working on.”

Throwing an arm around your shoulders, Max helpfully - and truthfully, adds “She’s an archaeologist.”

Steve studies you both, his face expressionless.

Your stomach drops.

He doesn’t believe us.

“You’re treasure hunters.” Steve declares, confirming your fear.

“Actually, we’re explorers.”

Continuing on like you hadn’t spoken, Steve says “And I’m guessing you’re after the treasure of Llanganates.”

“Good guess.”

Sighing at Max's admission, you try again “We’re -”

“Listen,” Steve cuts off. “The jungle and mountain ranges here are no joke, and I’m not risking my life just so you two can come to the same conclusion as every other schmuck that’s gone looking for that treasure, which is that it doesn’t exist.”

Your jaw drops at his words. “I’m no schmuck Mr. Rogers and just because you don't -”

“We’ll pay you well.” Max intervenes, shooting you a wary glance as you glare up at the large man.

Steve places his hands on his hips, his attention still on you while you bite your tongue.

You swear his lips twitch with a smirk.

Asshole.

“How much?” Steve eventually asks, turning his head to Max.

“How much do you want?” Max grins.

Silence falls as Steve mulls over the question.

“Five thousand a day.”

Your jaw drops again. “No way!”

“Done.”

Baffled, you gape at Max. “That’s an insane amount.”

Lifting his arm from your shoulders, he shrugs “This is an insane trip.”

All you can do is stare as Max holds his hand out to Steve once more, stipulating “Five thousand a day for you to take us exactly where we want to go and to keep us from dying horrible deaths.”

Nodding, Steve shakes his hand. “Deal.”

You should feel ecstatic.

“Well then, when do we leave?” Max asks, “We’re currently staying at the Tesoro Inn.”

“First I need to know where we’re going.”

Both men turn to look at you.

Reaching into your jean pocket reluctantly, you pull out the map you outlined the beginning of your expedition on and hand it over to Steve.

Unfolding it, he studies the red line. “It’s incomplete.”

Of course, genius.

“You can see the rest when you get us that far.” Arms crossed, you raise your eyebrows, all but daring him to argue back.

Steve regards you from behind his sunglasses before stating “We’ll meet in front of the inn tomorrow morning at five thirty.” As an afterthought he adds “Make sure you pack light.”

You can’t prove it of course, but you just know he’s directing that last comment at you.

Narrowing your eyes, you’re dragged away by Max before you can utter a scathing response.

Steve’s mouth twitches again.

[THE NEXT DAY]

You stand outside the inn, watching as the sun begins to peek above the horizon.

“So he’s an ass and terrible at keeping time.” You announce in a cheery tone.

Max groans, taking a sip of his coffee.

I suppose after last night he’s probably had enough of me ranting about Steve Rogers.

“Darling, please, just ignore his personality and focus on his good looks.”

You scoff loudly.

“Oh, don’t even try.” Max laughs, “I know how much of a sucker you are for big arms and hands.”

Whatever.

“Good morning,” A voice you unfortunately recognise calls out.

Looking over your shoulder at Steve’s approaching figure, you use the shield of your sunglasses to properly appraise him for the first time.

Steve’s tall and built, that much you had observed yesterday afternoon.

His hair is dark blond and long, the ends of it curling against the collar of his shirt while some strands fall around his face and over his still present sunglasses. The beard he has is thick and you’ll forcibly admit it’s the best you’ve ever seen.

You weren’t typically one for beards, but he made it work.

Similar to yesterday, Steve wears a long sleeved shirt that’s rolled up to his elbows and khaki military pants held up by a brown belt. Over one shoulder he carries a backpack while a duffel bag hangs from his left hand.

“Mr. Rogers,” You greet with a faux smile. “How nice of you to finally join us.”

Steve grins, coming to a stop in front of you. “Retract those claws kitten, I had to secure our ride.”

As if on cue, the loud rumble of an engine cuts through the peaceful morning air as an old pickup truck comes coasting around the corner, pulling up before you all.

“This must be the new Bentley model,” Max quips good-naturedly.

The older man hanging out of the driver’s window gives a rough laugh. “Ah, un comediante.”

“Solo medio tiempo.” Max retorts, earning another laugh.

Chucking his bags into the bed of the pickup, Steve grabs yours and Max’s off the ground and adds them to the pile. Twisting back to you, Steve extends a hand for the satchel slung across your body.

You shake your head, grasping tightly at the brown leather strap.

He raises an eyebrow but makes no further comment, instead gesturing to the bed of the pickup. “Alright you two, hop in.”

While you and Max climb into the back, Steve rounds the pickup and gets in the passenger side.

Max knocks twice on the back of the cab once you’re both seated and the pickup rolls forward with a loud bang, rocking the two of you sideways.

Resting a heavy arm around your shoulders for stability as you each sway with the motion of the pickup on the dirt road, Max states “I love riding in the bed of trucks, reminds me of -”

“Arizona.” You finish with a soft smile.

“Yep,” Max pops the p. “Where we found nothing but rock.”

“And got burnt to a crisp for our efforts.” You recall, looking up at him as he laughs.

“Let’s pray this expedition proves more fruitful.”

“It will.” You answer without a second thought, clutching your satchel again. “This time is different.”

Arizona had been a spur of the moment idea, something to do for fun and experience - nothing more. There’d been no prior research, no maps, no coordinates.

Humming, Max leans forward and grabs the rolled up sleeping bag from his backpack, placing it between the cab and his head before closing his eyes. “Tell me about it again.”

Settling against his chest, you recite the story you know by heart.

“In 1532, Spanish conquistadores captured an Inca Emperor named Atahualpa who promised them a room full of gold and twice as much silver in exchange for his life. The conquistadores agreed and soon treasures from across the region were being brought to them. However, the conquistadores’ fear of a re-energised Inca military led them to kill the Emperor before the ransom was fulfilled.”

“An Inca General named Rumiñahui had been en route with an enormous amount of treasure for the Emperor’s ransom when he learnt that Atahualpa had been killed. In response Rumiñahui ordered his men to take the ransom into the uninhabited land of Llanganates and hide it.”

"Rumiñahui continued to haul even more treasure, such as gold, silver, jewels, and Inca artefacts to hide in Llanganates until he was captured by the Spanish. They tortured him for the treasure’s location, but he refused to tell them.”

“He’s a better man than me,” Max mumbles.

“In 1603 a Spaniard named Valverde married an Inca woman and he claimed that her family showed him the treasure. Before his death, he wrote out the treasure’s location and even drew a map to guide others to it. People have used and improved Valverde’s map for centuries trying to find the treasure and the last person to have claimed finding it was Barth Blake in 1886. In a letter he detailed his discovery of gold, silver, emeralds and other treasures and stated that he, nor a thousand men could remove all that he had found.”

“So in over a century no-one has claimed to have found even a piece of the treasure?” Max questions, opening his eyes and looking down at you.

Lifting your head from his chest, you shake it. “A man named Mark Honigsbaum tried to find the treasure and wrote a book about it in 2004. He concluded that either the Incans retrieved the treasure centuries ago or it’s been lost forever in the mountains.”

“You believe it’s still in the mountains, right?”

“Yes, in its original hiding spot, just not where it’s marked on Valverde’s map.”

Max shakes his head, “Why can’t they just say ‘go to this place, here’s the treasure, spend it wisely’?”

You chuckle, but both you and Max know you don’t - can’t agree with his sentiment.

Finding the location of this treasure has been your sole purpose for years. You’ve lived and breathed this lost piece of history for so long that you almost felt a part of it.

To be able to find something that you couldn’t simply be given a map to was everything to you. You’ve earned the coordinates sitting in your satchel through your own hard work and time - so much time. 

Succeeding at this would be your life’s greatest achievement.

As well as your greatest honour. The artefacts, like tiles from the Temple of the Sun, stowed away with that gold and silver were invaluable pieces of lost Inca culture that deserved to be returned to the people and shared with the world.

“How much is it all worth?” Max asks with a whimsical smile.

Sighing, you give him the answer he already knows, but just likes hearing. “Thirty-seven billion dollars, at least. However its historical significance is priceless."

Max squeezes his arm around your shoulders, pulling you even further into his side. "Well seeing how you’re in it for the history, I guess you’ll have no qualms with me taking ninety percent.”

“Ninety?” You repeat, shocked. “That’s generous of you, I expected you to take at least ninety-nine.”

Pressing his mouth to the top of your head with a loud smack, Max states “You underestimate my love for you.”

[SOME HOURS LATER]

“Looks like we’ve reached the end of the road.” Max announces once the pickup has slowed to a stop.

You wouldn’t exactly call what you’ve been driving on for the past few hours ‘road’.

A door creaks open before being slammed shut.

“Alright kids,” Steve appears to your right, reaching for the bags. “This is our stop.”

Your legs wobble when you stand and your ass is completely numb from sitting so long.

Gingerly, you lower yourself out of the back of the pickup and walk over to Steve, Max ambling behind you.

Collecting your backpack off the ground, you straighten up as the pickup rolls forward with its signature loud bang and makes a u-turn.

“Buena suerte!” The driver calls out as he passes, raising a hand.

“Gracias!” You and Max return, waving back.

Sliding your sunglasses up onto your head, you turn around to face the famed Amazon rainforest and take a deep breath.

This is it.

“Please, after you.” Max smiles at Steve, sweeping his arm out towards the mass of green.

Dutifully, Steve pulls out a machete from the holder around his thigh and steps forward into the awaiting wilderness.

[SOME HOURS LATER]

The first few hours of the trek are completed in silence.

You listen to the soundtrack of the Amazon, admiring the nature around you while getting tripped up by it more often than not.

It’s thick - and humbling.

There are trees that stretch up so high they must almost touch the sky, and their trunks are so wide that you can see nothing else when standing in front of them.

Unfortunately, none of it can distract you from the heat.

The humidity is like nothing you’ve ever experienced and the sun isn’t even at its highest point yet - not that you can see it.

You removed your long sleeved shirt a while ago, stuffing it into your backpack with your sunglasses. This left you in a dark green tank top and brown hiking pants.

“We’ll take a break here.” Steve declares, breaking the long silence.

Pushing your backpack off your shoulders, you take a seat on it and pull out your water bottle, taking a greedy gulp.

“I miss the truck.” Max sighs forlornly, collapsing beside you.

His skin is shiny with sweat, just like yours.

You pat his back sympathetically.

“I thought you were looking for the treasure of Llanganates.” Steve says suddenly, sitting on a fallen tree across from the two of you.

You think it’s a question, but his tone makes it sound like a statement.

He likes doing that.

“We are.” You retort.

“Your map doesn’t follow Valverde’s.”

Surprised, your eyebrows rise. “You’re familiar with Valverde’s map?”

“Do you really think you two are the first I’ve taken on this wild goose chase?”

Raising your chin defiantly, you assert “We’ll be the first to find it.”

Steve smiles at your confidence. “Guess we’ll just have to wait and see kitten, but I’ll keep my bet on you going home empty-handed.”

“Oh, I like a good bet, what are we waging?” Max pipes in.

You roll your eyes while Steve’s sunglasses continue to hide his.

After a moment your guide decides “If we find the treasure, my services will be rendered free.”

Max scoffs a laugh “How kind, and what percentage of the treasure will you be asking for?”

Steve smirks, “Nothing absurd, just one percent.”

Which would only work out to about three hundred and seventy million dollars.

Yeah, nothing absurd.

To Max, it’s a bargain.

“I knew I liked you for a reason." He grins, picking himself up and walking over to Steve to shake on their bet.

“When we find the treasure we will be donating it.” You deadpan.

“Ignore her.” Resting his hands on his hips, Max says “She doesn’t understand greed like the rest of us simpletons.”

Steve hums in agreement, “You’ve got finder’s fee written all over you kitten.”

“Would you not call me that?” You glare.

His mouth twitches.

“I thought it was fitting.” Max mumbles from where he stands.

“And yes Mr. Rogers, we will be donating the treasure and accepting whatever finder’s fee we’re offered.”

Standing up, you put your backpack on again, deciding for the group that the rest period is over.

As you stride away, you hear Max mutter to Steve “Don’t worry, we can fill our bags with goodies before the museum stiffs show up.”

[THAT NIGHT]

You sit in front of the small campfire Steve built earlier as a light source.

Heat isn’t something you’re in short supply of.

Max is lying in his sleeping bag on the ground beside you while Steve sits across from you both, on the other side of the fire.

He’s finally removed his sunglasses, but the night hides Steve’s eyes just as well as his shades. Instead of colour, all you see in his eyes is the reflection of the flickering flames between you.

“I was thinking -”

“Uh-oh.”

“Shut up.” Max sighs, lifting his hand to slap your closest arm. “I was thinking about what you said about that Blake guy, the one who wrote the letter saying he found the treasure.”

“Hmm?” You prompt.

“Well, it sounded like he really found it, so why didn’t he take it?”

“Blake took what he could carry, planning on -”

“Returning with more men and supplies to retrieve the rest, but on his way to New York from Ecuador he disappeared overboard. Most believe he was deliberately pushed to keep the treasure safe.”

Your head snaps towards Steve and he smirks at your reaction.

“Once again, not my first goose chase kitten.”

You’re about to tell him once again not to call you that, but Max speaks first, clearly trying to avoid another back and forth.

“What’s your deal anyway? How’d you end up in this hot ass country?”

Steve’s smirk fades as he shrugs, his expression hardening.

You side-eye Max.

Good one idiot.

“There’s not much to it.” Steve states. “I used to be in the military, now I’m not. Now I choose what jobs I do, which is usually anything that pays well.”

The fire crackles.

“What about you two?” Steve retorts. “Rich kids with nothing better to do? I can’t tell if you’re related or dating -”

“Ew.” You groan, pulling a face.

“We are not related, nor are we dating.” Max informs.

“And he’s the rich kid.” You add, gesturing down at Max.

“Yep, she just mooches off of me and I mooch off my dad.”

That earns a chuckle from Steve.

“His dad is the director of one of the most respected museums in the world.” You elaborate. “I interned there while completing my degree, which is how we met.”

It’s hard to believe that was almost three years ago. When you first met Max you certainly had no idea how important he’d become in your life.

You’ll never forget the first thing he ever said to you.

“So, do you consciously dress yourself like Rachel Weisz in ‘The Mummy’ or is that just an odd coincidence?”

[THE NEXT DAY]

“I take back my complaints about the jungle.” Max mutters, observing the swamp.

Midday has just passed and so has the first and shortest section of your expedition - the rainforest.

Now the wetland awaits you all. You estimate that it’ll take roughly three days to get through.

Three days of mud, stench, and the feeling of being constantly wet.

“Staring at it isn’t gonna get us through it any faster.” Steve asserts, taking the first step into the green water.

Everyone has tucked the ends of their pants into their thick socks to try and limit as much contact with the water as possible.

You follow after Steve, Max trailing behind you with a reluctant sigh.

It’s slow-going, trying to avoid branches and rocks hidden beneath the water’s surface that Steve finds with the long stick in his hand. The same stick he uses to avoid deceivingly deep puddles.

However, you soon miss the relative easiness of trekking through the water once you’ve reached the mud.

Loud suction sounds are all that can be heard as the three of you trudge through the mud that swallows your feet and then some with every step, a dark line on your pants indicating the highest it’s reached - halfway up your calves.

It takes all of your strength to free yourself, just so you can do it all over again.

“My legs are going to be ripped after this.” Max pants.

You can only huff a breath in response, too focused on pulling your feet from the mud. The suction is so strong you’re worried you might lose a boot - or two.

It also doesn’t help that your backpack feels like it’s full of bricks.

“Oh thank god, solid ground.” Max announces gratefully.

You look up - not to see if he’s telling the truth, but to see why he sounds so far away.

Wasn’t he just beside me?

“Shit.” You mutter to yourself.

Both men have made better progress than you. Max has spotted the solid ground because Steve now stands on it.

Staring back down at your engulfed feet, you grit your teeth and use every bit of strength you have left to try and quicken your pace. Every hour of daylight was precious and there wasn’t much left of today’s.

Maybe it’s their longer legs or strength - Max isn’t that much stronger than me, or maybe their backpacks simply don’t weigh a million tonnes -

God my legs are burning.

Then suddenly, it’s like a weight is lifted.

Because it is.

Your backpack is pulled from your shoulders before Steve places it over his own, his bags deserted on the hard ground ahead.

“Oh.” You squeak, startled by his presence. “Uh, thank you - wait, what - put me down!” You demand as you’re lifted from the mud with an echoing pop.

Steve’s hands grasp your hips as he pulls you out with what seems to be little effort, his arms bulging with the action. Then you’re upside down, thrown over one of his broad shoulders.

“Are you a caveman? You can’t just manhandle me!” You protest, affronted.

You brace your hands on his lower back, trying to hold yourself up so your face doesn’t bump into his back.

Is he just all muscle?

He’s rock solid underneath your hands.

Steve chuckles, “I just did kitten.”

“Would you -”

“Time is valuable out here, we can’t wait around for you to finish playing in the mud.”

Glaring at the mud beneath you, you insist “Put me down or I’ll fire you.”

It’s a very weak threat since you and Max kind of need him, but it’s all you’ve got.

Also… maybe you kind of don’t want him to put you down. 

Maybe.

Another chuckle. “You didn’t hire me, nor are you the one paying me.”

“You know what -”

“Quit whining!” Max calls out, sounding close. “I told him to go get you, I want out of here.”

“See? I’m just doing what the boss asked.”

“How noble of you Mr. Rogers.” You mumble.

“Well it’s a nice change of scenery kitten.”

It takes a moment for you to understand his meaning, but it’s obvious when you do, your sharp inhale of air audible as you open your mouth to tell him to go -

You squeak again as you’re abruptly dropped onto your feet.

“And stop with the Mr. Rogers talk.” Steve says, shrugging off your backpack and hooking it over your left shoulder before you can snatch it from him. Dropping his head so that he’s looking into your eyes - his are still hidden behind those damn sunglasses, Steve purrs “But if you insist on being so formal, sir will do just fine.”

Your mouth falls open and Steve moves out of the way with a chuckle when you attempt to swing your backpack at him.

The absolute -

Max appears beside you and grabs your arm lightly, urging you forward as Steve continues trekking ahead.

“Please remember we need him alive.” Max implores.

[THAT NIGHT]

“Now will you admit to me that he’s hot?”

“Shut up.” You snap at Max, shooting him a glare.

“Just look at his -”

Covering his mouth with your hand, you raise your eyebrows in warning.

You’re sitting on a log in front of the campfire not admiring Steve in the distance, illuminated by the torch on the ground beside him, as he changes shirts for the night and -

Max snorts against your hand, making you drop it as your gaze quickly shifts to the fire while Steve changes into a different pair of pants.

Can’t he do that somewhere more private?

“Oh darling, you’d love his thighs, have a look -”

“Would you shut up?” You hiss.

“Too bad it’s dark,” Max carries on. “I can’t really see what his underwear is hiding - ow!”

Whack. “Shut.” Whack. “Up.” Whack.

“Alright, alright.” He surrenders, rubbing his arm. “Jesus, you’re in one of your violent moods today.” 

Then, as if he can’t resist - because he can’t, Max smirks “Unlike Harry, I bet he’d actually know how to -”

“Oh my god -”

“Who’s Harry?”

You jump at the sound of Steve’s voice and your hand freezes midair, interrupted on its way to hit Max again.

“No one.”

“Her ex.”

I will murder you before sunrise - that’s what the look you direct at Max promises.

Steve hums, taking a seat on the other side of the fire. “And what didn’t he know how to do?”

His smirk tells you he’s already assumed.

I want to die.

No.

I want them to die.

“Cook.” You declare, glaring at him. “He didn’t know how to cook.”

“Was terrible at it,” Max reinforces with a sad tone.

You have to refrain from rolling your eyes.

“That’s a shame.” Steve states in his deep voice, a hint of laughter detectable in it. “Every man should know how to cook.”

“I wouldn’t call him much of a man.” Max inputs.

Fucking hell.

The comment is probably a little harsh, but Max is your best friend.

Harry had been your first and last attempt at a relationship. He’d been nice enough but… well, that was it really. Just nice, tolerable… passionless. You’d stick to the fictional men in your romance novels.

“Can you cook Steve?” Max asks, as casual as ever.

You turn to him with wide eyes.

“I’m a great cook.” You can clearly hear the laughter in Steve’s voice now.

“Of course you’d think that.” You jab, looking from Max to him.

Steve meets your irritated gaze over the fire with a smirk. “I’ve never had any complaints.”

“Well,” You shrug, biting back “Doesn’t mean they walked away satisfied.”

“I wouldn’t say they walked.”

Max chortles next to you, choking on his own spit while heat floods your face and neck.

“Okay.” Standing abruptly, you state “I’m going to bed.”

Their laughter follows you all the way to your sleeping bag.

[TWO DAYS LATER]

“I smell so bad.”

“I’m glad you said it.”

“Oh, because you smell so much better.” You mock, eyeing Max.

The wetland has been punishing. You’re covered in mud, bug bites, and drenched in your own sweat - not to mention every part of your body aches. It’s unpleasant, to say the least.

In an attempt to distract yourself, you decide to tell Max some more historical fun facts. 

Well, they’re fun to you.

“You know, Valverde drew the map to the treasure before his death because he wanted to give it as a gift to the King of Spain.” You begin, “The King sent out an expedition to find the treasure but -”

“They were unsuccessful - obviously, and the friar that was accompanying them died in a swamp.” Steve gazes around, “This very one most likely.”

You purse your lips at his interruption, but can’t find it within yourself to be annoyed.

“Also,” You try again, addressing Max. “The Spanish conquistadors would constantly dig up large quantities of platinum while searching for gold and while we know platinum to be more valuable than gold -”

“They dismissed it as junk because being so rare, they didn’t know what it was. All they knew was that it wasn’t gold, so they would dump it as scrap.” Steve concludes, his shade covered eyes looking over at you.

“They threw away one of the rarest and most precious metals on Earth because their lust for gold, something that only had value because they gave it value, blinded them to the true, unique treasure in front of them.”

It feels like the air has been knocked out of your lungs.

Forcing a huff, you feebly respond “Would you stop that?”

“Stop what?” Steve smirks.

That damn, all-knowing smirk.

“Knowing… things.”

Wow, good one. You really got him.

Steve’s smirk widens into a grin. “Why kitten? You like it when I talk smart?”

Yes, it makes me want to climb you like a tree.

“No, I just prefer not being interrupted.”

“Someone please correct me if I’m wrong.” Max pipes up, “But is this hellhole about to end?”

You gaze ahead and see that Max hasn’t gone mad. The wetland is indeed about to end.

“We’ll set up camp on the outskirts of the swamp.” Steve directs, glancing at his watch. “Tomorrow we’ll head into the moorland, there’s a lake on our path and we should reach it by afternoon.”

[THE NEXT AFTERNOON]

“It’s the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.” Max sighs lovingly, admiring the lake. “I dibs using it first.”

You shrug, “Whatever.”

After three days covered in filth, what harm could waiting an hour or so longer do?

Besides, you wanted to take your sweet, sweet time.

Leaving Max at the lake, you and Steve trek into the forestry further up from the lake. It’s a stark contrast to the thickness of the Amazon rainforest, the trees still tall but slim and spaced out almost evenly.

Steve selects a spot far enough away from the lake to give anyone using it privacy and starts setting up camp.

Max wanders up a little while later, after everything has been set up and a small fire is burning steadily.

You tell Steve he can go next and he’s quick to rise.

It feels like you wait an eternity, but you know it’s just your eagerness to be clean that drags the time out.

The moment you spot Steve approaching through the trees you’re on your feet, heading for the lake.

At the lakeside you remove your clothes, leaving your bra and underwear on. You soak your clothes first, scrubbing them clean before laying them out over the rocks around the lake to soak up the afternoon sun.

Finally, you delve into the lake’s cool waters.

You don’t rush, taking the time to rub every part of yourself spotless. Afterwards you lie on your back and float around the lake.

When your face starts to feel too hot from the sun, you submerge yourself underneath the water and hold your breath for as long as you can before coming back up.

Breaking the surface of the water, you keep your eyes shut while you run a hand over your face, removing the excess water.

When you open them again, you flinch.

“Do you mind?” You all but shriek at Steve who’s sitting on a large boulder at the lakeside, watching you.

He smirks, “Not at all.”

Glaring at him, you hiss “That’s not what I meant.”

“I know.”

One of these days I’m going to kill him.

Swimming up to the edge of the lake, you keep everything below your neck underwater.

“Well pass me my towel would you?” You snap.

Steve raises an eyebrow and it’s only then that you realise he’s not wearing his sunglasses.

Blue.

His eyes are blue.

You’re too far away to see any great detail though.

Steve raises his other eyebrow, bringing you back to reality and making your teeth grind.

“Please.”

Leisurely, Steve reaches for your towel behind him on the boulder and holds it out to you, as far as his arm will extend.

“Are you serious?” You ask, exasperated.

He shrugs, “I’m afraid it’s the best I can do kitten.”

Groaning, you bite out “Fine, close your eyes.”

A moment passes before he eventually does as you demanded, his eyes shutting.

“No peeking.” You enforce, squinting at him.

When you’re certain he can’t see anything, you rise out of the water and quickly approach him.

The second your hand grips the towel Steve tugs on it, sending you toppling onto him.

You fall face first into his solid chest while your hands scramble for purchase to push yourself back.

“What are you -”

The words die in your throat when you feel his warm, rough hands grasp your waist and spin you around before bringing you back down to sit on his lap.

“Let me help you.” Steve husks into your ear, his beard pleasantly scratching at your skin. 

His right hand presses against your bare stomach, holding you in place while his other hand picks up your towel again, swiping it over your left arm.

You open your mouth to object, but then his right hand is gliding up your wet skin to lightly wrap around your neck, tilting your head backwards so he can move the towel over your chest.

Any fight you might have had leaves your body in a giant whoosh, his touch turning you to jelly.

“There you go,” Steve coo’s. “It’s not healthy to always be so tense kitten.”

Fuck you.

That’s what you want to tell him, but instead you whimper as he suddenly drags the towel down and over your underwear.

“It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

Since you pleasured yourself? Yes. Since you had a man touch you? Even more of a yes.

But he hadn’t made you feel anything close to this.

“That’s okay.” Steve whispers, as if you had answered. “I’ll take care of you, it’s what I’m getting paid for.”

Abandoning the towel, his fingers dip behind the band of your underwear and you’re almost panting in excitement.

He’s so… big around you, caging you in and overriding your senses.

“Poor kitten,” Steve teases, dragging two of his fingers along your slick folds. “Just dripping for me, huh?”

You want to punch him so badly you -

“Oh.” You can’t help but moan as his thumb presses on your clit, lightly circling it.

Instinctively, your thighs squeeze together and both of your hands wrap around his wrist to stop the action.

You’re embarrassed by how sensitive you are.

It has been a while.

Steve hushes you, “I know, I know.” Using his left hand to pry your thighs apart, he begins circling your clit again. “Just relax, I got you.”

His words seem to have a pull over you, as your body instantly relaxes in his hold.

With your body pliant, Steve’s fingers dip down further and slowly push into you - first one, then two.

Your hips eagerly lift to meet his hand.

“Good girl, fuck yourself on my fingers.” The vulgar sentence sets your face on fire while also making you clench around his digits with a gasp.

How the hell does he know just what to say? 

It’s like he’s read one of your books.

Steve’s fingers start to push into you faster and a bit rougher as his thumb continues circling your clit.

Your stomach tenses, the coil within you already about to snap and god you want it, you want it so bad, so, so bad -

“Please.” You mumble, not recognising your own voice. It’s so airy and desperate. “Please let me come.”

Steve releases a guttural groan beside your ear, the sound rumbling against your back while his arousal pokes at your ass.

His thumb quickens on your clit as his fingers keep pumping into you, nudging just a bit more before -

You moan loudly when he hits the sweet spot inside you.

Steve’s warm breath tickles your cheek. “Come for me baby, make a mess on my fingers.”

Crying out, you whine Steve’s name as your orgasm collides with you.

It’s like the blood in your veins is replaced with fire, your body intoxicatingly hot as you jerk in Steve’s hold, riding out your high on his still moving fingers.

Steve’s murmuring in your ear, but it’s all white noise as you come back to yourself.

“Fuck.” You whisper when you feel a little less lightheaded.

Removing his hand from beneath your underwear, Steve raises his fingers to his mouth and sucks them clean. You watch him, mouth slightly ajar.

“How was that kitten? Was it good?” Steve asks once he’s finished, his blue eyes shining down at you.

They’re a light blue - baby blue. At first you think they’re pure blue, but then you see just a flicker of green within them. Somehow it makes them even prettier.

It’s a shame he’s always hiding them away.

“Very.” You breathe out honestly, your mind still muddled.

Steve grins and lowers to brush his mouth over your cheek, the feeling of his beard making you shiver. “The chef appreciates your compliment.” He teases.

Drawing the connection back to that night days before brings you out of your orgasm-induced stupor and kicks your brain into gear.

What the hell did I just do?

Pulling yourself from Steve, you stand - your thighs still shaking a little, and snatch your towel off the ground. Wrapping it around yourself, you collect your clothes from a nearby rock.

When you turn back around you find Steve still sitting in the exact same spot, contently watching you with a lazy smirk, like nothing’s out of the ordinary - like there isn’t a large tent in his pants.

Your core throbs at the sight and you quickly look away.

Marching past him, you don’t respond when Steve calls out “I’ll be up soon kitten, I just gotta wash some of my clothes.”

The smile in his tone is obvious.

Heading for camp, you try to process what just happened.

Did I really just let Steve finger me?

“Oh god, Max.” You groan, dreading his reaction.

Just act natural, he won’t know if -

“Hello there, you took your - wait.” His eyes narrow.

To avoid looking at him you begin drying yourself and re-dressing.

“What?” You ask, trying to sound casual.

Max strides over to you and grabs your chin, forcing you to face him.

“No. Way.”

How the hell -

“Did you fuck Steve?” Max whisper-shouts, his brown eyes wide with excitement.

“No!” You respond in the same tone.

“Then what -”

Gesturing for him to be quiet, you check your surroundings before answering “Look, he just… gave me a helping hand, alright?”

It was less painful to just tell him, otherwise he’d never drop the subject.

“Did he ask for a helping hand back?”

So damn nosy.

“No.” You sigh, exasperated.

Max grins, “I knew he’d be good to you.”

Squinting at him, you retort “What does that mean?”

“Nothing.” Waving you off, he sits back down by the fire. “Was he good at it?”

Looking over your shoulder again to make sure Steve hadn’t snuck up, you quickly answer “He was great at it, now can we please forget this ever happened?”

Max lets out a chuckle while you finish zipping up your pants. “Good luck with that darling, you can’t exactly avoid him out here.”

Fuck, he’s right.

What were you thinking?

You were supposed to be searching for lost treasure - the find of the century, not getting some from your guide who you literally cannot escape from until this is all over.

A guide who is going to be unbearable after this, as if he isn’t already.

Dropping your head into your hands, you let out a pained whine.

It’s fine. Everything is going to be just fine.

[nika6q]

Trick or treat! Happy Halloween, Nika! 🧡🎃

Edit: @dystopicjumpsuit I forgot to color Mic's fangs white in the original so they didn't really show up.

[thereoncewasagirlnamedjane]

send this to all your favorite moots and pass the pumpkin round! KEEP THE PUMPKIN TRAIN GOING 🎃🖤🎃🖤🎃

[yurucamp]

I don't know if you've already been asked this (if so, please ignore my post), but are there any FB&C characters with confirmed sexuality or gender? I loved playing your game! It was a wonderful experience and it's one of my favorites ever! Love from Brazil!

hi anon!

lera is a lesbian 🧡🤍🩷

nika is not only not human but the social structure under which she was "raised" is so different from our own that her understanding of those concepts would be meaningless to try to describe. she just wants friends :-)

love from kazakhstan 🇰🇿

[flowcrbcds]

he  furrowed  his  eyebrows  in  confusion  as  he  tries  to  figure  out  what  those  degrees  would  be  at,  moving  his  phone  around  before  positioning  him  in  front  of  the  other  where  she  could  be  seen  in  the  background  "  well,  okay,  say  cheese  i  guess.  "  he  chuckles  before  taking  a  snap  "  wait  wait,  you're  expanding  ?  what  are  you  going  for  ?  i'm  sorry,  but  the  lighting  was  good.  "

  ��                                    ⌞      ☆ .      ❛   terrible,   you  should've  moved  the  angle  like,  i don't  know,  maybe  another  sixty  degrees  to  the  right  ?   ❜   aka  the  exact  angle  where  her  face  would  be  in  the  selfie  too.   ❛   oh  no,  don't  tell  me  i'm  here  talking  to  you  about  my  plans  to  expand  my  brand  &  you  were  trying  to  take  selfies  instead  ?   ❜

[solarz-sys-blog]

Welcome to the Solar Sys Archive!

Here you can find each of our intros and other information about us. We will be posting unrelated and silly stuff here.

Our main blog is a bah (build-a-headmate) blog where we take requests, and share free alter templates. @solarz-headmates is the blog. Please check it out, we'd really appreciate it!

💜💙💚💛🧡❤️ALTER INTROS ❤️🧡💛💚💙💜

Name: Emily

Age: 15

Pronouns: She/Her

Gender: Cisgender

Orientation: Lesbian

Role(s): Host, Protector

Sign-off: 🥩

Faceclaim/additional media:

Name: Tia

Age: 19

Pronouns: She/They/Star/Meow

Gender: Bigender, Xenogender

Orientation: Bisexual

Role(s): Co-host, Caretaker

Sign-off: 🎀

Faceclaim/additional media:

Name: Toby

Age: 15

Pronouns: He/Him

Gender: Cisgender

Orientation: Demiromantic/sexual and Panromatic/sexual

Role(s): Social Alter, Floater

Sign-off: 🎮

Faceclaim/additional media:

Name: Nika

Age: Ageless

Pronouns: She/They

Gender: Transfem

Orientation: Lesbian

Role(s): Persecutor

Sign-off: 🏳️‍⚧️ (idk why she chose this.. -🥩)

Faceclaim/additional media:

Name: Sophie

Age: 6-8 (age slider)

Pronouns: She/Her

Gender: Cisgender

Orientation: Unspecified

Role(s): Little, Mood Booster

Sign-off: 🧸

Faceclaim/additional media:

Name: Miyuki

Age: 20-23 (age slider)

Pronouns: They/Them

Gender: Nonbinary

Orientation: Unspecified

Role(s): Gatekeeper, Announcer

Sign-off: 🧪

Faceclaim/additional media:

Name: Simon

Age: 17

Pronouns: He/Him

Gender: Cisgender

Orientation: Pansexual

Role(s): Distracter, Social Alter

Sign-off: 🎧

Faceclaim/additional media:

Name: Sara

Age: Ageless

Pronouns: Xe/Xae/Ae/It/Them/She/Star/Gneep

Gender: Xenogender

Orientation: Pansexual

Role(s): Mood Booster, Caregiver

Sign-off: 👽

Faceclaim/additional media:

Name: Eli/Elijah

Age: 14

Pronouns: He/They

Gender: Demiboy

Orientation: Gay

Role(s): Gatekeeper, Memory Holder, Protector

Sign-off: 🖇

Faceclaim/additional media:

Name: Trinity

Age: 13

Pronouns: Xe/Xae/It/They/He/She/Aer/Paper/Whisp/er

Gender: Xenogender, Genderfluid

Orientation: Pansexual

Role(s): Fill-in-host, trauma holder

Sign-off: 🪐

Faceclaim/additional media): (brown haired one, white hair is a ockin.)

Name: Mike (preferred mame is unknown)

Age: 15

Pronouns: He/They/She

Gender: Genderfluid

Orientation: Unknown

Role(s): Trauma holder

Sign-off: 🦝

Faceclaim:

Name; Athena/Keith/Mic

Age: 22

Pronouns: He/She/They

Orientation: Pansexual

Role(s): Social Alter, Fill-in-host/cohost

Sign-off: 🎤

^ recently formed yayy???....

(more people to deal with... - 🧪)

COLLECTIVE USERBOXES

[sonofnyx]

@nikahar asked: 🧡 ORANGE HEART — our muses' friendship

Acredito que a amizade da Nika com o Damon seja um tanto quanto caótica, no sentido da Nika conseguir fazer o Damon sair um pouco da concha dele e topar fazer algumas loucuras com ela; mas é uma amizade que também tem seus momentos mais calmos e introspectivos por causa do Damon, onde ele serve como uma âncora pra colocar os pés da Nika no chão, ouvir os problemas dela e tentar ajudar como puder.

[fandoms-writings]

hi 🥺💛💛💛

hi nika! 🥺🧡 how are you??