#shadow would have to deal the grief of never knowing her other dad and only knowing him from photos and stories…..

[transk0vsky]

Thinking about the idea of same as it never was Leon and breaking my heart :(

[controld3vil]

𝗖𝗥𝗬𝗦𝗧𝗔𝗟 𝗖𝗔𝗦𝗧𝗟𝗘 (II)

𝘀𝗲𝗾𝘂𝗲𝗹 𝘁𝗼 𝗣𝗥𝗢𝗧𝗘𝗖𝗧𝗜𝗢𝗡 𝗖𝗛𝗔𝗥𝗠

pairing(s): jacaerys velaryon x targ!reader, aemond "one eye" targaryen x targ!reader (you are daemon and laena's firstborn)

synopsis: You arrive at Harrenhal seeking to reconcile with your father, only to find his disastrous decisions have caused chaos. The grief over your grandmother’s death casts a dark shadow, making any prospect of recovery seem bleak.

notes: daemon fr had to face some of his demons at riverrun lol. but on a side note, be aware this is much more story dense. cw: daemon being a bad dad:(

Daemon awoke to the dawn’s harsh light, his dreams of uniting the fractured memories already unraveling in the cold grip of reality. His morning was not one of renewal but of stark reminders: the promises broken, the alliances fraying, and the ever-looming threat of rebellion. As he stared out over the restless waters, the weight of his failures pressed down upon him, each wave taunting the unity he still sought but had yet to achieve.

His days became numbered and restless very quickly. The Rogue Prince’s patience falters as he stomps down Harrenhal’s halls, they are looming with light and motionless calmness. Dark Sister is strung by his side, clinging to his belt and waist. When will it end? What could possibly make his day any worse?

“Dragon!”

A distant envoy’s screech. Oh, he’s heard. Anyone who dared to come to Harrenhal would know of his prowess simply because Caraxes await them. No matter foe or friend, Daemon grips his Valyrian blade tightly before turning toward the Weirwood tree. Caraxes usually resided near the old tree, it was wide and unbound by anywhere else in the castle. Undoubtedly, he would sense his rider’s stride, gradually becoming anticipated hungry for battle.

Despite his commanding presence, he is stopped by a small servant who wobbles his feet uneasily. My prince! They holler when he does not mean to halt, ignoring the random babbles from the man’s mouth. “Lord Simon Strong requests your presence!” A feverish shiver as the servant trembles under the gaze of Daemon. King Consort to Queen Rhaenyra. Yet here, alone with his dragon, he should be considered King. 

“It seems we have company though,” The silver-haired swordsman blatantly takes no notice of the servant’s distress. It would be the least of Simon Strong’s problems if Daemon would deal with the unannounced dragon rider. But the castellan had a knack for appearing at the most inopportune moments. Should he leave now to deal with the foreign enemy, he wouldn’t have to meet with Lord Strong at all. The Rogue Prince had magnifying eyes. His lavender orbs pierced the man with intensity and undeclared rage. It felt suffocating to be looked under as the servant could only muster a feeble plea, hands scrambling together to keep his calm. 

“It- It is your daughter who was seen!” Your name was pronounced, oddly by the man’s tongue. It is you who he wishes for to soothe Daemon’s grievances. In response, the possible emergence of the prince’s benevolence could perspire. Still, it was unlikely that King Viserys' brother would abide simply because of his king's presence. For his daughter, the man could only anticipate so. “Her dragon resides on the other side of the Keep! And she wishes for an audience with you and Lord Strong…” 

Wonderful.

Perhaps, in the absence of the Black Council, he has grown irritated and longing for a sense of direction. He lacks it here clearly. No Riverlord would consider his commands even if they were put down to be eaten by Caraxes. This was how stubborn Southerners were. They are adamant to follow the old ways, never embracing the new. In turn, they’ve become grumpy old men and women.

You sure made a grand entrance which terrified most of the people in the castle. Daemon can only assume you came under Rhaenyra’s obligation. Why else? It has been days since he left Dragonstone without a word or raven. The Council must’ve spiraled into madness without their most skilled warrior by their table. A permanent scowl was on his face as Daemon treaded heavily to the Grand hall. His mind is blinded with thoughts, as his judgment deters. The swift clatter of the double doors being pushed and bouncing as they close is unmistakable.

An unpleasant frown was on the face of Daemon as he entered unprecedentedly. “What are you doing here?” You did not move from your position, bizarrely calm, and in doing so sat on the edge of one of the chairs accompanied by Lord Strong. The castellan himself is seated beside you, with his usual robes and heavy garments. Pure vexation was what you heard from Daemon’s accent. Whether it was directed at you or Lord Strong, both of you felt the underlying intensity a man of the Rogue prince’s caliber can do. 

You rise, with a grim expression. “I came here to help you,” Now Daemon sees it. Your expression was hardened by the stoic frown and concentrated stare. It was like staring into the eyes of a viper. Alluring and dangerous as it was, Daemon rarely witnessed this side of you. It is plain how distinct you are from your sisters, Baela and Rhaena. You were all of the blood of the dragon, yet it was your heart and soul that resembled the Rogue Prince’s ambitious nature. 

“Harrenhal has been handled,” He scoffs, advancing in the manner reminiscent of an irritated cat. The rhythm of his steps was concise and slow like he would approach a troubled animal.  

“Then why has it taken you so long to return home?” You snap, and the lines of your disappointed pout are apparent now. Indeed was the harsh blaze of daylight that hit your face perfectly. It accentuates your bright-hued view, fondly. Knowing the gods, they have blessed you with a burning spirit and charm. Your coin has flipped long ago. And Daemon sees for the first time what will become of your destiny. “Have you not heard? Rhaenys died at the battle of Rook’s Rest against Cole’s army!”

Daemon believes you would become mad if you hadn’t left Dragonstone. Grasping your inherent qualities, a death such as Rhaenys would devastate you. And it has, for how much time has passed since the Battle of Rook’s Rest he had no idea, but confirmed that you came here out of your own volition. What you intend to do is something he hasn’t foreseen yet. 

A deafening silence passes when your father says nothing in response to your anger. But then he says, “She did what had to be done.” A soft-spoken retribution on Daemon’s part. His gaze follows your shallow breath when you sniffle laboriously. A prominent shine is transparent on top of your eyes. You did your best to stay restrained in front of your father. Your appearance brought bitter news along with an imprinted image of his daughter’s unfortunate disintegration. 

Seemingly his words struck a chord in you. “And what have you done?” Sneering, you disregard the ache in your chest to pursue your father further of his drawn-out disappearance. More than ever, you needed him. You needed Daemon, your father there to comfort you. Especially then when victory is forfeited in the worst-case scenario. You weren’t there. And you felt even more compelled to define every mistake he has made. The murder, the destruction, and the divide. “Nothing!”

“Mind your tongue,” He snaps when Daemon is suddenly provoked by your words of spite. 

Your head shifts, intimidatingly. “No! Because while you ransacked innocents with the Southern lords, Rhaenys fled and defended a lord at our council!” You clenched your fisted hands, restraining your further temper. “It’s barbaric.”

“Well we need to be ruthless to win a war, don’t we?” Daemon guffs, his hand landing in the familiar space where his Vaylrian blade was. It was his way to warn you. To dominate and show you he is superior despite your lineage. “You are a child. What do you know of war? I presume nothing because your actions have demonstrated ignorance and naivety.” 

“I’m not a child!”

“Yes, you are!” Your father authoritatively steps forward and merely breathes away from your own. “You are naive and weak like one! You lash out when you see fit and choose to lament when the lords have something else to give you!” Word by word, and piece by piece, you can feel your heart shatter. You’re silent, unable to mumble another word to your father, afraid and rectified by his brutal dispute. You are young but the blood of the dragon ran thick. You were just like your father when he wanted to please and grab his brother’s attention. You were desperate to find the comforts of him yet found yourself left abandoned and cast off. 

The tears you had been holding were free now. An overwhelming amount flooded your vision as you dared not to turn away from your father’s relentless gaze. Even though he knew, his words were harsh and sharp. Under further silence, Daemon notices the tremble of your lips and puffed cheeks. His heart crumbles with guilt but he does not so much as return an apologetic gesture. 

Perhaps in your distorted view, you did catch his slight hesitation. Nevertheless, you paid no heed and dashed out of the room before the guards could open the doors. The absence of your presence left a regretful mark on Daemon’s chest as he dismissed Lord Strong’s pleas entirely.

And not far from the Weirwood, a sound resembling Sheepstealer’s cry can be heard.

No defiance was left unchecked in your family. You figured this out long before you left Pentos with a heavy heart. When your mother was alive, she and your father were avid parents. Happy and easily pleased with their three daughters. You could not remember when your relationship faltered as badly as now. Disobedience was something foreign as the consequence of your peaceful time in the East. On the contrary, you were more distant with your sisters and father than ever before. You spoke less as the days passed. Barely offering a fleeting look of solace, that not even your father could reassure. 

For the rest of your time, you became oddly acquitted with Lord Strong and his men. He was a timid character but all of most, welcoming of your presence and cooperation. Much contrast to the Rogue Prince, you were at least willing to seek out the other lords of the River lands and speak on reasonable terms. 

“I do appreciate your service, Princess,” The castellan meekly grins as the two of you stroll in unison to the ancient Weirwood tree. A magnificent monument and staple of the castle of Harrenhal you had heard. For generations, the tree had spouted its roots deeply into the defiled castle like a parasite, relying on its nutrients to stay alive. You acknowledged how important the old ways were with the old folk and Southern houses. It was their way of living and for many was what they relied on during these times of turmoil. “Much was needed after your father’s arrival, I’m afraid. I wasn’t sure if sending a raven to the Queen would’ve been necessary.”

A grim sigh escaped your breath. “I’m glad to be of service, Lord Strong. I’m sure after today, we can put all this behind us.” A passive promise, as you weren’t sure if the River Houses would be willing to listen to you. Surely the daughter of the King consort’s would bring attention to some. However, Daemon’s actions as of late became a domino effect in causing distrust and provocation with the lords. 

“I do hope so,” Lord Strong’s feeble words meant nothing to you. The eerie entrance of the garden itself was dreary and dry. Dead leaves scattered all across the floors. Empty and broken carts of nothing were laid to be disregarded. And in the far center, was the Weirwood tree, standing tall and glum. It was the most spectacular sight you had seen since arriving at Harrenhal. Its luscious red leaves were full of life and blood. The many faces on the tree, each resembling a different person with a different story. Out of everything, it was the only thing that gave you security and clarity.

The Weirwood tree itself was essential to many people of Westeros. Whether they worshiped the old gods or new, it stood as a staple, to allow empathy for those who know they are watching. And you knew the gods were watching you. 

In front of the majestic timber, was a young boy. Most likely close to the age of Lucerys if you had imagined. He was a meek and wide-eyed little thing. Wearing the sigil of House Tully, he carried those prominent features a Tully should have. Red curly hair and honest blue eyes. 

“Princess,” The boy welcomes, stepping forward, timidly. He utters your name in respect and soft admiration. “Welcome to the Riverlands, I am Oscar Tully, heir and lord of House Tully.”

You halt before glancing behind at Lord Strong with a soothing nod. The castellan takes it valiantly, returning with a tender smile. He returns to close the doors before walking back inside the castle. Both you and the Tully boy stood alone outside with the winds and distant tides now. 

“The pleasure is mine, Lord Tully,” You say, attempting your best to appeal more invitingly. More pleasant and sincere at his hospitality. The strained guilt you feel for the destruction constructed by Daemon makes your chest heave heavily. It was not your doing but you regardless were remorseful for the chaos the Southerners must have endured. “Never in my lifetime was I blessed to visit the River lands. And now that I’m here, it’s obvious that Harrenhal was never my first choice.”

The boy laughs. “Yes, well Harrenhal certainly has that kind of reputation,” Oscar smiles cheekily as though relieved and infatuated at your calmer personality and aid. He was ignorant to believe you would be like your father. Of course, the resemblance was uncanny. However luckily, you did not pout and have a commanding tone with your words. Rather you were calm and docile like a majestic wolf from the North. Oscar cannot seem to pinpoint it but there is a magnetic ease he feels when you gaze at him with your keen eyes. “But on other matters, I hope you’re aware of the certain situations with the Riverland army?”

“Of course,” An exaggerated groan as you crossed your hands behind your back to cruise around the abandoned garden. The leather black boots you wore gave you easy access away from the mud and dirt. You neared closer to the heir of House Tully. “Has my father considered instating the terms you have given to him?”

Knowing Daemon, an apology was out of the question. He was a man of action. The Rogue Prince demonstrated as much when he burned some of the Bracken men for not bending their knees. The least he can do is force his hand and then have to negotiate with them with reasonable terms. Though your father has always been a difficult man. 

A delayed cough comes from the boy. “I’m not afraid not, Princess.” Almost as if afraid of how you might react to his failed attempts. There was no reason to be scared yet it was an accidental reflex on his part to estimate the Princess of Dragonstone. 

“Then what are your terms?” Your attention was entirely on the Weirwood tree. You see the leaking red blood dripping from the many faces and you can feel the nervous energy from the boy. “I’ll agree to them as long as you accept and do your part to assemble the lords of the River lands.” 

Oscar looks at you, startled. “I- Our terms… Well then I suppose justice.” You meet his sapphire blue one, as captivating and electric as your deep indigo pools. Much resembling the night sky. “Your father has condemned one of the lords to treason and outright murder. I believe as a Southerner, a follower of the old ways, that he should stand for his crimes.” A courageous feat on his part which you could not help but respect. A boy as young as he is now holds the responsibility of many Houses. They all look to House Tully for guidance and Oscar is now their precedent ruler. 

“Then that is done,” You shrugged with a nonchalant pout. Simply one man to face his crimes was enough to receive the largest army. Then you should have it. It was something Daemon would most likely not accommodate. His bowing and agreeing on someone’s terms was not his style. He needed to have something more out of the bargain. Still, you’ve grown restless of your father and needed the army urgently. “See that Lord Blackwood be executed here by the Weirwood tree when all of the lords are present. Should they be convinced we do not tolerate murder and anarchy, they can be a witness of the beheading.” You shake your head, with a smile. 

The Tully boy feels a chill run down his spine. "I appreciate how accommodating you've been given our situation, Princess." He feels flustered but at the same time, relieved. He did not expect this was how your conversation would pan out. But he was pleasantly surprised and would honorably accept your terms. He would only hope now that your father could comply and that you would persuade him on the matter. 

With a brief nod, your fixed stare turns to Oscar’s House sigil. He wears it proudly on his chest, carved out of leather, an imprint of a trout, jumping out of the water. “Tully's honor their promises, so I only ask you to do the same.” 

He stands there, looking in awe at you. He doesn’t so much as return with a stutter, as if not catching you the first time. His delayed response makes Oscar regain himself and clear his throat. “Please forgive me, Princess, but you are not what I had anticipated from the daughter of the Rogue Prince and King Consort to the Queen..."

Unexpectedly, you chuckled, much to the Riverland Lord’s expectation. Gods, why were you so unpredictable? Not to mention, your laughter was rather magnetic to listen to. How could he resist a princess such as yourself, who rides the wild dragon, Sheepstealer, and has a father as one of the most pronounced fighters alive?

House Targaryen in its history had many beautiful women and men over the years of their reign as Rulers of Westeros. They were known for their profound and striking qualities, signaling out any other candidate for beauty charm. You embody it wholly, with the way you stand and present yourself. You’re courageous and strong-willed, admirable talents anyone should have. For Oscar Tully, it fascinates him. 

“Then what do you think I would be like?” You’re intrigued, giving a sly smile when you beam at his shy and embarrassed state. It had been some time since you felt this giddy. Since Lucerys death, your family has dealt with another grief. Then came the death of King Viserys which shifted entirely your lives to madness. You never did have enough time to grieve. Even for your mother, you considered it now, no one would let you rest and had always expected you to be fine with things.

Maybe that was the reason why you refused to visit Dragonstone many times before. When Rhaenyra married Daemon, you were obligated to live in the ancient Targaryen home with them. Even though you complied, you never stayed long, always finding ways to be on Driftmark with your sister and grandparents. It was a way to distract your mind and soul. You did not want to be in the same room as Daemon. So perhaps Corlys and Rhaenys truly felt more like your parents. 

Oscar looks at the tips of his feet, unable to meet your penetrating periwinkle gaze. “I don’t know. I- I thought you would be more aligned with your father.” He raises his tone slightly on the last part, unsure if his words meant offense to you. “And I apologize, I mean no offense!”

“And you’re not wrong to believe so,” Your tone teased, indifferent to how you glanced at him, endearing and eternal much like a sapphire, cherished by the island of Tarth.

Jacaerys was worried for you. He could not understand why you would be so reckless to leave Dragonstone with Sheepstealer. There was war! For all he knew, you could’ve already been killed airborne alongside your wild dragon. But he digresses, the Prince of Dragonstone should not underestimate your worth as a dragon rider and aggressive nature. You were careless but knew how to ride a Sheepstealer well, everyone else couldn’t. 

Regardless, you were his betrothed. The future Queen of the Seven Kingdoms! You should not fly in this condition! He would tell you if you had been still present and he berated you around the castle like an annoying servant. He would have it, Jacaerys could not stand not knowing of your well-being. News from Harrenhal? No raven has been flown there since Daemon’s disappearance. You were driving him mad and you were not even aware of it! 

The Queen’s son paced around his room, exhausted. Your leave did not surprise his mother, which as expected he should’ve anticipated. You and Daemon. Two born from the same blood and now, he understands what his mother felt when he left for Harrenhal. You do as you please, he supposes. Though most of the time he knew of you, it was ever unlikely for you to be so daring. You were brash but never went as far as abandoning your home. Jacaerys feels a small sort of guilt for not letting you leave. He willingly let you. He isn’t sure if you have some sort of sorcery against him or more so he cannot control you as much as you do to him, but the crowned prince still thinks of you. 

He can still recall the day he and you were renowned as betroths. It was the hearing for the heir of Driftmark. The entire hall was consumed by people and servants. The iron throne sat in the center, all and menacingly. His mother stood by his side while Lucerys and Rhaena were slightly behind. Alongside Daemon who lurked around the crowds, watching everyone. On the other side was Rhaenys Targaryen, the standing figure for Corlys Velaryon. You and Baela were behind her, always so close to each other. Your presence comforted one another as it did to him. 

“It was ever my husband’s decision to pass Driftmark to our son, Laenor, and his son, Lucerys,” Rhaenys confidently speaks in front of the Hand of the King as Otto’s daughter can only frown in silence. While the rest of the crowd stayed awning. “And Princess Rhaenyra had just proposed to her two sons to be wedded to Laena’s daughters,” She motions to you and Baela. And when he catches a glimpse of you, butterflies flutters. As you meet his eye with a cheeky smile. “Which I wholeheartedly agree.”

The looks you gave to one another spoke greater volume than the words from your mouths. Jacaerys understood that yes, you were satisfied with the marriage proposal, And he was as well. You two couldn’t be more relieved and happier. You had always assumed he would marry your cousin, Helaena. However Alicent claimed she was to be married to her older brother, Aegon, you believed the odds of it happening to be more promising. And it has. 

Also across where you stood from the throne, Aemond’s eye catches your elevated expression. Those simple words of your engagement troubled him. So much so that he could feel the vexation that began to build in his chest. It was unlike the second son to feel this emotional towards marriage. He always avoided the subject. But somehow when you became the topic, his mind suddenly scrambled into mush and his attention followed you willingly. 

It was more obvious when dinner came. His cold stare pierced the side of your head as you continued to converse with your sisters. You sat beside Jacaery as promised. It irks Aemond immensely to see you happily and comfortably with his sister’s bastard. It was unfair and unjust. Just how was he considered legitimated as a Targaryen? He had no characteristics of his ancestors, only those of his father. Harwin Strong. The one-eyed prince made sure to make a scene when he decided to toast in front of everyone. 

You were seated, content with a plate of food in front of you. As you listened to him speak for the first time, holding a chalice up to your lips. 

To the health of my nephews, Jace, Luke, and Joffrey. As his words died down from silence, you knew what was coming. Aemond had constraints but sometimes even he could break. Each of them… handsome… wise… strong. His attention was solely on you now. His one good eye glistened under the candlelight. Its hue is dark and sinister. As if believing you would be ecstatic with his insults. Did he expect you to be pleased? You were not sure, everything afterward was a blur. 

A few punches and tensed stares divided the room apart. Rhaenyra consoled her children while Alicent attempted to get a hold of her sons. The boys, Aemond and Jacaerys did not stand comfortably in the tense environment. The one-eyed prince couldn’t help but feel satisfied with his efforts. At the same time, his nephew tries to refrain from anything else brash. Out of the corner, Daemon appears, effectively separating the two. His calm and contented expression rather irritated Aemond, allowing him to leave without haste. In comparison, Jacaerys contended to his mother’s orders and left the room. You were expected to follow behind your betrothed footsteps.

Despite having other plans.

Under the dark coven of King’s Landing, you whisk away into the shadows. It was like running around in a maze, every corridor you seemed to pass looked similar. You had no clue where you were heading or your intention to go this far away from your chambers. But your cousin’s actions confused you. If you could speak to Aemond, you would dissolve whatever strain he feels under this obligation. 

“Have you no shame?” You voiced, coming into the moonlight’s center. The simple garden of the Weirwood tree where the two of you found each other. It was a comforting place to read poetry or listen to a musician play. You found yourself here too many times now. “It seems like your grievances have gotten the better of you, cousin.”

Aemond hums with a sneer. “Aren’t you bothered by it?”

“Bothered by what?” you retort, your irritation rising at his insolence.

“You’re betrothed,” he says, pausing before adding, “to a bastard.”

“Why should I be?” you snap back, icy and curt. “His mother is a Targaryen and heir to the Iron Throne, so he remains a Targaryen.”

The second son turns, catching your angry expression. It bothers him how fitting you believe having Jacaerys as your betrothed would not bring any consequences. “His blood is not pure.”

“Because his father is not Ser Laenor?” You joust, moving closer to where he was. Close to the roots of the many-faced tree as it stares back at you blankly. “Does it matter? He is still Rhaenyra’s child and your nephew by right and blood.”

“And you don’t think this would affect you? Your future? Your family?” On and on, the one-eyed prince pushes nonsensical questions. You clearly did not understand the faults of marrying a bastard, one so close to the proclaimed heir. It would falter your status. “You should have a better suitor that will elevate your status, not dishonor it.”

“And who could you provide that for me?” A humorless laugh escapes your mouth, grinning like a hysterical maniac. You did not take his words seriously. Even so, you had never looked more magnificent, bathed in the purest light the gods could provide. The maroon gown you wore draped flawlessly over your figure, embodying the combined beauty of the Targaryens and Velaryons. You were the epitome of both beautiful Valyrian lineages. Your curved, sly smile accentuated your playful nature. You beam under his sight because simply he’s enamored by you. Why couldn’t his mother propose him to you? Not with anyone else. You. 

Nothing comes out of the prince’s mouth. He was not sure why. 

His delayed response gave you the chance to speak once more. “It’s just like you said,” you whispered, barely audible from where you stood a few paces away. “I’ll have a husband soon enough.

Jace. When the Weirwood leaves ruffled, you cupped your hands together. You sat in silence for a while before thinking of all the ways to approach him when the time came for you to return to Dragonstone. I had to leave. Yes, staying on Dragonstone felt intolerable. You would only be reminded of Rhaenys remains, how her last moments were of your playful banter of burning the Greens. How did it compare now when her body is underneath rubble along with her mighty Meleys? She was the one who taught you how to fly. Did he know that?

Amid the chaos, your name is hollered out. “Princess of Dragonstone, future Queen of the Seven Kingdoms,” You depart your solemn eyes away from the stormy skies of Harrenhal to the witch that approaches. You recognized her from your lord’s description. “I see you’ve taken a liking to the Godswoods.” 

Alys Rivers remains a mystery to you. She seems to wander the grounds alone much like the owls roaming the halls. She appears with the lords, she’s there with your father. And she is here, alone with you, as the Weirwood tree stands witness. Her black-painted locks are enchanting, and her enigmatic beauty captivates you with curiosity. She was a bastard but if you’ve learned anything coming from your family, it shouldn’t be considered a burden. 

“What do you want?” Your attention bounces back and forth from her to elsewhere, she assumes your thoughts. Your voice was laced with gentle sarcasm and lightheartedness. It seemed to her you too became acquitted with her. You had gotten used to her disappearances and reappearances quicker than your father. 

“I noticed you come here often,” The witch mentions, making you feel spellbound by her words. “A princess who flees from the safety of her home. To reconcile with her father only to be let down by his anguish. Surely she is feeling overwhelmed…” 

She tries to lure you in yet you concur. "Is it wrong to aid my father when he fails to do what he intended?”

“Greed comes in many different ways, Princess,” She perks up, wide-eyed like a nocturnal barn owl. Her stare invites intrigue and bizarre curiosity to those who would allow her to indulge. Yet you felt sort of unease the way she looked at you. As if she could read your mind. 

You allow silence to sit a few seconds longer. With a stoic expression, you state. “Yes, it does.” 

“Mm,” She grins, much like a mischievous cat. "I hope it doesn’t lead you to act recklessly. Gathering the largest army does not ensure you will achieve glory."

At this, you tilt your head to the side. “Do you expect treason from me, Rivers?”

“Oh not at all, Princess,” She exclaims with a touch of sarcasm. “But you should know the lords here aren’t as accommodating as the ones you find at home.” It was as if a mix of mockery and degradation was interwoven into her words. Alys did not seem at all worried about your reaction. It looked as if she was playing you, to get a reaction out of you. "Your fate was sealed long ago; it is clear what the gods have planned for you."

"Whatever the gods intend," you said slowly, your tone dropping to a dangerous whisper, "matters not, for I shall carve my own path." A sudden screech rings out, alarming and shaking the leaves around you. The ancient tree stands solemnly, its crimson leaves fluttering against the storm. Out of the corner of her eye, Alys spots your dragon with scales of mottled green and copper, his disordered appearance piquing her curiosity.

His exotic wings are both powerful and fierce, mirroring your own nature. He grunts and prowls around the Weirwood tree while you maintain a gaze of striking boldness. Dragons surpass mere prophecy, being molded by blood magic and incantations. Many see them as formidable beasts and deities, a notion that terrifies her with its sheer incomprehensibility.

And with that, she cannot tear her eyes away from your beast, caught between terror and awe, her sapphire gaze frozen. As if sensing her fear, Sheepstealer sneers wickedly, revealing his sharp canines.

“The River Lords will be arriving shortly,” You clasped your hands together, “Find my father, will you?”

[bragganhyl]

woe Bertalan aka Berci lore be upon you bc I keep tweaking the damn thing lol

His full name is Bertalan Atheldon, he's 56 during the events of bee gee three tho tbf I don't have a firm grasp on how half-elf aging works and as such I have no idea if that age fits his looks lol so I might bump it up. Again. He is a beastmaster ranger with an outlander background and he's primarily a "keeper of the veil" - meaning that he favors hunting extraplanar creatures primarily fey.

Berci is the lovechild of a travelling scholar and a farmgirl whose family hosted him for a while. They've dated for a short time and parted on good terms, Berci's human mom then married a human man shortly after so things got awkward when Bertalan was born looking like his elven dad. Berci was never really directly harmed by his human family, but he was never really treated as someone who truly belonged in that family. He wasn't hated but he wasn't loved either. Eventually Berci's mom decided to try and seek out his dad, in the hopes that he might give him a better life.

Luckily she managed to find him, and Berci's dad was more than happy to have his son join him on his escapades. Bertalan spent his adolescent years going from one digsite to the next, and while he never had an affinity to history, he seemed to have some talents for healing. So Berci's dad saved up some money in the hopes of getting him into a decent school where he could learn medicine and eventually become a surgeon. Unfortunately he dies, a few months after Berci begins his studies.

As you might guess, Bertalan takes his father's death rather hard and he drops out shortly before graduating, unable to focus on his studies while dealing with his grief. Still his skills were enough to land a position in a group of monster hunters who needed someone to patch them up (at the time, they're joined by a cleric some time after). One member of the group was a gnome ranger who took him under her wings after she saw him once patch up an injured dire raven (who then decided to stick around). So for the next decade or so Berci was learning the ways of the beastmaster ranger and working as an adventurer for hire. But then, that also ended in a rather ugly way. The group agreed to hunt down a hag who ended up luring them to the Shadow Cursed lands with the use of a mushroom circle. Bertalan was injured pretty much immediately by one of the shadow creatures there and the only reason he (and the group's cleric of Lathander) didn't end up succumbing to the curse with the rest of the team was that their cleric dragged him to the nearby Rosymorn Monastery.

After recovering Berci continued to roam Faerun as a lone ranger hunting malicious fey creatures with no one but Corvus (his raven companion) and Ursa (his mentor's bear companion) for company. By the time of bee gee three, he's no longer capable to function in any other way.

Berci is best characterized as rather blunt and kind of an edgelord. He expects the same kind of bluntness directed at him, he's dismissive of people trying to coddle him. His first instinct is to push away people trying to show him genuine affection as he no longer knows whether being loved or being unloved is worse and he would need time and genuine effort to overcome that instinct. Still he has a curious mind, he's eager to fuck around and always ready to find out. Because of this he comes across as someone quick to trust, though he would probably view himself as someone willing to give one chance to earn his trust. He also might come across as aggressive and intimidating but he's a secret softie with a nurturing and responsible side to him - and he rarely ever let's his anger get the better of him - still he sees no value in heroism as he sees it as inherently self-destructive. He has a strong sense of survival but he prefers stabilizing the environment around him if possible over fighting for individual survival. He sees power as merely a tool that reveals the person wielding it and doesn't believe in the concept of "absolute power" - such a thing is only relative to the current world and nature always finds a way to balance the scales.

[despiterage]

for @milehighmechanic, continued from an old af legacy post :)

      “Probably.” But Tony shrugs, wry emotions in the twist of his lips. “But I got a pretty high tolerance for weird these days. I don’t think you’ve hit the top hundred yet.” Weird is aliens streaking down across the sky, a wizard with a stone in his hand that can bend the rules of time, a Norse god cooking pancakes in his kitchen. Weird is staring at Julie through the results of a DNA test, eyes dark and face pale.        He wonders if Julie would still be here if that night had never happened, if she had been somewhere else, doing something else. Or if Thanos would have taken her all the same. That thought feels like guilt, a shard of ice in his gut, and Tony swallows thickly around the feeling. Tightens muscles to feel the ache of old wounds instead. Focuses back on Marcus.        “You want to go somewhere a bit warmer? Get a drink, maybe?” Perhaps drinking is the Stark way of dealing with grief, but this is something else. Reaching out, the feeling of a toast at a wake. This man knew Julie, perhaps better than Tony ever did, and he thinks he’d like to talk to him.        He’s totally prepared for a polite decline ( or even not-so-polite ) but trying is important, he thinks. He’s trying to be better. For Morgan, and for Pepper, mostly. Julie had made him better, she’d pushed him to be better.        He misses that. He misses HER.        And he knows he’s not the only one. There’s dad, of course, and most of his friends had met Julie at some point or other but. It’s not the same. And this man knew Julie differently, so that’s not the same either, but perhaps easier.        “Unless that would be too weird.” Something sly tugs the corners of his mouth upwards.

"I--" Yes, he thinks immediately. Yes, a drink sounds good. To be on the other side of a bar; to be less of a therapist to the flock of patrons that still seek him out, and to let a drink facilitate the process of turning his thoughts into speech. "That sounds like a plan to me."

He doesn't offer up a place to go, unfamiliar with many of the bars in the area, and assuming that Stark has a place in mind already.

"I'm pretty well-versed in weird myself," Marcus tells him with a shrug, securing his stuff one more time before he stands. He's a little less cagey about that fact than he used to be, and Tony's own proximity to weird makes it all that much easier for the generalized admission to come.

He's set to follow Tony out of the shadow of the memorial stones, and ready to feel the kiss of the sun on his skin again.

"Did you want--" Marcus pauses for a moment, just steps away. "If you want a minute or two with her, I can meet you at the entrance."

[hageny]

Succession Thoughts: Gerri x Roman

1. Living+, Misery.

I might as well get it off my chest now, but given that we are six episodes deep into this season, and only four away from the series’ finale, I am a little frustrated with the lack of progression where Roman and Gerri are concerned. I have not criticized the show much up to now, but it feels as though the past few episodes have given us much angst without a lot of substance and I think this week’s episode has done the same. We do have something more tangible in the way we see Roman’s grief impacting him--he fires Joy, fires Gerri, goes back and forth with Ken regarding their presentation for Living+--but it feels as though the writer’s became unsure of how to handle such a tender (in comparison to other relationships on the show) relationship properly within the realm of what’s realistic in the world of Succession. The first two seasons, arguably, gave us the most in terms of the growth in their relationship, but now everything is hanging in the air and not yet moving. I will say, their latest interaction brought forth something interesting, in that it introduced what has long since been between them but remained unspoken: Roman’s poor handing of his emotions, and Gerri’s essential coldness. In spite of the fact that I understand Gerri’s viewpoint, I will say I was hurt, alongside Roman, when he asked her if she could believe he was as good as his dad and she responded with, “Say it, or believe it?” Like I said, I know why Gerri said what she did, but I have to admit, had I done as much work at getting better at my job as Roman did--more than any of his siblings combined--that would be a blow to my ego to hear those words. Roman is nowhere near where his dad was in terms of ability, but from what we saw of him earlier in the season, he was well on his way there. He consistently presented well-rounded viewpoints, wanted to make deals and do business without screwing others over, and was interested in carving out a space for himself in the same sector as his father without becoming his father. In Gerri’s defense, Roman’s dick pic fiasco last season as well as his firing of her would have done little to endear me to him at this point. Still, the agony of their relationship lies in how much of what is easily solvable is unresolved because they don’t just sit down and have it out with each other, and now that Roman has fired Gerri they may never really get that chance in the way us fans want to see. Of course, we always knew that they would not ride off into the sunset together, but there was a future for them that could have worked within the realm of their universe. Now as the end of the show comes barreling ever closer, I’m left to wonder what will happen, and if what is now will remain so, and end not with a bang but a whimper. 

2. Logan’s Shadow.

A year and a half ago I wrote a brief defense of Logan at the close of the third season, and I must say watching the children fumble the ball so spectacularly this season has proved that I was right. What was always interesting to me is how many people argued over who was most fit to take over when it was clear none of them had the skills required to do so. I’ve always maintained that Roman had the best chance of becoming successful--and I still feel that way--but the mess they made of Living+--Kendall in particular--is not really all that shocking. No one will ever know the business the way Logan did because none of them built it from the bottom up the way he did. He was callous, manipulative, and selfish, but he also possessed a keen understanding of people and the world that most of his cohorts and children do not. When he told them earlier this season, “I love you, but you are not serious people” some may have thought it harsh, but he has always been astute in his observations about his children’s abilities to lead. They’re not capable. No matter how much any of us like them, they don’t have what it takes to actually succeed and lead the way he did. Logan’s narcissism ensured that his children would be fragments of him, without possessing the full breadth of personality required to run Waystar. Now, as I said, I believe Roman has the most potential, and I think if he and Gerri can stop angsting one another they could arguably succeed together, but I have to say as it stands things aren’t looking so promising. 

[viktorpierce]

45.cis male.he/him.matt bomer.

Viktor Pierce was born in Kismet Harbor, Oregon. He works as Owner and Primary Care Physician at Hopeful Horizons. They have been in kismet harbor for their whole life. written by dix.

More Information

Viktor was born in Kismet Harbor to his parents, Melinda and David. The couple were high school sweethearts, but their relationship turned sour quickly and they separated when he was only a toddler. After a vicious custody battle, his dad got sole custody of him and his mom moved to New York. He was left with an emotionally distant father, and a physically distant mother. Melinda moved on quickly, getting married and pregnant with another boy after her move. Viktor loved both of his parents, but the more time he spent away from his mom, the more he resented her new family for taking her away from him. His hatred was directed toward his half brother, Cael, because he felt that his mom had replaced him with Cael. During his visits, he was very cold toward his half brother. He avoided him, and when he needed to talk to him he was less than kind. 

Growing up in Kismet Harbor, Viktor was a very outgoing and fun loving young boy. He had plenty of friends, great grades, and was an excellent football player. His father considered him the perfect son, but there was one thing he didn’t know. Viktor was gay. He knew it fairly young, and he was sure that his father would’ve been supportive, but he was still nervous about coming out to the entire town. He came out to his dad when he was 15, but remained closeted to the rest of the town minus a few close friends. When he was in high school, he met a boy two grades below him named Roman Rhodes. The two of them fell for each other, but Roman wasn’t ready to be out in the public eye so they dated in secret. He was his first boyfriend, and Viktor was madly in love with him. So much so, that he didn’t want to be kept a secret any longer. This caused a lot of tension in their relationship, and the longer they continued in the shadows, the more frustrated he became. When he was 22, Roman broke the news that he was leaving for culinary school in Sacramento. Viktor was heartbroken, but there was nothing he could do to stop him from leaving.

Still devastated by the departure of his first love, Viktor was struck by another heartbreak almost immediately. Only a month after Roman left, Viktor’s dad unexpectedly passed away from a heart condition that his doctor’s had missed. In less than 30 days, he had lost his relationship and his father. Now he was completely alone, in the big empty house that he inherited. It wasn’t really Roman’s fault that Viktor was alone, but that didn’t stop him from blaming him for his loneliness. When he called to give his condolences, Viktor basically told Roman that he hated him and that never wanted to hear from him again. He could’ve called his mom for support, but he chose to deal with his grief alone.

After learning that his father’s death could’ve been avoided if his doctor’s hadn’t missed the signs in his test results, Viktor decided to apply to medical school. He wanted to be a better doctor than his dad’s were so he could hopefully help other families avoid the same fate as his. It was easy for him to succeed in school, especially with how motivated he was to become a man that his dad would be proud of. Now that he was an adult and lacked a father, he worked harder to maintain a healthy relationship with his mom and tried to visit her more often than he had in previous years. He still didn’t talk to his half brother and had heard from their mom about Cael’s downward spiral after his own father’s death, so he steered clear. After he graduated medical school and completed his residency, Viktor used a portion of his inheritance to buy Hopeful Horizons, where he also works as a primary care physician. 

After Cael was arrested, Vik insisted that their mom come stay with him in Kismet Harbor. He didn’t know much about his brother, and there were several years where he heard nothing but bad things about him, so he truly believed that his brother was guilty. Viktor would take their mom to visit him in prison at the beginning of his sentence, but after a while Cael started to refuse visitors and they stopped going. 

Vik had been unlucky in love for a majority of his life, it seemed like no matter how hard he looked, he couldn’t find someone who stayed with him for long. He had a few short relationships and some casual hook ups, but nothing that lasted. His luck seemed to change in his 30s when he met Santiago, and the two of them got married in 2018. They had a smaller ceremony, since the only family member from Viktor’s family who could attend was his mom. In 2020, the two of them adopted their daughter, Joanna, who was 6 years old at the time.

In recent years, their mom Melinda was diagnosed with cancer. Viktor has been doing everything he can to assist with her treatment, including asking her to move into his house so his family could take care of her. Her treatments stopped working and she was declared terminally ill, and she refused his offer to live with him and moved into an assisted care facility. With her recent decline and the reappearance of his brother, Viktor has been reconsidering his view on his life and his family. Looking at how his younger brother’s life has turned out compared to his own and still feeling guilty about not believing in his innocence, Viktor wants to mend his broken relationship with Cael.

[petertingle-yipyip]

SIN MIEDO - BUCKY BARNES (THREE)

EPISODE THREE : POWER BROKER

series tags: @calums-betch​​ // SM masterlist // another madripoor gif bc i loved those scenes

Pairing: Stark!Reader x Bucky Barnes (platonic/flirty)

Word Count: 9,209

Summary: Leaving John Walker in the dust, Y/N had to follow Barnes to a shifty contact. That leads them to Madripoor and an unexpected, and suspicious, ally. Juggling her grief, her control, her own doubts, the pressure of Walker on their tail, and a school girl crush, can she handle the fight?

The next day, the three of you found yourselves in Berlin. You weren’t surprised how easy it was to get through security. Flashing a smile and an ID with Stark on it opened pretty much any door. Surely it had nothing to do with Sam working with the Air Force again.

“Last time I was in Germany, we weren’t on the same side.” You commented nostalgically as you three followed the security guard. “How the tables have turned.”

“I’m gonna go in alone.” Barnes said as you all approached the last corridor.

“Not a chance.” You laughed as Sam said “Why?”

“You’re Avengers..” Barnes reasoned. “You know how he feels about that.”

“It’s not like you two were known for frolicking in the sun together.” Sam mocked.

“He was obsessed with HYDRA. We have a history. Trust me, I got it.” Barnes assured before turning to leave. When Sam didn’t stop him, you did.

Quickly you reached out and grabbed his wrist. You made no effort to pull him back and he didn’t exactly pull away from you. He looked back at you with a stern expression, that he wasn’t going to cave.

“You’re not going alone, Barnes.” You said seriously, tightening your grip on his wrist slightly.

“Y/N-“ He tried.

“No.” You cut in. “I don’t care. I can do this all day.” You offered with a slight smirk.

He chewed the inside of his cheek for a moment before caving. He nodded slightly, his expression betraying that he was slightly impressed. “Fine. Hurry up.” He said, nodding for you to follow.

“Yessir, Sergeant Barnes.” You chuckled as you followed behind Barnes. The comment earned you an eye roll and a scoff, but nothing was said.

“You sure you want to do this?” You checked as you two waited for security to let you in. “I can handle it on my own..”

“I can do it.” He nodded as you approached the cell.

“I’m sure you can.” You shrugged casually. “It was more about if you wanted to.”

You stayed a couple steps behind Barnes, using the shadows to stay mostly out of sight. You didn’t want to talk to Zemo, let alone be in the room. But part of you wanted to make sure that nothing happened. You didn’t know if you could stop Barnes if Zemo triggered the Winter Soldier, but you probably had the best shot.

You watched Barnes’ body language carefully. From your angle, you could see the look on his face. The tension of his shoulders. The hand you could see was in a tight fist. There was a certain fear in his eyes, in the way his jaw clenched. You could tell that a part of him, even if it was a small part, was scared that Zemo would send him back to the Winter Soldier.

Zemo tried the trigger words but earned no reaction from Barnes. You let out a breath of relief and saw Barnes’ shoulders relax as that tension left him. You didn’t doubt that Barnes had control, that his time in Wakanda was enough to rid his mind of HYDRA’s influence, but you also knew Zemo was crafty. You didn’t trust that he didn’t have a couple tricks up his sleeve. But then again… So did you.

“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.” Zemo said, catching your attention. “It was never personal.”

“Seemed kinda personal.” You muttered to yourself. You were anxious, shifting your weight between your feet. You wondered what Sam was feeling back in the hallway but you couldn’t go back. The tension in your body was begging for a release, seemingly burning it’s way through your skin. There was a crackle of electricity between your fingers, a skill you hardly had a grip on. You only figured out how to use it in quick bursts or it would build itself up in moments of high tension.

“You brought a friend?” Zemo questioned, his eyes turning to you. You sunk deeper into the shadows.

“Someone recreated the super soldier serum.” Barnes said to redirect his attention. There was more control in his tone and it settled something anxious in the pit of your stomach. “I need to find out who.”

“You’re assuming HYDRA has something to do with this.” Zemo said simply, studying Barnes as he spoke. The expression Zemo held, the way he was looking at Barnes like an experiment, tempted you to reveal yourself. Something about it made your skin crawl, but you knew you had to refrain. You needed the info. “Which is why you came to me, which means you’re desperate…” A smug tone laced his voice and made you want to gag. “Lucky for you, and your friend in the shadows, I know where to begin.”

“And in exchange?” You finally spoke, stepping into the small sliver of light and taking your place beside Barnes. “What’s it going to take?”

His sly smile made you instantly regret the question.

Without explaining anything to Sam, you and Barnes led him to a series of tunnels underground. You opted to remain silent through the endeavor, knowing you wouldn’t be able to explain it right. While Sam pestered Barnes about the plan, you were busy finding the best route.

You kept one hand against the concrete wall, tapping your fingers to feel the vibrations. The tunnels were empty save for you three. They lead to a basement where you stopped for Barnes to walk Sam through a “hypothetical”.

“Please tell me this is an actual hypothetical.” Sam looked to you. In the meantime, you were toying with balls of air in your palm. You were balancing on them in a handstand.

“Yeah.” You lied. “It’s a hypothetical.”

Barnes continued to explain everything while you purposefully distracted yourself. You weren’t a huge fan of this plan, but Barnes had a point. Zemo offered a starting point. Walker had nothing. You guys had nothing. Though you’d never admit it, you needed Zemo.

“Speak of the devil.” You commented when you felt his footsteps approaching. You landed back on your feet as Zemo entered the room.

“You’re going back to prison.” Sam insisted.

“If I may-“ Zemo tried.

“No!” Sam and Barnes yelled simultaneously.

“Sorry.” You said with a shrug, bringing your forearms up and slamming them together. The movement called walls of earth to rise and trap Zemo in a thick rock casing. “It’s nothing personal.”

“When Steve refused to sign the Accords, you backed him.” Barnes countered.

“You broke the law and stuck your neck out for him.” You added.

“I distinctly remember you-“ Sam pointed to you. “-were on the other side.”

“My name’s not anywhere on that document.” You corrected. “I was a minor. Wouldn’t have been legally binding.”

“I’m asking you to do it again.” Barnes tried.

“I really think I’m invaluable-“ Zemo began again.

“Shut up!” You groaned, lifting the rock to meet his chin. “I will go all the way up.” You threatened before turning your attention back to the boys. “I’m with Barnes. I know it’s crazy but it’s the best shot we got. And we gotta move fast cause Walker is working on this too.”

“Okay.” Sam agreed finally. You dropped the rock prison and looked to the boys. “You don’t make a move without our permission.”

“Fair.” Zemo nodded.

“Otherwise, you deal with me.” You said simply. His eyebrows raised in interest, a slight challenge glinting in his eyes. You lifted your hand in front of your face, palm to the side. As you lowered your hand, you angled it so your fingertips pointed at Zemo. You saw his muscles tighten as he struggled but gave in to your control and went down to his knees.

“Dad once said the best weapon was the weapon you only had to fire once.” You said as if you were contemplating the words. “Let’s hope he was right.” You released Zemo before Sam spoke up.

“So where do we start?” He asked.

While Zemo was collecting his things from one of the cars, he explained where to start. He mentioned a woman named Selby as a starting point.

“This whole time you were rich?” Sam asked wildly as you approached a private jet.

“I’m a Baron, Sam.” Zemo answered in a matter of fact tone. “My family was royalty until you destroyed my country.”

“Eh.” You shrugged. “The Stark jet is nicer.”

You sat across from Barnes while Sam sat across from Zemo. You weren’t too interested in conversation. You didn’t know where you were going, nor did you really care. The sudden movement of Barnes made you snap to attention.

“If you touch that again, I’ll kill you.” Barnes threatened lowly with a hand at Zemo’s throat.

“At ease, soldier.” You reached over to tug on Barnes’ jacket. After a moment’s hesitation, he came and sat back down.

“I understand that list of names. People you’ve wronged as the Winter Soldier.” Zemo said with a solemn nod. He gestured between you and Barnes. “What I don’t understand is the relationship here. Are you two… involved?”

“Don’t push it.” Barnes muttered angrily as you simply rolled your eyes.

Sam talked about the book, that it used to be Steve’s. He bragged about how he suggested something for Steve to write in it. You remembered you had suggested some things for him to look into too, your favorite had been all the horror movies you got him to add.

Sam and Barnes then bickered about the Troubleman soundtrack, to which Zemo chimed in. You groaned slightly, throwing your head back and staring at the ceiling. The conversation quickly shifted to Steve and super soldiers, mildly peaking your interest.

“Cities fly. Innocent people die.” Zemo carried on.

“You forget who you’re talking to.” You laughed in disbelief.

“Pardon?”

“You’re talking about Sokovia… I was there. And my dad nearly died - yet again - trying to save the world… Trying to fix his mistake but no one cared about that part, right?.”

“Only nearly..” He agreed. “I think it’s fair to say the Avengers, none of you were really innocent.”

“And he actually did die to bring back half the universe so excuse me if I don’t share your bitterness.”

“It seems that you do, Y/N.” He analyzed, watching the response your eyes gave away.

“Shut it.” You rolled your eyes.

Conversation quickly shifted to Madripoor. Zemo and Barnes explained what it’s like, what it was. It sounded like a place out of a book, but given that your career was fighting A.I. powered robots and a giant genocidal purple lunatic, nothing was surprising anymore.

“James, you will have to become someone you claim is gone.” Zemo told Barnes.

A solemn expression came over Barnes. You couldn’t tell if it was regret, remorse, or something else. You leaned forward, resting elbows on your knees. You nodded to motion Barnes to come closer. He leaned forward in the same way.

“You sure you’re okay with this?” You asked quietly. “We can find another way, or we can do this witho-“

“I’m not sitting out.” He cut in. “I’ll be fine. Why do you keep trying to sideline me?”

“You won’t be alone.” You offered genuinely. “Sam and I got your back.”

Later that night, you walked the bridge that led to Madripoor. 

“So who am I supposed to be, exactly?” You asked after Zemo had explained Sam’s character for the night.

“Rosalinda Calvillo Del Santos.” He said, showing you a picture of the girl. “Heiress to a huge cartel ring out of Mexico City.”

“Woah, she’s hot.” You nodded, slightly impressed. “And this dress… Seems like it perfectly matches her style.”

You motioned to the dress you wore. It was a tight, short black silk dress with a 4 inch slit up the right side that showed off your body beautifully. The chest of the dress hung perfectly to keep you covered but still catch attention. The straps were silver jewels in a halter style while additional pieces of thin black silk stretched across your back in a criss cross pattern. 

“She's also a bit sadistic.” Zemo added nonchalantly. “But I’m sure you’ll play that just fine.”

“Fun.” You nodded.

“She kinda does look like you.” Sam commented as he leaned over to see the picture while he adjusted the cuffs of his jacket.

“She can’t be that hot then.” Bucky said sarcastically.

“Oh shut up.” You laughed as you pushed Barnes slightly. “You’re just used to girls in the 40’s and the whole modest look, huh?”

“Yeah yeah.” He rolled his eyes. “You ever gonna retire the old man jokes?”

“Maybe, but you have to admit how good I look.” You countered.

“Not a chance, little lady.” He smiled and shot a wink your way as he opened the car door for you.

“Well, Sergeant Barnes, what a gentleman.” You said sarcastically, holding a hand to your chest. “I’m so flattered.” You patted his chest as you sat down, scooting to sit in the middle.

The car ride was quick, although the motorcycles that surrounded your vehicle put you on edge a bit. The cold feeling of Barnes’ vibranium arm pressing against your own arm was the only thing that managed to keep you from burning through the car.

“The bracelet needs to come off.” Zemo pointed out on your walk to the bar.

“Excuse me?” You answered quickly, your opposite hand moving quickly to defend the metal cuff.

“Rosalinda only wears gold. She’s never been seen with anything else.”

“But this bracelet is-“

“Hideous” Zemo cut in.

“No! It’s from my dad, jackass!” You argued and stopped your steps.

“Here, let me have it.” Barnes held his hand out, to which you simply took a step away from him. “Y/N, come on.”

“No, I- I can’t take it off.”

Barnes sighed slightly before sliding two fingers under the collar of his shirt to pull a small chain out. He reached behind his neck to unclasp it before offering it to you. “Put your bracelet on here. Nothing’s going to happen to it.” Barnes explained.

“What are…” You asked softly as you reached for the chain. Your fingers grazed the small metal shapes dangling at the end, turning them so you could read the inscriptions. “James Buchanan Barnes..” You read silently. “These are your tags.. Barnes, I can’t ask you to-“

“You’re not asking. I’m offering.”

“Y/N..” Sam tried gently. “It won’t be that long, I promise.”

“Okay, fine.” You agreed reluctantly. You handed Barnes back his chain before reaching for your cuff. You put two fingers together above the metal cuff, focusing on separating it enough to slide your wrist out. Your eyes lingered on the band of lighter skin that was hidden by the cuff, proving to everyone around you that you never took it off. Once you freed your wrist, the cuff circled the fingers you used to open it. You glided it to hook over Barnes’ chain, connecting your fingers again to reconnect the metal. “Please don’t lose it.. It means everything to me.”

“Trust me.” He nodded as he reclasped his chain around his neck. He tucked the tags and your bracelet under his shirt and patted it lightly. You smiled gently in thanks before turning back to the door.

“Good. Now, escort her in.” Zemo instructed Bucky. Barnes held out an arm for you to take so you looped yours through his, making Zemo click his tongue at you. “Other side.”

“What difference does it make?” You asked in annoyance.

“The Del Santos family -especially Rosalinda- loves to show power.” He explained. “Having the Winter Soldier makes you powerful, but being on that side-“ He pointed to Barnes’ metal arm. “-shows it off… They also know how to barter for that power, if you know what I mean.” He gave you a pointed look and nodded towards Barnes, assuming you would understand what he meant. You hoped it wouldn’t come to that, but you understood.

“So treat him like a trophy?” You replied with a raised brow as you stepped around to switch sides. “Easy enough.”

“Oh god.” Barnes mumbled under his breath. “Don’t abuse this.”

“I think you’ll like being shown off a little.” You smirked slightly, keeping your head high as you followed Barnes’ lead into the building. “I’ll try not to go too far.”

Like flipping a switch, you fell into character once you stepped into the crowd and instantly made a statement.

“Listo para cumplir, Soldado de Invierno?” You said simply, keeping your head high and shoulders back as you followed Barnes through the crowd.

You heard the whispers, asking if that was really the Winter Soldier. You had to admit, it gave you a feeling of pride in your chest to see everyone look at you in awe. The respect in their eyes when they met yours was interesting. It was different from the respect you got as Y/N Stark. There was an underlying tone of fear in the looks as well.

Your small group stayed at the bar, Barnes kept his head on a swivel while you leaned your elbows on the bar top behind you. You lazily turned your head to check on Sam but saw the bartender slicing open a snake.

“Al menos no tengo que hacer nada que… asqueroso.” You said to Barnes before chuckling. He made a small sound of agreement, the tiniest hint of a smile toying with his features. “Vamos. Diviértete, soldado.”

“Mi misión es protegerte.” He replied in a flat, monotonous voice.

“Ay, díos.” You groaned, turning to face the bartender. “Señor? Bourbon, neat. Please.”

“Since when do you drink, Santos?” He nodded in amusement as he poured your drink.

“Well, it’s been a rough week.” You sighed, lifting the glass in thanks. “Put it on my friend’s tab.” You winked at Zemo before turning back to look at the busy crowd.

“You lot aren’t welcome here.” A bald man came up to Zemo.

“We have no business with the Power Broker.” Zemo started. “But if he insists…”

“He can come and talk to me.” You cut in, resting a hand on Barnes’ shoulder and sipping your drink. “Or bring Selby for a chat.” You shrugged.

“What do you know about the Power Broker?” Sam asked when the man was out of earshot.

“Here he is judge, jury, and executioner.” Zemo said quickly.

“We’ve got company.” You said into your drink. You set the cup down and cleared your throat. “Soldado de Invierno, hora de ir a trabajar.”

The man reached a hand for your shoulder but was instantly snatched by Barnes. You had to give it to him. He was a very convincing actor. It seemed easy for him to slip back into that person, to become the Winter Soldier. You knew it wasn’t really him, but the violent scene in front of you was hard to deny.

Sam saw it too. He looked to you in concern, hearing the same click of the guns that you did. You easily took the few steps to stand between him and Zemo.

“Don’t worry.” You said simply, maintaining the cocky smirk you wore as Barnes did his work. “He’s got this.. But that’s not what that look is about, is it?” You glanced at Sam and saw the expression on his face. It held concern for Barnes but also the flash of a memory when the Winter Soldier attacked you all after the UN bombing.

“You break character and this whole bar is against us.” You used your glass to cover your lips while you spoke. “I don't like this either but-

Before you finished your sentence, Barnes slammed a man on the bar top by his throat. You instantly slipped back into character to respond.

“Buen trabajo, querido soldado.” You giggled with a pat on his chest. He let the man go as the bartender told you Selby was ready. You swallowed the rest of your drink before putting the cup back on the bar.

“Vamos.” You nodded. Barnes held an arm out for you to take, which you quickly did. 

“You okay?” Sam asked Barnes quietly as you followed Zemo to Selby. A sharp nod was the only response Sam got.

You let Zemo talk to Selby since you had no idea who the woman was. You stayed towards the back of the room with Sam and Barnes, your arms still linked. The cold metal against your arm was the only thing that kept you from bursting into flames.

It was easy enough to be Rosalinda. Confident, powerful, demanding respect, beautiful and a little flirty. It mildly shocked you that you could play into her sadism. You didn’t know where you pulled that from. Maybe Nat taught you better than you thought. Outside of that, Rosalinda was close enough to a Stark that you didn’t feel like you were pretending too much. And lucky for you, you learned Spanish as a child. It was the people that knew her that worried you. One wrong mannerism, one wrong saying, and the whole thing was blown.

“What’s the offer?” Selby asked after an attempted flirt with Sam. You caught Zemo’s signal, a silent attempt to tell you it was your turn. 

“I suppose it’s more my offer.” You spoke up.

“I didn’t know Calvillos travelled this far.” Selby smiled mischievously. 

“Well I heard you like to play hard ball.” You said with a sly smile. “Del Santos can play too. My offer is him. The Winter Soldier, el soldado de invierno.” You offered confidently, walking a small circle around Barnes. “And the words to control him, of course.”

You traced your fingers along his shoulders, across his back and down his metal arm. You felt him tense under your touch, but his demeanor never faltered. “He will do anything you want.” You added, facing Barnes and gently running your hands down his arms. “I’m sorry.” You whispered honestly. Your expression reset to a playful pride as you spun to take your original place beside Barnes and watched for Selby’s reaction.

“This is a fun surprise. I’m glad I didn’t kill you all immediately.” She said happily.

“You have information I want.” You stepped in front of Barnes, blocking him from her line of sight. “You give me everything I need and I give you him.”

She bit her lower lip as she smiled. Her eyes looked Barnes up and down, and it made you want to gag.

“Hello? Are we going to do business or are you going to ogle him all night?” You asked in annoyance as you crossed your arms.

“A bit testy tonight.” She said with an entertained smirk and your pulse jumped. “You were right to come to me.” She said with a nod. “The serum is here, in Madripoor. You’re gonna want to talk to Dr. Wilfred Nagel. Power Broker had him work on it but it didn’t go as planned.”

“Is Nagel still here?”

“Crumbs for free but the bakery will cost you.” She wagged a finger at you. “And before you get cute, you can’t find Nagel with me.”

Before either you or Zemo could offer a rebuttal, Sam’s phone went off. You felt in your bones that it wasn’t going to work out well if he answered that call.

As Sam was on the phone, which Selby made him answer on speaker, she circled you and Barnes. You nodded towards Sam, allowing Barnes to take a few steps away from you.

Before you knew it, your cover was blown and the shot rang out. Selby was dead and the boys easily took down the other two guys in the room.

“This is going to come back to us.” You said as you stood on the other side of the room, as far from her body as you could be.

“Just drop the weapons and follow my lead.” Zemo said, trying to gain control of the situation.

Without other options, you all followed Zemo out and through the streets of Madripoor. Every turn you took, you felt more and more eyes upon you. Phones buzzed every second and you could only assume it was word spreading of Selby’s death.

“I don’t like this.” You muttered.

As soon as the words left your mouth, gun shots sounded. Barnes grabbed your hand and began running with you following close behind. You ducked the shots and grabbed Barnes’ hand a little tighter. You turned to see Sam struggling to keep up.

“I can’t run in these heels!” Sam yelled.

“Try running in stilettos and a mini skirt.” You replied in annoyance.

“You want to stop them?” Barnes tried.

“I can’t really focus right now.” You answered with an eye roll. You were going to stop and try lifting a rock wall behind you or creating a gust to push them back or even try to summon a quick lightning burst.

Shots came from a high window and took out the two men behind you before you tried to fight back. Zemo came out from behind a dumpster and made a stupid comment about a guardian angel.

“What a coward.” You sneered, Barnes holding you back when you made a move to slap the Baron.

“This is too perfect.” A familiar voice came from the shadows. You pulled away from Barnes and called a small flame to your palm. “Drop it, Zemo.”

“Sharon?” Barnes asked. 

“You cost me everything.” She ignored you guys. You didn’t let the fire go out. 

“Wait, Sharon.” Sam tried. “Someone recreated the super soldier serum. Zemo had a lead.”

“That explains why you guys are here and why Selby’s dead.”

“Why are you here?” You asked carefully.

“I stole Steve’s shield, remember?” She scoffed. “And I took the wings for your ass-“ She pointed her gun at Sam. “-so you could save his ass-“ Her gun pointed to Barnes. “-from his ass.” Her gun landed on Zemo. “I didn’t have the Avengers to back me up so I’m in Madripoor.”

Sam tried reasoning with Sharon but got nowhere.

“We need your help.” You tried and let the flame in your palm die out. “Please. We- We didn’t have any other options…”

With a heavy sigh, Sharon told you all to follow her. You were the first to follow her footsteps. After a second, the other three came behind you. You were questioning the timing of Sharon’s reveal, but overall you were grateful she showed up. Things weren’t looking great up until then.

“Seems like being on the run treated you better than it treated Sam.” You commented as you looked around at Sharon’s place. 

“If I was going to be a hustler, I was gonna live like one.” She said, a hint of pride in her tone.

The three boys then talked about the art, and whether it was real or fake. Sam didn’t believe them until a quick google search told him the truth. Sharon made you all change your clothes, pulling out a whole rack of clothes for the boys to look through and letting you sift through her closet.

You decided on a fitted maroon wrap-style dress. It was a soft material, fitting the curves of your body perfectly. The spaghetti straps criss-crossed behind your neck. You kept your same black heels and made your way back to the group and took a seat with Barnes on the couch.

Sam and Sharon talked a bit, ridiculing the idea of heroes. She called it hypocrisy, claiming that’s why Sam gave up the shield.

“Wow.” You teased as you sat. “You clean up nice, Barnes.”

He smiled slightly at you. “Hey, I didn’t know you spoke Spanish.” He said simply.

“Huh?” His statement took you by surprise. It wasn’t the response you expected. “Right. Yeah, I learned it when I was a kid. Dad tried to teach me French but Spanish was more natural cause my mom's side of the family.”

“You look good too, by the way.” He added and gave you a slight nudge. “Cause I know that’s what you wanted to hear.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Your face.” He said simply. “You give away a lot of emotions in your face.”

“I do not!” You insisted quietly with a chuckle, smacking his arm.

“Yes, you do.” He laughed with a nod.

“Wait a second…” You paused, crossing your legs and leaning towards him. “Were you just nice to me?” You teased with a wide smile.

“Don’t push it.” He chuckled.

“Hey... I’m sorry about using you as bait with Selby. I figured that’s what Zemo was hinting at… It didn’t seem like there was any room for me to say no.” You said honesty. The look in his eyes when you dangled him in front of Selby, you could tell it brought back so much of his trauma. That inability to say ‘no’. You truly had felt wrong for doing it. “I shouldn’t have-“

“Y/N.” Barnes said and put a hand on your leg. Your words were cut off instantly. “It’s alright.. It was for the mission.”

“That doesn’t make it right.” You said softly. “You’re not just an asset or a trophy. You’re my friend.”

“How is the new Cap, by the way?” Sharon asked, drawing your attention.

“Don’t even get me started.” Barnes shook his head.

You dropped your head back to look at her over the back of the couch. “He thought he could bail me out of jail and we’d be best friends.”

“He really thought you needed bail money? ” She laughed as she came around to sit with you two. “And you. You were Mr. America before you were his pet psychopath.” She told Barnes. “Cap’s best friend.”

“She’s kind of awful now.” Barnes said to you.

“She was always kinda awful.” You mumbled while Sam refocused everyone.

“You guys shouldn’t be involved in this.” She said, as if she was warning you. “For your own safety.”

“We got a name.” You added, not leaving any room for discussion. Something about the way Sharon talked to you led you to hold suspicions. “Wilfred Nagel.”

“Nagel works for the Power Broker.” She explained.

“I can get your name cleared, Sharon. But we need your help.” Sam tried.

“I don’t buy that.”

“They cleared the bionic staring machine and he killed almost everyone he met.”

“I heard that.” Barnes said, which drew a small laugh from you.

“I don’t trust charity.” Sharon countered.

“Let’s call it a deal then.” Sam offered.

“Fine.” She shook Sam’s hand. “Lay low. Enjoy the party. And stay out of trouble.”

“I do like a good party.” You smiled as you stood. You held a hand out to Barnes, who groaned before pushing himself up.

He held an arm out to you but before you took it, you turned to face him straight on. You casually adjusted his suit jacket before your hands moved across his chest. Your hands went to his neck while he watched your hands carefully. You slid both pointer fingers under the collar of his shirt and he tensed slightly. You pulled his chain out and held it with one hand and used the other to release your bracelet. You fit the metal cuff back to its rightful place on your wrist with a proud smile. 

“Didn’t give anything away that time, did I, James?” You said quietly, shooting him a quick wink.

“Shall we?” You asked happily, turning to face Zemo and Sam.

Even though you had a point in being in Madripoor and it definitely wasn’t a party, you were excited for the party. It would be nice to relax, not feel any guilt over your father. Any grief over Nat. Any anger at John Walker. And stress about being an Avenger. You could just be a twenty one year old kid and have fun for the first time in what felt like ever.

You lost the boys in the crowd rather quickly. But it wasn’t a heavy thought in your mind to stay with them. What seemed to bounce around in your brain were your interactions with Barnes through the day. You couldn’t quite figure out if you were flirting with him intentionally or just habitually.

You brushed it off temporarily as your personality. You were a Stark after all. And Starks tend to flirt with anyone… Right?

Regardless, you weaved through the crowd and let yourself enjoy the party for a moment. You enjoyed the music, letting your body sway and spin with the vibrations. It was hard for you to tell where anyone was through the vibrations of the floor with the vibrations from the speakers, but you told yourself that wasn’t your problem. Barnes and Sam would be fine for a little while. You weren’t sure how long you had been dancing when you heard the boy beside you.

“I don’t think I’ve seen you around before.” A boy said from your side.

Turning, you were met by a very beautiful boy. He was a bit taller than you, dark brown curly hair that fell messily across his forehead. You couldn’t tell the color of his eyes, only that they were looking at you with admiration. You couldn’t help but smile at him.

“I’m just passing through.” You answered vaguely. Given your previous escapades through Madripoor, you wanted to be as discreet as you could until you were able to leave.

“You come with anyone?”

“Just a few friends..”

“No boyfriend?”

“A boyfriend?” You repeated with a laugh. “I wouldn’t say that.”

“Girlfriend?” He tried.

“No.” You laughed slightly. “I’ve been out of the dating game for a few years, actually.” You snapped your fingers to show what you meant.

“You’re too pretty to be at a party alone.” He shamelessly flirted.

“Well I’m not alone.” You corrected. “This is actually a friend’s party.”

“Your friends with the Power Broker?”

Before you could voice a response, a hand found your arm. You quickly looked over and saw Barnes at your side, only his eyes weren’t on you. They were on the new guy.

“I thought you didn’t have a boyfriend?” The boy said nervously.

“Come on, Sarge.” You chuckled, noticing the staring and tense shoulders resembled jealousy. But for Barnes, distrust and suspicion was a more likely reaction. “It was nice to meet you.” You told the kid before pushing Barnes to move.

You couldn’t help but wonder… If the party was the Power Broker’s, but Sharon was hosting like it was her party.. Could Sharon be the Power Broker? Or closer involved than she led you to believe at least?

The next morning, you were all walking through an old shipping yard. Sharon was smart enough to grab you a more practical outfit, a skinny fit pair of black pants and a fitted light blue long sleeve and better shoes. You followed Sharon’s lead to crate. While she stayed for lookout, your group of four went in.

You knocked with one hand and felt the vibrations change at the end. You nodded towards the back of the container so Zemo went to take a look and exposed a secret door.

Sam and Barnes went in first, you behind them, and Zemo behind you. The guys tried to get you to take a gun but you adamantly refused, telling them you were a terrible shot and you had weapons of your own. Sam tried talking to Nagel, but he tried to run instead. Instantly, Nagel froze when he saw Barnes.

“You know who he is, right?” You chuckled, something intimidating dancing in your words. It was something you normally didn’t hear in your voice. You usually weren’t the intimidating type but things were different…You were different. “There’s Baron Zemo and me… Well, you’ll see.”

“How about a counter proposal?” Nagel tried. You ignored Sharon’s warnings in your ear. “Make me a better offer and I’ll talk.”

“Your life isn’t enough?” Your brows raised as you challenged him. You nodded slightly before raising your hand. Your fingers lazily pointed straight up as you grabbed hold of Nagel’s blood. “You don’t know what I’m capable of, do you?”

“Maybe she’s the intimidating one.” Zemo said, an odd respect in his voice.

You forced Nagel to his knees while Sam kept his gun pointed at him. “I can manipulate air too… I wonder if I could pull it from your lungs since you refuse to talk.”

“Okay, okay!” Nagel broke and told you the whole story after you released him. You were getting good at your new blood trick, and that mildly worried you but you had to push it to the back of your mind. Parts of his story included Siberia, an American who you could only assume was Isaiah Bradley, the Snap, and the Power Broker.

You caught the name Donya Madani, committing it to memory. If she was someone Karli wanted to help, she was someone that could lead you to her.

“Is there any serum in this lab?” Barnes asked. When Nagel didn’t answer, he pressed the gun to the man’s temple.

“No!” He said quickly. “But would she-“ He gestured to you. “-be incredible with it.”

“Thanks, but that’s a question I don’t need answered.” You crossed your arms and leaned against the wall behind you.

“The pure power you hold..” He continued and let out a devious chuckle. “You’re not at all curious?”

“I’m not the kind of person who deserves it.. Trust me. There’s probably as much blood on my hands as his.” You nodded to Barnes. “Just different motives.”

“Aren’t you tired of depending on them to help you? To save you?”

“I know my value. Anyone else’s opinion doesn’t really matter.”

The rest happened too fast to process in that moment. Sharon burst in. Zemo shot Nagel and that drew an interesting reaction from Sharon. And an explosion went off. Barnes had pulled you out of the way before you could get caught up in the blast. 

Your head spun mildly from the quick movement and your ears rang violently. You tried to shake it off but that seemed to only make it worse. You felt a warm stream down the side of your head and realized a loose piece of shrapnel had sliced your forehead.

“You alright?” Barnes asked, helping you to your feet. “Y/N? Are you alright?”

“Yeah.. Yeah, I’m fine.” You nodded, mildly disoriented. Looking around, you saw the smoke gathering in the room. You put a hand above your head, using it to keep the smoke at the top of the room.

“Ah shit.” He muttered, pushing the loose hair out of your face. “You’re bleeding.”

“I’m fine.” You pushed his hand away. “We gotta go. These chemicals are going to go off any second and I doubt I can save us from that.”

You got Sharon to her feet while Barnes got Sam. Sam asked about Zemo, but that was the least of your concerns. You four had to get out of there before you were trapped.

You tried using your powers to move the shipping containers or pull a piece of the wall apart but it was too heavy to do in such a hectic environment. There was too much going on for you to really focus. Once you were out, the boys started arguing about whose fault it was. 

“Not the time!” You shouted at them, your back against one of the fallen containers. “We’re blocked in and you three are out of bullets. So either I can try to handle this or we stay here and get caught. Either way, you need to zip it so one of us can come up with something.”

“Just use your pow-“ Barnes tried.

“I can’t do anything when you’re this loud!” You snapped. “Besides, the containers are too heavy. I’m not strong enough.”

You thought out loud to yourself. “I could try a concrete wall but I don’t know how long I can hold it if I’m worried about getting shot.” You chewed your lower lip in contemplation. “I’m too far to try the blood thing… They’re firing too many bullets for me to redirect back… What if I…”

It was so much easier when you had your dad to talk things out with. When you had someone smarter than you and could see a different angle, who could run the numbers and tell you your best chance, everything was so much easier.

“How are you going to handle it then?” Sharon challenged with an eye roll.

“You really don’t know a thing about me, do you?” You laughed in disbelief.

Before she could offer a rebuttal, there was another explosion. A smirk found its way to your face as you got an idea. You quickly hopped the barricade your group was stuck behind, despite the protests from Barnes and Sam. You slid under a hanging metal beam and popped up by the explosion. You shaped the flames away from you four and pushed it towards the people shooting at you. You used what was left as a wall to give you cover for you to get away.

“That’s how I’m going to handle it.” You said with your trademark Stark pride as you met back up with the group.

“You could've got yourself killed.” Sam reprimanded as you four had to duck into a separate container after a gunshot nicked your shoulder. Barnes launched a metal pole through one of the shooters’ shoulders like a javelin before shutting the door behind him.

“Okay.” You groaned, lighting a flame on two fingers. “That could've got me killed.” You ran the flame gingerly along the graze in an attempt to cauterize the wound and stop the bleeding.

“You’re an idiot.” Barnes grumbled.

“Who just saved your ass, huh?” You challenged as he opened the door when the shooting stopped.

“When are you gonna realize you’re not indestructible?”

“When are you gonna realize who you’re talking to?”

The heavy roar of an engine drew your attention and interrupted the sudden tension. The tension and attitude dissipated as soon as it came but you could tell it wasn’t going to be the last time that grievance was brought up.

“Supercharged.” Zemo said proudly as he pulled up in a sleek black car.

You let out a low whistle and nodded in approval. “She is a beaut.” You commented with an amused laugh. “Would it be wrong if I kept her after this?”

“You’re going back to jail.” Sam told him. “And you-“ He told you. “-aren’t keeping the car.”

“You’re no fun... Shut up and get in then.” You rolled your eyes. As Barnes climbed into the front seat, you went to the driver’s side - as if proving a point that you didn’t want to sit behind Barnes - and hopped over and into the backseat. “We still need him.”

Sam got in on the other side and after a quick conversation with Sharon, you were ready to go.

“You’re not gonna move your seat up, are you?” Sam asked.

“No.” Barnes said simply. You rolled your eyes at his childish antics. You leaned forward and tugged his sleeve to get his attention.

“Move your seat up.” You insisted.

“I’m not gonna move my seat.”

“Why not?”

“He didn’t move his seat for me so I’m not-“

“Solo tienes que mover el maldito asiento, Barnes.”

“No me voy a mover“

“Venga, muévete.”

“Por qué debería?“

“Cállate y mueve el maldito asiento. Hmm?” You patted his chest before leaning back. Barnes scoffed, but slid forward slightly.

“Okay…” Sam started, leaning closer to you to speak quietly. “What the hell was that?”

“I’m fluent in Spanish.” You shrugged as you leaned to the middle and spoke in the same hushed tone. “Dad taught me when I was eight-ish. I use it for fun or when I’m trying to prove a point, hence the conversation you just saw. Why?”

“Not that… That.” He gestured to you with one hand and to Barnes with the other. “You guys have been flirting since-“

“Nope.” You shook your head and sat back again. “I’m not talking about that.”

“But you were! Why else would he listen to you?”

“What are you guys talking about back there?” Barnes tried.

“It’s above your pay grade, Barnes.” You answered without thought. “Anyways, Sam.” You turned back to Sam. “I’m a Stark. If there was any flirting, it’s harmless. Starks flirt with everyone.” You shrugged innocently.

“Mhmm.” Sam said unconvinced. “If you guys end up together and-“

“If we end up together I’ll be just as shocked as you.” You laughed. “But it’s not gonna happen. I’m pretty sure he hates me, deep down. You saw how he snapped at me a few minutes ago.”

“So just right now and the other day before Walker showed up, right? That’s what you’re basing this on?” Sam asked, gesturing a small circle in reference to the current scenario. You pressed your lips together in a line while you nodded. “But didn’t he make sure you didn’t make it worse after you got arrested?”

“Sure but-“

“Before we ran into Sharon, he reached for you, right?”

“Okay but wait-“

“And he pulled you out of the way of that blast?”

“I see what you’re saying but-“

“And he only seems to get mad at you when you get yourself hurt!”

“It’s coincidental!” You reasoned quickly with your hands up in surrender. “If he’s gonna like anyone, I highly doubt it’s gonna be me. Wanna know why?”

“Enlighten me.” Sam laughed.

“Cause I push every button I can with him.” You explained. “I annoy him and I talk shit to him and I don’t listen to him. I purposefully see what I can get away with. I’m his annoying roommate/best friend.”

“Right… Because that gimmick never leads to anything…” He rolled his eyes in amusement. “Whatever you say, Mini Stark.” He chuckled.

On the flight back, Sam and Barnes sat opposite each other while they talked. You opted to lay on the ground between them after healing your shoulder and other small scrapes, wanting something flat to let your back relax. As soon as you laid down, you felt your spine pop and practically reposition itself.

Your mind wandered back to the same thoughts it kept coming back to, with the newest additions to your messy brain. Your dad, and if you were doing right by him. Steve, and if you lived up to his expectations. Nat, and how she’d be proud to see you utilizing the skills she taught you. The boy at the party, his unintentional implications of Sharon and the Power Broker. And Barnes… Sam’s suggestion that you were purposefully flirting with Barnes had made you rethink your last interactions with him.

There were comments slipped in here or there, sure. You had played a bit when you took your bracelet back, sure. But were you flirting? Did you.. Did you have a crush on Barnes? No, no it was all in good fun. You didn’t really know him. Why would you flirt with someone you didn’t know? Right?

“Maybe I should’ve destroyed it.” Sam said, which instantly caught your attention.

“That shield represents a lot of things to a lot of people, including me.” Barnes said quickly.

“Yeah, me too.” You agreed from the floor. “My grandfather made that shield… It holds a special place in my heart, kinda the only physical thing from Howard...”

“The world is upside down and needs a new Cap.” Barnes started.

“And it’s not gonna be Walker.” You added.

“Before you destroy it, I’m going to take it from him myself.” He finished.

“Count me in, Barnes.” You said, sitting up when Zemo came down the aisle. You moved to sit by the side of Barnes’ chair and looked up at him. “In it together?” You asked, holding up a fist.

“Together.” He smiled slightly as he gave you the fist bump you waited for.

“Thanks, by the way.” You added softly as Zemo muttered something. “For keeping this safe-“ You shook your wrist. “-and for getting me out the way of that blast. I could’ve died but you didn’t let me.”

“I told you I wouldn’t let you die, Y/N.” He nodded. “You trust me yet?”

“Hmm, getting there.” You pondered playfully. “You’re making good progress, but it depends on if you’re still mad at me.”

“Why would I be mad at you?” His eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“You yelled at me..” You realized how silly it was once you said it.

“You could've gotten hurt or even killed and I- I can’t have your blood on my hands too..”

“I know I’m not invincible…” You admitted heavily as you looked between Sam and Barnes. You knew Sam worried about you too, but he and Barnes had different ways of showing it. “I know I’m not Iron Man, but… But that’s the way I’ve always fought. It’s how I learned to fight. One time Steve told us ‘If you get hurt, hurt them back. And if you die, walk it off’.”

“Of course he did.” Barnes chuckled as Sam smiled fondly. 

“It’s what I've always followed. So yeah, I’m a little reckless but I can heal myself so I never worried… But I guess I can try to be more strategic if it would make you guys feel better.” You offered with a small smile.

It was nice to know you had people watching your back, two people by your side that would seemingly burn down the world if it took you. You felt safer than you had with anyone since your dad.

“Why do you call him Barnes?” Zemo asked suddenly. “I thought you were all friends.”

“Wait. Does it bother you?” You wondered honestly, looking to Barnes.

“No, just a little different.” He answered with a small shrug.

“Dad always called him Barnes. Not James, or even Bucky. Guess I picked it up from him. I never really thought about it, in all honesty.” You shrugged. 

“Yes, but that’s very business.” Zemo continued. “It’s so impersonal. If you two have a good relationship like you claim, or the type of relationship you two display… Shouldn’t you call him something more intimate?”

Using your powers, you plucked one of the ice cubes out of Zemo’s drink and flicked it towards his forehead. It smacked the center and left a wet square on his skin before plopping back in the cup. You smiled in amusement and looked to Barnes, who also enjoyed your little trick.

“Mind your business.” You chuckled, leaning your back against Barnes’ seat. You tilted your head back against the seat too, closing your eyes and letting out a sigh.

“Hey.” Barnes tapped a finger against your forehead. “Don’t sleep on the floor.”

“Stark?” Sam laughed from the other side of the aisle. “Get up, kid. There’s an open seat right here.”

“With the amount of times I’ve fallen asleep on the floor of my dad’s lab or in a desk chair leaning on a lab table or even on the lab table.” You laughed while you stayed in your spot. “This doesn’t bother me.”

“Get your ass up.” Barnes tried again.

“Too late!” You announced, dropping to the ground. “Good night.”

You woke up when you all landed. Even though you had napped on the floor, you didn’t wake feeling stiff or uncomfortable. You followed the boys out of the jet and through the Latvian streets.

It was a beautiful country, as many European countries were. Cobblestone streets that carried vibrations perfectly. Intricate stone buildings that were tall but not towering. Simple painted doors to break monotony.

“I don’t suppose any of you bothered visiting the memorial?” Zemo asked, referencing the memorial for Sokovia.

“I did..” You said softly, almost too quiet for anyone to hear.

“Did you?” Zemo was honestly surprised.

“After my dad’s funeral, when I moved out… There was a gap between leaving and moving in with Barnes. I didn’t know where else to go or who I was without Tony Stark. So I went to the memorial… It didn’t make anything clearer but it reminded me of a lot.”

“I’m sorry about your father.” Zemo said. You swore you heard sympathy playing in his voice. “He had his flaws but he was a good man.”

“Yeah, thanks, you and the rest of the world are sorry.” You said, somewhat bitterly. “He was the only permanent family I had. No one cared about me like he did.” You felt Sam and Barnes shoot you a look of confusion but you didn’t acknowledge it.

“What about the Avengers?”

“Yeah, they were great.” You shrugged slightly. “It just wasn’t quite the same. I was the most important thing to him, you know? Whenever I was feeling off, he was always there with something fun to distract me. Granted, that something fun was usually a new piece of tech he wanted to test, but it always worked to cheer me up. The world misses and mourns Iron Man, the CEO of Stark Industries and Earth’s best defender. No one other than me mourns my dad.” You explained as you noticed a change in Barnes’ demeanor.

“I’m gonna go for a walk.” He announced.

“You good?” Sam tried.

“Yeah. See you in a bit.” He nodded before taking off.

You lingered outside while Zemo went in. Sam turned in the doorway when he realized you hadn’t moved.

“Little Stark?” Sam asked. “You coming?”

“That was weird, wasn’t it?” You commented, pointing in the direction Barnes went. 

“Yeah but he’s weird.” Sam chuckled. “You know that…. Oh! I see what this is.”

“It’s not that.” You shook your head with an annoyed sigh.

“That’s exactly what it is.”

“Seriously? He’s our friend.”

“You don’t see me chasing after him.” Sam shrugged. “He’s a grown man, Y/N. If he wants to brood and take a walk, let him.”

“You didn’t see it.. Something caught his attention and made him leave.”

“Well I don’t just stare at him so no, I didn’t see anything.”

“Nat taught me to constantly watch my surroundings. To keep my head on a swivel… He saw something I didn’t, but I saw him see it. I just don’t know what exactly he saw.”

“Just come inside.” He sighed. “You can interrogate him when he comes back.”

“ Or I just go check on him… Cause I’m grown too and don’t have to listen to you.” You said carefully, hurrying after Barnes. You heard protests from Sam but none made you turn.

You made it to the alley where Barnes turned. You knelt at the corner, feeling the ground and knocking your knuckles against the stone. You closed your eyes to focus, picturing Barnes and an incoming familiar figure. With an amused smile, you turned the corner.

“Ayo.” You said happily. “I didn’t think I’d see you here.”

“You followed me.” Barnes said, moderately annoyed.

“You made it easy enough.” You muttered before turning to the Dora.

“What brings you to Latvia?” You asked, already knowing the answer.

“Y/N.” She greeted respectfully. “I’m here for Zemo.” 

[mrsgiovanna]

The Beguiling (Hades! Don Giorno x Persephone! Fem! Reader)

This concept has been on my mind for the longest time. This is loosely based off the lore of Hades and Persephone, set in a modern mafia AU, with Giorno as Hades and the reader as Persephone. 🥺💖🐞

TW: Kidnapping, yandere themes, manipulative behaviour, disordered relationship dynamics

Word count : 6.3k

“The truth of the matter I believe to be this. There is, as I stated at first, no absolute right or wrong in love, but everything depends upon the circumstances, to yield to a bad man in a bad way is wrong, but to yield to a worthy man in a right way is right.”

- Plato, Symposium

Being the Don of a mafia is a difficult task, being so far removed from everyone and everything else. Some would even say, its like being part of an entirely different realm…

Extremely beautiful but entirely unapproachable, Giorno didn’t appear in public very often, the burden of running the organization had brought many threats to his safety. Granted, he was able to thwart any plan to even remotely harm him, but one doesn’t have time for such annoyances when you wield as much power as he did. Taking over something so big at such a young age changes a person, and Giorno was no different, he was always seen as aloof and calculating, but there were other dimensions to his character that he was painfully aware of, but would not reveal to anyone else… yet.

“Don Giovanna, are you ready to go? The driver is ready for us,” his consigliere spoke in an even, respectful tone while addressing his don.

“Yes, we can leave, have you informed Fugo of the change in our plans?” Giorno’s voice was monotonous, soft and polite, but conveyed no emotion. The task at hand today was not a pleasant one… he hated having to deal with defectors and had avoided it up until this point. This case was different… the defector in question was your brother. You had always held a special place in his heart ever since he encountered you upon taking over Passione. You were always kind towards him, and all your conversations had brought about a sense of peace within himself. Nonetheless, he dismissed it as a simple juvenile crush, and continued with his mammoth task of remolding the diseased organization, excising the ‘tumors’ to allow for a healthier, better, stronger Passione to emerge. Sacrificing his youth, his personal life and precious friends in order to attain his dream, he was not going to let anyone destroy everything he had worked so hard to create.

As the years went on, there were many times that your path had unwittingly crossed with the young don’s which only intensified his feelings for you, but given the nature of his lifestyle, he tried to convince himself that loving you from afar would be good enough, but Giorno’s resolve- unshakeable in every other scenario- was quickly waning in this regard.

Meeting with your father was painful, his demeanor reminding Giorno of a shadowed figure from his past who had changed his life forever.

“He’ll have to be dealt with, you understand this, correct?”

“I’m aware of this, Don Giovanna. I… I’m willing to take any punishment you see fit… please keep my daughter out of this… I can stake my life on her innocence in all of this,” your father spoke emphatically, desperate to protect you, appealing to the don’s humanity. Giorno furrowed his eyebrows, surely your father knew he wouldn’t harm you in any way- was it normal for people to be this terrified of him? The sharp slam of a door and a greeting from a honeyed voice snapped Giorno from his thoughts.

“I’m home, I hope you’re hungry, I’m making octopus salad, squid ink risotto and I’ve got chocolate fondants for dessert… oh goodness! Don Giovanna- I’m sorry… I, um…” you stuttered embarrassingly as your gaze landed on the blonde’s handsome face and shifted to the ground immediately. Before Giorno could answer you to try and quell your discomfort, your father interjected, sending you away from the room. The young don was completely awestruck by your ethereal beauty, as if you had been crafted by the gods themselves, descended to create joy in an otherwise dull world. He made a silent promise to himself- he had to have you as his own.

“(Y/n), please give us a moment piccolina, I’ll come to you as soon as we have concluded our meeting,”

“Of course, please pardon my interruption,” with a small nod of your head, you took your leave, wanting to start making the dishes you had just rattled off. As you busied yourself with your preparations, your mind kept returning to Giorno, he was always calm and pleasant, but you hadn’t seen him with that kind of expression before. The fact that you hadn’t seen your brother in days didn’t bode well with today’s events… you hoped he was okay, but you experienced first-hand how aggressive he could be, something, you were told, he had shared with your mother. You didn’t have much of a relationship with her as her job had taken her away from the family a bit too much. You understood now that you were a young adult, but your emotions still vacillated between acceptance and resentment when you observed the families of your friends.

“You know… because of the difference in our ages, you’ve always told me that you cared for me as a father would care for a son, as a result, our relationship has always been cordial… its allowed us to speak frankly as we have always done in the past,”

“Yes, Don Giovanna… this is true.”

“Please, I’ve told you many times before, call me Giorno…”

“Alright… Giorno,”

“Good, good, see? That sounds better already. As I was saying before, if your affections for me run that deep… accept me as a son-in-law and allow me to marry (y/n) and you will never have to worry about her safety again. Nobody would ever think to harm her if they have to contend with me first,”

“What? Are you asking for permission to marry my daughter? I don’t think she has even considered something like that… you’ve barely spoken to each other…” your father was battling to make sense of Giorno’s request, if one could even call it a request.

“I don’t think you understand the situation you’re in… your son has singlehandedly created a colossal mess; we’d be in the middle of a turf war if it wasn’t for the quick thinking of my consigliere. That’s not to say other people wouldn’t want to exact their own personal brand of justice. I can guarantee you though, if she’s under my care, none of those things will ever reach her.” Just as the consigliere was about to speak, perhaps, an attempt to rationalize with the don, a sharp sideward glance from the latter had left all suggestions unspoken. The silence in the room was palpable… uncomfortable, until it was broken by Giorno.

“I’ve loved (y/n) for as long as I’ve known her, the best place for her would be with me, my strength is unparalleled… this is probably a lot to take in right now, I’ll allow you some time to come around to the idea, I’d hate to have to take her by force, but, if that’s what it will take…”

“Are you threatening me Don Giovanna?” asked your father with a restrained bite to his voice.

“Of course not, I’m merely making my intentions clear, my reach spans well beyond anything you could ever imagine… well, I’ve said all I need to in this instance. I’ll be back for her in three days, I trust you’ll be able comply with my suggestion. I’ll be taking my leave now.” With a flourish of his cerulean blue coat, Giorno and his consigliere left your home. Your father cursed his position, but there was little he could do about it. Finding you blissfully tinkering in the kitchen, his heart broke, knowing already that this was one of the last times he would be seeing you like this… or at all.

“You don’t agree with what I’m doing, do you, Lorenzo? You know I’m good at reading people, although you’re not even trying to mask your disdain,” asked Giorno, breaking the silence on the drive home.

“Well, if I’m allowed to speak freely, I don’t think you’re going about this in the right manner. She’s going to be terrified and resentful because you’re effectively abducting her, so in brief, I don’t agree with this at all,”

“Fair enough, and for the record, obviously I’m aware that she’s going to hate me… at first anyway, but she’ll come to understand eventually. Anyway, what’s done is done, in three days, I’ll be bringing home my goddess.” Giorno turned his attention to his phone and with that Lorenzo had backed off, knowing from years of serving Giorno that there was no talking to him when he resolved to do something.

“Father, you’re so quiet… did something happen?” you asked, part of you not wanting to know the answer to that question.

“It’s a mess, but don’t worry about that, I’ll handle it. There is something that I have to speak to you about though… it’s about Don Giovanna, he would like to see you in a few days, nothing serious, just be sure to keep your schedule open for the day,” your father explained, only divulging half the truth of your situation.

“He wants to see me? Do you know why? Have I done something wrong?” you were curious as to what Giorno could possible want with you.

“Of course not dolcezza, he just wants to have a chat with you, I think he’s just making sure that you’re alright… that’s part of why he was here today.

“Oh, alright, I’ll be available. Anyway, dinner’s ready, once you get washed up, we can eat,” you glanced up at your father to see his face contorted in grief. “What’s the matter? I know you don’t like talking about things that have to do with your occupation, but you’ve been like this ever since Don Giovanna left,”

Being too much for him to bear, he pulled you into a vicelike embrace, almost as if you would disappear if he let you go, which was not entirely false. “Aww, it’s okay dad, everything will be fine, come on, the food’s getting cold, you need to eat,” with that, you both ate in a comfortable silence as you always did, before you both retired for the evening.

While you tried to prepare yourself for your “meeting”, your soon to be captor was busy creating your sanctuary, or rather, overseeing the creation of your sanctuary- there was no reason why your surroundings couldn’t be as beautiful as you were, his aim after all was to get you to fall in love with him. Large, glittering mirrors with gilded frames adorned the walls of the hallways that lead to your room. Inside, was everything one could ever hope to have; an extensive closet filled with things that were made especially for you, various trinkets and baubles carefully selected for you, state of the art electronic devices, albeit with restrictions on the amount of things you could access… just for the time being though. If you were to start off as a bird in a cage, it should be a bejeweled cage worthy of a rarity like you.

As it got closer to the time you’d be seeing Giorno, your nerves started increasing exponentially, you knew that under normal circumstances, having to meet with someone like him without knowing what the subject matter would be was intimidating, but this feeling was something else altogether. As if something in your gut was telling you to cancel- to run- but you dismissed those feelings, and prepared yourself for the engagement.

“Buonasera cara, you look especially charming this evening…” he greeted you with a velvety voice that masked the true nature of him being there.

“Buonasera Don Giovanna, thank you for the compliment,”

“Shall we leave, (y/n)?”

“Um, okay… I just need to fetch my things and let my father know that I’m leaving…”

“Alright, perfect, actually, would you mind if I followed you? I’d like a quick word with him before we leave,” his expression was so charismatic, you felt guilty for not inviting him inside immediately.

“Of course, I’m sorry, please do come in.” you say as you stepped aside to make room for Giorno to enter. You lead him to the study and went to fetch your coat and purse to go, giving yourself a onceover in the mirror to make sure you were presentable and with that you kissed your father on the cheek and left.

The restaurant that you and Giorno went to was completely empty except for a single table set up for you both and the staff that were going to serve you, you found it odd, but dismissed it as one of the nuances of leading a mafia, privacy was of utmost importance. Ever the gentleman, the young don pulled out your chair for you and seated himself across from you.

“Thank you for agreeing to see me (y/n), I appreciate you taking the time to do so,”

“Of course, although I have to admit, I’m a little confused as to why I’m here,” you say with a nervous titter. The waiter brought a bottle of wine to the table, probably preapproved by Giorno already, and with a small nod, it is poured out into the awaiting glasses for the two of you.

“You will understand soon enough cara, come, lets toast to something… ah! To new beginnings…” he suggested with a sardonic smile.

“New beginnings? Okay… to new beginnings, salute!” with a confused smile and a delicate clink of your glasses you both took a sip of your wine. As the night went on, you were having a wonderful time, however, it seemed like your alcohol was getting to you faster than usual.

“Are you alright, cara, you look a bit out of sorts, come, I’ll take you home,”

“Thanks Don, I… I’m sorry I don’t know-” before completing the rest of your sentence, your consciousness faded and you fell into a strong pair of arms. Giorno sat you back down and made a quick call to his driver before picking you up again and placing you in the awaiting car to take you to your new home. As he gazed lovingly upon your face, he knew that the road is going to be a tedious one, but you would love him one day.

Your head pounded incessantly as you tried to open your eyes. The sensations on your skin were unfamiliar- soft, silken, so inviting, lulling you back into the deep slumber you were trying to break. Was this a dream? Your eyes finally opened to an unfamiliar room, you gathered the courage to sit up in bed, still unsure if you were in a dream or not and tried to rub the sleep out of your eyes. Looking around the room, feeling a sense of panic enveloping your very existence, you ran towards the large, ornately carved door to try and leave the room, but it was locked. The windows, it seemed, were crafted from reinforced glass as they would not break regardless of what was thrown at them. Left with only one option, you began to cry out for help, surely someone would be there, it was too well kept to be an abandoned building.

Listening to the commotion from outside the room were the guards and servants tasked with making sure your requests were fulfilled, but more importantly, they needed to ensure you were safe and didn’t escape. Giorno had a way with people, a charisma that both scared and enchanted those around him. Disobedience was not even a fleeting option for those who served him, partly out of fear, but mostly out of devotion to the young don. Giving each other a knowing glance, your guard decided to call his boss to come and subdue you before you had hurt yourself.

Your throat felt raw from the shouting and hyperventilating, your skin shimmered, veiled in a thin layer of sweat and your eyes shifted this way and that, trying to spot something you could exploit to leave the room while your captor was away. It dawned on you that as terrifying as it was to be in that place, it would be even worse if you had to face whoever was holding you there, choosing rather to contend with the fear of the unknown, than putting a face to your jailor. As if even thinking of something willed it into existence, your worst nightmare materialized as you heard the door being unlocked.

“Tesoro… please stop, you’re hurting yourself,” your eyes widened when you heard the velvety voice addressing you with such tenderness.

“Don… Giovanna? Where am I? What are you doing here? Please, I need to go home, I don’t know who brought me here…” you could barely articulate yourself with your shaky voice.

“I know that you’re extremely scared and confused… there’s so much I need to explain to you… but please, first, let me look at your hands, you are hurt, I can take care of that,” it was only after he spoke that you saw the bruises blooming on the delicate skin of your hands and arms. You still stayed rooted to where you were, but Giorno inched closer, materializing GE to heal your injuries. His heart stung when you silently grimaced at the pain of his ability rejoining the blood vessels that had broken, but he hated seeing your beautiful skin being marred like that.

“Don…”

“Please, call me Giorno…”

“Okay… Giorno… can we go now? I need to go home, if we stay any longer the people who put me here might come back or send others, I…”

“Tesoro… this is your home now… the person who brought you here was me… what is the last thing you remember from yesterday?” The young don circled around you and sat you down next to him at the foot of the bed.

“Why? Why did you bring me here? Are you insane? I can’t stay here, I… don’t understand what the hell is going on! I need to call my father,” seeing you start to get agitated again, Giorno pulled out his phone and motioned for you to take it.

“Here, call him, he has already agreed to this arrangement. You’re not safe my love, I’m sure you know about the recent transgressions courtesy of your cretin of a brother. People are angry and want revenge, and unfortunately you’re in the direct line of fire. So it was decided that you would come and live with me, you’ll find all your belongings here already, mixed with things that I believe you would like. I will give you anything your heart desires, lavish you with all the love and attention I can. All you need to do is stay here… near me… nobody can challenge me…”

You heard the words, but nothing was making sense to you. You decided to take up your captor’s offer to speak to your father, who confirmed his entire story. Feeling dejected, empty and completely alone, you sank to the floor as violent sobs wracked your body. Seeing you in this state filled Giorno with dread as he lifted you off the lushly carpeted floor, but he knew he would be able to get you to love him eventually. This was this the initial shock; he was willing to wait for you to acclimate to your surroundings.

Thus began your life of isolation… your routine, if you could even call it that, consisted of waking up in your palatial room, begrudgingly having breakfast with your green-eyed abductor and sulking around for the rest of the day. Giorno put a lot of effort into making sure that you were comfortable and tried to interact with you as much as his schedule would allow him to. Initially, all of his attempts to speak to you were ignored, you wondered if the awkward silence even bothered him at all, but he always had a peaceful expression on his face. If nothing else, he was very patient with you, and at times you tested his patience on purpose, goading him to anger, in those times though, he simply left you alone in your room, not allowing you to leave for a few days, instructing your handlers to confiscate your electronics, not even offering you a sliver of human contact… you needed to think about why you were in that position after all, so there could be no distractions whatsoever. Those isolation periods would thankfully not last long enough to tip you over the edge though, and like a ray of sunshine after a storm, he’d come to unlock your doors and add color back into your world. You always were more affectionate towards him after a few days on your own, which, you reasoned, was due to the lack of any interaction at all as opposed to having any genuine feelings towards him. Giorno wasn’t picky though, he accepted your gentle touches and embraces all the same, one day… soon… you would undertake those gestures solely on your desire to do so.

Surely enough, as the days turned into weeks and the weeks into months, you had warmed up to him, settling into an oddly satisfying domestic life with the don. The more of yourself you gave to him, the wider your world had gotten, until you eventually had free reign over the entire estate. You soon had come to realize that if you had just played your part, and listened to him, complied with his simple requests, his kindness towards you was limitless. Giorno had remained as attentive as ever, picking up on every little change on you from the subtle change in the color of your blush to the miniscule changes in the length of your hair after its trimmed, nothing escaped his well trained eye. He beamed when you started to wear the clothes and jewels he bought for you, seeing it as a sign that you were slowly starting to accept him. The truth of the situation was that you had, against your better judgement, fallen in love with this living deity.

“Giorno… the weather’s warming up quite beautifully, why don’t we train outdoors from now on instead of working out inside?” you suggested while you kneeled on the bed behind a seated Giorno as you undid his elaborate hairstyle and brushed out the product from his hair before he took a shower.

“Hmmm… alright bella, I suppose we could do that, I’m sure the fresh air would do us both some good,” as he got up, he bent down to place a chaste kiss on your forehead before heading into the shower. For a fleeting moment, you thought about your old life, you had earned back the liberty to speak to your family, well, your father, and some friends, but the fractured relationships weren’t the same. Pushing those negative feelings to the back of your mind, you waited for Giorno so that you could both go to sleep, but your heavy eyelids fell shut. His patience with you was never more evident than in these moments, never once overstepping your boundaries or initiating intimacy that would make you feel uncomfortable. Emerging to see your sleeping form, he pulled up the covers around you and climbed into the other side of the bed, facing you, he clutched your hands in his, allowing himself to close his eyes as well.

“We’ve managed to locate her… you aren’t going to like this though,”

“Just tell me where my daughter is, I’ll decide the rest,” your mother spoke bluntly to her partner.

“She’s living with some mafia boss; I think he’s her boyfriend or something. You never see her out on her own, she’s always with him. I’ve got people watching your husband’s house, she’s only been there once, with the cocky bastard in tow. The security at his place is insane, worst of all, we think he’s a stand user,”

“Stand user? Don’t make me laugh, that means nothing, we’re stand users too, every ability has a weakness that can be exploited,” your mother lit a cigarette and took a long drag, musing on what her first move should be. After a moment of contemplation, she had her sights set on her old marital home, deciding that your father would be able to provide the most complete description of what is going on. She portrayed a nonchalant exterior, but your mother was very worried for your safety. She had a powerful stand of her own, in fact all the members of your family were powerful stand users- except you. Your mother worked closely with a foreign organization dedicated to studying supernatural phenomena as such, most of her time was divided between her travels on behalf of the organization and work that she would need to do onsite at their headquarters in Washington. Over her lifetime, she’s found herself in many precarious positions, so she decided it would be safer if she stayed away from the family in an attempt to keep everyone safe… upon hindsight, that was a fatal miscalculation. To describe her mood after speaking to your father as livid, would be an understatement.

Not wasting a moment, your mother called her associate and made her way to the don’s villa, hell-bent on taking you back from his dark clutches.

“Bella, are you ready to go?” Giorno called to you as he pulled on his coat while you put on your last accessory. You never turned down an opportunity to go out, even though your outings became slightly more frequent, you were completely captivated by discovering the different facets to Giorno’s personality. As much as he was fervently observing you and curating an ideal world tailored to you, you were learning a lot about him and the circumstances that fashioned him in this manner.

“Yes tesoro, sorry for keeping you waiting… what is it?” you were met by a wide-eyed Giorno, and it hit you… Tesoro… the name trickled so effortlessly off your lips, “I’m sorry, I wasn’t really thinking…”

“Don’t apologize amore, as long as it’s you, I don’t mind…” he softly replied, as he stroked your cheek with the back of his forefinger. You heard a faint clatter accompanied by the ring of Giorno’s phone, informing him that there had been a security breach. The soft expression on his face was gone, as he gripped you with a protective arm.

Before you had time to ask him what was going on, you heard your name being called out by a voice you barely remembered, one you didn’t think you’d hear again.

“Mother?” your voice was a whisper. Your mother looked at you, disdain skewing her features before turning her attention to Giorno, whose grip continued to tighten around you.

“(y/n), I’ve come to take you away from here, it’s obvious leaving you in the care of your father was a mistake. And you, step away from her this instant, you will regret it if you don’t,”

You hadn’t noticed the swarm of black suits that had surrounded you all, ready to pounce at Giorno’s command. His intense gaze had not left your face while your mother spoke, searching for the slightest tell indicating you might have known about this, but you were just as perplexed as he was… the guilt of him doubting you twisting his features even further.

“It’s alright, stand down men… while you really have a nerve of breaking into my property, I feel that this can be solved amicably, I’d hate for (y/n) to have to contend with any discord between us,” he spoke with a calm, even voice but that didn’t match the fury brewing in his eyes.

“Amicable? You take my daughter away from her home and you still feel like this is something that can be talked out of? You really are a piece of work!”

“Better to be the overbearing lover than the neglectful mother…” Giorno’s tone was dripping with cynicism as he handed you to one of your awaiting guards.

“You sick bastard!” your mother cried out. As if being pushed back by a glowing force that you couldn’t quite discern, the young don was thrown backwards. You hated feeling so powerless. Giorno sat up and smiled mockingly, before launching into an attack of his own you assumed, as you saw a similar golden glow envelop his body, and the bodies of the security personnel backing him up.

“Please, stop it! All of you!” you wanted to run out between them but you were restrained by your guard. It didn’t take long for Giorno and his men to restrain your mother and her associate, taking care to leave them largely unharmed while you were still present. Giorno had made one fatal error though… blame it on overconfidence or his need to constantly check on you, he had turned away and left himself wide open for a last ditch attack from your mother as she broke free. At that very moment, your body moved itself before you could even think, and faster than you ever thought possible, pushing him out of the way with only a second to spare, as the attack hit the very spot he had stood on just a moment before, shattering the marble flooring on contact. The room was enveloped in silence, Giorno motioned for his guards to leave the room, as did your mother to her partner.

“(y/n) … tesoro mio… are you okay? You… you saved me…” he said as he kneeled next to your shaking, winged form, combing his hands through your hair as he tried to get a look at your face. You looked up to see Giorno with a wide eyed golden figure hovering over him, approaching you was your mother, with a luminescent humanoid woman matching her footsteps.

“Tesoro, it seems you’re a stand user after all,” mentioned Giorno, still gazing at you, this time with an expression you hadn’t seen from him before. Completely overwhelmed by the recent events, you sat for a moment, trying to regulate your breathing with the exercises Giorno practiced with you when your anxiety overwhelmed you.

“So these are what stands are… they look terrifying…” you say, finally managing to normalize your breathing and take command of your senses once again. “where is my stand then? I presume these two figures belong to you and mother.”

“Yours is different amore… are you able to walk? Come with me…” Giorno lead you to one of the mirrors so you could see how your stand manifested; you had large wings that had sprouted from your back, your eyes glowed colorlessly, and you had luminescent geometric patterns running down your face and body, akin to the patterns you would find on a circuit board. “You have what is known as a phenomenon stand, this means that it changes your body rather than manifesting a separate entity,”

“I see…”

“We can figure out the extent of your abilities another time, for now I need to see those injuries,”

“Excuse me? You’re not doing anything further with her, I’m still serious about taking back (y/n),” interjected your mother sarcastically.

“Are you trying to anger me on purpose? I loathe having to repeat myself. Do not mistake my unwillingness to kill you this very instant on anything other than respect for (y/n),”

“Likewise…”

“You’re both so selfish!” surprised to hear you raise your voice that much, both parties were stunned to silence.

“I’m a person with my own will, I have feelings, thoughts, desires, dreams… but neither of you bother to consider any of that… Giorno, you essentially abducted me, under the ruse of protecting me, I’m sure you would have found a way to keep me safe while I lived my own life, if it was that important to you, but you weren’t interested in that… if you had just approached me like a normal person, I’d still have fallen for you… well I guess now we’ll never know … And you… mother- I use that term liberally- abandoned me… abandoned us, I don’t care what the reasons were, you left me to grow up without a mother, and now you come here and ridicule me with this dramatic display of affection,” your voice began to crack but you wouldn’t let them see you cry, not so soon after finally finding your voice, so you left them there and went off to your special spot in the far corner of the estate. You knew that Giorno created that little piece of heaven for you strategically, as it was visible from his study, but it served as your safe place, and it was what you needed right now.

Giorno’s mind was clouded and he felt an uncomfortable suffocating sensation in his chest. Glancing at your mother it was apparent that your emotional outpouring had affected her as well.

“I think its best if you leave,”

“Wait, Giorno… perhaps this approach wasn’t the best way to do this, I underestimated you…”

“For the sake of curiosity, what do you propose?”

“That’s going to depend on how you answer my next question…”

“For someone with as few options as you have, you’re incredibly brazen,” shot back Giorno, clearly becoming tired of the conversation.

“I spoke to her father before coming here… he told me about my son… is… is he dead?” speaking earnestly this time, your mother steeling herself for what the young don would say to her. He observed her intently, debating whether it would be safe to divulge any information to her.

“That’s classified information,” he said, knowing full well that the idiot was alive somewhere, unable to be a threat to anyone again, unfortunately he couldn’t divulge this information to anyone. If she was smart enough she would be able to figure it out for herself, any more than that he could not offer.

“I understand… Fine, I’ll back off, (y/n) can stay here… but I need to speak to her, to explain everything, when she’s ready though…”

Giorno contemplated for a moment, feeling oddly moved by the change in your mother’s demeanor, he found himself agreeing with her, “Fine… I’ll allow it, but I can’t have you here, never again, if you need to see her, we’ll come to you… if that’s all, I need to check on (y/n)” Your mother took her leave, thoughts of the bizarre events of the day dominating her thoughts.

You listlessly played with the water in the fountain you sat beside, eyeing the way the sunshine made the droplets that fell from your fingertips look like gems. Hearing the scrunching sound of grass being stepped on, you knew that Giorno was approaching you. Unwilling to turn around to face him, you continued to look at the water.

“May I sit with you?” his voice was tender and didn’t match his imposing figure. Looking up his striking face, framed by golden waves, you nodded wordlessly.

“Talk to me cara…”

“What do you want me to say?”

“What’s on your mind…”

You paused, thinking carefully before starting to speak. “There’s so much on my mind… I… I just can’t understand you. You bring me here under the most dubious circumstances, but treat me like I’m the center of your world. I want to hate you for taking me away from my world, but I’ve never felt as loved by anyone in that world as much as I do here with you. How can you look at me with eyes so gentle now, when those same eyes were ready to kill not even two hours ago? How am I supposed to make up my mind about you when your every action contradicts the next?”

“It’s simple bella… I love you… you’re above the rules I set for everyone else… my one weakness is you, I’m sorry, I just don’t know how else to be, it’s either everything or nothing. Perhaps, forget about what you think and focus on how you feel… You know, we aren’t that different, the two of us… so many parents between us and barely enough traits among them to make up one good guardian, having to basically raise ourselves, so much pressure from such a young age, being scared of what lurks in the dark, experiencing so much physical pain, you just become immune to it. I have to admit, I was jealous of that brave assault by your mother, I don’t know if anyone would do the same for me… except you of course… you almost died to get me out of harm’s way… and just when I thought I couldn’t love you any more than I do…”

The gentle way he cupped your chin, as if you were made of crystal, and the swirl of emotion in his eyes, compelled you to act on your impulses, kissing him passionately, releasing some of the pent up emotions and frustrations that have been building up for the longest time. His free hand curled itself around your waist, while your hands tangled themselves in his hair. Resting your forehead on his, you hear him murmuring affirmations of his love for you.

“I love you too, Gio,” the words just rolled off your tongue as if you were always meant to say them. Giorno, seemingly moved by your placid declaration, buried his face in your hair, inhaling the floral scent of your shampoo that he loved so much. What you didn’t see was the sardonic smile blooming on his handsome face. He always was a master at deception… although, it couldn’t be classified as deception if most of what he said was true… could it? He didn’t want to play the sympathy card today, but it was the only way he could firmly cement your place with him for good. Pulling away for a moment, looking at the love-struck expression on your face as you softly move your hand from his hair to his chest, he could see that you were finally complete- entirely devoted to him… there was no room for guilt this time.

[bloodstainsontengensfloor]

Tsumiki and Megumi childhood HeadCanons!

*some slight spoilers on what happened to Megumi’s dad

———————————————————————-

BEFORE the abandonment: 

-Megumi didn’t like Tsumiki when they first met. She was so happy... why? Like him, she only had one parent and didn’t have the nicest things. She smiled despite not having the nicest clothes, not having the nicest toys, and with not having a dad.

-They walked to school together and Tsumiki would just talk his ear off

-Megumi didn’t really warm up to her until he tripped and scraped his knee and Tsumiki’s entire cheerful demeanor changed and she went to fretting over him

-It annoyed him but at the same time... made him feel happy

-He warmed up to her gradually after that. She always checked in how he was doing as his dad started to check in less and less

-Megumi was aware that his dad didn’t care for Tsumiki’s mom as much as someone you married should, and was surprised when he found out that Tsumiki shared the same sentiments 

-Tsumiki and Megumi’s dad... she was a ray of sunshine to him of course and he... had literally no clue how to deal with it. He also didn’t like how a second grader was a better parent than him, but in the end... he knew Megumi would be in good hands 

-(If he stayed around, Tsumiki and Toji would have a relationship like Hori and her dad for Horimiya I take no arguments) 

AFTER the abandonment: 

-Megumi’s dad left first. he didn’t really understand what was happening or why his dad stopped coming to say goodnight and then stopped coming home at all

-Tsumiki was emotional over it for the sake of Megumi and her mom, and started to do little things like get Megumi small gifts when they would walk from school- little stuffed animals (the first one was a dog ofc), chocolates, candies, etc. 

-When Tsumiki’s mom left, leaving only a little money behind, Megumi expected Tsumiki to cry or shut herself in, but she didn’t. She took on the role of taking care of him and barley took care of herself. 

-He didn’t know why his non emotionally constipated sister wasn’t crying and was smiling. Why was she not showing her hurt? Her dad left her and her mom, and now her mom left her too. 

-”Don’t worry about it! She’ll be back soon!” Tsumiki had said when making breakfast for them. 

-Oh, Megumi thought, she was in denial. 

-When the denial ended, Tsumiki didn’t show any evidence of going through the other stages of grief. When he asked her about it one day, Tsumiki sighed, and looked really tired. “I saw it coming. I don’t remember my dad much, but I remember how he was in the days leading up to when he left.’ 

-”Stupid Sister,” Megumi said as Tsumiki tried to do the dishes. “Go to sleep. You suck at cleaning anyway.” 

-A year of them living alone was fine. Neither of them asked for anything too much and Tsumiki tried to hide the fact that the money was running low as a year was about to pass

-Megumi was having trouble sleeping one night and he and Tsumiki were playing hand shadows. and then. DOGS. Tsumiki screamed but then started coddling them whereas Megumi was just like shocked. 

-Megumi was confused at Tsumiki’s naivety but eventually the dogs melted into the shadows again  

-Enter creepy dude with white hair. 

-Tsumiki saw him talking to Megumi, got a broom, and attempted to whack this giraffe on the head 

-But infinity kicked in, and Gojo was invited inside to explain everything. 

-Literally everything. Tsumiki asked a lot of questions and was taking notes. If this was something Megumi would be involved in, she had to know as much as she could. They would have been more skeptical had Megumi not discovered   his technique. 

-Gojo stayed the night by accident, and woke up to Megumi and Tsumiki using the stove, cooking food etc and he wasn’t surprised that they could do this, but rather annoyed that a second grader and first grader could do this and he couldn’t. 

-When Gojo ‘officially’ became their guardian, he teleported into the house with party poppers and the certificate yelling “IM YOUR GUARDIAN!” 

-Tsumiki just was in shock for a moment before politely smiling. She was more of an adult than this teenager at this point. 

-Megumi just deadpanned and went “Why”. 

-They had a nice little dinner after that, and because Gojo would always spoil them, they both got luxuries they never had before. 

-They got like phones and ipads or ipods or whatever was the most popular product at the time. Tsumiki was so grateful and embarrassed whereas Megumi was annoyed but accepting. 

-Tsumiki and Megumi would eat dinner together, and with Gojo whenever he came 

-Tsumiki kept on trying to get Megumi to open up a lot more, and he always gets annoyed over it and will rarely ever talk about how he’s feeling

-Except that one night when Megumi had a nightmare that he was alone. Alone in the shadows, unable to summon anything to help him or comfort him, and just wandering down a dark, dark road. At one point, he entered a hall of mirrors, and he saw Tsumiki in one. He was so scared at that point that he kept on trying to get to her but she changed mirrors every time. Megumi shattered every mirror with his fists, cutting them open. In the end, all that was left was a lily flower. 

-Megumi, aged 10, woke up crying silent tears and ran into Tsumiki’s room. Tsumiki woke up, concerned but aware that her prying would get her nowhere. She sat up and Megumi hugged her so tight. He ended up sleeping in her room for the next week after that. 

-”Megumi..’ 

-” I’m gonna protect you-” 

-”i.... okay.’ 

-Tsumiki never curses... unless talking about her father, her mother, and Megumi’s dad 

-They are both aware Gojo killed him, he almost let it slip when first meeting Megumi and he relayed the info to Tsumiki. 

-One time, Gojo asked about Tsumiki’s parents. Megumi was asleep at that point and Gojo was terrified. 

-seeing the nice, angel, sunshine 12 year old he knew for years curse worse than Utahime whenever Gojo was remotely near her?? 

-Please, Tsumiki’s abandonment issues are off the chart. That’s why sometimes she gets too involved in Megumi’s life because she cannot lose him. No matter what. He’s her little brother who’ll scold her if she works too much or tries to take care of too many people. 

-Now... for some reason, I Headcanon Tsumiki has lesbian, or having at least some kind of wlw vibes. Idk why... 

-Tsumiki told Megumi first ofc, and he didn’t understand why it was a big deal. 

-”Ok and?” 

-”y-you don’t think it’s weird?” 

-”You can like who you like, it isn’t hurting anyone. If you wanna date a girl, date a girl.” 

-Tsumiki was grateful to have a brother like Megumi 

-Now as for Megumi’s possible coming out for whatever his sexuality (personally i headcanon him as pan, but this will be opened ended for whatever you headcanon) 

-Tsumiki just got so happy for him. Began researching everything about it. 

-”AWWW MEGS!!” 

-hugs. lots of hugs. Always. 

-As they got older, they started to but heads more. but despite whatever petty arguments or fights they had, at the end of the day, they loved each other and would do anything for each other. 

-and sadly... I gotta add some part of 

AFTER THE CURSE: 

-Megumi came in yelling and screaming. The denial?? He was convinced this was some prank to get him to stop fighting kids. 

-It broke Gojo’s heart. It was the most emotion he ever saw from Megumi and that kind of hysterical accusation of it being a prank soon dissolved into full on sobbing. Gojo hugged the boy as tight as Tsumiki would 

-”Never again... I’m... I’m going to get stronger. Then no curse will hurt her again... that’ll work right?” 

-Gojo patted the boy head. “Yea... it will. But it won’t be easy.” 

-Megumi’s emotions settled and he quickly wiped his tears away. His emotionless expression returned but it was different... There was more fire, more resolve, as he said “i know.” 

-Every Friday he visits Tsumiki. He tells her everything that happened in the week.

-”And then he ate it. Tsumiki he may be more naive then you. He ate the finger.” 

-When talking to Tsumiki, he reveals his ability to tell stories. Like it’s amazing. He can distinctively set up a scene  and gets a little more emotion  in his voice. 

-God Forbid if Kugisaki or Itadori ever saw him when he told Tsumiki stories

—————————————————————

WOO! This has been in my drafts for a while, so here! I hope you enjoyed!

Thanks for reading!

[angeli-marco-writes]

∘◦ ♥ ◦∘ Peter Parker - Everything Happens for a Reason ∘◦ ♥ ◦∘

A/N - I only wrote it a couple of months ago and due to the close nature of it, I haven’t uploaded it anywhere. I hope you like my first (10k) Peter Parker fic. I know that the timeline doesn’t make sense, but in all honesty, Endgame and FFH messed it up plenty so I just kinda placed this in no-mans-time. And I know the compound was destroyed during Endgame, so just bear with the fact that I’ve made it so that Strange and his wizards rebuilt it for survivors :)

Warnings - making out and shadows to sex, SWEARING, bad parenting, mentions of grief, mentions of injury and disability, angst, death of parents etc. Also, don’t read if you haven’t seen endgame because it’ll be spoiled in the first paragraph of this. 

Summary - Stark!reader x Peter Parker, post endgame. Months after the death of your father, your aunt, and the retirement of your uncle, you find yourself in a sticky situation, and to make it even worse, your childhood crush doesn’t even recognise you now. Then again, doing most of your growing up while half of the population is dead doesn’t exactly bode well for your love life nor your commitment issues. When things finally start to turn around while learning to live with a disability, will you still be taken away to live with your step-mother, or will love pan out at last? After all, everything happens for a reason. 

IT'S BEEN JUST OVER THREE MONTHS since the final battle, and therefore just over three months since you said goodbye to the only three role models you had for the most important five years of your life. Well, the three are debatable. 

Your dad had died, still holding your hand, after saving humanity like he always did, allowing the burden of the Stark name to fall onto you at long last. Your uncle Steve - tutor extraordinaire - had officially retired and moved away, and you haven’t seen him since the final goodbye, leaving you more and more doubtful every day you’ll ever see him again. And your aunty Nat let herself go, she pushed herself away from that cliff, and let uncle Clint live, to help give you a better life, but what Nat didn’t realise was that you lost them both that day, because Clint hasn’t been back since. He’s never coming back now from the trauma, the man who was more of a father than your dad ever was.

It was quite possibly the worst period of your whole life, but then again, when half of the world is destroyed before you’ve even hit puberty, you don’t really have much to hold it against.

But here you are again, stuck in your room in the semi-rebuilt compound, grounded by FRIDAY while the step monster and child are at the lake house, living happily ever after. What the issue is, you don’t know. All you did was get a piercing... and be rude to Peter. And Sam. And everyone in the building- ok maybe she has a point, but hey, you’re grieving the loss of everyone major in your life, and you can barely do anything for yourself.

It’s like five years ago all over again. Everyone you’d grown accustomed to, your friends, your mom, your idols - even if they weren’t dead, they were lost for a long time - and your crush. The one and only Peter Parker. Much to your surprise, you got over most of the deaths pretty quickly. There wasn’t much to understand - they were gone and they wouldn’t come back no matter what, so what good would worrying and crying do? Obviously, as a young girl, this was the wrong response, so this is when Pepper got her name. “Don’t be so insensitive! Those were your dad's best friends, people he worked with for years. Those people were his family, and mine, and yours.”

You scoffed at her, the way you always seemed to do. “Yeah, ok. But my mum died, and am I making a fuss? No. She died for a reason, they all did,” and under your breath, you added “I still just need to figure that reason out.”

You held back from the obvious “they were my family too” bullshit, because your dad never believed that, even when you spent most of your time at his house with the Avengers instead of him. It wasn’t that you hated your mom or your dad, you loved them both equally and spent time with them both, but when one dies and one goes missing and spirals into lord knows what after going missing in space with a blue alienoid, everything gets a little complicated and stops making sense. Spending more time with your dad was scary too, seeing the intricacies of Avengers life in a capacity which you didn’t understand for a long time growing up. That only lasted for a year before he took off and made you be a tennis ball in a flawed game between him and Rhodey. Every weekend for five years you drove from the compound to the lake house. You lost out on a lot from that, and your dad didn’t even seem phased, because he had Morgan. 

But beneath all of the hatred that had made you so rebellious since you turned fifteen, there was something deeper.

Considering how stone faced and resolute you are and always have been, considering how harsh you are about the realities and never getting caught up in mindless emotions, no matter how much you claim that your grieving time was over the second that you pushed your dad's heart away, mere weeks after feeling his pulse drop as you laced your fingers with his, no one would believe that it was all a lie.

Every night since that snap more than five years ago, you’ve done the same thing. Make a cup of hot chocolate (an iced decaf latte if it was summer), and you’d take it to bed and just cry until you could no more and simply fell asleep. You weren’t even sure why you cried, because after all there wasn’t really any reason to. The world was moving on, albeit slower than before, and your life  was about as much locked into place as it could be with Tony Stark as your father, but the crying just felt obligatory. After ten, FRIDAY always turned off in your room, that was the agreement your mom had with your dad whenever you stayed there, although you weren’t sure why it made a difference, and it just stuck, so no one saw the pointless tears, no one heard, and no one cared. The only one who ever did care enough whenever you cried had been snapped away, and now he was back, you were just another repugnant face in the crowds, or so you’d guess with the way he looked down upon you.

 “It’s ok dad,” you said with a completely straight face, your hard eyes locked onto his, your entire being completely void of emotion, “you can go to sleep.”

He squeezed your hand with his forefinger and middle finger, very lightly, and he just croaked out his final words to you, “my beautiful Sloane, so brave.” So quiet that they were only decipherable to you.

“Life functions critical,” the Irish accent rang in your ears.

Pete had already said his goodbyes, but now it was Pepper’s turn as she wiped your dad's tears away. This time you should’ve been there for each other, a support for one another, after all, they were losing him together and were in the same boat, but sometimes even grief can’t bring people together. 

“Tony, look at me. We’re going to be ok..” she pleaded. 

Your dad's eyes moved from yours to hers, a sluggish movement that took the remaining life from him. He moved his lips to form two words that broke your heart, because you knew that they were directed at all of you, and they meant so much more than anyone else could understand. Those words were his attempt at making up for being such a shit dad. ‘I’m sorry.’ 

Pepper kissed him. “You can rest now.”

You didn’t even look around to see anyone else’s face , especially not Peters or Peppers, because as soon as his pulse stopped and his skin slipped from your grip, his body cold, you knew that the chapter of your life with your father in it was over, so you pulled your mask back over your face, and strutted away, as far as possible. You ignored your limp completely, because with all of the numbness, it was like you couldn’t even feel the pain. Except you didn’t disappear, no way, you couldn’t. You watched as they all knelt for him, for the man who missed all of your firsts in life, who was absent when you needed a father and a friend and a leader, and even though you were chronically broken within, every terrible emotion gnawing at you, screaming at you to just feel something and express it; you didn’t. You suppressed it all, and walked away. And of no surprise to you at all, no one followed, or even noticed you were gone.

After all, Tony Stark died for a reason, and at least this time you knew what that reason was. 

 “Miss?” Someone’s snapping their fingers beside your ear, driving you mental but also snapping you awake from whatever dream that was, reliving the scariest day of your life. “Miss, you fell asleep at the table. We’re clearing it for dinner, please.”

You roll your eyes up at him, instantly recognising Pete’s voice, but you just don’t care. He doesn’t even know who you are. So you scoff, the way you did at Pepper so long ago, and you leave without a second glance.

“Are you a relative of Nat’s? I- I heard someone was coming over to stay...” his voice yells down the corridor.

“You can’t be serious Peter. You don’t recognise me at all?”

And with that, you snatch your water bottle from the edge of the counter with your spare hand and resolutely stamp off down the corridor, your feet loosely wading in your docs with your crutch assisting you along the way.

You’re leaving soon, so you won’t have to deal with him. But you still have another year or two of high school to compete with, and with your tutor gone - your dad refused to send you back to school after the snap, so it was left up to whoever wanted the job, and Cap wanted it a lot more than he did, so you spent your weeks driving from the city to the lake house after finishing the weeks tutoring, to spend time with your ‘family’ - and now, you seriously doubted that anyone else would want the job. Bucky is too hormonal and grieving the loss of his best friend, Banner is freaking you out, Clint is off the grid from another breakdown and it’s like he’s not even human anymore, Wilson is too busy with his new training regime and fighting Buck, and Scott doesn’t know the first thing about what you need to learn thanks to his ditsy persona. Which only leaves Pepper and Rhodey, and which forces you to go back and live in the lake house, away from the shambles of the rebuilt compound, all thanks to Strange and his wizards.

Maybe this is what you need, because now you don’t have to see Pete and get offended every single time he forgets your name and doesn’t have a clue who you are.

That night, you skipped your crying routine, and felt no better nor worse off for doing so. You simply dosed up on your painkillers and drifted off to sleep, filled with irritation and dreams of a mousey hero.

 For the next couple of days, you’d just gone about your business and avoided the funny looks from all of the other Avengers at your foul demeanour. None of them that were in and out of the rebuilt compound ever really took notice of you anymore, and you weren’t sure that any of them recognised you anymore, not with all of the piercings and hair dye and the crutches. After all, the last time most of them knew you, you were an annoying child who watched them work and ate dinners with them, and your dinners consisted of smiley face waffles and chicken nuggets. And besides, you were perfectly able back then, and you often had little friends over, or your mom would pop in to say hi on your way home. There’s no chance of that happening anymore. Bucky had recognised you, smiled at you, and occasionally made jokes about you being crippled together, so with any issues you could just turn to him, but this Peter thing annoyed you too much to talk about it, and you didn’t know why. 

Speak of the devil-

“Hey, can I sit?” He asks, standing just behind the sofa and hovering awkwardly.

“I don’t care,” you say, all of your words merging and slurring. You signal to the seat beside you yet far enough away for him not to be a bother, and he takes it.

“So h-how are you?” 

You watch him suspiciously out of the corner of your eye, because you can just feel his eyes on you, namely on your tits that had suddenly appeared in the last few years. 

“I’m fine thank you, Peter. It’s not like no one knows who the fuck I am and I’m living in a literal post war, dystopian, apocalyptic world all alone. How are you, Spider-Man?”

He blanches before your eyes, and you can physically see any words die in the back of his throat.

“I-I’m good.”

Everything stills for a little while, and the only sounds are what's playing on TV and Peter’s occasional swallows, making his Adams apple Bob in your peripheral view. He doesn’t dare look at you, and you can just sense his agitation, mainly from the way he fidgets and weighs the sofa cushions down weirdly with his weird spider legs. 

It only takes half an hour for you to wear down and ask him the burning question, his presence beside you enough to make your skin tingle in anticipation and anger bubble within, not to mention the girlish sense that overwhelms you, so contrasting to your dark clothes and self-given bridge piercing. 

“Why don’t you speak to me anymore, Peter? Do you seriously not recognise me?”

His eyes fall and his face turns sallow, and he stammers over a few consonants, unable to form any real words.

“I’m Tony’s daughter.” You announce, facing him head on. “Y/N Stark.”

Only after you’ve said that do you realise that he’ll have absolutely no clue what you’re saying, but you can see the cogs whirring in his head as everything is pieced together. His eyes lock onto yours, and they’re the one feature you haven’t changed about yourself in the years that he was gone.

“I changed my name last year, I used to be-”

“-Sloane Stark.” he finishes with you. 

He doesn’t take his eyes off yours, too lost in them after he’s been without them for so long. Something’s clicked inside, but scepticism overtakes him. You grasp your hair into a makeshift ponytail at the base of your neck, all the loose ringlets in different shades tickling your neck, but it reveals a thin, pale, bumpy scar on your skin; a thin and jagged line that runs from the base of your ear to the start of your clavicle. You’ve had it since you were 11, when Peter first became a regular at the compound and you began to play together, but then an accident happened, and Peter stayed by your side as you got the stitches, holding your hand. 

Finally, he cottons on, and you can see the tears welling up in his chocolate brown orbs.

“Sloane…”

He virtually leaps from his seat and throws his arms around you, completely overcome with all kinds of inexplicable feelings. Love seeps from his body into yours, he clings to you, and even buries his nose into your hair, taking a deep inhalation before sighing in contentment. Even when the average hug time has passed, he doesn’t release you, and keeps his arms wrapped like a koala around your shoulders, his body slowly getting closer and closer towards you and for some reason making you blush. Your arms remain limp around him, and your forefinger traces figures on his lower back, but you don’t squeeze him as much as you did when the surprise of his cuddle attack first hit you. 

He eases himself away, but still keeps his hand on your arm, a gentle and warm presence. 

It doesn’t hit you for a while that it’s the first hug you’ve received in months, and the first one from Peter in five and a half years.

“I’m guessing that you didn’t snap away like the rest of us then…?” he asks shyly. 

His spare hand immediately retracts and rubs the back of his neck anxiously, just the way he used to, but only now do you understand why.

“Nah, I didn’t,” you say, “Sadly I was stuck here in this shambles of an earth, dealing with everyone else's depression and having a little sister forced upon me. I couldn’t even go to school, it was awful.”

His face falls into a deep frown and he searches your face for any sign of your words being cynical, but he finds nothing.

“W-why did you change your name then?”

You shrug, for what feels like the hundredth time in his presence, “Sloane is an awful name, it means ‘raider’ in bloody Irish. None of my family is Irish, my dad suggested the name when he was drunk, and my mum couldn’t think of anything better. Y/N makes me feel like me.”

He nods understandingly and doesn’t push the matter, so you offer a half smile and move your attention back to the TV.

“Why did you change you?” he asks all of a sudden.

The question instantly ingrains itself into your brain, and makes your heart ache. Why would he ask such a thing? Doesn’t he understand what's happened? Why does he even care? But the last thought makes you sick to your stomach, because you know that he always has cared and he always will, he promised you that the first time he was babysitting you and you got all het up over something on the TV. Maybe a part of him knew that it was you all along but he just couldn’t broach the subject, or maybe he didn’t and he thought you’d been snapped away and you simply hadn’t returned. No matter what it was,you knew that you couldn’t blame him, but as his question bounced around your brain and repeated, you had no idea what happened, but you felt any compassion shrivel up, your heart grew cold, your demeanour turned harsh, and your kind response died in your throat. You look him dead in the face and straighten yourself up, your eyes devoid of all feeling.

“My mom died, all of my idols and my family and school friends died - Scott, Buck, Sam, you - and my dad was never the same again. I was left with him and the step monster who, who for the record doesn't even like me because of my mom, and Morgan came along, so they forgot about me, and I only stayed three days a week because the rest of the time I was stuck here with a depressed Nat and  counsellor Steve, and the latter had to teach me everything I needed for the finish of middle school and my freshman and sophomore years, which was hard in itself. Dad was so depressed, he wouldn’t listen to the words I said about the other Avengers, so apart from Steve tutoring me, I basically raised myself for two years, without friends or anything, and they were two of the most important years of my life . Everyone forgot about me. I was just turned fifteen and more adept at coping in this world than any adult I’ve known. I hated my name and what came with it, and I never really liked myself, that's always been the case. I hated my appearance and I had no one to make me feel nice when you died, because you always told me that I was pretty, just like a princess, and you kept me sane. Fuck, Pete, you held me together, and all of that faded when you died, because as soon as you were gone, everything else around me crumbled.” You inhale a sharp intake of breath, and move to stand, snatching your crutches from the floor. “Long story short, while all of you were gone, I grew up. I’m 17 now, I may be different to how you remember but at least I feel comfortable now. I really did grow up peter, and you need to start doing the same. My dad is never coming back.”

And just like the days before, you scurry off back to your room and bury any inhibitions beneath your pillow, leaving Peter in the living room, completely crushed and left to mull your words over alone while he waits for May to get home.

 Five days later, and you can’t take the silence anymore. Peter practically hides and runs for shelter each time he hears you approach, you saw the footage on FRIDAY’s cams. It really upset you for the first two days, but with each shy, rushed smile and fleeting glance he takes at you, each one that makes your stomach do little flips, they just remind you how cruel you were to him, how brutally honest, when Peter needs more time to heal than you do most likely, as your dad meant more to Pete than he did to you, and if anything then that's a reflection on Tony. He wanted a son. Maybe Peter feels guilty, mabe he’s sad, maybe he just straight up doesn’t like you, but whatever it is, you don’t fucking like it, so you’re preparing for the move in two days time. Far earlier than planned. 

With each piece of clothing you fold, with each piece of metal shrapnel you toss into your jewellery box, with each eyeliner you tuck away in a bag, you run everything that's happened in the past week through your head. You called Scott up to see how he’s getting on with Hope and Cassie, you spoke to Laura - no longer a secret - who just told you that Barton is in almost as bad a place as before, just without the machetes and with a lot more crying and whiskey, you spoke to Rhodey for an update on the lake house/new home situation and put all of the plans in place, but you did shut down his heartfelt offer to be another father figure, starting with a controversial suggestion to send you to therapy or rehab for your ‘lashing outs’, and you’d made amends with Sam who was surprisingly okay with your whole new thing going on, and he said he loved your vibe and gave hair dye suggestions, making you rethink your decision to leave all over again. Bucky had taken you shopping, hoping for retail to cure both of your depressive episodes, but it didn't really help even if the long, deep conversation over milkshakes at a nearby diner did help, and he cradled your head in his lap as you told him you’d miss him more than the others. He told you that you were being stupid about Peter and that the kid really likes you, but you retorted with a scoff, saying he’d never fancy you the way you fancy him.

Ah, yeah, that revelation, the one which makes you throw a sweater full force into your open trunk, sitting at the base of your bed. With a loud groan, you throw yourself dramatically down onto the bed and savour the soft comforter for one of the last times; after all, the place will probably be gone, along with the remnants of FRIDAY by the time you return, if you ever go. 

“Where are you off to?” Peter asks from the doorway, his voice inquisitive and startling you from your angered daze. 

He must’ve seen your bags half packed in your room, lying out on your bed beside you. You turn your head to look at him, your eyes thin and bullet-like.

“I’m leaving.” You snap rather viciously, and prop yourself up on your elbows. “The Cap’n has gone, and I’ve been out of school too long to go back. The Step-Monster needs to ‘tutor me’, and I need to teach the little brat.” You’re referring to Morgan, but Peter doesn’t seem to pick that up by the looks of his furrowed brows. He certainly looks relaxed though, leaning against your doorframe. 

“Why can’t you stay here?” Peter asks and You shrug, unsure how to respond. “I- I’m sure Mr Falcon would help teach you, or- or Wanda?”

Shit, Wanda. You’d practically forgotten she existed from how much of a recluse she was now. You should probably go and check on her or at the very least have a chat with her. She was dead for five years, just like Vis, but when she comes back she’s still not over him after months? Sounds fake but ok...

“Wanda has even less of an education than I do.” You retaliate with a foul attitude and an even fouler taste in your mouth, turning your back on him when you stand, and going back to your packing. You try your best to ignore his presence, but you can just feel him hovering metres away, itching to do or say something to you.

“Well then you can stay living here and enrol in Midtown High with me. We’d be the same year now and I could show you the ropes.”

Ok now you know he’s fucking with you.

“Peter, I can’t go to midtown.”

“Why not?”

“I’ve been out of co-ed for too long, let alone education, as I haven’t had any since like fucking February, and I’m too traumatised and crippled for them. How would that look eh? Y/N Stark enrolling for junior year after the death of The Tony Stark?” Peter goes quiet. “And anyway, it’s not like I have the brains, at all. I’m not smart like you, Peter. I’m as thick as two short planks. I got my mom’s brains and some of my dad's abilities. I can chuck on suits all I like, I can build shit all day, and I can play sports like no one's business; or at least I could.” Having your one ankle completely useless is a complete bummer, maybe even more so than losing everyone, because now you actually have to live with being this way. They don’t have to live. “But the second you give me a math equation, I’m gone.”

“Couldn’t you live with your mom then? Mr Stark said she doesn’t live too far out of state, nowhere near as far as the lake house.”

“My dads fucking dead Peter, he doesn’t control shit anymore” You find yourself shouting, your eyes burning into his with a fire of fury behind them. “My mom came back after the snap but she hasn’t answered any of my calls, and she fled the house when I turned up on her goddamn doorstep. She ain’t no option anymore, my authority is Potts.”

He gives you a sad smile but slinks away. No surprise there, last time he saw you, you were twelve years old and tugging on his trouser leg to get him to play basketball with you. You didn’t have anywhere near this level of anger, and you’d never have dared scream at him, let alone repeating the words that hit him like daggers mere days ago. 

 The next day comes too soon, and you’re just chilling , finishing up the last of your packing, and trying to ignore anything pushing you to stay. Why did your chat with Peter compel you to want to stay here instead? What is it about him that always brings you full circle, and makes you feel like that love struck child again?

From your mirror, as you’re adjusting your blouse and switching out your nose stud, you see Peter approaching, steadily advancing down the corridor. Twice he stops, and takes a step back, as well as turning and looking the other way as though doubting his decision to come into your room, but when you see his knuckles come in contact with the wood of your door, as he knocks gently, and the sound floats into your ears, making you turn around to see his meek smile with his head hung low.

“You can come in Pete,” you exhale, “I won’t bite your head off.”

He chuckles lowly and advances towards the bed. He gestures, and you nod, giving him permission and hobbling over to join him moments later. He seems flustered, you can tell me by the way he’s struggling to maintain eye contact and the manner in which his hands are convulsing in his lap. Seeing him like this makes you uncomfortable, and you can even feel bile rising in your throat. 

“Peter, I-”

“No, Y/N, please let me, I mean, I wanna talk.”

You smile and bow out, allowing him space to align his thoughts with his words, after all, you’ve known that it takes him a while to do that, but it’s necessary in any kind of emotional situation with someone as awkward as Petter; just the thought causes butterflies to flutter around in your stomach and windpipe.

“I’m sorry for yesterday, for nagging you and insisting, and for asking you those questions and trying to make you stay. I just, I really just don’t want you to leave. I was insensitive, and I should’ve recognised you beforehand.” You can feel tears pooling behind your eyes, and it takes all of your willpower to not let them fall. “I just want you to do as well as you can, and I wish you all the best, I just wish I could’ve gotten to know you better  before it was too late; ok Stark?”

His lips quirk into a smile, yet his voice breaks as he calls you Stark. It physically hurts to hear him say that, and you want to tell him that it’s okay, and he has every right to be upset and grieving, and you know you shouldn’t have shouted at him and gotten so defensive because after all he’s one of the only people you can let your guard down around. You just want to say that it’s not his fault, except you can’t find the words.

“Why can’t you stay?” He asks sincerely, even a touch of desperation there.

Your heart drops to your feet at his expression, and your next words come out as a hushed, pained whisper, your words slow and detached. “I have no reason to stay.”

He nods dejectedly, almost like he’s giving up on something, and he even moves to stand up while your eyes are glued to the way his muscles ripple with each movement, but halfway to being upright, he changes his mind and turns towards you.

The next thing you know, you feel the soft pressure of his thumb on your chin, followed by the pads of his fingers on the soft skin underneath, tilting your head up to look him in his gorgeous eyes, like molten honey in the soft sunlight of your bedroom. Just the sight of his lips slightly parted causes your mouth to go dry, but you don’t have too long to think about that, because all of your thoughts dissipate with the featherlight pressure and sweet, intoxicating taste of his lips on yours. His nose nudges your cheek ever so gently. It’s barely there, and over far too soon, it still makes your head spin. Christ, you’ve been waiting for that to happen for upwards of five years, and it was just as beautiful as you hoped it would be.

“How about now?” He inquires, a stark contrast of shyness and courage written all over his face.

“Why don’t you kiss me again and we’ll find out?”

You fist the fabric of his t-shirt and pull him towards you, leaving Peter shocked by the strength in just one hand, seeing as he finds his body hovering above yours just seconds later. He looks hungry, already ravishing you with his eyes as you kiss and kitten lick just below his ear. He holds his weight up but leaves no time to press his lips against yours, urgently, passionately. You moan a little at how desperate he is to get his hands on you, the way he knots one hand in your hair, splayed out on the pillow beside you, the way he’s senselessly grinding his crotch onto you. You don’t mind at all, especially not the breathy calls of your name he lets out when you knot your legs around his lower back to pull him closer. It's a primal desire that keeps you moving. His tongue glides across your lower lip, prying its way in, and you just let it happen, too caught up in the moment to do anything else.

“Pete, fuck…”

Your one hand slides under his shirt and runs across the ripples of his abs, you savour the way he tenses beneath your touch, the way the scars feel tenders beneath your hungry touch. You other hand threads into his soft brown locks. You pull gently and elicit the most perfect guttural groan from him.

“Y/N,” he almost pleads, and his lips move to gently suck on your jawline. 

You’re surprised that he isn't calling you Sloane, but you certainly aren't complaining. Your name from his tongue does things to you that you can’t even explain.

You dance your fingers from his hair across to his face, and push his cheek gently. Your eyes are thin, focussed on him, but Peter’s pupils are heavily blown with lust, leaving only a faint rim of golden brown around the edge. 

“You’re so perfect,” he rasps out, and your stomach coils in desire. Your face must look so pouty, so wanton, but you can’t find it within yourself to care.

“Fuck me, Peter.”

He looks like a deer in headlights momentarily, but gets over it quickly, attaching his lips back on yours and allowing his tongue to roam your mouth, savuring and swallowing every whimper and moan that escapes your pretty lips.You let your hand, the one still beneath his shirt, skim over his muscles to where his heart is, beating at a double pace, thrumming gently beneath your hand. It makes your ego inflate tenfold, knowing that you’ve gotten this flustered and needy.

Just as you’re really getting lost in the pleasure, Peter’s hand cupping and massaging your breast as his mouth works wonders on intoxicating you, you hear a rather loud cough from your doorway, and everything stops. You and Peter both freeze at the same moment, and you drop any stance, fully detaching yourselves to glance at who’s there.

“You kids should be careful, and next time, close the door.”

And with that, Bucky’s gone from view as quickly as he appeared, leaving you both with a mere glimpse at him in his sweats with a coffee cup in his hands, no doubt filled with earl grey tea being the old lady he is. 

In the heat of the moment, you’d both forgotten to close the door and turn FRIDAY off. And Rhodey can access all of the footage. Fuck. Oh well, you’ve already been caught once, why stop now?

You wrap an arm around Peter's shoulders and pull yourself up until you’re straddling his lap and upper thighs, eagerly rubbing yourself against the material of his jeans to try and get some kind of friction. He slides an arm around your waist, and you move in to kiss him, only for him to turn his head the other way. 

The moment couldn’t have been lost from Bucky’s playfully snarky comment, could it? You want nothing more than for him to kiss you again, earnestly, fervently, but he doesn’t even spare you a glance, not even when he pushes you from his lip and stands up with his head in his hands.

Apparently he doesn’t feel the same.

“Crap, I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have done that. Why did I do that? Y/N…”

He even begins to pace, that’s when you know that he thinks he’s fucked up.

“You know why I shouldn’t have done that right, don’t you?” he asks, stuttering random syllables in no specific order, but you do notice that with each pace, he paces his way closer to your open door.

“Yeah,” you lie, but you’ll work that out tonight, “I get it. But it’s fine. And I need to pack…”

He smiles nervously, and with a few careless gestures and no words, he stalks into the corridor and closes your door behind him. You can hear him lettering a long-held breath out. 

All of a sudden, you feel completely sick to your stomach. Why would he do that? It was so God damn cryptic. One second he’s apologising, asking you to stay, pashing you senseless, and the next he’s keeping as much distance from you as possible, apologising, and treating you like a child.

That’s when it hits you.

He feels like he’s kissing the old you. You grew up without him there, and in the space of what was merely a nap to him, you grew five years older, grew tits, matured, changed every aspect about yourself, and developed a sex drive; whereas he didn’t change one bit, he’s still the same peter that he was when you were an aggravating child, crushing on him from afar and trying to be like him. He feels predatory at kissing you, because all he’s ever known you as is a child, and this is all new territory, a territory he’s too scared to broach because he can’t get permission from the man himself.

Maybe that’s why your dad had to die, so that you’d never end up with Peter, and that’s Earth punishing you for some godforsaken reason.

So you just lie there, far salty tears involuntarily dripping down your cheeks as you sit there and think. Will you ever just be fucking happy?

 Happy’s set to pick you up at noon today, and after a night of scarcely five hours of sleep, you are not in the mood for anyone and their funny business, especially not Peter, and you aren’t exactly peppy for the hour long drive to arrive there with the Bimbo and the Brat. Well, at least everyone has low expectations of you, so it shouldn’t be that much of an issue when you simply scowl at them and flip them off until you chuck yourself into the car and wave them goodbye for the last time. You’re not sure if the gravity of the situation has hit you yet, maybe you’re repressing it, or maybe it simply just does not bother you, the same way that most things don’t.

You don’t even bother with your appearance, and stick to black trackies and a cropped tank top, with a mildly colourful button-down open over the top. Seeing as your docs are packed in the ‘hide from Pepper’ box, you toss on your worn down black converse and begrudgingly throw your hair up in what you hoped would be a messy bun but ends up looking more like a lopsided half-up ponytail, so you snap the hair tie and throw it away. Hey, that’s an easy way to deal with the Peter issue. Snap him in half and chuck him in the trash where he rightfully belongs after yesterday. 

All you have for breakfast is an iced coffee, and justly so, no one dares even make eye contact with you. By ten, all of your bags are out in the hallway, and not a single personal affect is left in your room. You say a quick goodbye to FRIDAY, and hobble out into the living room, where you spend the next almost two hours either staring blankly ahead of you and ignoring what’s on the screen, or picking at your crutches while you analyse the previous day with Peter. No matter how much you want to hate him, you can't refute the way he made you feel, completely under his control, so willing and malleable, so eager and hungry and loved.

 Happy pulls up at 11.55, and you begin to help him load everything into the car, but get refused after two bags and therefore two trips downstairs after you nearly fall face first and your crutches slip from your arms. The rest is down within seconds by Sam and Bucky.

You said goodbye to Wanda a couple of days ago when you popped in for a chat, but she’d still made her way out here, so you give her a quick hug and wish her well, and you see that May has made her way out to see you off, but Peter is nowhere to be found which makes your cheeks burn with anger.

“I’m so sorry for now knowing who you were my love,” she tells you, running a hand through your hair, “Peter told me all about you before it all happened, he said you were such a cutie, and I know that he would’ve made more of an effort had he recognised you.”

You chuckle softly, hug her, and simply don’t reply. What are you supposed to say to something like that? Bucky and Sam appear back at the top of the stairs and advance towards you, knocking each other out of the way in a playful battle to hug you first. Sam wins by tickling Bucky just beneath his ribs, and bear hugs you, making you feel like a baby koala. 

“Use protection next time, and please, God, shut the door.” He whispers in your ear, making you jump away, your jaw slack, utterly aghast, but he just laughs at your expense.

“You told him about that?” you accuse Bucky, shoving a finger at his chest.

He raises his hands in surrender and even lets out a chuckle before cuddling you, his metal arm somehow a comforting presence around you. 

“Of course I did, Doll. It was too good not to tell.”

You swat him gently on his chest, but instead of pulling away just yet, you bury your face in his t-shirt for possibly the last time. 

“You two kids get along, or I might have to come here and whip your asses.” you glance between Bucky and Sam, making them laugh, but they nod nonetheless and step backwards to join May, allowing you to leave. You grasp your crutches and let your arms fall through the rests, your hands slipping around the handles like second nature, and you start to make your way out. Something that resembles hope begins to blossom in your stomach, so you muster all of your courage and take a fleeting glimpse over your shoulder, but much to your disappointment yet not very much surprise, he isn’t there. You feel something within your chest physically break, and with the pain all over your body, emotional above all else, stemming from betrayal, you wouldn’t be surprised if it isn’t your heart strings. Oh well, you tell yourself, and in recovery from bowing your head down in embarrassment, you hold your shoulders high with any remaining pride as you take the few steps to the door, ignoring the tears that begin to fall. Your tears are possibly the most confusing thing about this ordeal, you never cried before, not from emotion at least. 

“Stop- Y/N, wait, please Sloane…” you hear breathless shouts, followed by hurried footsteps on the linoleum. Instantly, you recognise his voice. “Please stop, I’m begging you.”

You halt your steps, and prop your crutches against the wall, but are slow to turn around, and even when you do, it takes you a moment to actually meet his gaze. His eyes hold all of the hurt he’s feeling. He hardly slept, you can tell by the red rims and deep, sallow bags. The warm chocolate colour is slightly murky, something of an anger in them, maybe even a sense of loss.

You can’t track anything more, because you take one step forwards, and he begins to virtually sprint towards you, his hair bouncing as he dashes across the floor and entwines his arms around you like vines, relentlessly squeezing you and ceasing to let go. He simply just stands there, glued to the spot, holding onto you, and once more you feel the tears well in your eyes. You’ve never been hugged this way, not by anyone, so you make the most of it and gently grasp his t-shirt to draw him impossibly closer, his scent enveloping you in a blanket of warmth and adoration. He moves one hand up to knot in your matted hair, and buries your head closer into his shoulder, which you welcome, even if you’re wetting the shoulder of his shirt with your tears. You lose count of the time until you let go, just savouring the way he holds you so lovingly, and you don’t particularly ever want to let go. All of the rest of the world has disappeared. But still, you both detach yourselves just a little, and you find your lips mere inches away from his perfect lips. Without another thought, something otherworldly takes over, and you find your lips planted together in the most intimate way possible. The tip of his tongue barely has to swipe your lower lip before you grant him access, and as you do, your mind and soul proclaim thanks to the gods. He tastes like heaven and cherry pie - his favourite - and he feels even better. The way his tongue dances with yours is like a massage, second nature, and God, you never want it to stop with how crazy he’s making your mind go, let alone the flock of butterflies fluttering around your stomach. His one hand shifts to the small or your back, and you find yourself wrapping your arms even tighter around Peter until your hands touch, and you have him held in place, in the most perfect position, the one where you know he belongs.

You separate, gasping for air and gulping as much down as you can in such a short amount of time before his hands are in your hair again and he’s kissing you just as sweetly, yet hotly, as before. The sensual way he gazes at you makes your insides turn to mush in seconds, and you have to look away even before he kisses you again because you fear you shan’t be able to keep his gaze if you ever want to leave this place with your heart intact. This kiss isn’t as long, you realise that as your hands drop to his waist and stay there lightly, feeling the skin above his hips rippling beneath his tensing muscles. His body shifts, as does his grip on you, and he starts to pepper kisses on your lips and cheeks, just small, precious pecks that keep your heart beating with joy and longing. Just the feeling of his lips kissing away your tears as he hovers above you makes you feel alive at long last, and he makes you feel more cherished than you ever imagined you could.

“You need to go, Happy’ll start honking for you any second.” he breathes, the softness of his breath running your eyelashes and allowing your eyes to flutter clothes, his freckles disappearing from your view for a second. Then, as if on cue, Happy's horn resounds. “I’ll walk you down.”

He looks so crestfallen as he pulls away from your and passes you your crutches, keeping a safe distance. And although you both know that everyone saw, it doesn’t matter, and no one says a word, they all just observe quietly, but you can tell that they’re smiling down on you both. You can still taste your salty tears mingled together pressing on your lips, the taste of just indescribably, distinctly Peter stuck in your mouth, a taste you never want to stop tasting. 

When Peter crushes, you oblige and scramble onto his back as he carries your crutches, and the walk down the stairwell to where Happy’s parked on the sidewalk is a silent one, but it’s still comfortable. There are so many things the two of you want to say to each other, but it’s too hard to express them given that you’re about to be shipped off somewhere that he’ll probably never make your acquaintance again, no matter how much he wants to spend all of his time with you. You’re more conflicted than you’ve ever felt, so stressed, so hurt, but at the same time you’re so happy that you got to make those memories with Peter before you leave, elated that you made up with him, pleased that you got to feel him kiss you one last time. 

When you reach the concrete, Peter gently places you down on your feet, and he puts your crutches into the open door at the back of the car and proceeds to stand nervously beside you, his hands behind his back as he rocks back and forth on the balls of his feet. You have your head down, anxious beyond comparison, just staring at the gravel, until one of Peter's hands comes out from where it was and takes your trembling hand into his palm, his fingers slowly tangling around yours and giving you a gentle squeeze. He switches his gaze over to you and catches your eye. He smiles briefly before bringing your knuckles up to his lips. 

“I’ve fancied you since I was eleven,” you tell him, “That’s almost six years, that’s a long ass time.” a brief hint of humour creeps into your pained, quiet voice.

He just chuckles and rubs his thumb over your knuckles, making you smile, despite the pain of the situation. He speaks to you real soft. “I know.”

Your hand feels like it was meant to fit in his and sends a new sort of warmth shooting through your body, but it doesn’t last long before he’s helping you into the backseat of the car and reluctantly removing his nimble fingers from their grip around yours, and placing a gentle, chaste kiss to your forehead for good measure, a kiss you’ll always treasure.

“Don’t,” you plead, feeling a sob suddenly choke your throat when all that’s left are his fingertips grazing yours. “Don’t let go, Peter, please.”

It’s difficult to remain stoic around Peter now, it’s like everything just completely pivoted the day he kissed you, and if you’re honest, you don’t want to go back. You don’t want to be the hateful girl you once were, just longing for him to come back. Now he is back, you don’t have to wait anymore, and he can help you be your old self again. If only he’d just hold your hand forever, and you could actually be together.

And then it hits you. You need Peter almost as much as you need air to breathe, and if he lets go, you’ll be lost, and it’ll feel like it did for five whole years, you’ll be lonely and isolated, and even in the few days that you’ve had him back in your life, that feeling has completely dissipated and been replaced with an albeit confused elation and a warmth of love. 

“I have to,” he whispers back his eyes already red, “I have to let you go. It’s what Mr Stark would want.”

He pulls away and closes the door in one swift movement, turning his back on you. You see his mop of brunette curls slip down from view when you peer out the window, hot tears burning your cheeks. You know he’s sitting on the side, his head in his hands, but you can’t look that far, so instead you listen to the soft purr of the car as it comes to live, and you let your laboured breath steam up the glass that your hands are placed on. As you begin to pull away, your final glimpse at your old home escaping you, you see Peter waving frantically and beginning to job alongside you, only stopping once you exit the driveway. Thanks to the tinted windows, you know he can’t see you, but you see him anyway and wave back before your pain overwhelms you. That happens the second he’s gone from your peripheral vision, and your chest caves in loud, wrenching sobs that’ll leave you in pain for days. 

Is this what it feels like to have your heartbroken? 

Of course it is, you know this, but all of the times you’ve felt it before, it still hasn’t felt this bad. You know that it’s happening for a reason, that God is punishing you this way for a reason, but no matter how hard you try, it just seems endlessly painful, and all for nothing. What could possibly be the reason for this?

You’re so locked in your thoughts that you barely realise that Happy has slowed the car down, and is looking over his shoulder at you, trying to bring you back down by asking how you are and how you feel. Did he not just see that display?

“If I was allowed to stay,” you slightly pant, your teeth gripping and your first clenching of their own accord, “then it could’ve been me and Peter. Just the two of us, the way it was supposed to be as I was growing up. But everything happens for a fucking reason, right?”

Happy just swallows and mumbles something incoherent before sliding the glass back over and starting up at another steady speed. You don’t know why you’re so... angry all of a sudden; you shouldn’t be angry, you should be upset and almost grieving, crying for the loss of an old home but excited for a new one. But yet, what’s the point in all of that? You’ve felt those emotions plenty of times in your short life, and you always thought you felt them for a reason, but where the ever loving fuck is that reasoning right now when you actually need it? 

Grieving has lost its effect on you by now, and your mind feels hostile from all of the thoughts whirring around. You’ve had the same thoughts every time someone died - every time you thought your dad died, when your mom died, when Peter died, when everyone else just turned to dust. Then you felt them all over again when your dad died, for real this time, but what was the point? Nothing good ever came of it… nothing except grieving for Peter. You felt the same way you do now, only now it's somehow worse, yet he isn’t dead. You grieved for him more than you did your own mother, because he cared, because he actually paid attention, because he told you that you were pretty for the first time in your life. He always treated you like a person, like an equal, even when you were just a clingy child, vying for someone's attention when neglected by both of your parents because they had better things to do. But even now, now he recognises you again, he’s treated you like an equal, maybe even put you on a pedestal after you were extremely terse and treated him horribly. He still kissed you and cared for you and loved you-

SHIT.

You love Peter. Surely that must’ve been obvious for a long time, but now you’re finally admitting it. You really, genuinely, wholeheartedly love the little shit. Your stomach churns with nerves, and your mind tells you that you’re insane, but your heart… your heart has known all along, despite how much you fought it, and it’s now telling you to go along with it. You’re so… overcome with emotions that you don’t even know where to start or how to react or even try to begin to suss them out to deal with them so you do what feels like second nature the past few days, and you begin to cry, unable to choke it down any longer.

“Turn back happy,” you plead, “Shit! I said turn back now Goddammit!”

“I can’t, Sloane, you know I can’t, bosses orders.”

His words just hurt you more, if that was even possible, and pile something new onto the burning pile of emotions battling for territory within your exhausted brain. 

“Happy, turn back right the fuck now, or I will scream until the glass breaks.”

When he does nothing, your sobs become harsher, and something in your throat snaps, forcing you to become hysterical. It’s something primal that takes over your body, a demon's force, because God knows you wouldn’t usually have this in you. You scream. It’s just a shrill sound to begin with, until your heaving chest and tears break through, and make it into a full hysterics game.

“HAPPY! TAKE ME HOME, TAKE ME TO PETER!” you screech, and you repeat the same words until you can’t breathe any longer, but even when your lungs fail you, your hands don’t. 

You clip your seatbelt undone and begin punching the glass. It starts off just to be the dark tinted window separating you from happy and the wheel that would allow you to drive home, but even though the glass begins to wobble, it isn’t enough, so you move to the windows, your knuckles and palms coming in contact with the night shaded glass again and again until they’re rattling and even beginning to crack, but the second you feel you can, you release the most bestial, guttural scream that you can muster, and punctuate it with a rough shove to Happy’s chair.

You want to stop, but with all of the loss you’ve been through, you just need this one thing, this one person, this one place to feel complete, and none of it’s happening. It’s unspeakable, indescribable the way you feel, the turf war that’s occurring all over your body driving you insane. 

“Just take me to Peter,” you finally beg after what seems like an eternity, collapsing completely into your seat, “I need him, Happy. I need Peter, please… please.”

You’re drained, dehydrated, hurt, and it doesn’t seem like that’s going to change any time soon. You’re driving away from the only happiness you’ve ever known to live in the arse end of nowhere with two people you hate, and so a void just takes over everything that previously embodied you, and you succumb to the emptiness, your last thought being of all the tears you’ve cried over one boy, the only one you’ve ever loved, and now you can’t even tell him that. 

It was hard to grieve for someone, only for them to come back, the same way it was hard to grieve for someone who never gave a toss about you. That's what you’re finding so hard about all of this. But now, none of that matters, because he’s gone.

Two months later

The doorbell to the house rings for the third time today, driving you utterly up the wall. First it was the postie with some kind of oversized parcel for Morgan, then it was Happy, here again to help outside and be a ‘watchful eye’ while Pepper is out grocery shopping, apparently since they still don’t trust you rough to take decent care of your own sister.

“MORGAN!” You yell from your place at the back of the house, knowing that from her spot on the sofa in front of paw patrol or whatever shit she’s watching, she’ll hear, “Get the fucking door!”

“Mummy told you not to say bad words, Y/N.” She shouts back, and you can practically hear the signature Stark smirk in her words, although it should be far too early for her to actually be making that face.

That’s one thing they got right with Morgan, though, at least she calls you by your actual name instead of fucking Sloane, even if Pepper does ‘accidentally’ slip up and call you by that awful legacy name from time to time when you really annoy her, say by breaking a vase or some china, or screaming at her using all of the profanities you can think of. She’s really regretting taking you in, now, because you’re simply that much of a handful that she had Happy and Rhodey actually build a quiet room for some respite. You’re still in the rebellious phase, and you don’t seem to be leaving it any time soon, although you have let the dye in your hair grow out and you haven't bleached it… yet, and some of your piercings have naturally closed over, although that was more so that Morgan wouldn’t continually take a metal detector to your face. 

Abrupt, your thoughts escape you, and you can’t catch the thread, because after multiple attempts of Morgan’s to click open the reinforced vibranium locks on the doors (Rhodey’s suggestion), and the shifting of a stool to allow her to climb to it, you hear a shriek and some mess of words that sound like ‘Peter’. But no, that's simply impossible. You’re imagining things in your annoyed state, knowing it would’ve been a lot faster and quieter if you just made your way over there yourself. 

“It’s for you!”

Now this peaks your attention. No one has been to see you in the whole time you’ve been here, nor have you ever gotten mail. No one comes to see you, so maybe your ears didn’t deceive you.

You leap up from your seat and begin charging to the door, running as quickly and carefully as you can over Morgan's toys, but you’re also careful to not aggravate your injury. One good thing that came from your time there - the only good thing - is that you were able to work with your dad's remaining technology and do intensive physio, resulting in your mobility improving tenfold, also meaning that now you can not only walk but kind of run without assistance. But that doesn’t matter as soon as you see the man standing in the doorway, a bunch of flowers in his hand, and an expression of pure delight on his puppy-like features. 

“Y-you can walk?” he blubs, his cheeks red with joy.

The flowers fall from his hands onto the deck, and your eyes fill with tears as your hands fly up to your mouth, only just containing your sobs. Your whole being is overcome with happiness like you’ve never felt before, and it seems like all of your depression since you left him has melted away, and a new you is born.

“You came back for me…” you whisper, just loud enough for him to hear, and in response, he draws his lips into a tight line to contain his smile, and nods his head at you, soft brown curls falling into his soft eyes.

“Why are you sad, Y/N?” Morgan asks, and tugs at your shirt, but you don’t even realise, because the sight of Peter coming towards you is all that you can see and feel, and you begin advancing towards him too, until you collide in a heated kiss. Everything just seems like a tangle of limbs, a clash of teeth, and a battle of tongues. You’re too wrapped up in the feel of him, the passion of the moment, the intimacy of the kiss, that you don’t notice that Peter’s already got you picked up with your whole body tied around him. He tastes utterly delectable, the same as before, and his tongue feels incredible as it sweeps your mouth.

“Morgan-” you pant, “Go find Uncle Happy in the yard, now.” When she doesn’t move, you open your eyes to glare at her, stunned and traumatised into silence with her mouth slightly agape. You can’t bear detaching from Peter’s lips for even a second, so your words are all rushed. “Morgan get out now, I can see him there, in the yard, go!”

The little squirt smiles wryly up at you, but does as she’s told, and scurries off into the mass of flowers and perfectly cut grass. Seeing her gone, you let out a long held breath and smile into Peter’s passionate kiss. All of the love floods back to you, and you feel whole once again. But before you can get too caught up in the sappiness, Peter is already blindly stumbling through the house and kicking the front door closed behind him. Your fingers in his hair, you guide him to the couch.

As he kisses you so tenderly, even in the heated moment, you finally understand what everything was for. Every trial and tribulation in your life was teaching you, helping build you up for this very moment, where it all makes sense.

Everything in life has been for a reason, and that reason is this very moment. The thought makes you smile, but nowhere near as much as Peter’s own smile does.

[riversofmars]

Something slightly heart breaking for Day 20!

Promot: Lost and found

Fandom: Last Tango In Halifax

Characters: Gillian Greenwood/Caroline McKenzie-Dawson

Rating: G

Summary: Gillian and Caroline deal with the recent passing of their parents. At Alan's wake, they sit and talk, just the two of them, remembering the past and wondering how they should go on.

Lost and Found

“Gillian?“ Caroline’s voice drew Gillian’s attention and the sheep farmer quickly stumped out her cigarette on the wall. She wasn’t a smoker, not really, but today she felt like she needed it. It had been one hell of a day. One hell of a month actually.

“Hi Caz…“ She gave Caroline a weak smile as the headteacher climbed onto the wall next to her. The sun was setting and the view of the valley was as magnificent as ever. Only to the two of them, the golden sunshine and mild breeze did nothing to warm them. Grief surrounded them like a shadow. It engulfed the entire farm and Gillian had found it so suffocating, that she had excused herself from the guests. Caroline kicked off her black heels and dropped them next to Gillian’s flatter pair that lay abandoned by the wall.

“How are you doing?“ The headteacher asked after a while.

“Similar to you, I’d expect…“ Gillian hummed thoughtfully. Now that she had given up on her cigarette, she started fumbling with the skirt of her black dress.

“Never thought it would be this way around…“ Caroline mused, looking out into the valley.

“Nah, me neither…“ Gillian mumbled, as her thoughts, too, turned to their parents. As if she hadn’t been thinking about her dad all day anyway. It had been his funeral today. The wake was carrying on inside but she wasn’t able to face the pitiful looks and well-wishers right about now. She wanted to be left alone with her grief instead of being pestered by people who didn’t understand. Caroline, however, was the exception, Caroline understood exactly what she was going through. “You know you can die of a broken heart… happens a lot with elderly couples, once one of them is gone, other doesn’t hang round and…“ Gillian’s voice trailed off as tears fell from her eyes again.

“I’m so sorry, Gillian…“ Caroline was quick to pull her into a tight hug as the sheep farmer shook with sobs. Gillian wrapped her arms around her and rested her head against her shoulders. She didn’t like people seeing her weak or upset but for this Caroline was the exception too. She knew she wouldn’t judge her and she always gave her comfort she so dearly needed. The headteacher stroked her back and whispered reassuring words to her as they sat for a while, lost to their grief.

“At least they’re together again I guess…“ Gillian pulled herself together at last, taking a deep breath. She sat up and wiped her damp cheeks awkwardly.

“Yeah…“ Caroline nodded in agreement and looked back into the valley thoughtfully. “And they had a long time together, considering, didn’t they?“ She gave a soft smile and looked at Gillian again who was still trying to sort out her tearful face.

“Yeah… it was a really wonderful thing for them…“ Gillian agreed, mirroring her expression.

“For us too,“ Caroline carried on, she reached out and took the sheep farmer’s hand to stop her fidgeting. “I mean, we would never have got to know each other if it hadn’t been for their late-in-life romance.“

“True… we would have had absolutely no reasons to ever cross paths in our lives,“ Gillian chuckled as she regarded their intertwined fingers.

“And I’m really grateful for that. I can’t imagine my life without you in it now,“ Caroline gave her hand a squeeze and Gillian took a deep breath, trying her best to keep a tight grip on her emotions.

“Same,“ she nodded as a single-syllable word was all she dared saying for fear of getting choked up again. They stayed like that for a while, holding hands and taking comfort in each other’s presence as they looked out into the valley, thinking about their parents and the funny twists and turns their lives had taken to bring them here.

“Do you want to go back inside?“ Caroline asked after a while when the sun had nearly set.

“No.“ Gillian shook her head, then looked over to her. “Do you?“

“No.“ Caroline shook her head as well, then carried on: “Do you want me to leave you to it?“

“No.“ Tears returned to the sheep farmer’s eyes and she hung her head as her emotions overwhelmed her once more. She didn’t want her to leave as she didn’t feel up to facing her emotional turmoil alone. Rationally, she knew their parents had been very old indeed, they had lived well, loved a lot and been happy, but it didn’t take away from the gap they left in their lives.

“Oh Gillian…“ Caroline’s heart broke for her, she reached out, cupped her face and kissed her cheek, in hope of soothing her.

“How are you always so calm and collected?“ Gillian sniffed, almost embarrassed.

“I’m not, not always,“ Caroline gave her a gentle smile, the sheep farmer had witnessed her losing herself too.

“Most of the time then,“ Gillian gave a shrug.

“Practice. Lots and lots of practice,“ the headteacher sighed.

“Well, yeah you would have had a lot of that with your mum, she knew how to push your buttons,“ Gillian found herself chuckling, despite the sad situation.

“Yes,“ Caroline could only agree, laughing a little herself. “While you… your dad, he was always so supportive, he accepted you for who you were, you never had to learn to control yourself the way I did, I guess… I envy you for that…“ she confessed. There had been a lot of pressure in her life. Expectations and disapproval. She had had to learn to moderate herself.

“I miss him so much already,“ Gillian sobbed.

“Me too. He was a wonderful man, your dad, I was really lucky to have known him,“ Caroline agreed, tears welling up in her eyes as well now.

“Your mum wasn’t half bad either, she had her heart in the right place and she made my dad so happy,“ Gillian carried on and Caroline smiled:

“They made each other happy.“

“They did,“ the sheep farmer nodded in agreement.

“And you make me happy,“ Caroline added before she could stop herself or think better of it.

“I do?“ Gillian’s voice was small and unsure and not without surprise. It always hurt Caroline to witness how little she seemed to think of herself.

“More than you know,“ the headteacher took a deep breath and forced a smile, trying not to get carried away. She reached out again and tucked a strand of Gillian’s hair behind her ear. Gillian took hold of her hand and brought it to her lips, kissing her knuckles. The gesture made Caroline’s heart flutter and her breath catch. When Gillian looked up from her hand to meet her eyes, they didn’t need words to understand each other. It was the sheep farmer that took the plunge, she dropped her hand and cupped her cheek instead as she leaned forward and kissed her. Caroline acted on instinct. She wrapped her arms around her and pulled her close, returning her kiss with eagerness that surprised both of them.

“Your mum would turn in her grave if she knew…“ Gillian mumbled, resting her forehead against Caroline’s.

“While I imagine your dad might be quite pleased for us?“ The headteacher hummed, a little breathless.

“Not sure his tolerance level would have stretched to me shagging my step sister,“ Gillian gave an apologetic smile but it didn’t stop her from pressing another kiss to her lips.

“Technically… we’re not step sisters now…“ Caroline pointed out, unsure whether to laugh or cry about it right now. She couldn’t deny how light her heart felt all of a sudden for having Gillian so close and a willing participant to what she had wished for for a long time.

“You make a good point Dr. McKenzie-Dawson,“ Gillian chuckled.

“I just… I guess part of me was always scared that once our parents are gone, we would have no reason to see each other anymore…“ Caroline confessed, stroking her fingertips down Gillian’s cheek, warm to her touch.

“Caroline, that’s silly…“ the sheep farmer retorted but the headteacher interrupted her, as she hadn’t finished.

“When what I really want, Gillian, and I have wanted for a long time, is to spend even more time with you. And yes, maybe it was our parents' inevitable disapproval that stopped me from saying something sooner but…“

“Caroline, stop…“ Gillian tried to interrupt softly but Caroline carried on:

“No, I need to say this, I want to -“

“You don’t have to, I already know and I feel the same way,“ Gillian cut her off.

“You do?“ Caroline’s eyes widened. Maybe it shouldn’t have been all that surprising as they had just kissed but hearing her say it was something else entirely.

“I mean, we’re both emotional, we’ve both… lost something, the people that were… closest to us but… maybe we’ve found something too?“ She gave her a hopeful look and Caroline found herself nodding, trying her best not to get overcome with emotions again.

“I couldn’t stand losing you too…“ Caroline lowered her gaze, as her vision blurred with tears. She had been terrified that with their parents gone, their families would pull apart again. Not in her wildest dreams would she have expected Gillian to accept her feelings for her, never mind return them, yet here they were.

“I’m not going anywhere,“ Gillian promised, pulling her into a tight embrace.

[anderfels]

hey lol saw ur post i wanna talk abt my babies :,)

maria hawke - her name is marian but her dad calls her maria bc i hc he had antivan parents. she’s a humorous hawke in the beginning but slowly becomes more and more aggressive. after carver died, she lost her bestie and that rlly beat her up, but she kept hiding how she felt with jokes and a smile. then bethany died in the deep roads which was her fault, and throughout the years it took her a while to get over her grief and be herself again. then mama hawke died, and she was tired of pretending. after the fight with the arishok, she is completely different - no more jokes and smiles. a shadow of who the champion used to be

danavas lavellan - i have so much to say on her i’m going to simplify it as much as possible 😭 a former crow with daddy issues. she found clan lavellan five years before the conclave happened and also found out she was a mage with them as well. she’s not the best mage but give her daggers and poison and she will deliver (sadly u cant do that in da:i ☹️). she knows how to read people, is an excellent spy, uses sex to get what she wants and also tends to be humorous but in a i’m-laughing-at-u-not-with-u kinda way. in the beginning the idea of being a prophet has her a bit conceited and she loves the attention, but after cory comes in she humbles herself and thinks on her want for power and greed. still, she is an amazing info gatherer, uses death as little as possible despite her background, and studies studies everything in her free time. or plays wicked grace with varric and throws pies at people with sera. she also had her right foot smashed in accident so she uses her staff as a cane, and has her own special one she uses in skyhold that can be popped in half to reveal a dagger and short staff. but being herald did change and humanize her even more than clan lavellan did, and she is a better person after all these events.

SORRY THIS IS SO LONG

NEVER APOLOGIZE FOR TALKING ABOUT YOUR DRAGON AGE OC'S! Make them as long as you want, I really do enjoy reading these!

Maria hits me straight in the heart :( Did her personality changes end up changing her relationships with some of her companions (I hope this question makes sense)? How did she feel about the entire mage-Templar conflict? What about the Qunari conflict? How did she deal with the events of Legacy, considering how family-orientated that entire thing was? If she could go back and save only one family member, who would it be?

Danavas sounds really interesting! How did she react to finding out that she had latent magical powers? How does her Skyhold cane look like (also, it sounds hella cool!)? Was she able to keep clan Lavellan alive? Besides Varric and Sera, does she get along with any others? What is her reaction to Solas' plan? How did she end up becoming a Crow?

Thank you for telling me about them! They're fantastic!

[mcfiddlestan]

WinterFrost Single Dads AU

Okay, I promised you a second chapter. Contains a flashback scene so...there's that, lol. Still looking for suggestions for a title.

xoxo, La

P.S. I'm totally working on a banner too. 🖤

Pairing: Loki x Bucky Barnes (there are others past and future, but I’m not giving them away just yet)

Rating: M

Word count: 2,712

Summary: Loki is living a great life as a Manhattan lawyer and constantly partying with Tony Stark, his best friend. Loki’s life before he came to New York more than a decade ago is a mystery for those close to him. But it’s all about to come to light when he gets a call from someone in his past.

Bucky is just trying to catch a break. A few hookups with a fellow soldier led to a quickie marriage and baby – and two years later, a quick divorce. His daughter is now eight years old and the light of his life. But he can’t seem to get his shit together. Struggling to find a job and keep a hold on his sobriety, it’s a one-night stand that gives him the kick in the ass he needs to be the man his daughter believes he is.

Warnings: Mature language and situations, some drug use, and talk about addiction.

Read chapter one here.

Chapter 2

“It’s good to hear your voice, brother. After all this time.”

Loki was silent, struggling to find his words. Finally, he let out a short, frustrated breath and pressed his fingers to the dull ache still pulsating at his temple. “Let’s not pretend to reminisce, Thor. It’s been far too long for that.” Thor let out an anxious chuckle over the line. “What’s so urgent that you called four times? And left no message.”

“Ah, Loki. I don’t know how to tell you this.”

“What is it? Just say it. I’m sure it’s not as difficult as you might think. Is Odin on his deathbed?”

Silence. “…Loki.”

“I can’t imagine he’d encourage you to call me with the news.”

“Loki.”

“I highly doubt it would be my face he would want to see as his last image before he finally leaves this earth.”

“Loki!”

“What?!”

Thor sighed, muttered a curse in Norwegian. “For Norn’s sake, I didn’t call you to talk about Odin.” Loki remained quiet this time, waiting. When Thor spoke again, his voice was lower and thick with emotion. “It’s…it’s Sigyn. She’s gone.”

Loki’s breath released in one big whoosh. His hand moved, pressed to the center of his chest, where a sharp pain began to bloom. “Wh—what? I—when?”

“Yesterday.”

“But…” She’s only thirty-two years old, he thought. She’s still so young. Loki made incomprehensible noises for a moment, too many questions springing into his mind. Finally, he settled on one. “H…how?”

“Uh, a brain hemorrhage. She was in a car accident a few days ago. She seemed fine, with no visible injuries. And then…she wouldn’t wake up. By the time we got her to the hospital…it was too late.”

Loki squeezed his eyes shut and pulled the phone away from his ear, pressing his mouth to his wrist to muffle his cry.

“Loki?” Thor’s voice reached him.

“Yes, I—” He had to catch his breath. “Why didn’t anyone call me sooner? What about the boys? Were they with her in the car? Are they all right?”

“No, they weren’t with her. They’re just fine. Well, as fine as two young boys can be after losing their mother.” Thor went quiet as Loki struggled to contain his tears and hide his sniffling. “Loki, Sigyn left a will.”

Loki cleared his throat and mopped at his face with his sleeve. “She what?”

“Her attorney contacted Mother because she’s listed as a contact for the boys, and he says she left some instructions. He’s asked that you and Mother, and any other family, get together so he may let us know what she wished to happen following her…death.”

Loki went quiet again. What instructions? “Right.” Whatever they were, Loki couldn’t deal with it at the moment. “Erm, listen, Thor, I’m going to have my assistant call you later. If you could get all the information for her arrangements to him — times and dates and the location’s address so I can send some flowers ahead — I’d appreciate it. I’m going to try to find the next flight out. I’ll let you know when I arrive.”

Thor hesitated. “Well, Loki, there’s something I have to —”

“We’ll talk when I get there, all right. I promise. Thank you for calling, Thor.” Loki ended the call before Thor could say more. Dropping the phone to the coffee table before him and his head in his hands, Loki fell back on the sofa, letting the tears come. As Loki let the grief overwhelm him, he thought back to the last time he saw Sigyn — the one he always considered got away.

----------------------------------------------

“You can’t just leave with them! Those are my children!”

“Yes, I can. They are my children, too.” Sigyn stood still in the small living room of their tiny house while Loki paced around her. His breath came in short huffs; his pale cheeks had gone red. She’d never seen Loki this upset in the entire time they’d known each other. Barely three years. “Don’t you see it’s better this way for everybody?”

Loki suddenly stopped before her, demanding to know how it was better. Sigyn jolted at his sharpened tone, and he forced himself to reign in his temper. “It’s not better for me,” he said in a softer yet still tense voice.

“Will you please calm down, darling?”

Loki scoffed and started pacing again. “Sigyn, don’t use that tone with me. Where are you going to go? Back home to your father?”

Sigyn breathed in, letting it out on a soft sigh. She was waiting for the question. And dreading his response to — well, all of it. “Yes. For now. He and Mamma are making space for us as we speak. Loki, you’re not welcome here anymore.” She swallowed when he turned those hard emerald eyes on her. “Do you not see how you’re now ostracized? Everybody blames you for Baldur’s — accident.”

Loki continued to glare, even as his eyes filled. “You said you believed me.”

“I do.”

“Baldur had many more issues than anyone in this family was willing to hear about or deal with, and I tried to help him; I was the only one who would listen. I didn’t know he grabbed it! How was I to know that he would —“

“You were there!” Sigyn’s frustration and pain came through her words, too. “That was enough — for most people. Your very presence was enough to place the blame where they can find no other. I know, Loki. I know no one knew him as you did. Maybe that’s why it’s so easy to blame you and not him. But — your children — our children cannot grow up in that shadow, Loki. They’ll never have a chance.”

All the fight left in Loki vanished at that moment; he had been defeated. He knew Sigyn, the light of his life, the woman he didn’t know he’d always wanted, was right, but still… “What am I supposed to do?” he asked, his voice small, his eyes welling.

Sigyn’s eyes filled, as well, and she stepped forward, reaching for Loki’s hands. “Live your life, my darling.” Loki met her gaze directly. “You won’t have much of a chance here either. Odin will make sure you don’t.” He nodded. “You had so many plans to make something of yourself, to be more than your father’s legacy. Don’t let any of this stop you.”

Loki sniffled, shook his head, gripping Sigyn’s hand as if it was his only lifeline. “How? How am I supposed to do any of it without you?”

Sigyn smiled through watery eyes when Loki looked into her eyes again. “Take what’s left of your inheritance.” Loki cocked a brow. “Odin won’t fight you on that. And you don’t need me, Loki. You never have. Remember what we said?”

He briefly closed his eyes before looking up to the ceiling, almost as if in prayer, nodding. “We are strong on our own, just stronger together.”

“Right,” she agreed softly.

Loki’s breath hitched. “But what if I don’t feel like that anymore, Sigyn? What if I don’t…” his voice broke, and when he spoke again, it was in a cracking whisper. “What if I don’t know how to live without you?”

Sigyn buried her face in Loki’s chest then, fitting into his side like two jigsaw puzzle pieces coming together perfectly. “You’ll learn,” she all but croaked. “You’ll adapt, just as you always have done.” She tipped her head back to smile up at him, even as a tear escaped down the side of her cheek. “You’re a survivor, my Loki. You always have a plan.”

Loki grinned, brushing away the tear, moving his fingers across Sigyn’s skin to brush at the soft curling hairs at her temple. “And where do you suggest I go, my Sigyn? Min kjære.” His eyes filled again. “Since you seem to have all the answers.”

Sigyn stepped back, raised her hand, pressing it to the side of Loki’s face, as much to bring his eyes back to her as to dry the tears sliding down his sharp-angled cheek. “Anywhere. Everywhere. London. Paris. Rome. You always wanted to go to America.”

Loki took another shaky breath as he pulled her hand from his face, twisting his wrists to hold both of her hands against his chest. “Who am I if I’m not your partner? Or their father?”

“You are Loki Laufeyson. You are your own man.”

Loki scoffed again, with much more disgust this time. “Norns. I hate that name.”

“Then change it.”

The tears subsided; Loki let out a weak chuckle and lifted his brows in question. “Change it? To what?”

Sigyn grinned softly, shrugged, and stepped back further, gently tugging her hands from Loki’s grasp. “To whatever you want, min skatt. I know you won’t take Odinson. You could take my name.” They grinned at each other. “Maybe Friggasson?”

Loki breathed a chuckle, then paused. His breathing had finally calmed. But his heart still ached, his stomach still twisted in knots. “Are you sure about this, Siggy?”

She smiled even as her eyes filled with tears again. Her chin trembled, and it was all Loki could do not to grab her close and hold her. “No,” she answered, her voice wavering, “but I know it’s what I have to do for my boys.”

Loki knew he was fighting a losing battle. His heart was breaking, but he had to accept this, his new fate. They stood there, facing each other, in silence, both knowing it was time for this to end but neither knowing how to do it.

“I should probably get going. I have a long drive ahead of me.”

“Sigyn —” Loki stopped her, touching his fingers to her arm before she could move away. She looked up at him, her big blue eyes questioning, and, almost automatically, turned, so her hand rested on his forearm. Loki tugged her closer, lifting his hands to frame her face. Unsure what to say, Loki simply tilted up her chin and laid his lips on hers. Sigyn made a slight noise in her throat, but she didn’t pull away, and Loki slipped his hands into her wavy copper hair, deepening the kiss. Moments later, Sigyn eased her mouth away.

“Loki. Stop.”

He kept her close, resting his forehead on hers. “Come with me. Please? We’ll take the boys. We’ll go somewhere — anywhere you want.”

“Loki. No,” she sobbed. “I don’t want to leave my home.”

“You are leaving your home,” Loki insisted. He felt Sigyn pull further away, and this time, reluctantly, he let her go.

“I need to go. Do…” Sigyn’s breath hitched, and she did her best to dry her eyes and cheeks. “Do you want to say goodbye to the boys?”

Loki had turned away, a hand covering his face, but he looked at Sigyn now, with tears in his eyes, and nodded.

Sigyn walked out of the room and disappeared down the hallway. When she emerged again, she headed back into the living room, this time holding the hand of a dark-haired boy just over a year old who toddled beside her and another boy, an infant with lighter, reddish wisps of hair, nestled in the crook of her arm.

Loki smiled as best he could, reaching for the baby they’d named Valí, wiggling in Sigyn’s arms, and fought tears as he pressed his lips to the baby’s forehead. He whispered to him in Norwegian as Valí, just a few months old, blinked up at him with dark-blue eyes. Sigyn moved forward to take Valí, and Loki bent to pick up his oldest son, Narfi.

Narfi let out a giggle and immediately wrapped his short arms around Loki’s neck. Loki kissed his cheek, running a hand over his short dark curls. “Take care of your Mamma. And know that your Papa loves you. Always,” he managed on a broken whisper.

Sigyn, Loki was somewhat relieved to see, was fighting her own tears, wiping at her face again as Loki set Narfi on his feet. “We never said this was going to be forever, Loki.”

Loki sniffled as he nodded and tried to regain his composure. “No, we didn’t. But I was counting on it. It would be nice if just one thing in my life were permanent.”

Sigyn reached for Narfi’s hand, and together, they started for the door. Unsure how he would make it through these next few minutes, Loki moved ahead of them to hold the door open.

“Will you call me when you get there?”

Sigyn stopped beside him and shook her head. “No, Loki. I’m afraid this goodbye has to be it.”

Loki nodded. She was barely over the threshold when he snagged her hand, the one holding Narfi’s tiny one. “I love you, Sigyn. I always have, and I always will. And if you ever change your mind…” He left the rest of the sentence dangle between them.

Sigyn nodded, tears welling and spilling. “I’m so sorry things had to be this way. I want you to know that I will love you until my dying day, Loki.”

His breath hitched again. Loki unwillingly released Sigyn, and a hand flew up to his mouth as he tried to stifle the cry that inevitably escaped him. He stood there — he didn't know long — until the sound of Sigyn’s car had long faded into the distance.

----------------------------------------------

Loki was self-aware enough to know the day Sigyn left had changed him significantly. After that, he stopped looking for love or any kind of meaningful connection beyond friendship. He took Sigyn’s advice, and after securing his inheritance from Odin, who readily and happily released it, Loki left for America. And he never looked back. He earned his law degree and managed to establish himself as a ruthless and successful attorney over the next ten years.

Loki met the infamous Tony Stark in the first year of his arrival to New York at a party on campus. Tony wasn’t a student — in fact, he was a couple of years older than Loki — but he was somehow popular with everyone, Loki found. After a very brief dalliance, they remained close friends, and years later, when Tony’s father Howard died, Tony inherited Howard’s multi-million dollar, multinational company, Stark Industries, and hired Loki as his in-house counsel. Together, Loki and Tony lived two very different versions of bachelor life. Tony, a known playboy, none too discreetly kept a busy schedule of beauties, both male and female, rotating through his bedroom door. Whereas Loki, who never directly declared his sexuality yet neither ignored a mutual attraction to whatever gender or sexuality presented itself, kept his private business private. They’d indulged themselves in anything and everything, bringing along Tony’s friends, Pepper Potts and James Rhodes. In their wildest years, there were entire days Loki couldn’t remember.

Waking from a deep sleep brought on by the exhaustion of grief and his crying, in what was now late afternoon if the sun’s position meant anything, Loki abruptly decided a night of indulgence was precisely the kind of distraction he needed. He reached for his phone again, ignoring the messages and missed calls from Fandral and what he recognized as the number where he had reached Thor, and dialed Tony’s number from memory. “Stark. Get dressed. I’ll be at the Tower in fifteen minutes. I need your expertise.”

Loki used Tony’s influence all over the city that night, though his own name carried as much if not equal prestige in some places. They went to various clubs, private establishments, and the occasional bar or pub, looking for anything that would provide a good time. Loki had never been a big drinker and only dabbled in recreational drug use, but he was chucking everything aside tonight, hoping to kill the deep-seated ache in his heart that Sigyn’s passing had left behind.

They picked up a few people along the way, creating their own little entourage. And as usual, it was Tony who seemed to be enjoying himself more than anyone. But it was later in the evening, in a dark little bar in Brooklyn Heights, that Loki would find the exact kind of distraction for which he’d been searching.

[nanoland]

new chapter (lucifer fic)

(earlier parts are here; whole thing is here) 

Ponder on the Narrow House, part 3 

Mazikeen + Eve + Michael, gen fic (for now), warning for gun violence 

0   

Along the California coastline, the cruise ship Illustrious Voyager bore four thousand three hundred and ten passengers, one thousand two hundred and ninety-six crewmembers, and two guide dogs.

Five thousand six hundred and eight souls, in total.

At around 4pm, without anyone noticing, that number became five thousand six hundred and nine.

Hands clasped behind her back, Eve strolled down the promenade, admiring the vessel’s size and beauty. This fresh new millennium’s wealth astonished her. Sickened, sometimes. Entranced, sometimes. But always astonished.

Back in the garden, they’d slept on and under rocks. When it rained, they got wet. When large animals came by, they hid. No weapons. No shelter. No blankets. The only resource they’d had in abundance was food. Good grief – so much food. God had been so proud of all the different fruits and nuts and mushrooms he’d made available to them, and Adam had been so grateful. Eve supposed she had been, too.

It hadn’t stopped her from one day approaching her husband and the plump rabbits resting in his lap – two of several dozen pets – and asking if he didn’t think the cold nights would be much more endurable if they each had a warm pair of fur slippers.

Then she’d met Lucifer. Fallen in love. Bitten the apple. Learned how powerful he and his Father truly were. That was when the real questions, the sticky, prickly questions, had come bubbling up.

If Lucifer has such a vast family, with so many siblings, why can’t I have even one? she’d asked the sky. Why is Adam all I get?

And later: If You can simply bring people into existence, why must I scream and bleed and shit myself in order to have children? Am I doing it wrong? Is there another way? If there isn’t, why not?

And later: Why is nothing fair?

And, most recently, after meeting Mazikeen: Why isn’t everything at least equally unfair? Why do humans get a world of options while Maze and her family are expected to serve angels from birth to death? Why isn’t Maze allowed into Heaven, even after an eternity of loyalty and hard work?

“Sorry,” she said, flashing white teeth at a passing crewmember. “I’m trying to find a friend of mine. Can you tell me how to get to Room 835?”

Half an hour later, there was a splash and the ship’s population dropped to five thousand six hundred and seven.

Before binding his arms and legs, Eve had secured Andrew Bismarck’s lifejacket and gagged him. Furious and helpless, he bobbed alongside her as the ship moved on and Mazikeen rowed up in her inflatable raft, wearing a sunset-orange swimsuit.

“Should I be worried about those, babe?” she asked as she gripped Bismarck’s lifejacket and hauled him out of the water.

Eve smiled at the dolphin pod swimming in playful loops around her, and patted the nearest one’s nose. “No. They’re my friends.”

The inflatable wasn’t big enough for three people, so Eve held on to a friend’s dorsal fin and let him drag her back to The Choronzon.

Michael stood on the deck, looking bored. As they climbed aboard, their prisoner slung over Mazikeen’s shoulder, he drawled, “Seriously? This sad specimen’s worth two million dollars?”

“Actually, his net worth is eight hundred million,” said Mazikeen, dumping him down. “Two million is just what his ex-wife is willing and able to pay.”

Wringing out her hair, Eve added, “She took half his money in the divorce but she gave almost all of it to a chimpanzee shelter. I really like her!”

His lip curled. “How delightfully sordid. Isn’t this all a little beneath you, Ms Mazikeen? I mean, you’re a big deal in Hell. High Commander of Lucifer’s legions, head advisor to the king himself. Aren’t you worried taking jobs like this diminishes you?”

Busy handcuffing Bismarck to the railing, Mazikeen said, “Eve, honey? Do me a favour?”

“Boop!” Eve chirped, having already snuck up behind Michael, and pushed him overboard.

“I know it’s your whole gimmick,” Mazikeen called down as he splashed and spluttered, his face red with princely indignation. “And I know you don’t have a lot else going for you. But the next time you try that on me, I will stop being nice. Kapish?”

“Kapish,” he muttered.

The Choronzon had barely travelled a mile before Eve spotted Bismarck’s henchmen coming after them.

“Someone gimme details!” shouted Mazikeen, busy putting a bulletproof vest on over her bikini and opening up the box she’d told Dan contained a fishing rod, not a halberd.

Eve peered through her binoculars. “Two speedboats. Twelve guys on jet skis. Guns everywhere.”

“Heh. Awesome. Mickey – move that tight ass to the front and make like a nice juicy target.”

“Wait, what about-…” Michael began, trailing off as Mazikeen dove gracefully into the sea.

Bouncing from foot to foot, Eve shot him a grin. “Don’t look so glum, sourpuss. This is the fun part.”

She’d never spoken to Michael in Heaven, despite the millennia they’d both resided only two miles apart, her in a lakeside cottage on the outskirts of the Silver City, him in the crystal palace in its centre.

Granted, she’d not exactly had a warm and fuzzy relationship with any of Lucifer’s siblings. They all knew what had happened in the garden. Some had been nice – Amenadiel had visited often, even though he’d never had much to say and they’d spent their time together skipping stones across the lake’s surface. But the others had kept her at a distance. She was a bad influence.

Michael, however, was the only angel she’d not ever said one word to.

She’d seen him, now and then, in the early days, when she was the only human in Heaven and, as such, grudgingly invited to divine family get-togethers. On those occasions, she’d spent too much time feeling awkward and out-of-place to pay attention to the sullen figure lurking in whatever shadows were available. The one time she’d glanced his way, it had been to marvel at the stories of people getting the twins mixed up; beyond the raw basics of bone structure, Michael couldn’t have looked less like her old lover.

Bullets sprayed across the hull. Humming, Eve stepped daintily into Michael’s shadow, seconds before they started bouncing off his shoulders and chest.

“It is beneath her,” he muttered.

She made an ambiguous noise. “How d’you figure?”

There came a shout and a splash from the nearest jet ski. The bullets stopped.

“C’mon. She’s Mazikeen. Everyone in the Silver City knows about Mazikeen. Ordinarily, we couldn’t give two dry shits about Lucifer’s minions, but her? She’s a minor celebrity. The power behind Hell’s throne. Christ, it’s no secret my beloved twin couldn’t govern his way out of a paper bag.”

“Yeah,” she said, smiling fondly. “He’s kind of bad at everything. Except music. He’s a great musician.”

More shouting. More shooting. More bullets bouncing off Michael’s torso. Mazikeen rode by, one hand gripping her newly-acquired jet ski’s throttle lever, the other clutching her bloodstained halberd. Watching her circle the enemy, Eve was reminded of a sheep dog.

Michael went on: “And then there’s the fact that for a while, everyone thought Lucifer was going to marry her. It was all anyone could talk about. Jophiel was taking bets on when the proposal would happen. She’d have been High Commander and the Queen of Hell. Instead? All of a sudden, Lucifer takes an indefinite vacay to the mortal realm, drags her with him, and next thing anyone knows, she’s working behind a bar.”

The remaining jet skis and their terrified, wounded riders had been neatly rounded up, which meant it was time for Eve to open her purse.

“Um – how long have those been in there?” asked Michael, watching her take out three grenades.

“You want one?” she offered. “Don’t forget to take the pin out before you throw it. I did that my first time.”  

One thing to be said for millions of dull, dull years spent sitting next to God’s Greatest Warrior, skipping stones across a lake; your aim got good.

The first blast was a warning, not close enough to actually kill any of Bismarck’s men, though the resultant waves did knock several into the water. They tried to retreat, turning their vehicles around, only to remember Mazikeen, corralling them single-handed and now armed with machine guns she’d confiscated from those already bested.

When they saw the second and third grenade incoming, they gave up and abandoned the jet skis, jumping into the sea and swimming for their lives.

“Fuck!” Michael yelped, blocking his ears at the concomitant explosions.

Gazing past the debris and smoke, Eve saw Mazikeen head for the nearest of the two speedboats. Its occupants, preoccupied with aiming a rocket launcher at The Choronzon, saw her coming far too late.

“I get your point,” said Eve, as her girlfriend and her halberd made short work of the crew. “But that’s a really… how can I put this? It’s a really angelic way of looking at things. Maze doesn’t consider anything ‘beneath her’.”

“Wow. Sick burn. You’re basically admitting she has no pride.”

“Oh, she’s got pride. Tons of pride. Her pride’s just dependant on how well she does a job, not on the type of job she has. She wasn’t happy working at Lux, but that wasn’t because she thought bartending was ‘beneath her’; it was because she prefers doing things she’s good at. Customer service isn’t really one of her strengths.”

The second speedboat was abandoned by its crew mere seconds before Mazikeen rammed the first speedboat into it, cackling victoriously.

“Actually,” Eve said, moving from Michael’s shadow to where Mazikeen had earlier set a crate of peach soda – her favourite – out on the deck, “now that you mention it, I guess I’m the one with no pride. Haven’t really ever had anything to be proud of. Your Dad never gave me the chance. I was never meant to do things. I was just meant to be.”

Michael snorted. “Lucky you. Trust me; he may have softened in his later years, but back in the day he never, ever stopped riding our asses. You think Lucy really rebelled because he had better plans for how the universe should be run? Because he was an innovator? Nope. Lazy dick just hated being told to do his chores.”

By the time Mazikeen swam back to them, saltwater had washed off the blood and her ponytail had come loose.

“Oh, hey,” said Eve, gripping her hand and pulling her up. “A mermaid.”

After pressing a rough kiss to her cheek and taking a swig of peach soda, Mazikeen asked, “You okay? He did his job?”

Eve patted the angel’s shoulder – the one that wouldn’t hurt. “He was terrific! Awesome addition to the team.”

“I didn’t do anything,” Michael mumbled.

Ignoring him, Mazikeen snatched up a towel to dry her hair. “Glad to hear it. Alright! Let’s get Bismarck back to shore, get paid, and find a place to have dinner so we can toast Team Hellrazor’s first successful mission.”

“R-A-Z-O-R,” Eve informed Michael. “To make it cooler.”

[peppersonironi]

How I Picture a Batfam Age Reversal

I’m going to write this as a fic (And I want to go on into a young justice world where dick forms the team and his siblings are protective) but here is the outline in bullet points in case anyone is interested. Please note this is VERY first draft.

Ages (At end) & Order:

Damian- 24

Duke- 21

Stephanie- 20

Tim- 21

Cassandra- 19

Jason- 19

Barbara- 15

Dick- 13

Damian is Ten when he is sent to live w/ his father. Bruce is 30.

They don’t really work well together at first. But Selina, Alfred, and Clark somehow get it through Bruce’s thick skull that he has to care for this child.

Damian keeps sneaking out on patrol, against B’s wishes. Eventually, he let’s Damian join and tells him to choose a name (Not what we meant, Bruce!)

Damian wants to go for something like Shadow, or Demon, but Bruce puts his foot down. He says that Damian shouldn’t try to be darkness.

Damian is pouting in the gardens when he finds a wounded robin. It’s wing is broken. He demands that the animal should be taken to a shelter, and carries it in his hand the whole way there.

The bird makes it, and Damian demands to be called Robin. He designs his suit, going slightly more colorful. “I might be called Robin, but I am NOT wearing brown, Pennyworth.”

Bruce introduces him to Superboy (Jon, note: less age dif) and the pair are close friends.

He is Robin for a little over seven years before he begins to fight with Bruce about being allowed to patrol alone, and being his own hero. (basically what happened w/ Dick).

Damian leaves Gotham, opting to claim Bludhaven. Jon joins him. He suggests they call each other Nightwing and Flamebird. Damian thinks it’s a bit childish, but he can’t say no to Jon. They’re costumes are here. (done by @hyperactive-lectiophile! Fantastic job!)

They eventually realize they’re in love w/ each other, all while trying to figure their lives  out. Damian briefly tries to join the police. He hates it. Eventually, he enrolls in BH college for a major in Art and a minor in business.

Later in Gotham, the We Are Robin/Robin War stuff happens. Long story short, Duke is adopted. 

Damian is angry to find out he has a new brother, goes to Gotham to yell at Bruce, but then meets Duke. They bond, and are close siblings. Damian makes his father promise to not adopt any more strays.

Stephanie Brown wants to stop her Father, so she sews up a costume and goes out as Batgirl. Bruce is apprehensive at first, but his family basically yells at him to train the poor girl before she gets hurt.

He does, and after Steph meets Damian, who she absolutely adores (He loves her too. The way she pisses his father off is legendary), Stephanie decides she wants to be Robin. Batgirl was good for dealing with her father, but she wants to belong to this new family, and, w/ Damian’s blessing, she makes a new costume.

Unfortunately, after a while, Stephanie is killed by Black Mask (her death is faked, like in the comics, but the Fam doesn’t know)

Enter Tim Drake. Batman has been going crazy over grief, and not even Nightwing, Catwoman (this is SOOOO batcat, btw) or The Signal can calm him down. Tim steps right up, and demands to be robin.

Damian and Bruce fight over this. Surprisingly, Damian is the one who thinks Tim should be given a chance. He sees how his father has been acting. Damian knows that Tim must be brilliant to figure out their identities, and thinks that should count for something. Duke takes his side, knowing that it takes guts to talk to batman, and be willing to join him. Bruce, meanwhile, is a constant chant of “no more dead robins”. After a while, and lots of arguing, Tim takes his place as Robin. They redesign the suit, and he takes his place as robin.

It’s little while after this that Stephanie comes back. Tim offers Robin back, but Stephanie declines. They talk and grow closer. At one point they talk about Stephanie’s new moniker. She says she doesn’t want to be Batgirl either. She wants something new. Tim suggests Spoiler (Bad pun turned brilliant idea?).

Cassandra Cain arrives on the scene next. She saves the commissioner’s life (like No Man’s Land, minus No Man’s Land), and Stephanie immediately imprints on this tiny assassin child (So do the rest of the family, but Steph claims the fourteen-year old first. She and Bruce fight over custody.). She offers Cass Batgirl. Gotham gained a new vigilante, and Bruce Wayne adopted a new child. (Faster than the comics, I KNOW. But Cass deserves happiness)

Everyone loves their new sister, and everyone spoils her. Duke is the one to take her to a ballet the first time. She immediately begs to be put into lessons.

Somewhere in here Tim’s mom dies and his dad is in a coma. Bruce takes him in.

Eventually, Bruce decides to offer Tim Red Robin, hoping to avoid the strife he had with Damian. (Like in the comics, Bruce was going to give Jason Red Robin)

Tim is unsure of this, and puts off deciding. Then little Jason Peter Todd decides to jack the tires of the batmobile and is immediately taken in.

Everyone is captivated by the tiniest addition to their family, but it's also at this time that Jack Drake finds out about Robin and forces Tim to quit. Tim gives Jason his blessing to become Robin.

Everyone pitches in on helping train the newest Robin. Damian teaches the kid things he learned from the league (non-lethal things, since Damian loves this kid), Duke teaches him escrima fighting, Stephanie (Much to Bruce’s dismay) has a full seminar of the delicacies of glitter bomb making. Tim teaches the kid hacking, when he can get away from his dad. 

Unfortunately, when Jason has been Robin for almost a year, he is killed by the Joker.

The family is torn apart by greif. But this time around, Bruce has a much larger support system. All of them lean on each other.

The only time that Damian ever broke his no-kill rule while living with his father was to kill the Joker. He hunted and murdered the clown, sparing Harley. He had been friends with Quinzel since he was Robin, and knew how the Joker treated her. Harley became the batfam’s honorary aunt after this.

Bruce was too emotionally tired to fight with Damian over his actions, so no one said anything. Eventually, Bruce and Damian did argue. Damian refused to apologize,, though he did promise his father to never kill again. Their relationship was strained for a while, but they worked through it.

Less than a year later, Jack Drake dies, and Tim comes back onto the vigilante scene. He refuses to become Robin, however, choosing to take Bruce up on his offer and become Red Robin. He designs his own suit, and the world seems to slowly become normal. Or some semblance of it.

One night, the circus is in town and the whole family (except Alfred) is home. Duke, Tim, and Steph drag Bruce, Cass, and Damian to go see it.

It is on this night that Dick Grayson’s parents fall to their death. Dick is sent to live in juvi, meanwhile Bruce tries to adopt Dick. He succeeds, and the manor once again has a bright young child running through it’s halls.

Dick figures out the secret identities of his family and instantly demands to be allowed out. He wants to take down Zucko, and won’t settle for every single member hunting for him. Dick wants to take down his parent’s murdered himself. He tries to sneak out multiple times, but is always stopped.

Damian talks to Dick (They are extremely close) and explains the origins of Robin. He says that the mantle was born out of a want to distance himself from the revenge and violence of the league. Dick cries when he learns this and says that his own parents used to call him Robin. He suggests that the mantle is more than a personal need. Robin is Family.

Damian almost immediately demands that Dick be trained and help catch Zucko. Bruce is confused, as before, Damian was strongly against letting a nine-year-old fight crime. Damian explains (after much cajoling. He might be more emotionally open and healthy than when he first arrived in the manor, but the kid is still constipated) what Dick had said, and that Damian understands the kid’s need for direction. “When I first came here, I needed Robin. I might not have known it, but I did. Richard needs Robin now, as well.”

The family took sides on the issue, but eventually Dick (with the aid of his puppy-dog-eyes™) won everyone over. He got his own Robin costume, and they caught Zucko.

Dick refused to stop being Robin, and so Gotham gained a new bird.

Dick was Robin for almost two years when The Red Hood made his appearance in Gotham. No one knew what he wanted, as he didn’t seem to do much beyond killing criminals. They thought he was a vigilante at first, but then he began to take over the criminal underbelly of Gotham, regulating crime. On top of that, Red Hood targeted Robin. Attacking the boy wonder when no one else was around. After the red helmeted rogue let loose a few hints about the league of shadows, Damian interrogated his mother, who explained the identity of The Red Hood, and how she had set him on Gotham.

As soon as the family figured out the newcomer’s identity, and the reason he was alive Damian tracked him down. He knew how to deal with pit rage from his childhood, and brought the lost bird back to the nest.

The family was whole for the first time in years. Jason was still angry and resentful, but he had his family back. Jason was grateful for Damian taking revenge for him, and they were once again close. 

Slowly, Jason let everyone back in, including Bruce. Dick is wary at first of this new older brother, but the little chicken nugget quickly warms up to Jason, and even convinces him to teach him how to shoot a gun (In secret, of course, Dami and Bruce would blow a gasket). Jason couldn’t resist the kid. It was physically impossible.

A year later, Cass decides to pursue dance as her career. She gets a job with the Hong Kong Ballet company. She moves there, and decides to take a new moniker: Black Bat. Her family is so proud of her, but they miss her dearly. Duke visits often, bringing new back to the family.

The absence of Batgirl is filled after a while by Barbara Gordan. She makes her own costume and starts going out. Once again, Stephanie Brown adopts a smol bean (Well, not legally. The commissioner is still alive) and outfits her with a more Gotham-friendly suit and weaponry (I.e. heavy kevlar and leather)

Babs is taken whole-heartedly into the fold, and is made an honorary sister.

[evien-stark]

✧I Need You✧  Chapter 229

Tony had stared death in the face many times. Usually willingly so. ...mostly willingly so, these past few years. The feeling that came with it should have been intimately familiar and not as terrifying- this time it was different. Maybe because all those times he’d put his life on the line, it was by choice. 

This was not his choice. And maybe it was terrifying now because this time it came in the form of Steve Rogers bearing down on him. One of the last things he’d ever really expected out of this wild life he’d been cultivating lately. 

But really the worst part was being aware that she was less than twenty feet away- and she was going to see it- she was going to see Cap ram that shield straight down through his neck- 

Was that really how it was going to end?

Is that where it had all been leading? Were they both so far gone that he was going to be murdered by someone that he respected- someone that he cared for- someone that used to be his friend- 

Maybe it was his own fault. The past few minutes he hadn’t had enough brain power to know whether or not he would have killed Barnes, either. All he’d known was-... well it wasn’t really knowing anything. It had been running on pure adrenaline. Pure anger. Raw pain. Would he have killed Barnes? It wasn’t really a question he could have answered anymore. Because now-

Tony realized within a few thin seconds that he thought Steve would really do it- because instinct drove his arms up in a futile attempt to stop the inevitable. His normally noisy brain, always in overdrive thinking a million little things, went deadly silent in its mad scramble to try and comprehend any of this. There were only two thoughts then. 

I don’t want to die.

And, maybe more importantly-

I don’t want her to see me die like this. 

He’d bore the crown for king of unintended consequences perhaps all his life. This was one in another long line. Could all of this have been avoided? Perhaps. Maybe. But… he was so used to taking the blame for everything- would he do it, even now? Maybe he shouldn’t have lashed out. But pain, and grief, and betrayal were strong killing tools that fogged an otherwise stable mind. 

In the end it didn’t matter. There wasn’t enough time, as Steve raised his shield, hefted back, and started that downward swing. There just simply wasn’t enough time to think anything about anything. Just that… Tony didn’t want to die. He didn’t want to die here. And he didn’t want to die like this. And above all else…

He didn’t want to leave her behind, didn’t want her to be alone to deal with everything this would bring. The world- the universe was not safe yet and- ...he didn’t want to die- for many reasons- but sitting on top of them all was that… simply… 

He loved her. 

What more reason was there to want to stay alive? 

Tony didn’t want to die- He didn’t want to die- He didn’t want Steve to kill him- 

His racing thoughts came to an immediate halt, as always- for her. 

“Stop!!” 

In the very next instant the entire room was flooded in a bright light. One he knew very well. Hers. And in that moment… he knew he was safe. He knew he was not going to die. -because of her. 

But as Steve stiffened and completely locked up, Tony eased his arms back a fraction to try and see past that bright glow, and where the idea of safety had eased his panicked mind, looking at her then made him sweat with fresh anxiety. 

She was lit up like a firework- eyes enveloped in a sunset shine, skin glimmering. His helmet was broken and gone now, but he imagined FRIDAY’s warnings were going off a million miles a minute. All protocols set in place for when she went too far- when she was just on the edge of exploding- 

This was further than that. He’d never seen her like this. Her arms moved, outstretched for a second and then she brought them inward, cupping over her chest in… in a sight a little too familiar. Almost like she was making a heart shape- ...one she’d made at him dozens, if not hundreds of times by now. An intimate, adorable gesture that normally had him melting in place but now… 

Now in between her palms another burst of light seemed to take shape. She was foreign to him now. He’d never seen her like this, never heard her like this and never felt her like this. In all the ways they’d blended together, the ways he knew her best- ...this was different. Her power weighted the room in a heavy blanket- and then seemed to consume Rogers whole. 

He not only stopped but seemed… lifeless. Just for a few seconds and then- 

“Step back.” She commanded and Cap obeyed. Stiffly. Strangely. 

But Tony was at least a little glad when Steve got to his feet and that heft lifted off of him. He wasn’t sure what to do. Or what he should do- if anything. If he even could. 

She moved then, and it wasn’t really walking. It was like a calm sort of glide. Like she owned the universe and everyone in it- and she knew it. More powerful than he’d ever seen her, maybe more powerful than she even knew she was. It was… frightening. Even when she’d saved him, potentially from near death… in doing so, what was happening to her?

Using herself like a wall, she stopped between the two of them, and Tony didn’t much like the sight of her back, not able to see her face. Not able to see her. Watching uselessly, staring up at the two of them as his palms braced the ground beneath him as he tried to help himself up. 

“I don’t ever wanna see you again.” Her voice was a little more hers then. Not as booming, not as commanding. Just… her. Her desire after this fiasco. “I don’t want you near my family ever again.” But there at the tail end of laying down the law, her voice rumbled in that strange, powerful way again. Then he saw her lift her hand, and while she was otherwise blocking his view, he knew exactly what she was doing. 

Especially as she continued, and the outline of a glow burst around her again, “You keep that. Hold on to it. And think about it. Every day.” Tony didn’t need to see what she was doing, and while he couldn’t comprehend it- like most things about her that drove him mad- he felt it then. An inky ooze that flooded the room. Something terrible. It suffocated him for a second and he found it hard to catch his breath. His mind spun in a dizzying ache. 

She was giving something back to Cap. Something she thought he’d earned. Something she thought he’d deserved. And while there were no words that could capture what it was… 

Tony knew. As that feeling bottomed out, it was something he realized he knew maybe even a little too well. And he wasn’t quite sure what to do with the knowledge that all of this- all of it- what had brought them here, what had started and nearly fatally ended all of it- 

...was guilt. A guilt so crushing it threatened to kill. 

Yeah. 

Tony knew that feeling. 

The power around her died in the next few seconds, and Tony found himself exhaling. Maybe even foolishly. Because the next thing Steve did was reach his hand up in a lightning whip of a strike, and her fear consumed him so deeply- a noise he’d never heard from her escaped into the open air. It all happened so quickly. He couldn’t even get up in time. 

He wanted to- Something was happening that was devastating her and he couldn’t even do anything to stop it. To help her. To protect her- and it didn’t matter. He understood in the next moment- as her suit peeled off her skin in some sort of cascade failure, and as Steve’s arm jerked down, he saw the dying light of the Heart Reactor crushed into darkness. 

It made sense- His brain told him it made sense- especially as he pushed her over- Tony weakly reaching up to put his hands at her shoulders to keep her from tumbling further as she landed just beside him- and then Steve just turned in the next instant and began walking away. Picked up his pal Barnes- what all the trouble in the world was worth to Steve- and kept going.

It made sense that he’d do that. Tony’s suit was junked. There was no way he’d make it out of here. And Steve couldn’t risk that she’d go after them too- so it made sense that he’d destroy her suit as a last effort to keep them from following but- 

The quiver of her pain lit a fire in his heart. It didn’t matter whose fault any of this was anymore- and he had a pretty good idea whose it was. 

Barnes had murdered his parents. Rogers had known about it. And now he’d hurt her- 

“That shield doesn’t belong to you!” Tony spat the words as quickly as they would come. “You don’t deserve it!” If that shield was any symbol, any modicum of the picture of truth or justice or fairness- Steve Rogers no longer deserved to be the bearer of it. For many reasons. So many reasons, but- most poignantly perhaps, “-my father made that shield!” 

Howard Stark. Who for all of his life had pushed Tony into Steve Rogers’ shadow- who never shut up about Captain America- who never let Tony live any of it down-

Howard Stark’s greatest creation- and yet that gift to earth had betrayed him so deeply. 

...what would dear ol’ dad think about that? 

The sight of Barnes beating down his father flashed vividly in his mind and he was punished for his quick internal sass, gritting his teeth, and shutting his eyes tight as a sizzle of pain infected his heart- 

He had hoped it would be gone in the next instant, at the sight of Rogers dropping the shield to the ground- but it didn’t fade. Tony wanted to tell himself that he would be okay- that he would get through this- like he did everything else, but those were not the thoughts that came. Instead something terrible preyed upon him. Pushed on him. Weighed on him. 

When he’d started panting he had no idea, his heart was squeezing painfully- he thought he might be having a heart attack- 

But it was her. 

She was wheezing- gasping for air, strange, weak, wet noises escaping her on every other draw of breath. It was clear what was happening, and he knew then he had absolutely no way of stopping it. Perhaps that was the scariest part. He wasn’t sure if he had enough in him to stop this- ...not even stop it, at this point she was too far gone to even have a hope of stopping- but even to help her- 

“Honey-” His voice caught in his throat as he found it harder and harder to breathe. But it wasn’t her own hurt infecting him then, he knew. Because the next second she was wailing. Something deep and guttural. Her hands were pressing at her chest, her head tucked down in shame as tears poured down the sides of her face. Shivering. Pained. 

She couldn’t control herself, another tinge of light sparking around her. She was losing it- and that played a large part in his own inability to help where she was accidentally crushing him but- ...seeing her like this… 

Seeing her fall apart- because of Rogers- 

They were trapped in Siberia. His suit was damaged beyond repair. Her suit was gone. He was hurt pretty bad, she was hurt worse and getting worse by the second- 

They might die out there. 

The reality of that scared him. If he couldn’t help her get it together, if he couldn’t think of something- maybe his suit was just not broken enough to get an SOS out to Happy or- anyone nearby- maybe her ear cuffs had enough power in them still to do the same but- 

If not- what then? 

Had Steve really just sentenced them to die out there in the freezing wilderness? 

Tony was babbling something at her- honestly, he couldn’t even hear himself over her. The painful noises leaking out of her, and her pain- god- such an awful, heavy, stabbing pain piercing through every pore in his body- he just kept trying. He didn’t know what he was saying, but he tried. Eventually it wasn’t words. He couldn’t get them out.

His arms came around her, he pressed his forehead to hers, and he just… he held her. The two of them shivering against each other. And after what felt like an eternity she… she just… stopped. So suddenly it frightened him. Her crying, her aching, it just stopped. And in its place was an eerie emptiness- ...that and a glow. On and off. Shuddering around her. Like she was… signaling something. Or maybe it was a countdown to her actual explosion.

“Honey?” He put a hand to her face, pushed some hair behind her ear and looked into her eyes but there was… there was nothing there. “Honey- hey-” 

She looked so fragile then. So small. Beaten, bloodied, bruised- And so terribly empty. She wasn’t even shivering anymore. She wasn’t anything.

That was the most terrifying thing of all. That she’d gone somewhere so deep he had no way of reaching her. And that warning flash emanating from her wasn’t slowing- His mouth opened, a desperate clutch of noise- no idea what to even say, no idea what would save her but- 

“Stark.” 

It really wasn’t the best time or place to be caught at their lowest point. And he was pretty surprised to see Prince- ...rather, King T’Challa standing there, in that Black Panther suit of his, minus the helmet. What he was doing there…? Best guess, probably trying to finish up. Like the rest of them. Must have gotten their infodump faster than Tony had realized.

Probably a good thing he hadn’t gotten involved in the family fighting. 

“Can the two of you move?” It didn’t take a genius to see the medical condition the two of them were in was probably not great. And there was a modicum of shame to be had here, looking like they were- fighting like they had been- or rather, who they had been fighting with. It also didn’t go without notice that T’Challa seemed completely unfazed by her on-and-off light show.

But there was no time to think about that now. “I’m fine.” Broken ribs and internal bleeding aside. “Take her. She’s- ...worse.” He could worry about himself and his pride later. If T’Challa was here that meant he had a means of getting out of there, too. And Tony would take what help he could get right now. If only for her. 

T’Challa neared, lowered a little, and offered his hand to her and she just… sat there. Thousand yard stare. Nobody was home. No one was in there. And when he realized she wasn’t going to do much of anything, T’Challa instead took her arm around his shoulder and tried to get her to her feet. 

Thank god she stood- otherwise they’d have to carry her out. 

It left Tony on his own to get up, but as long as she made it out that was fine. He was tired, and losing more by the second. It was why he made it quick, pushing himself painfully to his feet, staggering behind the two of them.  They went ahead of him and as he lagged behind him he came to a stop near the shield. Staring him in the face. For a moment he contemplated simply leaving it out there. Who cared, anymore? But- ...but… instead he lowered, and clutched it in a tight grip as he lifted it from the snow and continued his dazed trek.

Had it all been worth the outcome? 

Probably not. 

Outside he felt worse- some parts due to his quickly failing body, though mostly just watching her shuffle out like a zombie. Thankfully, as predicted, there was a small jet waiting in the snow. The Quinjet was nowhere to be found. Obviously. Rogers and Barnes had gone wherever they’d gone. And Tony hoped he wouldn’t have to see either of them for a very long time. 

But when Tony realized T’Challa already seemed to have a passenger inside that small cockpit, he bit back a pained grin. “Four’s a crowd, huh?” He wasn’t going to fit. 

T’Challa had taken possession of Zemo. It made sense, and honestly, Tony was glad the man hadn’t gotten away. After all the trouble he’d caused- the last hour notwithstanding. T’Challa deserved first crack at him. 

Turning, the two of them looked at each other solemnly before T’Challa offered, “I have called for backup. They should be here within the hour.” But as T’Challa said this, he seemed concerned. He was also doing spatial math. And it wasn’t added up in a way he liked.

“Take her. Please.” It was hard to say this. To let this happen. But if T’Challa was about to ask him who went first, the answer was obvious. He didn’t know T’Challa all that well. He seemed like a decent guy. Honor-driven. And… from what he understood, she and him got along well. She seemed to trust him. So Tony would have to take that for all it was worth. And… let him take her. She needed to get out of there. Now. “You take mine and I’ll take yours- until your backup gets here.”

Really. Really what Tony was begging for here was for T’Challa to trust him.

He could wait. And he would force himself to stay conscious and on top of Zemo. As long as she was safe. 

“And where would you like me to take her?” The question seemed like some sort of cryptic test. 

There were a lot of ways Tony wanted to answer this. Anywhere but here being on top of the list. Somewhere safe a close second. Or, maybe, wherever you’re going. But… he was somber as he made another plea, “Somewhere she can get help.” And in asking this, he was really saying- I trust you. 

He would have to. He had very little options left. She’d gone completely catatonic. And right now, much as it hurt to admit it to himself, he wasn’t sure he was in the best state to be of service to her.

T’Challa considered this for a single solitary second, slow as it seemed. But finally he delivered his judgment. “I will. I owe her that debt.” 

This puzzled Tony, and maybe he shouldn’t have asked, but, “For what?” 

“Her kindness.” 

They didn’t know each other at all but in that one moment, as both men looked at each other, they understood one another. She was the greatest woman in the world- in the universe. She was loving, she gave all of herself to everything worth her time, she did everything for everyone, she was brave, and valiant, caring- and- yes- kind. Of this, Tony was wholly, completely sure. More sure of that than anything else in his life. 

She deserved to be repaid for all of that. For her service to everyone. 

It was good that other people were finally catching on. 

                                                             --- 

There was a light in your eyes. An extremely bright one. And a noise- 

Every part of you tried to resist. Resist what was happening. You hadn’t been cold in some time. You hadn’t really been anything. And that was nice. ...but you’d been alone. 

Really alone. Alone and… somewhere else. Somewhere far away. Sights you couldn’t quite put into words- or memories, for that matter. Just… all feeling. And not a lot of it was good. But… it was better than anything else. 

The screaming had stopped, hadn’t it? The crying had stopped. Everything had stopped. You had stopped. And you had no desire to start up again. Floating… somewhere. Alone but… somewhere quiet. And… just alone. Alone was fine. It was fine if it meant… if it meant nothing. 

And it all had meant nothing right? At least alone nothing could- 

“Where am I?” Your voice was groggy and unwilling as it left your throat. Finally you focused. On that light and- the young girl who stepped out from behind it. With long dark hair in braids. Wearing a lab coat. And- “What’s going on?” 

Your entire body sagged under its own weight. Stress wracked your brain. Panic was not too far behind. 

“Ah. Good. Welcome back.” Her words were accented. It was hard to place- ...wait. No. You knew an accent like that. She lifted a tablet and started writing. “Physically I have done all I can. She will be fine. So… please take her home now.” 

This wasn’t Siberia. This wasn’t anything recognizable. But maybe that was better. Because thinking of that bitter cold made you shiver and flinch under the heavy weight of those memories- you didn’t want to think about it. You’d been fine but now- 

“Honey-” It was easy to zero in on Tony’s voice. On his presence. Something you’d been unaware of until just that exact second. Weakly, wearily you lifted your head to try and locate him. Somewhere in that room- but- 

Someone else said your name. Someone else you remembered. And instead of searching desperately for Tony you saw T’Challa step closer. “How are you feeling?” 

“I don’t know- I’m-” The words started to come out in a rush. Heat drenched you. Your heart was hammering. Why? 

T’Challa looked… displeased. He was close. A little too close for comfort. Maybe it was just you. “Just take a moment.” He wanted you to slow down but- 

His hand lifted- He was close and he was reaching for you- He was so close- too close- 

Your body jerked off the table, into a smaller one, objects scattering onto the floor- legs uneasy and unstable, barely able to keep yourself up, especially as you went into overdrive, clutching at your chest. Steve’s anger- the look in his eyes- 

“Don’t-” God- please- don’t- “Don’t touch me-” You’d backed yourself up into the nearest wall. All three people in the room looked at each other nervously. “Don’t touch me- just, please-” You couldn’t stop saying it. Why? What was wrong with you? Steve wasn’t here. He wasn’t here. Wherever here was- Steve was not here. You just kept saying it over and over and over again until it made sense. But it didn’t. He wasn’t here- he was gone- he’d left and- 

He was staring at you. Bearing down on you. Putting pressure on you. Cracking your ribcage open and just yanking- -god… hadn’t you already suffered through this enough?

You wanted to go. Be anywhere but here. Wherever here was. You just wanted- you just needed- 

“I cannot fix that, I’m afraid.” “Shuri-” 

“Honey- hey… just look at me. Focus here… focus on me...” Tony had gotten close. You recognized him before you actually saw him. He was right there. And his hand was warm as he reached up. Testing you- but it wasn’t much of a test. You made contact. Desperate contact, seeking him out. Crumbling into him. Because he was safe. 

There was really only one thing to say, wasn’t there? 

So you said it. Again and again and again and again… 

I’m sorry. 

                                                            ---

Wakanda was a secret nation with a king that had had the good grace to try and help you. With technology that was far beyond you. They never let anyone into their borders yet T’Challa had wanted to help you and you couldn’t even remember leaving- 

Let alone saying thank you. 

You probably hadn’t. Because all you’d wanted to do was go home. Somewhere safe. Somewhere you could stop existing. And when Tony took you back to that fucking awful tower with awful memories- that’s what you did. Even though you didn’t want to be there, that was your home and you had nowhere else to go. 

The Avengers Tower. Maybe you should have gone to the Avengers Compound. 

It didn’t matter. He’d put you down for bed and- ...and… 

Every so often he’d check on you. Ask you if you needed anything. If you wanted anything. What he could do. 

You were being selfish. God- he’d just learned his parents had been murdered- the Avengers were dead- people were in jail that you’d promised to help- the UN was probably calling nonstop- Rhodey was paralyzed and- 

And… 

Every day he came and asked what you needed. What you wanted. What he could do. 

And… 

You couldn’t get up. You just… you just couldn’t… You were tired. You were exhausted. Some weird mix of empty and too full of all the terrible things at the same time. The world was waiting for you to get the fuck up- and… 

You just… 

“Please eat something. ...please…” 

So for Tony you would. Because he was suffering and it was your fault and you didn’t want this, didn’t want to put him through this- but nothing seemed to work. You drifted like that in a daze. Heavy and sad- more than sad- so much more than just that word and- 

“Rhodey is coming back to the Compound. He’s gonna rest up and… I’m gonna help him through his physical therapy. I made-” Tony was talking to you and you weren’t really listening. He’d been talking for a long time, too. Selfish selfish selfish… “-Happy will be here- if you need anything you can call me- and if you want to come…” 

“Is Rhodey okay?” It was maybe the first thing you’d said in a long time- it was hard to tell how much time had passed, exactly. You had no way of knowing. But it must have been a very long time because it stopped Tony dead. Shocked him even, just a little. 

...he’d probably come into the bedroom to talk to you every day- now that you thought about it and you’d just… ignored him. Every day for who knew how long until just now. 

Had it gotten that bad? Why? Why was this the thing that had ruined you… 

“He’ll be okay. He needs to do a lot of work but. He’s tough. You know him. He doesn’t give up on anything.” Carefully he reached out, putting a hand atop your leg over the covers. As your head lolled to the side, weak under your own strain and weight, the two of you looked at each other through the dimness. 

You realized then, really realized, you hadn’t seen him in a while. He’d been there the whole time but you hadn’t heard him. Hadn’t seen him. Hadn’t… hadn’t anything. 

He was so pained. So devastated. Haunted and just… just sad for you. With what little strength you had left, finally you sat up, leaning back against the headboard. Your body protested it greatly. You felt disgusting. ...you were disgusting. And- 

Reaching up, you pressed your hands to your eyes. Taking stock of everything. Finally coming to. “Does T’Challa think I’m an asshole?” Tears started escaping your eyes, you weren’t really sure why. Weakly you forced a sniffling laugh out. As if that question really mattered right now. 

Tony moved to sit next to you, putting an arm around you. The sound of his own nervous laughter eased you. Just a little. “No. Well- I didn’t ask but. That’s not the impression I got. You’re good at making friends in high places. I think he was mostly just worried.” 

“I don’t think I said thank you.” For whatever it was he’d done. There had to be a reason you’d ended up there. 

“You didn’t. But it’s alright. I did enough thanking for the both of us. It’s not like he’s waiting on a card or fruit basket or anything.” 

“Are you sure?” This came out watery, worse than the rest of it and you hid your face in the side of his neck. Crying. Still. Or maybe again. Who even knew anymore. 

His hand was gentle in its slow sweep up the length of your spine. “Yes, honey. I mean, he does want to talk to you but he’s fine waiting.” Slowly he guided you just a little bit back so that he could hold your face in his palms. Carefully. Sweetly. “Everything’s gonna be okay.” 

He said this. And he meant it. In the way that he always did. And it… it broke your heart. That he was trying so hard. That he was looking after you after- ...after all that terribleness. 

Your hands reached up to hide your face again as you started bawling. Where you’d been content to drift in emptiness, to not face this… it was there now. The dam had broken. Ugly and awful. 

He pulled you to him again and you clutched to him like a child, crying on his shoulder. Asking him something you had no right to- “Are you sure?” Asking him to comfort you. Still. Again. Always. 

Even when he was hurting too. 

Tony held you tight. Tight. In a way that grounded you. Made you feel secure. Safe. His head laid atop yours. And that close, his voice rumbled against you, low and warm as he promised you, “Yes. Everything will be okay.” 

“I’m sorry I’m like this- I’m sorry-” Apologizing. Because… he probably needed help too. Needed comforting. And yet there you were-

He held you just a little tighter then. “It’s alright. It’s okay.” “I’m sorry about your parents...” Tony fell quiet before answering this, but eventually he did. “I know. Me, too.” The two of you soaked in each other’s somberness. Just… there together. “I’m sorry. You need help too- need me- and I’m not doing anything- I’m sorry-” It was more hyperventilated blubbering noises now than anything. But he understood. “I know you are. I believe you. It’s not your fault. It’s okay. We’ll be okay. We’ll get through this.” These could have all just been platitudes but you believed every single one of them with all your heart. Only because they were coming from him.

Where there wasn’t enough space for breath or words to get out, you made sure to let him know- I love you.

And he paused, breathed out slowly, and then, “I love you, too. More than anything.”

He’d must have done this a million times- because you were broken- yet you kept finding new ways to get hurt and he always cleaned up the mess. He must have promised you a million times that everything would be okay. 

...and even when it wasn’t, it was eventually, right? 

So you believed him. Because you wanted to. And because he wanted you to believe him, too. 

But even that was overwhelming. Which was why it was nice that he just sat there with you. And let you get it all out. It. All the awfulness. Everything you didn’t want to face. ...at least with him there… it wasn’t as bad.