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cdroloisms · 2 years ago

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can I have a refresher on the plot of the just him and me au? I got super brainrotty over it when y'all first made it but then i forgot my tumblr password for like ages

hello hello again anon! don't worry talking about jmah is like my bread and butter i can do it literally all day every day it's SO bad this AU changed my brain chemistry forever i stg 😭

here's a link to my tag on the AU, and if you go to @theminecraftbox kat also has her tag linked for you to look through a lot of JMAH rambling XD. For a general outline on the concept and timeline, JMAH (or just me and him AU) is a concept that starts with c!Sam, freshly killed at the end of the Daedalus arc, getting tp-ed back into his old body right as c!Tommy is about to enter for his first prison visit on January 21st, 2021. He comes to terms with what's going on pretty fast and decides that this time around, he's going to take things more seriously. This time, he's going to do it right.

That leads into the JMAH prison arc, which--true to the name of the AU--consists of just j!Sam and j!Dream for as long as j!Sam can manage it. Here's a quick rundown of major events:

January 21st, 2021 - j!Sam first gets tp-ed into the prison again. He prevents Tommy from actually ever visiting Dream, marching him out of the prison and immediately banning visitors to Pandora's Vault entirely. He goes back to the cell, freaks out at a very confused j!Dream, confiscating most of the items in the cell (taking the clock, blowing up the chest and lectern and cauldron to collect them), j!Dream's potatoes, and his mask. j!Dream fights when j!Sam tries to take his mask--it doesn't go very well. He gets pretty badly beaten and j!Sam himself doesn't come out unscathed either.

January 22nd, 2021 - j!Sam modifies the cell entirely--adds a lot more dispensers along the back, adding the crying obsidian, and most importantly adding a row of glass with a piston door to keep j!Dream locked in the back of the cell with only about two or three blocks of space from the glass to the back wall. A return system very similar to the one in c!Ponk's cell is installed. j!Dream is reeling and injured and kinda in shock about what the hell is going on with Sam, what - and as j!Sam starts putting harming potions in the dispensers above his head, he starts to realize that. Oh. He might be a little bit fucked.

January 24th, 2021 - j!Quackity tries propositioning j!Sam for Las Nevadas. j!Sam emphatically refuses, makes some weird implications about j!Quackity wanting to torture j!Dream (??? what ??? like not that the thought didn't cross his mind but what the FUCK??) and is ultimately pretty cagey and aggressive in ways that pretty thoroughly sour j!Quackity to the guy, especially when he learns about the weirdness that happened with j!Tommy's prison visit. The two of them start hanging out more, and in the process start theorizing that maybe j!Sam is in with the enemy--maybe j!Dream has played them all. (Around this time, j!Sam also seals up the Egg Room. Okay, problem boxed fixed, not his problem now!)

~March, 2021 - Lacking any updates from inside the prison, j!Ranboo sets off the TNT in a last ditch attempt to try and communicate with the man inside. j!Dream is heartened by the reminder that he's not been forgotten, but also faces Consequences for this. He's slowly coming to terms with j!Sam's deal and trying to figure out what the hell he's going to have to do to survive it and get out of here. On the other hand, the TNT freaks out j!Sam badly--even now, even after everything he's done, j!Dream is still hiding things from him. Still getting things past him. It's a pretty rough day for them both.

~ May 2021 - j!Quackity and j!Tommy's efforts to break into the prison to figure out what the hell is going on finally bears fruit in a convoluted, definitely-should-not-work-in-the-slightest-by-any-stretch-of-the-imagination kind of plan that. Miraculously. Somehow. Does manage to work, through a combination of j!Sam being a little too careless and distracted and hey like after you try different things like a hundred different times maybe you'll come up with something a little less bound to fail on step one and sheer, plain, dumb luck - they manage to break in while dragging Ghostbur with them, wanting information on what's going on (and j!Quackity, of course, looking for information on the revive book.) Once they get to the cell, all hell breaks loose - in the chaos, as j!Sam makes harming rain down from the dispensers to try and gain control, j!Dream ends up reviving j!Wilbur before j!Sam arrives in the cell. j!Sam maims and kills j!Quackity, taking two fingers and a life, and then once again throws j!Tommy out of the prison. IT's the first major deviance from the old timeline, and it is. a Huge blow to j!Sam, who has otherwise been convincing himself that everything has been running smoothly thus far. It's a awful cocktail of some of the moments from the old timeline where he felt the most out of control (taking Ponk's arm, watching Tommy die, being unable to stop Dream from reviving Wilbur, Quackity's visits) and it shakes him up badly. His relationships have been slowly burning as this timeline has proceeded - despite managing to not torture and maim j!Ponk this time around (woo great job for that one j!Sam) they had a very messy + very public breakup, j!Tommy's complaining hasn't really done his reputations any favors, cutting off the rest of the Badlands and not keeping j!Bad and j!Ant as guards hasn't helped their relationships at all, and he's also just . Been holing himself in the prison. This incident gets pretty publicized and only ends up making his reputation worse - and j!Sam ends up spending even more time within the prison.

~ November, 2021 - Tired of j!Sam's bullshit, j!Quackity's planning goes from 'trying to figure out what's going on' to full on Butcher Army, time to plan a coup. Enlisting j!Techno for the cause (hey, they've got to have a shared grudge against j!Sam, right?) he starts planning a takeover of the prison. He's going to take out j!Sam, trap him, j!Dream, and j!Techno inside the prison, and get the keycards for himself. Time for him to be top dog, whatever. His plan goes off pretty well...except for how j!Techno had a stasis pearl and manages to leave before he gets to him. Whoops. Still, he's got j!Dream and j!Sam and an axe he's been grinding for months--time to get the keycard and get the Revive Book and get his fucking revenge for good.

~ end of November, 2021 - j!Techno returns not too long after gathering some supplies necessary to break in and break out of the prison again, the weak points being. Much, much more shoddily patched together, given that they were fixed by j!Quackity. At this point, j!Quackity has been visiting the cell daily for about two weeks, mostly focusing on j!Sam because he's really fucking angry about the whole "oh yeah i maimed and killed you lol" thing and because...honestly j!Dream isn't even as fun or as satisfying, mans has a pretty high pain tolerance and isn't nearly as scared of him as he is of disappointing his Warden >:/. j!Techno arrives, j!Quackity books it the hell out of there, and he's left with j!Sam and j!Dream in the prison. He's here to break j!Dream out, obviously...but what to do with Sam? Dream tells him he'll handle it.

about a week later - j!Dream returns. j!Sam had told Quackity about the time travel, j!Dream wants the keycards (and with the threat of j!Quackity coming back, j!Sam is definitely pretty willing to give them over, relatively speaking) and...j!Dream wants answers. JMAH Daedalus goes on for a stretch of time that I don't think we firmly decided on before j!Dream kills j!Sam with an axe to the heart, and...j!Sam is left back at where he started. One life down and wondering how it all went so wrong.

Of course, these are just most of the main ~events~ in the timeline and honestly, these don't really touch on how things develop within the prison at all. That's covered more in other posts about JMAH--which, definitely check em out if you're interested :D Or ask more questions, of course. I'm always down to brainrot about themb.

#just me and him AU #time traveler sam AU #my asks !!#tw torture #tw abuse #long post #yeahahaha thinking about themb

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jengarie · 4 years ago

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#showyourprocess !

From planning to posting, share your process for making creative content!

To continue supporting content makers, this tag game is meant to show the entire process of making creative content: this can be for any creation.

RULES — When your work is tagged, show the process of its creation from planning to posting, then tag up to 5 people with a specific link to one of their creative works you’d like to see the process of. Use the tag #showyourprocess so we can find yours!

Thank you, @rinielle for tagging me! She chose the piece above (original post), and oh boy this one was a whole ass rollercoaster ride! Unfortunately, I hadn't turned on the timelapse feature for this but I'll try to go through each part of the process as best as I can!

The photos I'm gonna upload are gonna be a mix of screenshots and literal photos of my screen, because I'm taking some of them from my updates to friends, since a lot of the steps got lost in my painting process.

But before that, let me tag some other amazing creators!

@dragonji: this gif art!

@candicewright: this yibo painting!

@wendashanren: this gifset!

@mylastbraincql: this gif!

I haven't been able to keep track of who's been tagged so apologies if you've already done this! Also, no pressure to do it at all if you would rather not! <3

Planning

Sometimes, I get an idea first and find reference photos to go with that idea. But for this one, I sought out a reference photo first, and built an idea on top of it!

After that, I roughly sketch out the base pose. Usually, this looks very messy, but it doesn't really matter as long as I understand which part goes where!

The idea for the background didn't really come until the creation process because I don't think I really planned this to be a full piece.

Creation

Sketching

Honestly, from this point on, it's more of trial and error.

So, I redid the the initial base pose—made it cleaner and a little bit more detailed. See: the added definition in their arm muscles, the rearrangement of Wei Wuxian's legs, and Lan Wangji's hand on Wei Wuxian's back. If you look at the second photo, I also changed the pose a bit midway—I tend to edit as I go sometimes when I change my mind. (For this, I thought, given the Lan arm strength, it would be better to make Lan Wangji look more at ease carrying Wei Wuxian. This gets covered by the robes anyway though, so it didn't matter much in the end.)

I also started adding details to the base! I usually start with the face and then the hair! I usually go for the clothes next, but I dreaded the robes in this piece so I guess that's why I ended up with a basic idea of what I wanted for the background instead LOL I also figured out how I want the final crop to look like, so I blocked out all the other areas with an extra layer!

Okay, onto the part that killed me like ten times: the robes. There are a lot of interactions between their robes here given their pose, and not to mention they also have layers upon layers on each of them! So, to maintain my sanity and to keep track of which part is which, I color coded them into the most colorful sketch I've ever made.

Another reason why I filled in each layer of robe with a solid block of color, is so that all the lines underneath gets covered. Without all of the colors, the actual outline actually looks like the one on the right. What a nightmare!

I also ignored the crop again for this part, because it's always better to draw past your borders, in case you decide to rotate or tilt or whatever your piece later on. I didn't do the feet anymore though, because that I was sure wouldn't show in the final piece anymore.

After that, I did the sketch one more time and then started adding the base colors. (I didn't have a screenshot of just the base colors, and the final CSP file is a nightmare so I copy pasted the layers into a new canvas to show you guys :') )

By the way, I drew their robes flowing this way, because I wanted it to frame the lower arch of the moon behind them for the composition. It was a little frustrating that I couldn't get Lan Wangji's robes a little higher because of Wei Wuxian's legs but I later filled in the empty space with his forehead ribbon anyway, so it all worked out in the end!

Painting

Because apparently, I was a masochist back then, I merged the base colors all into one layer and started adding shadows to the robes. (These days, I add shadows first and then, merge. It's much easier this way.)

And then, I started painting! Again, I did the face first and then the hair, before finally the robes. This was my first time painting side profiles and honestly it was quite a pain to figure out LOL but !!! I think I did a good job and I'm proud of how it turned out. I again used reference photos for this one but I can't link any because they were just several random Pinterest photos that I didn't save.

Another thing to note is that I use the mesh transform tool a lot, especially on faces. That's largely why Lan Wangji's face looks so different in the latter two!

And then I went with the robes. Somewhere along the way, I realized I didn't like how I planned to do Lan Wangji's sleeves and the flowy part of Wei Wuxian's robes and I... decided, with much dread, to do them over. So I sketched on top of the painted layers and redid the robes, again.

It was at this point that I decided to take a break from this piece because it was honestly very draining! I think it took about three weeks before I decided to open the file again and continue it.

When I did, I just finished painting the rest of the robes and their hands. The blue details on Lan Wangji's outer robes were painted on a separate layer that I put on Multiply. I probably did more adjustments to the face and hair and stuff, because my painting process is honestly a mess :')

Final Adjustments

I added some correction layers on certain areas to fix some of the colors. See: Lan Wangji's sleeve becoming much brighter and paler; Wei Wuxian's legs having less contrast. And then I merged all of the layers (excluding the background) and added a bit of blur. See: Wei Wuxian's ponytail; the entire lower part; the flowing forehead ribbon. My reasoning for this is so that most of the detail (and therefore the flow of the eye) goes to their faces and expressions!

And then, I put a blue Overlay layer on low opacity to make Wangxian blend better with the background, added a bit of shadow on the inside and the lower sections and added the glowing details for the added flair. I initially wanted sparkles and/or stars but they didn't turn out as well as this did. I also upped the contrast by a little for the entire piece!

Aaaand, that's it! In truth, I did a bit more color adjustments to the whole piece, but I was a dummy who forgot to turn them back on before posting so ... oh well.

Posting

Before posting, I upload it either on my spare private Twitter account or on a drafted Tumblr post so I can check the colors on my phone. This is because the colors on different devices can look very different, and I would at the very least want all my pieces to look nice on both of my devices!

And then, once I deem it satisfactory, I just try to think of a caption and post! Some artists wait for a certain time where most of their followers are active, but I didn't have a lot of MDZS followers at this point so it didn't really matter to me.

It still doesn't really; I haven't actually been able to figure out when my MDZS followers are awake even now.

#showyourprocess #mine #whew this was so long oops #but this piece took like #maybe 1.5 weeks sans the break i had to take #so !!#LOL #tag game

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sinsbymanka · 4 years ago

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Hey. I'm sorry. So. Your post about sunseekerknight is really long and it seems out of date. I thought everything had been resolved and she promised to make amends but this all started back around again and it sounds like your issue isn't solved. Can you update me real quick? Sorry.

Thanks for being polite and coming to me. I’ll try to summarize things to the best of ability while also noting this is kinda a clusterfuck. It got long, so it’s under a cut.

In March 2020, I commissioned @sunseekerknight (I’m blocked so I can’t actually @ her) to do a Tarot Card commission of my Inquisitor for $80. I sent the money via PayPal friends and family as she requested which is something I no longer do for artists, even though I’d done it before with no problems.

The main post goes over my initial experience really well - the repeated attempts at contact and missed deadlines. This post was made on June 18, 2020 and blew up. I informed Ada that day I was making the post and she told me she’d be doing so as well.

I’d already filed the PayPal claim which was ultimately denied because I’d sent the money via friends and family, despite SSK’s assurances she’d help me resolve it in my favor.

I didn’t hear from SSK after this and I didn’t contact her. My father passed away on June 20th and I was busy dealing with the personal fallout of that (he’d been in the hospital the whole month of June as it was) so my priorities swung towards processing my own grief and planning what happens next.

On July 10th, my PayPal claim was denied. I forwarded the claim to SSK with the following message:

I want to inform you that PayPal has indicated, due to the way you asked me to send the funds (friends and family), they are unable to provide any sort of refund based on their policies. It is your responsibility to make the refund.

Because of the history of fraud I've uncovered, I will be pursuing this further. I am, in particular, asking PayPal to mark this account as one used for fraudulent transactions and scamming money before closing it. My hope is that this account is in your real name and that getting this account marked for fraud has real consequences you have to live with.

I honestly didn’t expect to hear from SSK again, but I did on July 12th:

Oh, I see. Now the difficult situation has become even more difficult. I'm sorry to say this, but, as I said earlier, I had only two offers for people affected by my actions - a PayPal dispute or finished art. And since PayPal is useless in this situation, all I can offer you - is art. I’m still ready to finish your commission because I don't want you to be left with nothing. I would like to return the money, really, but it will take time and I don't know how much, considering the current situation on Tumblr. I still want to resolve this issue peacefully, despite what is happening now. I know that you don't trust me, and I understand this, as well as the fact that you are disappointed, angry, etc., but still I want to do at least something so as not to leave the situation as it is now. But if this is your final decision, then okay, I understand and accept it.

This message struck me as victim blaming. I am, after all, responsible for the situation on Tumblr which means she can’t get commissions. I reacted with some venom and my tone is not great here, but I do ask you to understand the frame of mind I was in here on July 13th:

I don't think it's fair to claim that PayPal is being unhelpful in this situation when it is you who are refusing to refund money for a service that was purchased and not completed. I think it would make me feel better if you started phrasing the "situation" in a way that took responsibility for it. Such as: "I cannot refund the money to you myself, because I spent it before delivering what you paid for, and I cannot get your dispute resolved through PayPal because I asked you to send the payment a specific way that precludes disputes."

I also feel hurt that immediately after I sent my email on Friday, you blocked me from Tumblr and turned all your social media accounts private. I can't think of why you would do this when you claim to still want to resolve this and when I have been more than kind. I find it difficult to believe that you didn't know what my review would cause - it sounds to me like this is something that has been brewing for awhile. Frankly, I'm amazed it took three years. I would also appreciate if, instead of blaming the "situation" on Tumblr for your inability to receive new commissions, you began taking responsibility for that as well. May I suggest: "My actions in the past three years have harmed many people and they are angry about it with good cause. Because I have damaged my reputation to a great extent, I will probably not receive many, if any, people willing to pay me money for commissions."

I fully expect to receive nothing from you: art or my money returned. When speaking with PayPal on Friday, they advised the only way to shut your PayPal account down is if I file a criminal complaint with the IC3, which is the US's Internet Crimes division of the FBI. I did so and sent them the screenshots I have of all our conversations, your posts on Tumblr, and links to the posts of other people who publicly came out regarding the same behavior they experienced. I'm uncertain I can withdraw my complaints from both PayPal and the IC3, and if I could I don't think I would. I'm sure this isn't something that is high priority for them, but I assume eventually they will contact you to discuss your actions. The way I see it, you have three options at this point in time:

Find some way to issue a refund to me, and any other customers you've wronged. If I am contacted by investigators, I will say a refund was eventually issued in my case.

Deliver the art you promised to me, and any other customers. If I am contacted by investigators, I will say a product was eventually delivered in my case.

Continue to ignore what you've done and hope that no real consequences come of it.

As to the art, I don't want it anymore. It has been tainted by this awful experience and I will not enjoy it. I will, however, accept it if you choose to do it to lessen whatever consequences you may end up facing because, truly, I'd rather you learn from this than end up with financial or legal consequences that are even more burdensome.

Honestly. I never expected to hear from SSK again. But I did because this is the drama that never ends. On July 20th:

I must apologize for the long silence. Sorry, I just got home from an unexpected vacation with my family, and I followed the advice of my parents and friends - spend these days away from work and the Internet to feel better. As I said, I understand you. You sound reasonable and you are totally right - it is my responsibility for that. And I'm trying to work it out, even if these are rather strange ways. And it wasn't about you personally. This was part of another problem with a friend I was trying to protect, and I followed the advice to keep the accounts private during the "war" and block some people on the tumblr during this time to avoid any collisions. But still, I was available for correspondence via email, and now all my accounts are again freely available. I know how it looks like, especially for you, when you have really been more than kind to me, and I cannot apologize enough to somehow change and improve this situation. I just fucked up on all fronts and I admit it. And I see, yes. I don't mind returning your art or money, it's just a matter of time. These are not days, these are weeks or months, and it is solely a matter of your patience. If you do not mind waiting, then I will try to return the money to you, since you no longer want art for obvious reasons. I understand and accept it, and it's okay. If you're willing to wait, I'll keep you informed of the refund situation and will do it as soon as I can.

You’ll note earlier I told you I can’t tag SSK cause I’m blocked. I’ve never been unblocked since July despite her saying she would. This is also the last email I got from SSK. I’ve had no communication since to my knowledge.

At this point in time I was tired. Really tired. It was bad news I got this email exactly a month after my father passed because I just didn’t want to do it anymore. This is my second to last email to SSK in response also on July 20th:

Please feel free to do what you need to do to manage the situation. For my part, I have said and done all I can. I have asked for a refund for a service you have been unable to provide in a reasonable time frame, and thus you are legally obligated to return my money in the same reasonable time frame. That time frame has passed already.

When I am contacted by authorities about this matter in response to my complaints, I will tell them you have promised refunds but have not delivered. The only thing you could do to change this answer is to issue a refund before I am contacted.

This exchange is draining and unhelpful for me. I ask that you please do not contact me again until you are ready to issue a refund.

On September 25th, I was informed SSK had successfully opened commissions on Twitter and Instagram. This spurred me to send one final email:

I've been informed you recently reopened commissions to buy yourself something and met your goal, even though you only advertised on Twitter and Instagram.

I would like to remind you that I'm still owed a refund AND you shouldn't spend that commission money until you deliver on that art. Please do not rip and entire new group of people off.

There are other people, in the notes of the original post, who can attest to terrible experiences similar to mine. In particular, @starsandskies, @vorchagirl, and @charlatron have all come forward to talk about what she’s done and their experiences. Her pattern seems to be to open commissions, deliver a few, have the rest dragged out of her, and then to not do other ones. I drew the short straw this time.

I don’t know if she’s reading this - if she is, at this point all I really want is an apology, a list of people who are waiting for art/refunds from her, and a plan as to how she’s going to make it right. If she doesn’t do those things, I suspect I’m going to keep getting dragged back into this cluster for awhile to talk about my experiences.

If you’re waiting for artwork Non, open PayPal disputes and file complaints if you need to. The sooner the better.

#manka answers asks #sunseekerknight #this again #I'm tired of it again #sorry guys

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hoeassproductions · 4 years ago

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Break A Leg: Chapter 11

Masterlist

***Author’s Note: Hey everyone, I am so sorry that you’ve waiting this long for this story to finish out. I happened to come on here after I haven’t been on Tumblr for almost two years. I honestly thought I had posted the last chapter but realized it’s been sitting in my drafts this whole time! How freaking lame!! Anyways, this got an updated edit and without further ado, the last chapter to Break A Leg! I hope you like it!***

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not own, possess, or have any links to Chris Evans, nor do I profit off of this work. Any claims otherwise are grossly misleading. This work is not to be posted anywhere else without my explicit permission.

If you would like to be added to any future tag list, reply here or send me an ask. I’d be happy to add you! Happy reading!

Word Count: ~2,500

The Beginning

“Sooooo. . .you've been talking to your mom about me?”

Chris begins to turn crimson as he tries to explain away anything Lisa may have overshared.

“Oh god, what did she say? I only told her the good stuff, I promise. I will talk to her about being nosy. She’s a sweet woman. I love her to death and tell her everything.” he says with a shrug of his shoulder.

“I could tell that, yeah.” I say, not being able to hide the smile that beams from my face in listening to him talk about his mom.

“You have no idea.” He chuckles, and I can visibly see the tension leave his body as he realizes I'm not mad.

"Don't worry Evans, I think it's sweet and I don't mind. Just a little taken aback I guess. I don't know, she seemed really excited to meet me. I want to meet her too, don't get me wrong! It's just…" I take a small breathe as I meet Chris eyes as he waits for me to find the words. "… Is she that excited to meet all of your friends?"

"Well, I mean. C'mon Y/N, you're not just anybody! You're…you're you."

Before I can push him further on what he means, he presses on.

"Y/N, about in the hallway before Sandra came out…"

"Yeah… I think that maybe we should talk…" Now its my turn to be nervous as it's not clear where he's taking this.

In the middle of Chris beginning to speak, my phone goes off. We both laugh uncomfortably, the nerves of the new subject getting more frazzled at the second interruption since being alone. Saved by the bell again!

I pull my phone out of my back pocket and I see that it's ringing for a reminder with my date with Jessie. My face drops. How could I forget about… Shit!

When Chris sees the change in expression, he can tell there's a problem. "What's wrong?"

"It's um…it's a reminder. I have to go, I'm sorry." I get up and walk away back to my cabin with conviction in my step. To my surprise, Chris doesn't follow me, but the separation is good. I need time to think.

How the hell did I not remember I told Jessie we could go on a date tonight? It completely slipped my mind. If I never set my alarm, I would not have even batted an eye staying at the dock longer with Chris. Confusion continues running through my mind as I check the clock on my phone again as I reach my porch. Had it already gotten that late? We couldn't have been out there that long already could we? And I rush back here to go on a date?!

I can only think of one thing do at a time like this. With a little under an hour before Jessie shows, I dial Hannah's number. On the second ring, She picks up.

"Hey love, love!"

"Oh Hannah, thank god. I need to talk to you, and I don’t have too much time." I explain to her everything that's happened since I got here and the current predicament. She's listens patiently, and understands my dilemma.

"Hannah, what do I do? With Jessie, and all the old feelings… It's just so easy to fall back into it but Chris…he's something else entirely. I can't get him out of my head or heart. I see small glimmers here and there that maybe he fees the same but I don't know what he wants. It's a risk to lay it all out there not knowing. What do I do? Jessie will be here any minute and I'm so confused."

Hannah is quiet while she thinks everything over for a few moments.

"Y/N, your heart knows what you want. I know it's scary, but that's why you should go for it. Lean into the fear and trust that it would work out. Given everything you've told me, I would be hard pressed to think Chris doesn't have feelings for you. You know what you need to do. I know you gotta get ready or whatever, but I love you. Call me later if you need to talk, okay?"

"Ugh, okay. I hate it when you're right sometimes. I love you, too. We'll talk soon."

Thinking to myself as I get ready with 8pm quickly approaching, I'm finding butterflies beginning in my stomach. The nervousness of what's ahead sinking in more. Before long, I hear a knock on my door, and open it to see Jessie standing there with a bouquet of wildflowers. I welcome him in while I place them in a vase with some water.

"You look great Y/N! I have some fun stuff planned for tonight…" he trails off as he realizes something is off as I don't make eye contact with him or say anything. "Y/N, is everything ok?"

I take a deep breathe as I sit him down next to me.

'Jessie, look. Given our history, I think that it's very important that I be as open and honest with you as I can right now. All day, I've been completely distracted… and you weren't on my mind even once. I forgot about our date until my alarm went off to remind me to get ready. And then, once that happened I began to get butterflies and so nervous, but - " Before I could finish, Jessie speaks up.

“Listen, I know we've never gotten the timing right with this, but I can’t help but feel like fate has brought us together this time. Like….things have finally matched up and we can, I don’t know, give us a try? Before you say anything, can we agree to take some time this week to feel each other out. No expectations, just getting to know each other better again. It’s been awhile, and I know some things must have changed….I know they have for me.”

Giving thought to his words, my mind can’t help but wander to Chris.

Chris said it himself. TWICE. You guys are just friends. What if I go for it and he still feels that way? But Hannah was right, there is something there…something that feels beyond what I can even put into words. The almost kiss, the comfortability on the dock, him being so trusting and open with me? Why not lean in to it? And this, with Jessie? This is just…..safe. Hannah said I need to lean into the fear if that's what my heart wants…

Gathering my resolve, I think to myself for a moment, trying to figure out what the hell to say. Looking at Jessie, I can feel the right choice planting itself even further in my heart as my nerves continue to grow until the words reach my lips.

“You know what? Under normal circumstances, I would probably say yes to that but…I don't feel like I can right now. I did get butterflies before you came because I know what my heart wants. Falling back into this would be easy and low-maintenance…safe. But I don't want that, I want fireworks and passion. I want to feel electricity from a knowing stare across the room or my heart pounding from an almost kiss. I-I just…we don't have that chemistry anymore, Jessie. I have it with someone else, and I don't know what's going to happen but I know I have to at least try, or I'd never forgive myself. I'm sorry. You're a great guy and you deserve to find someone who feels this way about you, but that's not me anymore. It just wouldn't be fair to you if my heart isn't in it. I hope you understand.”

After some time of silence, the tension releases from my shoulders, and I can see him process my words.

"I guess that settles it then, Y/N. I appreciate your honesty, and to be honest, I could see the chemistry between you and Chris as soon as you guys arrived. I always told myself that if I ever saw you again, that I would try again but I understand now that I just got wrapped up in the past and I'm sorry for that."

At the mention of Chris, my eyes shoot up to meet Jessie's. "But I didn't say who it was..."

"You didn't have to. It's obvious and there's been a lot of talk since you guys got here. I shouldn't have even tried to get you back, but I couldn't pass up the opportunity for us to actually have a shot at what we kept failing at for years. Listen, he's a great guy, and if he's the one for you, I'm happy for you. Truly. You could do worse than him. Just be careful. His lifestyle and career… it's no joke."

We both fall silent for a moment at him verbalizing something I hadn't even considered yet, the fame that Chris has to bear. Where would that leave me if this goes any further?

Seeing the gears turning in my head, Jessie interrupts my thoughts thrown into overdrive. "Have you talked to him about your feelings yet?"

"No, I've been trying to deny them for many reasons…I don't know what he wants. He says we're friends, but I feel like there's more there. I know I want more, but it's scary to approach it without knowing."

"Only one way to find out kid. Follow your heart, and your gut. He'd be crazy not to go for it with you. You're a catch, Y/N."

I walk him to the door, and give him a hug on the porch.

"Thanks Jessie, and thank you for being so understanding"

Pulling away, I see that Chris has walked back, and is just getting to his porch. He waits until Jessie leaves to say anything.

"That's what all the rush was about? Him?" I can hear slight frustration in his voice as he says this to me while crossing the distance to his door. Is Chris…jealous?

"I-I, Yes it was, but I made it very clear to him that it wasn't going to work. My heart isn't in it…it's with someone else."

At hearing this, Chris comes to a halt, key at the ready.

"I had to be honest with him. I Couldn't…not when…" my words trail off as Chris' eyes meet mine and I can feel all of the hair on the back of my neck stand up.

"Not when what, Y/N?" he says, walking towards me on his porch, and I can see uncertainty dance in his expression.

I feel my anxiety and fear build up inside of me. Tears begin to well in my eyes and I know what I need to say but getting the words to come out is proving difficult.

I take in a shaky breath to gather myself. Y/N, you can do this. Tell him you're worth it. That you both deserve to give this a real shot.

My pulse quickens as my breathing begins to saw in and out of me, but I hold my ground "Not when...my heart is with you. I want you."

I look at Chris and in a matter of seconds, I see confusion and frustration fade from his face to be replaced by the biggest smile I have seen of his to date.

In seeing the change in his demeanor at my admission, the tears begin to spill over, clouding my eyes to point of blurring my vision so when I begin to feel steps on my porch, I was a little startled.

I wipe my eyes and see Chris standing before me. He reaches for me and pulls me into his arms with no words, knowing that I need a minute to compose myself.

I take in a deep breath, his scent settling around me, and I feel myself starting to relax.

"Chris, I'm.....let me explain....I-"

"No Y/N, it's okay. I'm just happy you're less of a chicken shit than I am."

I feel his laughter vibrate our bodies as he lifts his head, and pulls back to see my confused expression.

"Wait-"

"I feel the same way, and clearly you're scared but Y/N, you're one of the most kind and caring people I have ever met. I would be crazy to NOT to be interested in you! Ever since I dumped my coffee all over you and you threw your panties at me, I knew I had to keep you around by any means necessary." I slap his chest as we recall the haphazard way we met a couple months ago.

"Hey, HEY…" he says, as he shields himself from any more of my attack and we continue to chuckle. "What I'm trying to say is that you're amazing and I have feelings for you too. I don't know when it happened but you burrowed your way into my heart and I…I love having you there "

Listening to this, I am overjoyed. I grab Chris and I pull him in close, resting our foreheads together.

"Oh Chris, that makes me so happy to hear. I was so scared that I would ruin this if I said something and you didn't feel the same way but I couldn't ignore it anymore. You're in my heart too, and there's so much we need to talk about and discuss… a lot to figure out but I want to face all of that with you."

"I know Y/N. I know being with me has it's own challenges that a normal relationship doesn’t have to endure but I will do everything in my power to protect you while giving you the world because you deserve it…WE deserve it. You feel that too, right?"

"Yes, I do. I really do. There's a lot a stake when you lead with your heart."

"There always is but you're worth it, what we will build together will be worth it." He holds me to his chest again as I begin to full out cry, the emotions of it all overtaking me. After a few moments, I can feel his tears beginning to mingle with mine, and the realization hits me that this is real. This is my life and he's not going anywhere.

After we both compose ourselves and have calmed down, I embolden myself and look up into his eyes. "I guess there's only one thing to worry about right now then…to finish this."

The question forming behind his eyes before it reaches his lips, "Finish what?"

"The beginning of us."

Recognition falls over Chris face as I pull him in so our lips to finally meet for the first time, and I can feel in my soul; this is the moment I realize he's the only one that could capture my heart.

As we share our first kiss, I feel the world settle around me. This feels right, here in each other's arms without a care in sight. There's no place I'd rather be and to think it all started with a chance encounter.

~The End~

A/N: Again, so sorry I’m an ass and have kept this ending in my drafts. If you see this and have followed this story this entire time, thank you sooo much! Appreciate all of your likes, reblogs, and words of encouragement to make my first full fic a great experience! Writing is hard and scary, but I really enjoy it and am excited to get back to it! I have some fresh ideas that may just make it on here, so stay tuned!

Tags: @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan @avenger-nerd-mom @mycapt-ohcapt-writes @mad-for-marvel @vanillabeanlattes @captain-ariel-barnes @emilyevanston @thewife101cevans @loricameback @plussizeappreciationfics @a-tale-of-two-comics @melodramaticfanatic @writingcreatingstorytelling @mywritingsblog @disney-fire-fox @harrinoodles @lookwhatyoumademequeue @janeyboo @aglarelen @purelyfictionallife @cevansgirl @mrs-captain-evans @randomcevans @nomadicpixel @elivanah-writes @katiew1973 @tchitchou26@mackevanstanfan80 @unicornpurplelife

#chris evans #chris evans fic #chris evans rpf #chris evans fanfic #break a leg #Break A Leg Fanfic #Chapter 11 #my writing

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freevoidman · 5 years ago

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Okay I’m reading through Porg’s update so some of y’all can save your braincells and here are some great highlights (under a readmore bc i couldn’t help but tear into a few things she suggested):

Flat out ignoring that Vergil had changed by the end of the game as a result of V and Urizen’s separate experiences.

In trying to make V and Urizen their own character, she throws out the idea of Vergil being manipulated by the Qliphoth/Urizen (??? somehow??? even though the tree is implied to be non-sentient i believe???), with V being a Devil hunter looking through the remains of Mallet Island (which was completely blown up, turned to rubble, and then swallowed by the sea, so... that can’t happen), finding the cane which makes him youthful and not sick but... having the cane makes it so he can only kill demons through the cane??? for some reason??? And he needs the Qliphoth fruit to heal himself and free him from the curse???

How did she make V’s backstory even more confusing and complicated how the fuck did she do that

Almost immediately after bringing up the cane, she instead changes it to be one of the rings he’s wearing because she wants her “precious V” to use weapons other than the cane, which makes all the prior paragraphs about the cane’s curse and only using it pointless. She’s the one writing this fic, why can’t she edit her own work so it’s more cohesive?

Despite saying that V should be a Devil Hunter, she doesn’t explain why someone who is supposed to be killing demons would form a pact with at least three to fight demons. Her rewrite dismisses Visions of V, and she even states later that the manga is a waste of time as it won’t ever be translated into English (which 1) is not a limiting factor to reading it as many people have translated it already and 2) doesn’t dismiss it’s value at building up V’s character, who she supposedly likes the best).

Also, for someone who complains about DMC5 being a rehash of DMC3, she’s sure doing her best to change it to a rehash of DMC1 (Vergil being controlled by an outside force, bringing back Mallet Island, bringing back Mundus [the cane is supposed to be tied to Mundus]).

V apparently can’t be human because she wants to give him a devil trigger, despite having 3 familiars and his own strength. Okay I guess?

Also it’s really fucking sick how she describes V changing, because it’s apparently V fusing with Nightmare? Devil May Cry has never been one for body horror but she straight up says she was inspired by “The Thing (1982), The Fly (1986), Bloodborne, and Resident Evil 7″ for the transformation imagery and I wanted to nope the fuck out of there real quick.

Her segments of actual fiction writing and dialogue are really bad it’s almost like a parody Youtube skit.

She switches between prose and script writing randomly, it’s really odd. She does it primarily with Dante i’ve noticed? Here’s an example I wrote of what she does:

“Hey, don’t stress out about it will you?” Says John following a few steps behind VINCENT: Don’t get your panties in a twist

And that just happens... randomly? Like, there’s no indication why she’s doing that it just happens.

She straight up writes notes in her fic about the controls for character actions in-game what the hell--

She also shamelessly puts in a link to artwork that clearly isn’t her’s (and I highly doubt she got permission to post about) to try and show what V’s Devil Trigger would look like. I couldn’t find it because I don’t know how pixiv works, but that’s just a shitty move, especially with how she treats artists on tumblr when they draw art of Vergil.

EDIT: Porg has now straight up copy-pasted the art into her fic without the artist’s permission which is, we all know, fucking theft. While it is good artistry, is just a weird mashup of Vergil’s and Dante’s. It’s not all that unique and I don’t understand why she had to reference a bunch of body horror shit when all the Devil Triggers in game are essentially just a large flash of light and a seamless transition between forms??? It’s good art, I’m not trying to bash the artist, but... Porg, you could’ve been a little more original here rather than just ripping off another artist’s designs...

Everyone in her fic acts super casually to seeing Vergil alive in the Qliphoth and it’s like... honey, no.

Vergil acts WILDLY out of character holy fuck. Like, I know I should have expected that but this is NOT how Vergil would act in the slightest. She’s pretty much writing an OC.

Building off of this: EVERYONE acts OOC and... it’s not exactly cringey, but it is perfect proof that Porg doesn’t know what she’s doing and hasn’t properly analyzed the characters.

Dante acts weirdly... detached? There’s no sign of him acting like his normal goofball-y self, and he’s much more serious than normal. He actually acts more like cannon Vergil than himself, actually. (He also knows CPR apparently? Which... is a skill he would really never bother learning, so...)

Nero doesn’t act nearly as emotional, and acts calmly for some reason. You can’t feel any of his emotions behind his dialogue, only through the adverbs added to the tags)

V is too informative. He knows way too much about random shit that... no one should rightfully know. I’ll mention it more later, but... V doesn’t act like himself and I don’t really know how to explain it.

Vergil is essentially her OC. Seriously--he’s not as brooding or snarky, he’s far too open and apologetic, there’s practically no sense of rivalry between him and Dante. Weirdly, he acts more like canon V than fic!V does, despite the fact that Porg wants to establish V and Vergil and separate characters. His actions also make no sense when put alongside his canon personality. We aren’t reading anything about Vergil, we’re reading about Porg’s weirdly idealized version of him.

I’m going to make a break in the post here because I feel like this is the part that needs the most attention:

Porg goes OUT OF HER WAY to dedicate a GIANT portion of this chapter to her own OC: Nero’s mom. There are several long paragraphs of establishing the relationship between her OC and Vergil, talking about leaving Fortuna, how they were ‘happy’ and then saying that after a hurricane (inspired by hurricane hugo, you’ll see later) she got separated from Vergil, never reconnected with him, GAVE BIRTH, died from a demon attack with Nero staying near her corpse, and then Nero was found by humans and taken off the mainland to be taken to an orphanage on Fortuna. She wanted a massive amount of time to be taken out of the fun parts of playing Devil May Cry to establish a relationship that would never come back and essentially turn into a 15 minute soap opera inserted into a game about having fun killing demons.

Alright back to the noted highlights.

Porg confirms in her fic that the universe of Devil May Cry happens in the US, and that Fortuna is an island along the southeast coast and I want to fucking rip my eyeballs out at this point.

The ONLY REASON why she is doing this is because she lives in Florida. I know she does, and she just wants to imply that this is all happening near her home turf. How anyone who lives in Florida thinks an island like Fortuna can exist is beyond me though, because playing through 4, most of the buildings are inspired by Italian designs, and no one in the states would build an entire island with italian designs. I’ve been to Florida multiple times--there’s no buildings there even REMOTELY designed to match Fortuna.

EDIT: I have been informed that Porg actually lives in Pennsylvania, not Florida, which makes both more and less sense. Why Florida? Why not a hidden island up on the east coast? Why does this have to be taking place in the states at all Porg???

Yeah, let’s take Nero off the MAINLAND OF FLORIDA after a DEVASTATING HURRICANE and send him to an orphanage on an ISLAND which would’ve been hit the hardest by ANY hurricane. TOTAL SENSE.

She tries to make her own timeline for the series using actual real world dates and events and it’s terrible (she references Hurricane Hugo in 1989, and confidently states that 3 took place in 1990, despite all evidence for the actual dates of events being fan theory established through circumstantial evidence).

There’s so much horror movie inspiration here--not cheap horror, but really twisted shit that... doesn’t fit with Devil May Cry’s tone at all? In the slightest? She references Jacob’s Ladder, plus all the other body horror media I wrote above.

Straight up just tears Vergil’s arm off which sure, I guess we gotta make THAT a parallel between Nero and Vergil. They can have a father son moment over being physically maimed.

In the scene immediately before this, Urizen picks up Vergil by the head and roots around Vergil’s memories (somehow???) to show him all the ‘bad moments’ in his life to traumatize him. She describes it as the audience getting flashes of him falling to hell, charging Mundus, being Nelo Angelo, etc.

This causes Vergil to cry and beg for Urizen to stop. Then Urizen rips off his arm. So. Yeah. Another point for the OOC!Vergil/OC-taking-Vergil’s-place board.

Also this point ALONE made me realize that Porg does not know how much time, effort, and money needs to be put into making assets. Like, the entire fic she was stressing that everything be done in 5′s HD Graphics--including the ruins of Mallet Island, so I have to assume she’d want these little snippets in HD too, which would be a massive money hole creating these assets for one scene that lasts maybe ten seconds total.

I know I stated it in one of my earlier posts, but most of what she’s writing would fit better with a sequel for the reboot series, not DMC5. It would make her OOC writing of Vergil make sense, all the horror movie inspiration and body horror shit would fit better there, especially all the crappy dialogue too.

She somehow made Griffon even MORE annoying than in cannon.

BTW if I had to listen to poetry while fighting the final boss of a video game, I’d sooner turn my PS4 off. Not that poetry isn’t cool and all, but it cheapens the final fight and distracts you. It wouldn’t work.

EDIT: I realized this point made no sense without context, sorry. Porg made the Book of Urizen (the poetry book by William Blake referenced multiple times by V) either weirdly prophetic or made it out like Blake had inner knowledge of demon powers or... something along those lines, and V magically has the knowledge that reciting poetry from the book about Urizen will... harm him? Weaken him? Open a gate to hell (she mentions a portal appearing near him)? It’s very unclear, but she essentially rewrites Urizen as the final boss, and makes it three stages (V [Griffon recites some verses, which is what the first point was about], Vergil and Dante [this is where Vergil gets his arm ripped off btw], and then Nero) with all three of them reading poetry from the book to deal the “final blow” to Urizen. I’d much rather have Vergil be the final boss than have to go through a three-stage boss fight while every character I play as recites poetry to kill the boss.

She mentions Dante using Sin DT against Urizen but I’m pretty sure with her fuckery of the game’s events Dante can’t GET Sin DT? Because there’s no fight between Nero and Urizen where he’d intervene?

COMPLETELY IGNORES VERGIL’S DEVELOPMENT OF WANTING TO TRAVEL WITH HIS BROTHER THROUGH HELL TO ELIMINATE THE QLIPHOTH FUCK OFF.

Also she changed the lore of the Qliphoth so that it sprouts semi-naturally around every 500 or so years? So... shouldn’t leaving the Qliphoth roots be fine now? Since it’s natural?

Nico acts like growing back arms is totally normal

Wrote an INCREDIBLY shoe-horned in moment in the van with Dante filling Trish and Lady in about finding Vergil and everything that happened where, once again, Trish and Lady act almost completely nonplussed that Vergil is alive after 20+ years in hell, with about 9 of those ten years being trapped under Mundus’ control and corrupted by the Demon King

Seriously why is no one surprised in this fic that Vergil survived? Dante has a brief moment before finding him, but everyone finds out and accepts it like flipping a switch (once again--ESPECIALLY DANTE, which is NOT how the grieving process works)

Porg states that the ending is trash because the twins are fighting in hell, but completely ignores that most of Dante and Vergil’s lives have been built on conflict and they like fighting demons, especially Dante. Both of them were happy and doing what they love.

She also completely ignores through this entire thing that Dante was really fucking depressed in the novels leading up to 5 but hey I don’t even know if she can read.

I can vaguely agree that Trish and Lady were sidelined and they should’ve had a bigger role. However, I can’t fault the directors for not doing this, because they were already developing three playable characters with their own unique fighting styles. She writes all this shit about the story, writes notes about controls and mission layouts, but forgets that it takes a lot more than pressing a single button to code a game.

She just doesn’t know what she’s talking about. Seriously, none of these things are cohesive or edited properly, and despite her saying she wanted better for Vergil, or Nero, or Dante, or V, she writes all of them incredibly out of character and doing illogical actions. I just... I don’t get it.

The best part is--I can’t even tell her about these things, or give constructive criticism. She moderates the comments on her fic and isn’t afraid to delete anything she doesn’t agree with or can’t make a ‘passionate rant’ about.

#devil may cry #derelict-stranger #thephantomporg84 #i'm doing y'all a favor here

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bitsandbobsandstuff · 6 years ago

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A love that never leaves (8)

Summary: Sometimes when you go looking for the past, you find things you never expected. When an accident brings him face to face with something he never knew he lost, Bucky Barnes begins to understand an age old truth – it’s so easy, sometimes, to love the things that destroy us.

Characters: Bucky Barnes x Reader Warnings: Bad language. A brief flash of sexy times and angsty intrigue.

A/N: Several people messaged reminding me that adding links kill searches (Tumblr is utterly ridiculous), so I’ve taken those out. If you want to access the full ALTNL Masterlist, just click the MASTERLIST header on my blog.

That last chapter murdered my heart, I hope it destroyed all of you as well! This week, Bucky gets cockblocked and the mysterious circumstances that brought him back to her take a strange turn.

Tags are open, if you want on the list please send me a DM or ASK, it’s easier for me to track. Otherwise you can find the new updates each weekend!

Previously...

The poets say when your heart breaks, the world will grind to a halt.

The poets are wrong, she thinks.

When your heart breaks, the world will in fact keep moving. The stars will still shine, the sun will still rise. You will go on living, despite having nothing to live for. The world doesn’t stop for trivial things like grief. It lumbers on, drags you forward kicking and screaming, forcing you to keep breathing, until you’re nothing more than a ghost of who you were.

*****

MISSION REPORT

SECOND ATTEMPT AT CONTACT ESTABLISHED. AWAITING RESULTS.

He thinks to himself.

What will he do when he sees the whites of her eyes?

He grinds his teeth, breathing hard through his nose.

What will he do?

*****

After he came back, Bucky’s therapist encouraged him to ask questions. Anything and everything, the more the merrier. Nothing was off limits. At first, it felt strange, asking someone else to share the basic tenets of his life, but he grudgingly persevered. It was the only way he knew how to get the answers he needed.

The very first time they sat down, Bucky flipped his notepad open to reveal 27 pages, front to back, loaded with questions.

Some were simple.

“What was my favorite color? How did I take my coffee? When did I have my first kiss? What was my favorite book? Who was my favorite ball player?”

One after another, he fired the questions and Steve answered every single one, down to the most boring, insignificant detail. With every response, Bucky turned the words over in his head, testing them on his tongue and repeating them back. Committing them to memory so he could sketch out the simple outline of who he used to be.

Some here harder.

“Why’d I get drafted instead of signing up for the war? Why didn’t I get along with my father? Was I very religious? Why not?”

Those answers were thorny, not always nice and, but Steve replied with full and frank honesty, because there was no one else in the world knew Bucky Barnes as well as Steve Rogers.

It became a common sight, Bucky clutching the bright pink notepad Natasha gave him, carefully writing answers while Steve spoke; Steve was always willing to drop everything to talk.

Now, he recalls one question where Steve stumbled a bit more than usual.

“Did I want to get married?”

An oddly devastated sadness had rearranged Steve’s features, before he offered a vague answer.

“When we were younger, no. During the war, you changed your mind.”

“Why’d I do that?”

“It happens.”

“People usually have a reason. What happened?”

“War happened. And you know, stuff.”

“Why are you being weird?”

“I’m not being weird, I’m just - look, you, um, you met - someone.”

“Who -“

But before he could dig further, the conversation came to a screeching halt. Bells started ringing, lights flashing, an Irish voice coming through the ceiling as FRIDAY announced they were summoned for a mission. Snapping his mouth shut, Bucky tucked the notepad in the waistband of his jeans and leapt to his feet, the question forgotten.

Later, Steve tried to bring it up again, casually mentioning Bucky’s girl and some letters she wrote to him, but by then it was too late. The mission had gone horribly wrong, and Bucky was exhausted and frustrated and close to tears, and he had no desire to remember someone else he’d let down.

Hurtled back to the present, Bucky sits up in the dim light of her bedroom and throws a knee across her hips, boxing her in beneath him. Palms anchored to the bed beside her head, he looks down at her face. Anxious fear flashes through her, something he can’t reconcile. All he knows in this moment, is a desire to smooth it away.

“I don’t - why didn’t you say something sooner?” Bucky whispers. “Why - “

But he stops. He stops, because he knows why.

“Oh,” he says softly, disappointment filling his throat. “No, okay. It’s okay. I get it.”

She watches him glance at the metal arm, his shoulders sagging as he tries to pull away. Her hands fly up, gripping his arms tight, keeping him in place.

“No. You listen to me Bucky Barnes - this��was not about you or anything you think you’ve done.” Bucky stares hard, clearly desperate to believe her. “I wanted to tell you, I just - couldn’t hold you to a promise we made seventy years ago. We were different people then, I know that. You have a whole other life now. I don’t expect anything, I don’t - expect you to still want that.”

The sharp ache that hits him whenever he sees her sadness tightens his chest. The words come easily, and he answers without a second thought.

Because really, he doesn’t need to think. They’re the most honest thing he knows.

“Darlin, you listen to me - I said it then, I’ll say it again. This kind of love, it never leaves. I meant that. Even if I don’t remember saying it, I know I meant it. I know I did.”

Hope fills her eyes at his insistence, that fragile kind he could smash with a single word.

Which he never plans to do, as long as he lives.

“Really?” she whispers, brushing her knuckles over his fuzzy cheek and he turns, pressing his lips to them.

“Really,” he says hoarsely.

Curling her fingers behind his neck, she pulls his mouth down and her kiss is soft and sweet and everything he’s been missing his entire godforsaken life. Bucky lets himself drown in her for a brief moment, before breaking the kiss.

“Jesus Christ,” he swears, pulling back. “We were gonna get married and I just fuckin’ left you. I left you. God dammit, I’m - fuck, I’m so fuckin’ sorry.”

“Don’t you dare apologize,” she says immediately. “It wasn’t your fault, Bucky. None of it was your fault.”

Those magic words, he’s heard them a million times, in a million variations, since the day he came back. They’ve always meant nothing, hollow assurances he actively scorned. He knew better. But now, lying here with her while the dim light of a fresh mountain morning begins to flood the room - he finally lets them soak in.

Maybe he even believes them.

“We were gonna get married,” he says instead, wonder filling his voice. “You were gonna marry me.”

“I was,” she says, and her tentative smile is like the sun. “And you were going to marry me.”

Bucky considers her for a moment before he surges forward. Nothing about the move is coordinated, it’s a messy tangle of tongues and teeth clacking together, a kiss bubbling over with frantic need, as though the world is ending and this is the only way to prevent its demise.

His kiss is frantic and passionate and so utterly Bucky, she can barely breath. Everything he does to her, it kicks her heart into a crazy tailspin and she kisses him back ferociously, drinking up the tiny sounds he makes, the way his lips fit perfectly with hers. It’s enough for forever, the way he spills over so full of life and happiness and love.

And she knows, it’s all for her.

When his hands squeeze her ribcage, fingers playing with the hem of her shirt, his lips move up to her ear with the question she’s been waiting for, and she shivers.

“Can I?”

“Yes, please,” she breathes, and Bucky closes his eyes for a moment, steadying himself.

Slipping his hands beneath her shirt, twin sighs of relief come at the feel of skin on skin. For the first time in decades, that feeling of absolute and total desire crackles through her and she arches into his touch. Sliding his right hand up, gently cupping her breast, he kisses her again and she moans into his lips when he thumbs over her nipple. His left hand hesitates on her belly, hard and cold, but then she grips his wrist firmly and tugs his hand up, placing it on her other breast and hooking her ankle behind his thigh.

Rocking himself against her, Bucky kisses every inch of skin he can find; that smooth space behind her ear, the delicate tendon down her neck, the sharp collarbone above her sleep shirt, his hands teasing relentlessly until she’s breathing fast and hard, pushing herself back against him.

Swallowing his nerves, his fingers drift down. Finding the waistband of her shorts, circling the edge, working up the courage to dip his fingers inside, he takes a deep breath and -

His phone buzzes. Loudly.

“Shit,” he rasps, jerking back. Reaching over to the bright screen flashing on the nightstand, his lust-addled brain fumbles repeatedly and he hits the ignore button three times before it goes silent. The spell is momentarily broken, the room quiet. Breathing hard, he gives her a crooked little grin and kisses the tip of her nose. “Sorry. Way to kill the mood, huh? Where were we?”

“Right here,” she murmurs, pulling his face back to hers and slipping her tongue between his lips. Bucky melts into the touch, feels himself growing painfully hard against her, feels her fingers stroking down the hard planes of his stomach, sliding dangerously close to his -

His phone buzzes. Again.

“Motherfucker,” he growls. Snatching it up, he flips the phone to silent again and throws it across the room for good measure. It lands with a soft thump in the corner and he dives back in for a kiss, feeling her shake with silent laughter.

The laughter turns to a breathless whine when he tugs up her shirt, his mouth finding the soft skin of her belly, sucking and kissing a path higher and higher, licking at the swell of her breast, so close, and god he wants to -

He wants to understand why life can’t just go his fucking way for once, that’s what he wants.

His phone buzzes. Again.

“I’m gonna kill him,” Bucky announces, sitting up on his knees. There’s only one person who has the ability to bypass the silent mode he’s put it on and he’s gonna thoroughly enjoy strangling him next time he sees his stupid face.

Bouncing off the bed, he stomps over to the corner and picks up his phone, pressing the answer button so hard he’s surprised the screen doesn’t shatter.

“What, Steve?” he snaps, frustrated desire turning his voice into a snarl. “What could you possibly fucking need right now?”

“Morning sunshine. Sorry to bother, but we need to talk.”

“I’m incredibly busy at the moment,” Bucky grits out. Watching her snuggle deeper into the blankets, she gives him a lazy smile and he slams his eyes shut so he can focus. “I’ll call you later.”

He tries to hang up, but Steve’s voice is calling out “Wait!”

Bucky vows then and there to steal Steve’s shield when he gets back and brain him with it.

“Jesus Christ fuckin’ fuck. Hang on,” he growls. Stamping down the irritation, he shoots her a look of exasperated apology. “Give me two minutes, okay?”

“It’s okay. I’ll go make coffee,” she replies, crawling out of bed and Bucky feels the overwhelming desire to tackle her and make her to stay put. A whine of dissent slips out and she bites back a smile at his frustration. “Come downstairs when you’re done, maybe we can finish this.”

And then she winks and tiptoes out of the bedroom.

Bucky forces himself not to bolt after her. Instead, he irritably adjusts the situation between his legs and waits until she’s out of earshot before flipping the screen to video. Steve’s semi-apologetic face comes into view.

“This better be real fuckin’ good,” Bucky sighs.

“It’s that signal, up at the Hydra base. It’s gone off again.”

Anger evaporating, Bucky’s eyes narrow. “It’s what?”

“It went off again,” Steve repeats. “I thought you disabled it?”

“I did,” Bucky says slowly. “You’re sure?”

“Tony triple-checked it.” His face morphs into serious Captain mode. “Real talk. Do I need to come out? Is it possible there’s something else happening?”

Bucky thinks back, recalling the layers of dust, the cottony white spiderwebs, the echoes of ancient violence stuffed in that cavernous base. Once upon a time, it contained nightmares, sure. But there was nothing there now. He’s sure.

“No, there was nothing there. I’m sure. Stay home.”

Sky blue eyes scrutinize him through the small screen. “If you’re sure.”

“Positive.”

“Fine.” Steve pauses. “Anything else you want to talk about?”

“Nope,” Bucky answers promptly.

“Sure?”

Exhaling a long-suffering sigh, Bucky gives him a pointed look. “Actually yes. You’re a nosy little shit. Why is that?”

The stoic expression fades and Steve grins. “Probably ‘cause I’m used to your dumbass needing my help all the fuckin’ time.”

Shooting him a mocking glare, Bucky shakes his head. “Fucking hell. What’s the press gonna say when they hear Captain America has such a fuckin’ potty mouth?”

“Expect they’ll blame it on you. Just like my Ma did.”

Bucky snorts. “Touché. I’ll go check it out. Call you later. Dick.”

Steve gives him a goofy, open-mouthed smile and a thumbs up. Bucky presses the end call button hard. Silence blankets the room, and he rubs the heel of his hand in his eye, pushing down a sudden wave of tiredness.

Someday, maybe, just maybe - he’ll be done with this shit.

*****

Rifling through the tidy pile of his clothes folded in the corner of her closet, Bucky dresses quickly, pulling on a long-sleeved shirt, a vest, his white tac pants. Pulling his semi-clean, but still slightly bloody, white coat from a hanger, he shrugs into it. Looking into the mirror, he fingers the two bullet holes in the chest, twitching at the memory of them punching through his flesh.

Opening his backpack, he pulls out his cache of weapons. Chooses his favorite Glock, the old Sig Sauer, his second favorite Glock, his third favorite Glock, tucking them all into their designated holsters. Sheathing a couple knives comfortably in his boots, he ties his snarly hair back and fits the white balaclava over his head.

Standing in front of her mirror, he fixes his mouth into that trademark smirk that normally accompanies a mission outfit and tries to psyche himself up. Clear his mind. Sharpen his nerves.

It sort of works. Except that miserable slump of his shoulders - that refuses to change. Grimacing at the visual, he gives up.

Was he always this tired?

Steeling himself, he heads downstairs, clearing his throat and treading loudly to announce his presence. He doesn’t want to scare the shit out of her, stomping around like the abominable snow monster with weapons coming out his ass.

Standing in the kitchen, she wears her silky cotton sleep shorts and a loose t-shirt. The sight of her pouring two steaming cups of coffee, while the sun begins to fill the cozy little cabin, is almost enough to break him. Say fuck it and tell Steve to come do it himself.

But of course, he won’t. He never does. Because here comes Bucky Barnes. He always makes the shot. He always saves the day.

He sighs.

When she looks up, her budding smile instantly fades. She goes still, the only movement the tight clench of her jaw. She sets the coffee pot down with a quiet click.

“Before you ask,” Bucky starts, “I’m not leaving. Steve called, I gotta go back up to the base. That fuckin’ signal’s going haywire again.”

A spasm of alarm floods her face and she grips the edge of the counter. “Someone’s there?”

“We don’t think anyone’s there,” Bucky assures her. “There’s nothing to indicate that, we think it’s just the tech. Guess I didn’t finish the job last time, so I need to go fix it.”

Considering him for a fleeting moment, she bites her lip and thinks; appearing to make a decision she nods and walks toward him, heading for the stairs.

“I’ll get dressed.”

“No,” Bucky says quickly, catching her arm. “You won’t. It’s nothing to worry about. I don’t want you anywhere near that place. Please.”

Squaring her shoulders, she tugs her arm gently from his nervous fingers and Bucky braces for an argument. But then she simply traces the bullet holes in his jacket, examining the torn edges of white fabric. Contemplating his comment. She meets his eyes and gives him a small smile.

“If it’s nothing to worry about, then it doesn’t matter if I come. Unless you’re saying goodbye for good, I’m not letting you go alone. Is it goodbye for good?”

Even the thought of leaving her makes his breath catch.

“No,” he breathes. “Never.”

Reaching up, she tucks an errant strand of dark hair into the balaclava. Cradles his hot, scruffy cheeks in her cool palms, and kisses his lips.

“Then I’m coming with you.”

Should he argue? Probably. Will he? Probably not. Because having someone love him like this - it just feels too nice.

“Okay,” he concedes. “Get dressed.”

*****

Any roads leading to the base have long since grown over. The only way up is an overgrown trail, accessed through a steep hike. Parking her old, now slightly blood-stained truck to edge of the path, they start to climb. Bucky takes it slow at first, until he realizes she’s waiting patiently for him to go faster.

“Altitude sucks,” he pants, pausing to put his hands on his head. “Think you might be in better shape than me.”

“No,” she replies, offering a hand to pull him up. “I’m definitely in better shape than you.”

Barking out a surprised laugh, he squeezes her fingers.

Ninety minutes later, the entrance appears. Grey on grey, the door blends seamlessly into the mountain rock, it’s curved handle set flush against the heavy metal. On his first visit, it was rusted shut, wind and weather and age an effective deterrent; it had taken him nearly an hour to bust through.

Before they enter, Bucky turns to her and unlatches his favorite Glock from the side holster.

“Guess I don’t need to tell you how to use it, since you’ve already saved my ass,” he watches her tuck her gloves into her coat and take the handle of the gun, double-checking the safety. The fluid gesture twists his gut. Looking up, she gives him a wane smile.

“No. All good.”

It bothers him. Clearly, she knows how to protect herself - he wasn’t there to do it, she had to learn - but he despises the fact that violence has touched her. That he’s tainted her with it himself. He doesn’t want that part of his life to be something they share.

Then and there, he makes himself a promise. If he gets a future with her, he’ll do everything in his power to build her a life free from the sadness that seems so adamant to cling to her. Loving her that way, forever and always - it’s the least he can do.

Pulling off the balaclava, he welcomes the bite of cold air against his sweat damp neck. Reaching into the depths of his white coat, he produces two small flashlights, handing one to her and clicking the other to life, and with a shouldered shove, he opens the door. It swings easily, clean and oiled from his last visit.

Holding the flashlight aloft, he balances his gun on his wrist, rolls his shoulders and starts forward, eyes cautiously sweeping the entrance, as she steps carefully behind.

The hallway twists and turns, snaking deep into the bedrock of the mountain. The air warms as they walk, the depth of the mountain keeping the cold from penetrating; the dampness in the air increases though, negating any warming effects and cutting deep.

Damp cold was the worst kind. It always soaked into his bones. Held tight, refused to leave.

Heavy iron doors hang from broken hinges along the walls, frozen in place through a potent combination of old age and powdery red rust. Bucky’s already rummaged through the small rooms lining the hall, turning up nothing more than a handful of paperclips and a couple broken rifles; as he runs his light up and down the doors, the rooms reveal nothing new.

A good thing, he thinks. A very good thing.

Their flashlights illuminate the narrow hall, the enclosed space muffling their footsteps. On and on they plod, until the click of Bucky’s boot makes a new sound, echoing up into the soaring ceiling of a new chamber. They’ve reached the control room now, and there it is.

In the blackness of the cavernous room, he sees a blinking red light.

What the fucking hell?

He starts toward it, super soldier eyes navigating through the darkness. Just before he reaches the light, a startled hum of electricity crackles around them, a generator bursting to life. Whirling around, finger hovering over the trigger, he finds her standing by the wall, her hand wrapped around the t-shaped handle of a giant light switch.

“Jesus fuck,” he mutters, using his shoulder to wipe away the bead of sweat trickling down his temple. “Scared the shit out of me.”

Above the switch, he notices a water-stained Hydra propaganda poster depicting a faded red skull, tentacles reaching into a black pit of writhing, silhouetted bodies. Christ. He remembers those posters. They were tacked up around the bases back in the early 1950s. Some lousy intern’s job, he supposes. Hydra marketing for a summer job.

Assholes.

“We can’t all see in the dark,” she reminds him patiently, brushing the dust from her hands.

“Fair enough,” he says weakly, heart still pounding.

In the dingy light, the control dashboard looks as dirty and untouched as his last visit, coated in a thick layer of filth that only exists with decades of neglect. But in the right-hand corner, the red light blinks steadily.

Bucky’s perturbed. Is he missing something? Is there something else going on?

Right there, the first flash of fear prickles up his neck, lodging sharp claws into his skin.

Scanning the dashboard, he sees the breakers he flipped before, cutting power to the control center. All of them are still clearly locked in the OFF position, so he breathes a sigh of relief - just like the light switch she found, there must be some kind of secondary power source.

He debates the complex panel, searches the buttons and keys and slides and comes up empty. Unless Hydra gave him explicitly detailed instructions, he was never good with tech shit like this. What’s he supposed to do? Dismantle the entire dashboard? Search for a general power source?

In the end, he chooses a slightly different route.

“Cover your ears.”

She looks warily at him, her hands slowly rising to her head.

“Here goes,” Bucky mumbles to himself and with a swing, he smashes a metal fist straight through the dashboard. The sound explodes through the room, pieces of grey plastic and black metal and glass bulbs ricocheting off the wall. Jerking his hand back, he comes up with a fistful of electrical wires and the blinking red light goes dark.

“Problem solved,” he turns to her, the wires dangling like a handful of snakes.

The sound of his blunt dismantling still reverberates through the room, and she stands tense and frozen.

“What else was here?” her voice is low. Unlike Bucky, she seems afraid to make much noise.

“Not much,” Bucky admits, tossing the wires aside. “Searched it last time, nothing useful. Looks like it was abandoned sometime in the ‘50s.” He motions back to the far wall with the gun. “There’s a small office over there, we can have a look around if you want.”

There’s no reason for it, but something about the place puts her off kilter. Following Bucky’s direction, she moves toward the office, unsure what she expects to find, but inside is exactly what he said - nothing. A small desk and file cabinet on one side, a pair of broken metal folding chairs against a brick wall, a pile of crumpled papers on the desk.

“Went through it all,” Bucky confirms, leaning against the door frame and crossing his arms. “Desk was empty, file cabinet had a few papers, looks like office inventory. Doesn’t seem like they left anything behind.”

She hums in agreement, peeking into the file cabinets and finding nothing but more dust and the moldering remains of a dead mouse. She turns in a slow circle, eyes tracing the angles of the small room, and she finds nothing. Breathes easier.

Although - wait.

Stepping closer to the wall behind the desk, she runs her fingers lightly across the brick, touching here and there. Bucky watches intently, the way her hands move in random patterns. Several minutes pass in absolute silence, until suddenly she stops. Pressing against a single brick, she wiggles it, crumbling white mortar shaking loose to the floor, and then the brick pulls free.

Behind is a deep, hollow space.

“What - ” Bucky says, coming closer. “How? How did you know?”

There’s an emptiness in her face when she looks at him. “I’ve been hiding things in floorboards and fireplaces and - walls, most of my life.” Her voice sounds infinitely tired, like the years have finally caught up. “I know what to look for.”

Bucky shines a flashlight into the dark space and they see a fat bundle of paper. Reaching in, she tugs gently, the rough brick unwilling to reveal its secret so easily. When it finally pops free, they find a folded envelope. Brushing away the layers of dust, the faded scrawl of cursive handwriting is splashed carelessly across the front, with two words:

VERSION 2.

Wordlessly, she looks at him and Bucky shakes his head in bewilderment.

“I don’t know,” he confesses. “I don’t know what it means.”

She runs her fingers beneath the envelope flap to pull it open, but Bucky stops her, glancing over his shoulder.

“What?” she asks, immediately on alert. “Did you hear something?”

“No, but can we wait until we get home? I just - don’t want you here any longer.” He says the words without thinking and flinches. When we get home? You idiot, you’ll scare her off with that shit. It’s not your home, it’s hers.

But while Bucky frets over his word choice, he notices something. That look of exhaustion and sadness filling her eyes - it disappears. Like a weight’s been lifted from her shoulders. She reaches for his hand, tangling her fingers with his and tugging him close. Tucking herself against him, she hugs him tight and Bucky holds on fiercely.

“Okay,” she agrees softly. “Let’s go home.”

And just like that, Bucky Barnes has a home.

Dropping a kiss to her forehead, he squeezes her hand and they walk toward the door, ready to leave this depressing world behind.

His brain is already plowing ahead, remembering warm blankets and the smell of hot soup and the sound of a crackling fire, all things he now associates with her, associates with happiness. His brain and his heart want it so damn badly, he nearly misses it.

Just before they pass through the door, a strange gust of air, ice cold and smelling of snow.

He stops so fast, she bumps into him. With a sinking feeling in his chest, he turns to the blank wall, eyes roaming over the faded brick.

“Did you feel that?” He glances over his shoulder. Her mouth is turned down and she rubs her nose when it smacked his shoulder.

“Yes,” she says tightly.

Stepping closer, Bucky runs his hands over the brick, searching for the source. Bending down, he freezes, seeing something new, something he knows wasn’t there before. He recognizes it instantly, an unfortunate currency he dealt for decades.

Blood speckled across the brick. A small piece of human skin embedded in the mortar. Dried, but no more than a few weeks old.

Someone was here.

“God dammit,” he hisses, jumping to his feet. “Fucking fuck!”

She kneels beside the wall, absorbing the gruesome details. “That’s new?” she asks, swallowing hard.

“Yes,” he says shortly.

She looks around the office, back in the control room. Remembers Bucky describing the welded shut door at the entrance. “You said the entrance was sealed shut when you first arrived. Could this be the same person? How would they get inside in the first place?”

The icy whistle of wind hits his face again. Leaning into the wall, he pushes, testing a few different points. “Please don’t be a secret door,” he mutters under his breath, but with a sudden grating rumble, it slides back.

Revealing a secret door. He hates secret doors.

Stark would love this.

A long, dark tunnel appears. Tapping anxiously against his leg, he debates - he doesn’t want her to follow, but he’s sure as hell not leaving her alone. He turns around, but she settles it instantly.

“Just go. I’m coming with you.”

Propping the flashlight on his wrist again, Bucky clicks it on and positions the gun. Starting forward, he hunches over, bending to fit his tall frame beneath the low ceiling. For ten minutes they walk, encountering nothing more than ice slicked walls and a hard-packed dirt floor. Finally, the darkness begins to fade, a dim grey light crawling into the spaces around them. Turning a sharp corner, they find the source.

A large metal door sits askew, propped open and allowing slivers of light and cold air to filter through. Coming closer, Bucky discovers the door hinges are unscrewed, a little pile of broken metal and stripped screws littering the ground.

Wrapping a metal hand around the edge of the door, he looks back to her. “Be ready,” he murmurs, nodding to the gun. She raises it, her hands steady and returns his nod. With a rough jerk, Bucky pulls the door fully open, the grate of rust and metal screeching around them.

On the other side, they find a thin fissure in the grey rock of the mountain. Protected from the drifts of snow outside, wide enough for someone to fit through - but hidden well enough that no one would ever think twice.

And there, lying next to the door, is a black wool glove. Threadbare, with an unraveled hole in the thumb, it looks perfectly clean. Clearly a recent addition. Bucky picks it up, that sinking feeling in his chest now bubbling like acid in his throat. He shoves the glove furiously in his pocket.

“You fuckers,” he growls to himself. Turning around, he meets her wide-eyed gaze, panic clear in her face. She still has the gun raised, but now he sees the hint of a tremble in her fingers.

He’d give his entire life to erase that look.

“Hey, come here,” he murmurs, and she steps quickly into his embrace and once more, he holds tight. Holding her this close, he smells the faint, calming scent of her lotion. “Let’s go home. I need to make a call.”

*****

“Anything?”

Once again, Steve Rogers is eating giant globs of peanut butter straight from the jar. Wasting no time, Bucky gets straight to the point.

“Someone was there. Found a back entrance they must’ve used. Assume they turned on the signal.”

Steve swears and the spoon clatters to the kitchen counter.

“Who was it?”

“I don’t know,” Bucky snaps.

“What the fuck did they want?”

“I don’t know.”

“No possible scenarios?”

“I don’t know,” Bucky grits out, pissed with Steve’s exasperated sigh. “I’m fuckin’ working on it. Give me a minute to think.”

Steve rubs his forehead. The expression on his face morphs, an odd mix of frustration and enforced calm, with a sprinkle of suspicion.

“The other reason you’re there,” he asks carefully. “The reason you’ve stayed. Whatever that is, could it have anything to do with this?”

Bucky opens his mouth to refute that possibility, because fuck you Steve, of course not - but then he pulls up short. That’s the thing. He doesn’t know. She still hasn’t told him her ability and why it ever allowed her to know the scope of Hydra’s brutality. This is one big piece of the puzzle that remains hidden.

“I don’t know,” he admits. Looking out of the bedroom, his gaze grows thoughtful. “But I’ll find out.”

*****

Downstairs in the cozy little cabin, she opens the dusty envelope.

Inside, she finds 14 photographs. They’re old, a sepia toned mix from the 1940s and 1950s, their occupants slightly blurry and peeling around the edges. On her kitchen counter, she lines them up in two straight rows.

She stares.

She begins to shake.

“Darlin, can we talk about something?”

Bucky’s voice is low and soothing, meant for comfort. Walking up beside her, he peers curiously at her profile. Slowly she turns, and the look on her face cuts him to the bone.

“Bucky - “

Cold sweat fills the palms of her hands where they lay flat on the counter and a shudder ripples through her, rattling her entire body. He moves quickly behind her, pressing himself against her back, wrapping his arms around her, surrounding her in that blessed heat.

“Hey, hey, what is it?”

Over her shoulder, he sees the images.

There are two group photos, each showing four men posing. Three of the men are dressed in white lab coats, horn-rimmed coke bottle glasses perched on their noses. The fourth stands a head above them, dressed head to toe in black, his white-blond hair gleaming even in the faded photo. Bucky’s lip curls in disgust - an SS officer, from the looks.

Until he looks closer. Something about the man’s arrogant sneer and icy stare sparks a long-forgotten memory. Bucky squints.

“Hang on. I think I remember him,” he says slowly. “He was there my first few years, but then he disappeared. Deserted, they said.”

“Deserted,” she repeats. She gives a hollow laugh. “I doubt that.”

Bucky should interrogate that comment, but he sets it aside for a moment. Returning to the pictures, he looks at the second row. The images are consistent, six full body pictures of a naked male, each accompanied by a close-up headshot - twelve photos in total. A small postcard is clipped to each pair of photos, block print letters with details.

This is familiar. Not the men themselves, but the visual and the information. Familiar, because long ago, the former Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes started with a file just like this.

Name. Country. Rank. Skills.

In the beginning, he supposes his was just as simple and basic. Until the graciousness of cryofreeze carried him through the decades, turning his paper-thin file fat with Hydra accomplishments. Assassination, murder, torture. All those details that made up the shadowy outline of the Winter Soldier.

Suddenly, he gets it.

Version 2.

Bucky knows that while he may have been the first successful super soldier Hydra created, he was by no means the only experiment. Proof of that assumption is lined up on the table before him. Soldiers and special skills categorized alphabetically in what he realizes is evidence of Hydra’s original super soldier trials.

The information is massive. He needs to call Steve, but there are shallow, panicked gasps bleeding from her throat, and he refuses to set that aside, because she is his priority - he turns her firmly to face him.

“Look at me. Darlin’, look at me. What is it?”

Wild eyes search his, so full of despair. Sweat slick fingers point to a pair of photos, depicting a tall, thin boy with curly black hair and vacant eyes.

Bucky looks closer and sees the information listed on the card.

NAME: Lewis, Henry.

COUNTRY: United Kingdom.

RANK: Lieutenant.

SKILLS: Espionage. Technology.

“I know him,” her voice cracks. She pauses and corrects herself. “I mean, I knew him.”

More than anything, he wants to ask about her past. Who she was before she found him broken and bleeding that day in her village. What she went through all those years ago that shaped her into the wary person she became. What secret she carries that weighs so heavily on her soul.

But he promised he wouldn’t. He knows the pain of having other people digging into his past, what it feels like to feel like to reveal your darkest secrets. He knows he needs to tread lightly.

“Do you want to tell me about it?” he asks carefully.

“No,” she whispers, staring down at her hands. “But I need to.”

He takes her chilly fingers in his and rubs, quick friction warming them.

“Okay,” he encourages. “Whatever it is, you can tell me. You can tell me anything.”

She stares at their entwined hands and curls her finger tight around his silver thumb.

“I don’t think you’ll like me very much. When you know.”

Bucky feels a hysterical desire to laugh. Not like her? Absurd. How could he not love her? Smiling wryly, he brings their hands up and leaves a kiss on her knuckles.

“Between the two of us, my track record will always be worse. There’s nothing you can say that’ll change my mind, so don’t worry about that. Just tell me.”

Gathering her courage, she looks up to meet soft blue eyes.

And she talks.

“When I was 12-years-old, a group of men came to my home. The - blond man. He was looking for me. They arrested my Father and I ran. As far from Berlin as I could get.” Closing her eyes, the memory of that black night burns fresh. “I made it to the coast and bought the first ticket out of Germany I found. In March of 1929, I got to London.”

Bucky imagines her as a little girl, alone, penniless, mourning her father and hiding from an unknown horror. It makes him want to raze the world for her.

“That was brave. You were really brave,” he tells her, still rubbing her skin, but she shakes her head.

“That’s where I met him.”

*****

Next Chapter

*****

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