#she's kept me isolated from any support for so long

[heyitsphoenixx]

.

[bbydoll18xx]

She’s Such a Good Girl (Part 2)

Paige continues her assault on your innocence, leading you to spiral.

Paige Bueckers x reader

Word Count: 2.7k

Themes: angst in the beginning, Paige being hot and flirty the rest of it woohoo, mentions of being horny oops

Part 1 - You move in across the hall from Paige Bueckers. It doesn’t take long before she tries to shatter your innocent persona. And you just let her.

Masterlist

A/N: I’m so, so grateful for all the love on the first part of this little mini series. Let me know if you are up for a third part:)) I have soo many ideas it's ridiculous

~

You wake up feeling anything but well rested. Your sleep was muddled with dreams of Paige, her smile infiltrating your unconsciousness until you woke up with an uncomfortable stickiness in between your thighs. You groan into your pillow, the general overwhelmingness of last night draining you even more.

Grabbing your phone from your bedside table, you see a text from Paige, and the butterflies erupt inside of you once more. 

‘We’re all planning on going out tonight. You’re coming with us.’

Her bluntness momentarily stuns you, but you were grateful to be included. It seemed she was hell bent on getting you out of your shell, for whatever reason, and you were simply just going to concede. You needed this.

You respond, your heart beating out of your chest, and the anxiety begins to set in. 

It was getting harder and harder to deny the gay feelings you had. And although it had been years since your “oh shit, I’m gay,” moment had dawned on you, this was reaching new heights of awareness. But you had refused to truly accept it thus far.

You had a complicated relationship with your sexuality. Most of the time you had shied away from even acknowledging it; it was too painful. In high school, you were surrounded by other gay people, and it felt like you almost belonged, slowly coming to terms with your sapphism. But as you moved away to college, you were the only one in your friend group who was even a little remotely queer, and you felt isolated by your glaring differences. 

Your religious upbringing did not help the situation either. You quickly learned how to hide your emotions. Slurs were regularly thrown around the dinner table, the nasty words cutting into your being, and your fists would be tightening in your lap, fighting to keep a neutral expression on your face.

You could not give yourself away.

As soon as you could, you’d seek solace in your room, hot, shameful tears sliding down your cheeks, forcing yourself to quiet the sobs erupting through your chest. The words of contempt echoed through your mind, until eventually you had nearly come to believe them yourself. 

Each evening you clasped your hands together desperately in prayer, vehemently struggling with everything you had been raised to know and everything you wanted and needed to feel. It was an eternal battle that raged on inside, slowly withering you into a ghost, haunted by the darkness that had flourished in the absence of support and acceptance.

You wondered what the people who had claimed to love and know you the most, would do if they found out about your dirty, little secret. The anxieties about being outed manifested in cruel dreams, awakening you suddenly, a thin layer of sweat glistening on your body as your chest rose and fell in quick staccato breaths. 

That was something you still wondered today. And you would certainly wonder for the rest of your life. You had vowed that you would never come out to your family unless you truly fell in love with a girl. So you had kept everyone at arm's length to protect yourself. But Paige Bueckers was slowly breaking your walls down, brick by brick. 

A wave of nausea washes over you as you realize that getting closer to Paige meant toying the line of the false heteronormative persona you’ve been carefully crafting since you were a young teenager. The temptation of feeling normal in a group of girls quickly shuts down any immediate worries. That was a problem for another time. 

You hear your roommates in the living room, bustling around without having any idea of your internal battle. With a sigh, you drag yourself out of bed to go out to meet them, already preparing for the deafening noises that would inevitably come with telling them of last night's events. 

You open your door, nearly shuffling your feet against the carpet as you walk out to greet Taylor and Sarah. Their heads turn from the focus on the television, faces set in smiles as they see you emerge from your room.

“Guess what I did last night?” You prompt them, and their faces morph into ones of natural curiosity. 

“Did you read your class syllabuses to get a head start?” Sarah asks sarcastically, and you stick your tongue out at her in false derision. 

“No,” you scoff, although her guess was not completely off base. “I went over and hung out with Paige and the rest of the team.”

Taylor and Sarah were uncharacteristically quiet for a moment. They glanced at each other, momentarily stunned before erupting in hollers, jumping to their feet in excitement. 

“How the fuck did that happen?” Taylor all but yells, still jumping up and down. It was a good thing you did not have downstairs neighbors.

“Well they were being so loud, and I wanted to go to bed, so I knocked on the door to politely ask them to shut up,” you explain, trying to hide the giddiness you felt as you recalled the events of last night.

“And Paige answered and invited me in. And now I’m going out with her and the team tonight,” you finish, carefully watching the reactions of your two best friends. 

Their faces were morphed into ones of sheer delight and astonishment.

“My innocent, little angel is growing up,” Taylor exclaims, pretending to wipe a tear from her eye, and you swat at her, giggling at the sheer hilarity of the situation.

“What am I supposed to wear to a bar?” You ask, and the girls shriek in laughter, clapping their hands and promising to help you get dressed later.

You feel better about everything, the support from your roommates briefly quelling the fears and uncertainties that had plagued your mind for years. And your excitement was a testimony to the effect a certain blonde had on you.

~

“You’ve got great tits. Might as well show them off,” Sarah says exasperatedly, shoving one of her low cut tops at you.

Your face heats up, and you hold up the tiny tank top. “Don’t you think it’s a little, I don’t know, slutty?” Your voice trails to a whisper as you think about purposely showing off your body. 

“That’s the point, girl! It’s finally your time to show everyone what you’re fucking made of. Go be a sexy, bad bitch!” Taylor urges, slapping you on the butt as she does.

You take a deep breath, nodding in agreement, finally pushing yourself further away from the perfect, good girl act that had been placed upon you since you were a child. 

You don the skimpy black tank, admiring the way it shows off your slim waist, and you pair it with tight jeans that accentuate the curve of your ass perfectly. You fluff your hair and add a layer of lip gloss, before taking one last long glance in the mirror.

You could do this.

With a few encouraging words from your roommates and a few slaps to your ass, you nervously make your way across the hall to knock once more on Paige’s door. The door is thrown open, loud cheers erupting as you appear, and KK launches herself at you excitedly, throwing her arms around you and pulling you into her. 

Giggling, you hug her back, your nerves melting away at her friendly disposition. She pulls away, eyeing you up and down with an approving nod. “Someone cooked here,” she smirks, and your face blooms an embarrassing shade of deep red.

“My roommates kind of helped me get dressed,” you admit, hands tugging down your impossibly small shirt. 

“Girl, you look fineee,” she says, rubbing her hands together, causing several of the other girls to cackle at her not so subtle attempt to rizz you up.

“Who looks fine?” you hear a familiar voice, and your head whips in the direction of the question. You see Paige sauntering towards you, and your heart immediately begins to pound as your eyes rake over her tall figure. 

Her hair was down in blonde waves, making you want to reach out and run your hand through the soft-looking locks. Her toned stomach was exposed from her crop top, her abs flashing in a way that had your stomach rolling with an unfamiliar feeling. You couldn’t necessarily put your finger on it, but it shot down in an intense display of unbridled want. And she had the smuggest look on her face, accentuating the plumpness of her bottom lip. Your tongue subconsciously darts out to lick a slow line against your own lip as you watch her approach you.

KK points at you, waggling her eyebrows. “The pretty princess over here.” 

You blush again. Shit, you really had to get that under control. 

Paige hums, looking you up and down once more. “She’s not wrong,” she mutters huskily in your ear as she pulls you in for a hug. Your knees weaken at her touch, and you aren't sure if you’d be able to survive the night. It had just begun, and she had you completely and irrevocably fucked. 

30 minutes later, you, Paige, and the other members of UCONN’s women’s basketball team were shuffling into several ubers to head to a nearby bar. Unsure of which car to get into, you awkwardly stand off to the side, the anxiety pumping through your veins once more, but you soon feel a muscular arm wrap around your waist.

Looking up, you are met with Paige’s blue eyes and that smug smirk, and with a wink, she guides you to the nearest car, helping you into the backseat. As you sit, you adjust your top, overly aware of how much of your chest was actually out. Paige sits next to you, settling in with a low grunt, and she immediately places a hand on your thigh. Your eyes focus on the veins and the length of her fingers, and that feeling in your belly ignites again. 

As you arrive at the bar, Paige helps you out of the car with a chivalrous hand. And it does not leave yours as you enter the doors. She laces her fingers through yours, and you don’t miss the way it feels so damn right. She guides you through the crowds of people, and your breath hitches, feeling slightly overwhelmed from the volume and the hoards of drunk people pushing into your frame. 

Paige notices immediately, and she pulls you closer, tucking you into her side protectively. You preen at the attention, the feeling so foreign but addictive. You needed more, and the idea of it ripped away from you sent an unsettling spike of dread shooting through you maliciously. 

Subtly, you shake your head in a futile attempt to clear the thoughts out of your head. Overthinking was sure to be your downfall. Nothing a little alcohol couldn’t fix, though.

Aside from the occasional glass of wine, you had never really drank. And you certainly had never done shots. But when Nika and Aubrey had thrusted a tray of them towards where you and Paige were sitting, you were quick to grab one, eager to dull the bitter voices in your head. 

You bring it to your face, taking a hesitant sniff that causes your nose to wrinkle, eliciting a fond chuckle from the blonde. “Do I just sip it or…?” You trail off shyly, suddenly very aware of how ridiculous you sounded. What kind of college girl didn’t know how to take a shot?

Paige bites her lip. “Lemme help you, baby,” she mutters in your ear, and she takes the shot out of your hand. “Breathe all of the air out and then swallow it all at once before you take another breath, okay?” 

You nod, letting the air leave your mouth, lips pouting. Without her gaze leaving your mouth, Paige holds up the shot glass, pouring the liquid down your throat in a swift motion. 

You swallow quickly, feeling the burn slide down your throat and settle into a warm pool in your belly. You lick your lips, trying to catch a tiny drop that had slid past your mouth and trailed down your chin towards your neck. 

Before you can chase the trickle, Paige leans in, swiping it with her thumb, placing it into her mouth and sucking, her cheeks hollowing in the process. 

Your face morphs into a look of shock, and she gives you a shit-eating grin. The effect she had on you was something out of a book you spent many lonely nights immersing yourself in. And now that you were living in the crystal clear reality, you regretted not getting out of your shell a little sooner. 

“Can I do another?” You ask, already looking at the tray where a few shots still remained. 

Paige laughs. “Maybe wait a few, princess. The alcohol will kick in soon,” she promises. “You can share mine,” she gestures to her drink, and you don’t miss the way the pet name rolls off her tongue effortlessly. 

Paige was not lying when she had told you that the effects would soon hit you. Before you could even start to feel uncomfortable, a delicious easiness fell over you, loosening you up in a way you had never experienced before. You reach for Paige’s straw once more, pretending that her mouth was not just on it, and you relish in the sweet liquid adding to your tipsiness.

Paige had stayed close all night, similarly to the night before, and you were grateful for her constant presence anchoring you. The other girls took turns dancing with you, showering you with compliments and making future plans. Even through the haze of the alcohol, your heart felt as if it could burst; they were all so nice, and for the first time in a long time, you felt like you actually belonged. 

The night flies by, and as it does, you and Paige get more and more touchy. Her hands took turns between trailing down your back and resting heavily on your hips. She played with a lock of your hair, twisting it in her fingers as you swayed to the music, and she was constantly gazing at you through heavy lids, pupils blown from the darkness of the bar and pure want.

Emboldened by the drinks that had graced your lips, you don’t shy away, and before you know it, you’re leaning in closer, intoxicated by more than just the liquor. The bustling crowds and excessive noise surrounding you melts away as Paige grips your waist, pulling you closer into her. 

Your heart pounds at her proximity. She reaches up, cradling your jaw and stroking the soft skin of your neck with her thumb. You wonder if she can feel the thumping of your carotid, but you’re too enthralled in her presence to even care. Her eyes flit between your own and your slightly parted lips. Everything felt so fucking delicate, as if one small move would break everything. 

“Been thinkin’ about doin’ this all night,” she whispers, and pulls you into a kiss.

All the air is sucked out of you as her lips touch yours. And while you are momentarily stunned, it does not take long before yours are moving against her in a delicious exchange of passion. All worries of not being a good kisser leave your mind as Paige moans against your mouth, the sound shooting straight down your belly and to your pussy. Her tongue moves against you, and the feel of it does not help the slick now accumulating in your panties. 

The kiss eventually ends, much to your displeasure, and as you pull away, a giggle erupts from your mouth at the insanity of it all.

You had just kissed Paige Bueckers.

“OOH, P is fucking whipped!” KK shouts over the music, enthusiastically high-fiving Ice and Nika. 

Fuck, you were caught. 

But little did KK know, is that you were pretty fucking whipped, too. With one smooth move, Paige had broken down all your walls, and you were surrounded by the bricks of your carefully crafted innocence shattered around you at your feet. And maybe you could blame it on the alcohol, but you were pretty sure that if Paige made you anything less of a good girl, you were certainly okay with that. 

~

Part 3 - You get drunk off Paige, and confessions come out.

Part 4 - Paige makes you feel so good.

Part 5 - Paige shows you her strap.

Part 6 - Your newfound fascination with Paige's abs leads to some fun.

The beginning hits a little too close to home I’m so sorry I blacked out while writing it. It’s been almost 9 years since I realized I had feelings for girls, and I still struggle every day with accepting myself. To all the readers who are going through the same thing, I love you, and here’s to hoping things get better. If you ever want to reach out, my inbox is always open.

xoxo katy

[silhouetteonpaper]

The Cycle of Grief

Summary: When your brother passed away, the only person you could blame was yourself. Now that the grief has consumed you, there’s only one thing left to do. But what happens when a certain someone threatens to spoil your plans? Natasha Romanoff x Reader WC: 1,462 Warnings: Running away, grief, mentions of sibling death, veryyy angsty

Under the dark cover of night, you slip through the tall glass doors of the compound with quiet footsteps. Your heart is full of grief; there’s not a thought in your mind making you want to stay any longer. You don’t want to be a burden, and it’s always easier to isolate yourself than to ask for help. How is anyone supposed to help you anyways?

The deep blue night sky is freckled with stars, and you can’t help but take a moment to admire them. It reminds you of the time when you and your brother would sit out in an empty field and point out constellations. You never thought much of it at the time, but now everything inside you yearns for just one more moment with him—one more chance to sit and stargaze with the person you loved most.

But he’s gone now, killed in battle after you begged him to fight alongside you and the rest of the team. It’s all your fault. So, the only thing left to do now is to run; far away from the compound, far away from the life you once shared with your other half. Because now it’s too empty without him.

The backpack slung over your shoulder contains anything you might need for the journey ahead; from snacks, to clothes, to a pistol you stole from the training room—just in case. You don’t know where you’re headed, but you don’t care as long as it’s far away from the shattered pieces that now linger here at the compound.

All those days spent training alongside your brother, all those times he kept you motivated to be the Avenger you so desperately wanted to be. And for what? To kill him in return? There’s blood on your hands, and you can’t just wash it off.

The soft sound of your sneakers on the concrete fill the silence of dusk. The distant view of the city skyline makes you swallow thickly; you don’t hate many things—but you won’t hesitate to feel hatred toward this city. Towards the Avengers. Towards yourself.

The dark silhouettes of oak trees tower over you as you near the edge of the driveway. Several jets sit unattended on the small tarmac, but you know better than to take one. Not only would the loud engine wake everyone up, but each one has a tracking device. Your exact path pinned up for everyone to see doesn’t really support the whole ‘disappear’ part of your plan.

As you begin to trek down the long road ahead, it’s hard to stop your mind from wandering. A cacophony of what if’s steal your attention. Maybe, if you weren’t such a try-hard, he wouldn’t have died. How did you ever believe you could be a superhero? Superheroes don’t kill their own. If you had just agreed to let him stay home, he’d still be alive. It’s all your fault.

You’re so lost in your despair that a sudden noise makes you flinch. “You have ten seconds to explain what you’re doing here.” A voice appears behind you, the dissonant thoughts now scrambling away. You turn abruptly, a scowling face with red hair greeting you. It’s Natasha.

“Going for a walk, leave me alone.” You brush her off, turning back on your charted path. The last thing you need right now is for another Avenger to give you some speech about how great you are, how you’re destined to be a hero. Last time they said that, you ended up killing your brother. Those words are just empty lies now.

A part of you expected Natasha to relent, but you know better than to doubt the most headstrong woman you’ve ever met. She doesn’t speak, but instead walks alongside you in silence. You eye her with furrowed brows, and she seems unbothered while gazing at the tall trees and starry sky.

“What are you doing?” You question, slightly picking up the pace. She matches your speed easily.

“You said you’re going for a walk,” Natasha shrugs. “Am I not allowed to join?” Now you understand, the Widow knows something’s up. It was naive of you to believe you could fool her. Everyone knew how close you were with your brother, it’s only natural that when he died you’d be beside yourself. But what you hoped no one saw was the undying urge to run. Maybe if you ran far enough, you could forget any of this ever happened.

“I just want to be alone, please Nat.” You breathe, using everything in your power to stay calm. You can’t show your anger, that would only make her even more suspicious of your plans for tonight.

She’s silent for a moment. “Why, so you can sit in self pity?” Her words hit you like a punch to the gut. Natasha’s always been blunt, valuing tough love instead of coddling. But right now it stings even more than usual.

“So I can think. Just get some air and clear my head.” You partially lie. That’s practically why you’re running away, to fully clear your head of this nightmare. You just left out the ‘never coming back’ part.

“No, you’re running from your problems.” Natasha states without even looking your way. Your heart skips a beat, does she know? You don’t want to give yourself away, so you opt to dance around the subject.

“I’ll deal with my problems how I want. There’s nothing wrong with a bit of night air and some alone time.”

She chuckles, which makes the anger rise inside you. How is any of this funny to her? “There’s a difference between dealing with your problems and locking them away forever. There’s a difference between alone time and full isolation. You can’t live like this.” She stops walking, turning to face you.

You slow down, avoiding eye contact. You try to speak, but she’s not done yet. “I know you lost someone extremely important, but you can’t let yourself suffer just because he had to.”

“If you’re going to tell me that this isn’t what he’d want, I don’t want to hear it. He didn’t want to fight that day and I made him!” You cry out, the tears brimming in your eyes. For a split second, you can almost see a matching glint of mist in Natasha’s eyes under the moonlight.

“You blame yourself.” She says softly. You can hear the pang of heartache in her voice.

“I do,” You admit with tears now rolling down your cheeks. “I know you do too, for everything in your past. But you can’t use that as a reason now, not for this.”

“I’m not saying it’s the same, I’m saying that you don’t have to confine yourself to a life of misery. Just because he’s dead doesn’t mean you have to be too.” All the air in your lungs suddenly disappears. The anger, the grief, the overwhelming-never ending terror—it all washes over you at once.

Sobs escape your lips as your knees buckle beneath you. Natasha’s right there, grabbing your arms as you both lower to the ground. He’s dead, but that doesn’t mean you are too.

As your world continues to crash down, you see the reality of what you were planning to do. Running away to some far off city, to do what? To sulk, to isolate yourself, to sit in sorrow for the rest of your life? That’s as close to dead as someone can get while still being alive.

You don’t know how much time has passed when the initial tsunami of emotions finally subsides, but you find yourself buried into Natasha’s chest, her arms wrapped around you tightly as her hand caresses the back of your head.

Sniffing away the remaining tears, you think about moving—standing up and walking farther and farther away from any sign of support or love. But you don’t. It feels too good. After weeks without it, you long for it. You didn’t even know that what you truly needed was right in front of you this whole time.

So, you sit in silence. You let Natasha hold you. And you let yourself stay stationary, feeling the emotions you’ve suppressed for days on end. Because you don’t need to run when all you need is right here with you.

After a while, Natasha shifts. “Why don’t we get into bed?” She proposes, still refusing to be the one to pull back first. The idea of laying down and turning your mind off sounds wonderful, so you nod. 

As you stand up with Nat’s help, she looks at you with a saddened smile. “I’m glad you’re choosing to stay. I don’t know what I’d do if you ever left.”

She’s known this whole time, and you’re not even surprised.

[momoswifee]

The Fall

Pairing: Mina x fem!reader

Synopsis:  "Have you ever gotten everything you ever wanted? No, but I once got very close."

Warnings: Grief, death mention, overworking, depression, alcohol consumption, isolation.

w/c: 2997

A/n: Hi!! I'm sorry for taking so long but yay! final chapter!! I'm so happy I finally finished this, I hope everyone who read all of this has enjoyed it, and thank you all for supporting me on this and for reading it!! I'm sorry if this feels rushed by the end, I really tried to write a good ending but yeah. I hope you guys enjoy it!

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4

“Mina, you really didn’t have to...” Your father says, smiling at the box she had brought.

“They’re your favourite, I have a shop near my apartment that sells them so it really isn’t that big of a deal…” she dismisses, handing him the expensive box of chocolates. 

“They were her favourite too…” He whispers, smiling at the thought, as he looks down at it. The contrary feeling washes through her. Every time she walks down the street she instinctively looks at it and wishes to go in, to get one of those ridiculously expensive boxes, bring it home and get drunk on your memory. 

Two years had passed, two whole years without you, and she felt like it was yesterday that they took you to the operating room and took you away from her. She had kept her word and had come to your parent's house for dinner occasionally, to remember you, to let them see her as an extension of their kid. 

As soon as she went through the door, a big white ball of fur almost tackled her to the ground. “Hey honey” she says, laughing as Otis excitedly pushes himself onto her, trying to get close. “I missed you too.”

Three months after your passing, Mina had already gone on the press tour, she had already attended the premier, everything to do with her most recent movie was done, and she had nothing to occupy her mind with anymore.

She only had herself, in her big empty apartment to worry about. Otis had been sent to your parents when she started the press tour, she couldn’t take care of him properly. She had never gone to pick him up after.

Once she was home, she could barely get out of bed, she didn’t talk to anyone, she didn’t answer any calls. She just laid there and thought about how you weren’t with her. At one point she did think about going to get Otis back, he was the only thing she had left of you. But as soon as she got in the car, she realized that she hadn’t been good to him, to the only thing you had left behind. If she wasn’t being good to him, she didn’t deserve him. He had gotten older, he was 10 now, and she had met him when he was 3, but he still greeted her the same.

“You’ve been working a lot,” Your mom starts, once they’re all at the table. “Have you been taking care of yourself?”

“I have a pretty good agent,” Mina replies, laughing, trying to show that she is happy with it, that it is something that she’s doing because she knows it’s good for her career. “I’ve been offered pretty good opportunities, I’m just trying to make the best out of it.”

The truth is, she took on the most challenging jobs possible so that she never had to think about you more than she had too. She needed to keep you out because it had been two years and if she heard a sound of a leave being crunched while she was walking she would automatically think that it was you who was coming to her. If she heard someone knock at her door, she would think that it was you who was knocking. Every time she went to the supermarket and decided to buy oranges, she would freeze because it reminded her of your citrus smell, she decided to just not consume oranges again. The mere mention of hockey would almost send her into a spiral. 

She hated that she would spend more time remembering you, than she had spent by your side, so, she focused on everything that had nothing to do with you. She would become another person, she would impersonate the character, she would absorb their essence and forget you. 

After lunch, Mina offered to take Otis on a walk, to go into the town, maybe get some groceries if needed. “Have you been having fun, buddy?” She asks, receiving an almost enthusiastic bark from him. She missed him, but she knew it was for the best.  

She hadn’t been to the town for a while, now usually her parents went to her, they knew she wanted to avoid it. At maximum, she would go to only their house or your parents and then leave. She honestly surprised herself when she offered to take Otis on a walk to town.

Once she had reached the center, what she saw first was your old shop, now turned bakery. She remembered the talk with your parents, how it was just you who was working there, there really was no need to keep it open, it would be best to leave the spot open for another business. 

The little bakery looked good, she got curious. She got closer. Inside were little cakes, cookies of all forms, pastries of all kinds, everything you used to love. A little tug from Otis prompted her to slightly look to her left, and there Jihyo was. She felt her heart stop. She had let her hair grow, her face had more set features, her smile lines still intact. She was laughing with some friends. She looked happy, so she did what she did best, she ran away. 

☾

“So we have a scheduled photoshoot until 4 pm and right after that you’ll be doing that interview because of your most recent nomination…”

Oh yeah, the nomination. Her role had been moving to many, so she had been told, it had been good enough to be considered for one of the biggest awards there were: an Oscar. 

“The driver will be there to pick you up after the shoot, and I’ll meet you at the script read ok?” Her manager, Miyawaki Sakura, an angel sent from heaven, said. 

Sakura, although a bit younger than Mina, had always been there for her, and more recently, had been trying to help her skyrocket her career as well as keep her healthy. After she had heard what had happened with her last manager, the over working, the whole episode where she went to the hospital, all she wanted was for Mina to have a safe and healthy environment at work, while still achieving her career goals. 

While she was being photographed, watched by people she didn’t know, all she could do was pose, blank her mind, just do whatever she was told. While she was being interviewed she did more of the same, answered the questions simply, always showing gratitude, always with her practised smile plastered on her face. 

“So Mina! First, congrats on the nomination!” The interviewer kindly says. “I’m sure this feels like a dream! I’m sure you’re getting closer to everything you’ve ever wanted right?”

She smiled politely and agreed with a nod. She continues to answer the questions with an almost excited tone, with a beaming smile. But in the back of her mind, she only heard a series of “no’s” being said right after the kind woman in front of her had asked if she had got closer to everything she had ever wanted. If she had asked this in the early days of her career, she would’ve said yes and meant it. If this had been asked before you had been taken away from her, she would’ve said yes and meant it. Now she said this half-heartedly, only wishing to go back to when she actually had everything, when she had you. 

☾

“She looked happy…” Mina says, a lingering smile on her face as she dusts off the leaves that had fallen on her. “I know you would be disappointed in me for not going up to her, but what could I possibly say to her after all this time?” 

You don’t answer, obviously, you’re not there. There’s only your gravestone with the flowers Mina had brought with her. Purple Hyacinths. 

“I miss you,” she whispers, picking out the little brown leave that rested on top of the stone. You loved autumn. The colours, the leaves, the nights with the soft rain sounding out. She was glad you had been put beneath such a big tree, that now displayed such fiery colours. 

After almost forgetting his presence, Otis makes himself known by huffing as he lays down his head on Mina’s lap, as he stares at the stone in front of them. 

All of this is way too familiar to Mina, taking Otis to see you had become a common outing, and she wishes it hadn’t. She longed for the days that he would run through the orange and red leaves happily while you held her hand and admired the seasonal sight. She hated having to come here with Otis and watch him slowly walk through those same coloured leaves, almost as if he was dreading having to face your grave, just as she was. 

☾

“Otis give it back!” 

Mina felt strange. She felt warm. The sun was hitting her just right, she felt so good. The breeze was hitting her face gently, the sound of splashing water, the birds above her, the branches of the trees swaying with the light breeze. It was perfect. 

“Well, I guess he just doesn’t want to play catch.”

A voice. Oh and what a sweet voice it was. 

“Hm, I’m sure just needs a little break.” She says, smiling instinctively at the person in front of her. The sun blinding her eyes, just letting her see the silhouette. 

“In the meantime I’ll keep you company” It says, sitting right next to her, offering her a smile. Your smile. 

You’re there. You’re there with her. 

She touches your hand, it’s warm. She can feel the heat travel through her body. 

Her right hand, as if gaining a mind of its own, goes straight to your face and her fingers trace your soft features. 

You look at her in amusement, already used to this kind of behaviour. Your smile is quickly replaced by a frown. “Mina, what’s wrong?”

Only then does she notice that she was crying. She doesn’t know why. Everything was fine. 

“I don’t know” Mina laughs, wiping her tears, leaning in to briefly kiss your soft warm lips. 

Everything was perfect. 

“Want to join me in the water?” You whisper into her lips, her hand at the back of your neck, not letting you get away from her that fast. 

The sun was so comforting against her back. She no longer felt that weird sensation. She was good. 

“I think I should stay here for now…” She whispers. 

“Ok.” You get up, gently taking her hand away from yours. “I’ll be waiting for you.” 

You send her a small, sad, smile as you leave, going in Otis direction. 

Suddenly a big thud is heard and Mina jolts awake in a cold sweat. She notices that the left side of the bed is empty. 

“Yn?” She quietly calls. Maybe you had gone to the bathroom. Before she thinks about getting up, she looks over to your side of the bed, and at your night stand, lay your dusty glasses. 

 She hated these dreams. She never knew they were dreams, it felt like she was back with you again. She couldn’t appreciate those fictitious moments because she never remembered that you were gone when she entered that dream state. 

You never left her head, you were constantly present, but in the past few weeks, you had come to see her more often as soon as she fell asleep. She would not be able to lie and say that she had been more excited lately to follow a more strict sleep schedule, it was, however, torture, waking up and not having you by her side. 

☾

Her throat burned. Every step she took felt like she was going to fall face down on the dirt. The bottle in her hand getting lighter with each step she took.

“I hate you” She spits out as soon as she sees you. “I hate you. I hate that I won one of the most prestigious awards there are and still the only thing I had on my mind was your name.”

Y/n, Y/n, Y/n, Y/n

It was all that was going through her head as she delivered her heartfelt speech. 

“Why can’t you just let me go,” she brokenly whispers as she kneels next to you. Her gold coloured dress now stained with dirt. “It feels like you haunt me, I can never live just a day without thinking about you, and it kills me” 

She says this, knowing that she doesn’t let herself move on. She left your shared house, she left your clothes, your precious peach trees behind. She even left Otis. 

She did however bring your glasses and pose them on a night stand next to her bed, she still wears her engagement ring around her neck, she still hasn’t thrown in the trash your little shampoo bottle you kept at her house, nor all your expired skincare products. Every morning she would wake up, gently massage her face with her precious serum while staring at yours. 

“Some days I wish I had never met you,” The burn down her throat now had become familiar. “I wish I hadn’t met you, so I could live a happy life.” 

Right after those words left her mouth she feels tears streaming down her face. It’s all a lie, the best thing that had ever happened to her was you. It wasn’t the stupid award she had just won, it was the life she had envisioned with you. 

Finally, she starts to feel like her knees are burning so she decides to just rest her body on the stone.

“You promished you wouldn’t leave” she slurs out. “I can’t do this without you…” 

Before she can even try to say anything again, she feels someone’s hand on her shoulder. She allows herself to think that it is you. That you had finally come to take her with you. 

“Mina-” 

Momo. 

“Mina, what are you doing here?” The oldest asks, taking in the sight in front of her. Mina resting against your tombstone, her once golden dress now stained with dirt, her make-up completely ruined. 

“I missed her.”

What was she supposed to say? That she came to yell at you to stop haunting her life? That she lied through her teeth when she had told her cousin about how well she was doing, how excited and anxious she was to learn about the award when in truth she couldn’t care less? 

Thankfully, Momo didn’t press for answers, she just took the bottle from her hand and helped her up, promising to take Mina home and helping her get better. 

On her way home, all she wanted to do was to beg Momo to take her back. She just wanted to be with you. 

☾

Momo hadn’t left her side since her escapade to see you. She stayed with her and kept her company, not wanting to see her baby cousin so distraught and alone. While she did appreciate the caring nature of the oldest girl, all she needed was to be alone. She had already asked Sakura if any job offers or any interesting roles had come up. She just wanted to get back to normal. 

She hadn't been sleeping properly, always too afraid of seeing you in her dreams. The stress of not having any work also didn't help, she felt useless. She had already, deep cleaned the house, re-arranged her closet, bought new curtains, and installed them herself. She needed to keep busy.

“Momo you really don’t have to stay here,” She sighs out, already tired of this recurring conversation. 

“I’m not leaving you alone. Mina, no one knew where you were, you just vanished. Sakura called me worried sick!” Momo exclaims. “I’m not trying to suffocate you, I just want to know that you’re alright.”

“And I am,” She says, trying to sound as reassuring as possible. “It was a moment of weakness, I’ve been missing her for a while." She stops. "I’m alright.”

"I-" Momo starts sighing. "You've been trying to keep busy, but have hardly slept. Try to sleep," she says, getting up from her seat. "You must be tired. I have to go to work now, but I'll be back when you wake up alright?"

She thinks about Momo's suggestion after she leaves. The truth is, she doesn't want to sleep. She's just afraid she will see you again in her dreams and not be able to remember and not appreciate her moments with you.

Unfortunately, sleep is stronger than her and she is knocked out before she knows it.

☾

"Are you sure you don't want to get into the water? It's actually pretty nice!"

She remembered everything.

There you were, inside the lake, softly smiling at her, waiting for her response.

She gets up and walks to you. She sits on the pier and lets her feet soak in the water.

It does feel nice.

Your hands go to hold her legs, gently rubbing them.

"I missed you." You whisper as you look up to her.

Her hand goes straight to your face. She can feel your skin. Every bump, every almost-healed acne scar. She can feel you.

"I'm here now." Mina says, looking into your eyes. The eyes she had fallen in love with.

And then she jumps into the water to be with you. All she feels is warmth. She feels your hands holding her waist and pulling her closer. She opens her eyes and sees that you had dipped with her. It reminds her of when you used to kiss her underwater, so she goes and brushes her lips on yours, melting into your touch when you pull her closer to properly feel her lips on yours.

She's happy, and she doesn't even think about ever going up to breathe.

She's with you at last.

[enderisin]

⚠️ WARNING ⚠️

LONG RANT ABOUT EPIC!CALYPSO AHEAD

Calypso is extremely fascinating to me, because although she’s one of the characters I sympathize the most with and I strongly enjoy reading about her, if she were a real person I’m afraid she would likely end up with a one-way ticket to hell.

Now, most people in the fandom agree that she’s far from a good person. However, I do not believe she is evil incarnate, nor is she an innocent victim of her circumstances.

Now, Calypso has known one thing all her life:

She is alone.

Let me make this clear.

She is completely alone. For hundreds of years, she’s never had a conversation. Never had someone to help her. Never laughed with somebody. Never had someone smile at her. She’s never even made eye contact with anyone.

So, when someone washes up on her shore, she’s ecstatic.

This changes everything.

It’s every single one of her dreams wrapped up into one person.

After what is most likely days of fantasizing about her future life and caring for the unconscious man, he wakes up.

And says he’s married and threatens her life.

Of course, she could let him go.

But this is also her only chance.

She has no idea if she’ll ever see another person again.

Let that sink in.

She’s a goddess.

She’s immortal.

She could be alone for the rest of eternity until time itself ends.

Of course she's desperate for him to stay.

Now, is any of that an excuse for what she did? Of course not.

But in letting him go, she would be sacrificing her happiness for all of eternity.

I’ll leave it up to the reader to decide what you personally would choose in that situation.

Now, fast forward seven years. In epic specifically, we have no idea how she treated him.

She could have kept him in a cage, or she could have given him everything he’s ever wanted and we would have no idea.

However, we do know two very important things that we learn from Love in paradise.

1. Odysseus is not happy and actively begs to go home.

2. Calypso is doing everything in her power to keep him there.

Even in the ending part of love in paradise where Odysseus is on the cliff (which I personally believe is when we truly see things from Odysseus’s perspective, but that’s a discussion for another time), Calypso is calmly trying to get him to stay.

And how does she do that?

By literally and figuratively taking the place of everyone he’s ever loved in his life.

Now, this is a horrific thing to try and do. Hopefully I don’t need to explain why knowingly isolating someone and using their trauma as a tool to get them to love you is not a good thing.

But I personally believe Calypso thought she was doing the right thing.

Why? Because from her perspective, she loves him. She is his support system.

In other words, she and her love is the paradise he needs to come back to.

And if she has to play dirty to get him to come back, so be it.

in Not sorry for loving you, many are confused on whether or not calypso is genuinely apologizing or simply manipulating him.

I believe it’s both.

She likely feels some level of guilt for what she put odysseus through. She knows that she is selfish. But from her perspective, she had no other choice if she wanted to keep her sanity intact.

And maybe some part of her doesn’t want to face the consequences of her actions no matter how fair she knows they are.

So in the same breath as her apology, she throws out a last ditch effort to guilt him into staying.

She tells her tale. She pours her heart out. She gives him everything she has.

But it’s not enough.

In the same song, Odysseus says he loves her, “But not in the way [she] wants him too.”

This interests me greatly. After all, just one song ago he was clearly unhappy being with her. Is he lying? Did Calypso somehow get him to love her in just one song? Is he being manipulated?

I personally believe he’s telling the truth.

He does love her.

But instead of taking the obvious interpretation of the line that he only loves her platonically, I believe this means he loves her because she is all he has.

He’s lonely, and he hasn’t seen his wife in nearly 20 years. If he completely avoided calypso, he would be just like she was before he came.

Alone.

So if Odysseus began to feel something besides hatred when he looked at his captor, is he really to blame?

Does prometheus occasionally to look forward to the eagle’s visits, for it means that for a brief moment he is not abandoned?

I guess you could call it Stockholm syndrome, what I’m describing.

But Odysseus did not have such words to describe the way he felt.

He only knew that as Calypso’s tears mixed with the ocean he was about to sail on, he forced aside the part of him that wished to dry them.

[vladajwrites]

Razor’s Edge

Part One || Part Two || Part Three || Part Four || Part Five

Summary; Reader moves to Woodsboro for her senior year of high school. This story take place in the setting of the Scream 4 movie. This story is dedicated to all of the girls living through the current Rory Culkin revival. I love and see you. <3

Also available to be read on AO3 here

It's imperative for me to mention MAJOR trigger warnings for this story; blood, violence, sexual content, alcohol usage, and mentions of abusive situations. I will add and edit tw's as needed.

WC; 4146

Notes; Hello!

The next part should be out relatively soon. Not sure quite yet how many parts will be made and posted. Thank you for any and all support! It truly means the world to me.

(Not Beta Read)

It had been an astonishingly warm night when you returned to the town of Woodsboro. The air around you felt slick with familiar August humidity as you stepped out of the car that once belonged to your father. You stood for a moment, inhaling deeply as if attempting to swallow in the sight around you.

It had been nearly a decade since you had seen the quiet street where your aunt Irina resided. The moon was nearly full, casting a gold tinted glow that rivaled the street lamps near the surrounding homes. Memories of your childhood summers spent rolling in the grass of your aunt’s front yard as she sunbathed beside you flashed through your mind as you stared across the lawn.

A sad smile crept across your lips as you popped the trunk, compiling boxes in an unstable stack within your arms.

You suddenly felt a nervous sting in your stomach as you walked towards the door. Reality seemingly sinking in slowly. You had just turned eighteen only days prior. You dreamt of that birthday for years. It meant that you were now an adult and that in some ways; you were free. Free to leave home and go no contact with your parents. Your parents had plucked you from a town not far from Woodsboro and moved you across the country at the age of nine. They isolated you from the support of any sort of extended family or potential friends. Your mother and father psychically and emotionally tormented you and did so in such a calculating manner that they would never be caught or reprimanded.

You had tried to run away to your aunts once before at the age of fourteen, but your parents had the police bring you back to the home before you could cross the county’s boundary. It was even more difficult to keep in contact with your lovely aunt after that. Your parents monitored the communication between the two of you like a hawk. Your aunt still did what she could to support you and you both knew that when the time came, she would become your safe haven.

You weren’t sure how you’d make your escape, how you would go about hiding the things you were carefully packing away. But it seemed your parents had, by this point, completely checked out. It was as if they quietly understood that you’d all be better off if you parted ways. The final confirmation you needed that this was true was when your dad passed the title of the old car he had kept in the garage and worked on rebuilding over the past years to you just days before your birthday. He committed this action wordlessly, dropping the paperwork in front of your bedroom door to find. You said nothing in return. You knew what it all meant. An action like that from him would never come from a place of love or kindness.

It didn’t take you long after to finish gathering the last of your things. You debated on leaving your parents a note, debated the possibility of initiating a final conversation with them. Using your better judgment, you decided against it. They didn’t deserve anything from you, you knew you’d never receive the closure from them you deserved. Better to just try and forget it all.

You left in the night after hours of pacing your bedroom floor, waiting and listening anxiously until the house grew silent and you could assume your parents were fast asleep. You grabbed your bag containing your phone, wallet, and keys and made your way out to your car that sat adjacent to the curb in front of the Connecticut home that served as your personal hell for nearly a decade.

You started the engine, feeling the car shake as it warmed up. Your hands trembled as they gripped the steering wheel. You were ready, had to be.

Taking a single look back at your home, you felt your heart skip out of step as you caught your mother’s frame looking down at you from her second-story bedroom window. You took your foot off the gas as you met her eyes. You couldn’t have but certain, but by the way her sullen cheeks glinted in the dim night lighting, she appeared to be crying. Her mouth remained pierced and straight, her shoulders and head rigid and stiff in their usual form. Even if she truly were crying, you wouldn’t have been able to bring yourself to care. Too late and far too little, you thought. You snapped your head back to the road and pulled forward down the street, refusing to look back again.

You held your shoulders and back straight, attempting to keep your face stuck in shrewd control. You couldn’t explain the wet, sickly feeling that built and spilled from the corner of your eyes. Couldn’t stop it if you tried.

It wasn’t until you caught a glimpse of yourself in the rearview as you entered the highway that you realized you saw your mother’s face staring back at you. A sudden terrible thought crossed your mind. Could your parents have made you just as cruel and horrible as they were?

You took a deep breath, wiping away the tears that clung to your cold skin. You let your body slack slightly, relaxing the muscles in your face and shoulders. You glanced back up at your reflection once more. No, you thought, there was still a sense of softness in you. You would never be like them. You were going to heal, move forward.

A smile spread across your lips then as another car shot past you. This felt like the first real moment of your life. You reached over, digging in your bag for your phone. You only had one person to call. The phone rang twice before your aunt’s soft-spoken voice answered on the returning line. As if she could read your mind, she asked quietly, “Are you on your way?”

Your smile widened as you answered her, “Yes, yes! I’ll be there in just a few days. I have all my things. I’ll let you know if I run into any trouble.”

The line was silent, you held your breath as you waited for a response. You suddenly felt nervous in those quiet moments. You hadn’t told her that this would be the night you would be leaving. It had all happened so quickly.

Your aunt then exhaled a heavy sigh of relief and your smile returned once more.

“Be safe darling, I’ll speak to you soon. I love you.” Irina spoke.

“Okay, promise I will be. I love you too.” You replied before pressing the button to end the call.

The long drive passed in what now felt like an instant as you stood in Irina’s driveway, boxes in hand, looking up at what would become your new home.

Your aunt Irina greeted you on her front porch, promptly taking one of the small stacked boxes from your arms that hid your face. You sighed in relief at the lightened load.

“Ah dochka, come inside quickly.” Your aunt said over her shoulder as she propped the front door open with foot.

You nodded and followed her, placing the heavy boxes that contained the most important of your belongings on the entryway table beside the stairs. Your aunt carefully placed the box she held on top of the stack as well before turning to face you. You held your arms awkwardly at your side, your fingers twitched as you met your aunt’s gaze. She was all the natural beauty and poise that your mother -her older sister- had without the cutting and sunken look that came from years of contempt and cruelty. You hoped you favored your aunt in that way.

There was a moment of silence shared between the two of you as you took in the sight and presence of one another. Irina’s expression was filled with something indiscernible as she looked you over. You suddenly felt self-conscious in that moment. The last time she had seen you, you were only a child.

“I-“ You began to speak, unsure what your next words would be. You were promptly interrupted as Irina took you into her arms.

“Oh sweet girl, I’ve missed you so much.” Your aunt spoke softly. Her hand slid over your hair, holding your head closer to her own.

You tried your best to get a hold the overwhelming emotions building up inside you as you wrapped your arms tighter around her.

“Listen, don’t worry about any of it right now,” Irina pulled away, holding your shoulders in her hands. “I’ll show you to your bedroom. It’s late. We’ll catch up in all the days to come. As you’re ready, of course.”

She understood you so perfectly. It felt as though no time had passed between the two of you at all. You nodded, wiping away the single tear that slipped past your waterline. “Thank you.” You replied earnestly.

She showed you to your room, helping you carry your things up the stairs. The room was warm and soft, perfectly polished and eclectic, in the style that perfectly encapsulated Irina. You absolutely adored it all.

Your aunt didn’t linger as you swiftly unpacked the essentials you needed for the night. It was nearly reaching the hours of the early morning and you were both physically and mentally well exhausted. You’d let yourself begin to process it all in the morning. For now, you were safe, even happy. It was going to be alright.

The next morning had come and gone. Your aunt woke you with breakfast and the two of you exchanged small pleasantries. In the afternoon Irina stopped you as she caught you on the stairs, a laundry basket stuck to her hip. “We can go tomorrow to enroll you at the high school if you’d like. I have a gap in meetings around noon.”

You picked at your fingernails, tossing up the idea in your head. “It’s okay, I can run by the school on my own tomorrow. I imagine It shouldn’t take me very long.”

Irina furrowed her brow, nodding. “Oh okay then, just shoot me a text when you get everything sorted, will you?”

You smiled and nodded before the two of you resumed your paths apart.

Finding your way to the school the next morning wasn’t too difficult of a task to accomplish. Classes began in a week and to your relief, there were no students hanging near campus yet to be found. Aside from a few members of faculty, the school was entirely deserted.

It didn’t take you much time to locate the staff required to complete your enrollment. The secretary had even exclaimed she knew your aunt quite well. You supposed that everyone must be at least partially acquainted in this town, given its size.

You suddenly felt hesitant as you made your way across the parking lot back to your car. A silver sedan caught your eye as it sped past you. All four windows were rolled down and you could tell the car was full of people that looked just about your age. It seemed you had caught their attention too as you met the eyeline of the driver. She was too far away to make out much detail beyond her short cropped hair and frame.

The thought hadn’t yet occurred to you how difficult it would be to make new friends in a place where nearly everyone grew up with one another. You wished in that moment that you had made more of an effort as a child during your summers spent here to make any friends. But you had always been shy, horribly and painfully shy, as a child. It was just easier to play on your own. In all honesty, you weren’t sure how to make real close friends, let alone keep them.

Still, you shrugged, it would have made this whole transition much easier if you had at least one person near your age in Woodsboro who might have remembered your name.

You tried to keep your mind occupied in the days that followed. It wasn’t much of a hard task to follow. In the afternoon, you mainly kept to your bedroom, flipping mindlessly through a book you had been attempting to finish for the better part of a month. In the mornings you sat in the window bay, hot coffee in hand, remembering the neighborhood boys you used to watch ride by in circles on their bikes. Occasionally, your aunt invited you to eat lunch at the law firm she worked at in town. She’d tell you endlessly how quickly you’d adjust to things once the school year started, reminded you how the home was always open to guests, talked about the possible colleges you could apply to. It was a strange feeling to have someone show so much interest in the day-to-day doings of your life. You figured you’d learn to truly welcome and reciprocate the sentiment in time.

Your nerves had seemed kept safely under control until you began to turn into the Woodsboro High parking lot on the first day of class. Your fingers tapped the steering wheel in anticipation as you pulled into an open parking spot near the back of the lot. Placing the car in the park, you flipped your visor, giving yourself a once over before biting the bullet and getting the worst part of the day on with it. You scolded yourself for unknowingly chewing your lip nearly raw on the drive there, but other than that, you seemed just about alright.

Irina had been so excited to help you get ready for your first day. You knew she had always thought of you as her own daughter. She never had the opportunity to have any children of her own. You gladly let her fuss over your hair and clothing without once interjecting that the curling iron was burning your neck, and the constant outfit changes were exhausting your limited wardrobe. It gave you a sense of confidence, though, knowing that you at least looked your absolute best, regardless of how you felt inside.

You said a silent prayer as you approached the building’s front doors. Groups of students passed by in small droves. Each step felt like sinking through sludge as you noticed the quizzical looks from your new found peers that read ‘outsider.’ Even though your rational brain knew it couldn’t be true, it felt as though everyone in the halls was craning their heads to catch a glimpse. You dug your thumbnail into the palm of your hand as you dropped into an empty chair near the back of your first period homeroom class.

“There’s that new face.” A friendly female voice spoke beside you as she dropped her things on the desk to your right.

You turned to face her and were met by an inquiring smile and a familiar short blonde haircut. You immediately recognized her as the girl you had seen in the school parking lot the day you had registered.

You held out your hand, giving her your name.

She shook your hand in return, “Kirby.” She replied, giving you her own. As the two of you waited for the first bell to ring, you exchanged the usual first introduction sentiments. She introduced you to another girl who sat in the seat in front of you.

“Jill Roberts.” The new girl had stated more matter-of-factly.

“Good to meet you, Jill.” You replied in the same cadence. She gave you a half smile as she onced you over.

You spent the majority of your first few periods staring out of classroom windows or drawing endless little circles on your notebook as your teachers passed around syllabi and gave the same spiel on classroom expectation for the semester. You had learned so many names in just a few hours; you were already struggling to remember even just a handful. You assured yourself it wouldn’t matter much in the grand scheme of things. In a matter of days, most people would lose interest in the new girl thing and you’d slip comfortably by as a nameless face in the considerably smaller student body.

The bell rang for lunch and you were on your feet with your things thrown over your shoulder in a matter of seconds. You carefully squeezed your way through the buzzing hallway and made a direct line to your car, hoping to decompress and catch your breath for a moment.

Just as you planted your first foot on the paved parking lot, you heard your name called, no- shouted, from behind you.

‘Fuck,’ you mumbled to yourself, pivoting in place. It took a moment to locate the person who had called after you. A curly-haired boy awkwardly jogged to catch up, his long-haired counterpart feigned a cooler stepped approach behind him. You couldn’t remember an introduction with either of them.

The curly-haired boy noticing the confused look on your face interjected, halfway catching his breath, “We already got your name from Kirby.” He began, noticing the way your brows furrowed he quickly continued, “I’m Robbie, this is Charlie.” He motioned to the man that stood beside him.

You looked up between the pair, catching Charlie’s line of sight. His eyes dropped just as quickly to his shoes below him, kicking his laces at the ground.

“... Right.” you stated questioningly, dragging your eyes away from the frayed aglet on Charlie’s left shoe to look back up at Robbie.

“Right, yeah,” Robbie stumbled over his next words, “We run the film club. We meet every day after school.” You sucked in your bottom lip, trying to conceal your now amused half smile.

You noticed Charlie now glancing between you and Robbie with dread in his expression at the awkward mess Robbie was attempting to make his way through. Just before Charlie could begin to speak, Robbie rushed to spit out the point he was trying to get to.

“Well, we’d- I’d.” Robbie met Charlie’s eyes for a moment before continuing. “No- we’d love for you to, if you ‘d want to… You should come check it out. After school. Today.”

You rolled the idea over in your head for a moment. You didn’t really believe you belonged anywhere near a film club; you considered yourself an average movie-goer at best. It couldn’t necessarily hurt to go, either. If you really felt out of place, you could just not go back the next day. You squinted up at the pair. Neither of them could meet your eyes. Your aunt would be ecstatic to learn you’d even made an attempt to put yourself out there a bit more. The short contemplative silence hadn’t been a thought that had crossed your mind, but you could tell it was now starting to make them squirm.

“Come on dude, I told you she wouldn’t want to come.” Charlie broke the silence with a quiet plea to Robbie.

Charlie now turned back to face you, “I’m sorry, don’t stress about trying to make it.” The look of defeat in the pair’s expressions brought a pit of sudden guilt in your chest. Just as Charlie grabbed Robbie’s shoulder to drag him back inside the school, you interjected without a second thought.

“I’ll go. I’d love to go. Thank you for the invite.” You drug as much sincerity into your face as you could muster. Both boys stopped in their tracks, exclaiming in unison, “Really?”

Charlie’s eyebrow raised in suspecting confusion.

“Okay, cool! Classroom 120A, right after the last bell.” Robbie called over his shoulder, a wide grin plastered across his face.

You stood for a moment, one foot on the curb, watching the pair make their way back to school. Fixating on the way, Charlie ran his hand through the mess of his long hair.

“See, I told you dude, you just have to make the first move.” You could hear Robbie say, almost out of earshot now. His arm reached out to fall over Charlie’s shoulder, shaking him slightly. Charlie pushed the boy off him. You imagined him rolling his eyes as he brushed off his shoulder.

You laughed to yourself, turning on your heel, heading back to your car to spend the time left of lunch you had in much needed solitude.

The remainder of the school day passed by just about the same way the first half had. In your last class of the day, you took the time counting the heads of the students around you, trying to recount the names of each one you could remember. Once you made your way to the back corner of the room, you noticed Charlie staring down at his lap. He was crumpling, unfolding, then crumpling up the same piece of paper over and over again. You wondered what he could’ve written on that paper, if there was anything written on it at all.

You hadn’t realized how long you sat watching his repetitive movements until he looked up, catching your gaze. His eyes were piercing, deep set, his hair half-way covering the features of his face.

Your face burned hot as you quickly snapped your head back towards the whiteboard in the front of the room.

‘Idiot.’ You groaned in silence to yourself. Out of the very corner of your peripherals, you could feel his eyes still fixated on you from just a row behind. You picked at your nails anxiously, watching the minute hand spin on the classroom clock.

The last bell of the day rang out shortly after and you relaxed into your seat. You slowly gathered your things into your bag on the desk.

“Hey.” A familiar voice spoke beside you. You jumped in your seat at the quiet and sudden proximity. You looked up to meet Charlie’s gaze. He was messing with the loop on the strap of his backpack that rested on his left shoulder. “I can show you to the room we use for film club, if that’d be cool with you.”

You nodded your head up at him. “Yeah, that’s cool.” In all honesty, you had almost completely forgotten about even going.

“Cool.” He said, grabbing your bag off the desk and throwing it over his other shoulder. He began walking to the door, motioning over his shoulder for you to follow him.

You followed closely beside him as you both pushed your way through the hallways packed with students exiting the building. The would-be awkward silence between the pair of you was graciously filled by the loud chatter of people passing by.

“When’d you move back?” You barely caught Charlie’s question. His face was fixed on the wall in front of him.

“Back? I’m sorry, I’ve never lived here.” You replied, “I moved in with my aunt about a week ago.”

He looked over at you, studying your face for a second before turning away again. He nodded his head.

“What about you? How long have you lived here?” You asked, keeping your gaze directed forward as well.

“Born and raised.” He replied. You nodded in response as the two turned a corner. You could see a plaque that read 120A just ahead.

A trio of guys in football garb made their way past, headed in the opposite direction. The closest of the group carried a large bag of equipment at his side that nearly knocked your knee from under you as you crossed paths.

“Ouch,” you mumbled, missing a step. You were alright, truly fine after shaking it off a bit.

Charlie stopped in his tracks beside you. Turning to face the group. “Watch your shit, Anderson.” He called after them.

The carrier of the bag didn’t bother to stop walking, only looking over his shoulder to seemingly size Charlie up. He laughed, “Yeah, alright Walker. You’re not gonna do shit about it.”

You could nearly feel Charlie tense up beside you. Men and their silly egos.

“I’m alright, let’s go please.” You grabbed Charlie’s forearm and pulled him forward towards the room, letting go once you could feel his resistance lessen.

Once in the room, you let out a sigh and took a seat next to Kirby near the center of the room. The meeting, to your surprise, went by well. Charlie and Robbie both seemed much more sure of themselves when they were talking about things they were passionate about. Although you had to admit it was all pretty dorky, you’d never fault them for the devotion in their interests.

You were practically lost throughout the hourlong meeting, but you believed it wouldn’t be too much of a challenge to pick up on things, eventually. It was all sort of interesting, fun even.

You decided on the car ride home that day you’d make sure to attend the next one.

[vasito-de-leche]

Do you have any specific queer headcannons of r1999 characters if so which ones and why?

I wrote a bunch of stuff for this post but then tumblr fucked me up and reloaded without saving it so here we are..... rewriting it all over again ... OAUGH. usually I default to seeing everyone as Vaguely Bisexual and Not Cis until stated otherwise, but you asked for specifics so here we go!

6 is aromantic or demiromantic.

On one hand, it's because I love projecting on my faves. On the other hand, it's because he genuinely doesn't feel like the type of person to be interested in relationships. But this isn't something that's tied to any potential disgust, repulsion or even trauma related to his Revelation and struggle against fate -- to me, 6 just doesn't feel romantic attraction. At the very least, nothing strong enough to consider pursuing. It's not in his priorities. I really dislike this specific thing that fandoms do in which every single character who is introverted, or who happens to be alone/isolated (either by chance or by choice) is secretly lonely, touch starved, pining and desperate for attention and romantic love. It feels like such a huge disrespect for their equally important platonic or familial relationships. 6 already holds a lot of love for his own community and his childhood friends, a type of affection that is shown in his subtle and unique ways. I like it when his character focuses on those aspects instead!

Mesmer Jr. is aromantic and asexual.

In her case, she's the opposite of 6. Mesmer Jr.'s trauma and OCD is much too intense for her to even consider the idea of an emotional or physical bond with anyone. She's disgusted at the idea of touching others so casually, and she's afraid at the possibility of allowing a person (someone she logically cannot have any control over) into her life because what if they throw her off her schedule? What if they mess every meticulous thing she's planned for herself and her mental stability? What if she loses her grip? Yes, it's plausible that she may find a partner who works perfectly with the way she needs things to be, and yes, you can headcanon that she heals and her OCD becomes "manageable" enough to have a stable relationship, but personally? I just like it when characters don't get to have stereotypical happy endings in which everything gets better through love and friendship and support -- like, yeah everyone loves to see their faves happy and all but eh... It's a bit of projection on my part! Some people don't get to heal and do all the things their disabilities prevented them from doing, even if we're given all this support and love. Some of us just have to find ways around these things, anything that works for us that makes our lives easier.

Sweetheart is queer but has a complex relationship with love. In a somewhat similar vein, Blonney has gone through every single letter of the LGTBQ+ community.

I tried my best to explain my thoughts on Sweetheart but at this point she deserves her own post because it's honestly a LOT, this single part was just too long so I cut it out entirely. Just trust me when I say she's queer and has a very complex relationship with love. In Blonney's case, we discussed the possibility of her being written as comphet and it got me to think a little about her. I see Blonney as the type of girl who presents as a straight bimbo, following the themes of her character and all, but who has constant crisis after crisis in the privacy of her bedroom, the only place she's allowed to be more than just a blondie. This constant journey questioning her orientations and gender happens entirely in her head and in private. I like to think that she just has these long monologues in her head. Sure, she's identified as straight her whole life, but maybe bisexual works better because there was that one girl she kept meeting under the bleachers. Oh, but maybe she's a lesbian, since all her boyfriends are just huge disappointments and none of them ever make her truly happy. Oh, but maybe that's just because she has bad taste in men, there was that one guy in class who keeps making her laugh after all. Ahh, this would be so much easier if she were a guy, her femininity is mostly performative after all. Ah, but she actually really loves pink and fashion... Nonbinary then? No, she's not the type to pick something so vague, it's one or the other. Oh, how about both? Genderfluid! Etc etc. If you ask her about how she identifies, she'll simply brush you off with a "What's it to you? That's none of your business, creep!" and move on, but this is something very personal to her. So far, she knows she likes being femme presenting and that she likes Jessica!

Eagle is a trans girl.

Have you guys seen those posts going around tumblr about how important it is that trans women exist because they fight for their own womanhood and girlhood in a world that constantly looks down upon feminine things and all women as a whole? Yeah. Yeah. Eagle being a scout that fights so hard to prove herself, the feelings of not belonging into the Boy Scouts and seeing how the Girl Scouts are created eventually, a space for her. The fact that she visits her father's grave so that he can see her grow up.

Kaalaa Baunaa, Oliver Fog, Medicine Pocket and Melania are probably bisexual, but they're super busy with work so they don't have time to address that.

Self-explanatory <3 I do like to think that Kaalaa and Medpoc are more chill about it, Kaalaa because she's a grown ass woman who is very mature, and Medpoc because they genuinely give no fucking shits about dating in general, so who cares about confirming whether they're bisexual or not. Oliver Fog is a little more flustered at the idea of exploring his orientation and whatnot, but it's tolerable. BUT MELANIA? I LOVE to think that she's FULLY aware that the MOMENT she acknowledges her bisexuality, she will have a crisis and then what will she do? She has 3 papers due next week and a heist this weekend, she can't possibly sit there wondering about liking girls! She's got things to do!

And here's the extra round of HCs that don't require that much text to explain or that lean towards being more silly!

Eternity has literally outlived the concept of gender. She/They royalty.

37 has QRPs instead. It Just Works. No one but herself and her partners understand the dynamics, though. As god intended <3

APPLe is a raging bisexual and has been spotted in many gay bars. Regulus is also bisexual.

The world would've been a better place if Bette was a butch lesbian.

Balloon Party and An-An Lee play with gender like its playdough.

Baby Blue is Not Cis and she's Not Straight either because none of that shit matters to her anymore, since she's been disconnected from reality and society for so long. She also doesn't care about labelling herself.

Diggers is trans, but no one can figure out which way exactly. It doesn't help that he refuses to clarify either. The same thing happens with John Titor, except she's very vocal about being a transwoman.

Bunny Bunny is bisexual but she hasn't realized this yet. In similar fashion, Horropedia is bisexual but he just forgets about it sometimes.

Druvis III as a trans woman goes hand in hand with Forget Me Not as a gay man. This is why they're both super divorced.

Leilani is pansexual because she prefers the colors of that specific flag over the bisexual one. Spathodea is pansexual because the personal distinction between pansexuality and bisexuality matters to her.

Tennant is bisexual because she can scam and seduce more people that way.

The Fool is nonbinary. Mf should've been born in the 2020's, I just KNOW he would've loved mirrorgender.

Zima is in the closet not out of shame but out of safety. Just in case.

Sotheby assumes that every girl in the world likes girls. So far no one has been able to prove her wrong because all she does is interact with other sapphic girls.

Pavia is nonbinary out of spite. But I also love transguy Pavia HCs so so so much, give that guy boobs, he would never get top surgery <3

Vertin is nonbinary too but she doesn't care about people knowing about it. She does, however, make the effort to be a little androgynous, as a treat for herself.

Madam Z and Katz absolutely had a Situationship going on during university. Katz was bicurious and Madam Z helped her experiment. Now the Situationship is between Madam Z and Constantine, the latter using Madam Z as a rebound after fumbling her relationship with Vertin's mother <- the machinations in my brain will astonish you.

TTT is genderfluid by virtue of being a picture on a TV, so I like to think she can just shift her appearance. In similar fashion, gender means nothing to Alien T and Voyager because they're aliens.

I specifically love the idea of all of the 1.2 gang joking about how Tooth Fairy is their token straight adult figure -- she's actually bi and asexual, but likes to keep that to herself so the kids can make their little jokes and have fun.

Enigma is gay and homophobic because his self-loathing is just that strong.

Turns out that the push Click needed to explore his own sexuality was getting killed on the battlefield, so now he's free to be gay. perhaps bicurious.

[bucky-fricking-barnes]

Someplace Like Home

Title: Someplace Like Home

Pairing: Nomad!Steve Rogers x Reader

Word Count: 8.3k

Warnings: Canonical violence, minor injuries, minor blood, non-descriptive mentions of hospitals, mild language

Summary: Y/N owns a hostel in Croatia. When the very handsome Grant comes to work for her, she falls hard and fast for the new handyman.

A/N: This story takes place between Civil War and Infinity War, when Steve is on the run. There are a handful Croatian phrases/words used, which are translated at the end of this fic. Don’t ask me why all my Steve stories suddenly have foreign languages in them. As always, thanks for reading and supporting my writing in all the ways you do. Enjoy!

Dividers are by @firefly-graphics

Your morning starts off slow, like it always does, and after the handful of guests have finished breakfast and left to spend the rest of the day at the beach or in the mountains, you settle yourself behind the front counter and pull out your laptop. The dirty dishes can wait until later—Ana will be here in an hour, and she prefers doing the dishes over going over the books, so you have an unspoken deal that you’ll do the bookkeeping if she cleans up after meals.

You’re just opening up the software on your laptop when the front door opens. The bell above it jingles as a man steps in, bringing with him a warm gust of air. June has been unseasonably cool, but today is the warmest it’s been in weeks. You’ve kept most of the windows open all morning, even though it was still a bit chilly.

“Dobro jutro,” you greet. You carefully shift the laptop off to the side a few inches, being careful not to mess up the carefully arranged papers you’ve sorted out on the counter.

“Kako vam mogu pomoći?”

The man has a gray hiking backpack slung over his shoulder. He’s tall and blond, a dark blond that looks golden in the light from the outside but brown in the shadows. His thick beard and mustache are well-trimmed. You automatically open up the leatherbound reservation book and reach underneath the counter for a key. 

“Dobro jutro. Uh, govorite li engleski?” asks the man. He smiles politely, and you smile back, nodding.

“Of course,” you answer. “How can I help you?”

His eyes move to the pen in your hand, already poised over the next open spot in the reservation book. “I’m not here for a room. I’m here about the opening for a handyman.”

Surprised, you close the book again and tuck it back under the counter where it belongs, along with the key you’d grabbed. No one has come about the open position since you’d posted it months ago in the local cafe. Not even a sign outside the hostel has helped.

“In that case, my name’s Y/N. I’m the owner here.”

“Grant,” he replies, his hand already held out for you to shake.

You oblige with another smile. “It’s nice to meet you, Grant. Can I ask how you found out about the position? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you around town.”

He nods once. “I just moved here from Italy, and from Switzerland before that.”

“So you’re making your way through Europe, then?” you ask. You’re not entirely surprised—he looks rugged enough that he could handle a long backpacking trip or several months of solo travel, unlike some of the college students you normally have traipsing through your village.

“In a way,” he answers. “Truthfully, I’d like to settle down someplace, but it’s been a rough few years. I haven’t quite found the place that feels like home yet.”

Secretly, as you listen to him explain the various European cities in which he’s lived, you wish that he’ll come to feel at home here. Brdonik isn’t large enough to be on any maps, but it’s been your home for almost a decade now, and you can’t imagine a better place. The whole community bands together, and people look out for each other. There’s enough tourism from backpackers and small cruises that you’re not totally isolated, but you’re still far enough removed that your daily life isn’t saturated with commercialism and the big city nonsense you often hear about through your guests. You’d experienced it enough before coming to Croatia, and you don’t ever plan on going back to the life you’d had before you moved.

“To answer your question,”—Grant’s gentle continuation pulls you from your thoughts—“I saw a flier posted in the cafe down the street. I stopped there for lunch.”

“What did you order?” you ask. You prop an elbow up on the counter and level him with your gaze.

“Is that important?

“If you want this job it is. You can tell a lot about a person based on what they order at a restaurant.”

He smiles a little. “I got the turkey sandwich.”

You consider his choice for a moment before giving him a nod. “Simple, but respectable. A clear tourist choice, but I like it.”

“You can’t go wrong with a turkey sandwich,” he adds.

“It’s a classic!” You smile back at him and then come around the counter into the main part of the lobby. You grab your clipboard from its hook on the wall.

“Let me give you a tour,” you tell him. “I’ll point out some of the things that need fixing, and then you can tell me if you still think you’re a good fit.”

Grant agrees, and he walks beside you as you lead him through the hostel. You show him the currently unoccupied rooms, as well as the common areas, and you give him plenty of time to inspect the stalled projects and major fixes that he’d been in charge of. While he looks around, you watch him carefully. There’s something familiar about him, something you can’t quite put your finger on, but he doesn’t set off any alarm bells in your head like some of the previous candidates had. He’s respectful of the property and the few lingering guests you come across, and Grant is polite enough to open doors for you as you approach them. He speaks softly and clearly, and his sense of humor is well-timed. Somehow, despite his hulking frame and obvious strength, you feel safe around him.

Eventually, you lead him to your office. Grant takes the seat in front of your desk and you close the door behind him, then sit behind your desk and pull a pad of paper from the drawer. He’s almost too big for the chair you normally reserve for college-age backpackers looking for a few days of housekeeping work. He’s relaxed, though, and he rests both arms on the thin wooden armrests as you get out what you need. You sneak a glance at him as you sit upright again. His eyes move slowly and carefully over the framed photos and documents on the wall, taking in each one of them individually before he moves onto the next—your college diploma from NYU, a photo of you with your family the last time they came to visit, a certificate of operation from the local government. His backpack is leaning up against the front leg of the chair and his left leg, and you briefly wonder how he’s afforded to travel so much. The bag looks brand new, and high-tech, too. Is he a tech mogul of some kind? A grown-up trust fund kid? Did he steal it, or is he just really good with money?

“You’ll have to excuse me, I don’t have any questions prepared for you,” you tell him as you reach for a pen.

He nods and looks back at you. “You weren’t expecting me to walk in today, I understand.”

“Either way, I have to say that so far, I’m very impressed with you.” You glance up again and give him a polite smile, then look back down as you write his name and the date at the top of the page. “What did you say your last name was again?”

“Carter,” he says.

Nodding, you add that at the top and make your first bullet point.

“Grant Carter. Are you named after someone? That seems a pretty traditional name for a guy your age.” You immediately cringe at the question. “I’m sorry, that was inappropriate. You don’t have to answer that.”

Chuckling, Grant shakes his head. “No, it’s alright. My mother was a big fan of Ulysses S. Grant.”

“The 18th president?” you ask, grinning wide.

He nods and lets out another small laugh. “That’s the one.”

“He’s not normally up there on peoples’ lists of favorite presidents.”

“She had her reasons, I guess,” Grant shrugs.

You hum a little with a smile and look back down at your almost empty legal pad. You have a million questions that you want to ask, and more that you know you should, but you allow yourself to think for a moment before you look up again. Whatever you ask has to be the right mix of the two.

“You’ve lived in a lot of really impressive places,” you begin, and Grant nods in confirmation. “Why come here? There are plenty of larger cities with more job openings. Better paying job openings,” you add.

“You sell yourself short,” Grant easily replies. He sits forward a little, his elbows sliding closer to the ends of the armrests. “Your town is beautiful. It’s comfortable, and a bit secluded. I’m looking for something quieter.”

“A lot of people are, but we’re not often what they want in the long run. How long are you planning on staying?”

Grant stares at you for a long moment before he replies, “Until I’m needed elsewhere.”

You raise an eyebrow. “That’s a bit cryptic, so I hope you don’t mind if I ask for a clearer answer.”

“I plan on staying indefinitely, but if it changes, I promise you’ll be the first to know.”

Not quite satisfied with his answer, you still scribble down the response and make a second point on the next line down.

“Do you have handyman experience?”

Grant shakes his head. “But I’m a quick learner and I’m stronger than I look. Whatever I don’t already know how to do, I’ll pick it up quickly if I can get the information from someone or somewhere.”

I highly doubt you’re stronger than you look, you think, forcing yourself to look down at the paper and write, rather than at him. You already look pretty damn strong.

“Do you have a previous employer I can contact? Or references?”

“I can have that information to you by the end of the day.”

You nod and keep writing, and you don’t look up as you say, “We don’t typically provide housing for employees, as we’re a small enough village that commute isn’t an issue, but given that you’re new to town, I’m going to assume that you don’t have a place to stay yet.”

“No ma’am, I don’t.”

“I can get you set up in a room here, if that’s alright with you. I won’t expect you to work outside of normal business hours, except in an emergency, but that’s the same even if you lived off-property,” you tell him, looking up. You don’t lift your pen, and it’s a little satisfying to see that Grant looks mildly surprised. He doesn’t seem like the kind of person who could be surprised by anything.

“You’re hiring me?” he asks.

“Should I not?”

He quickly recovers and shakes his head, giving you a small smile. “I was just surprised that you’re not waiting until after you’ve seen my references.”

“Are you a horrible person?”

“I don’t think so, no.

“Are you a terrible employee?” you ask, putting your pen down on the desk.

“I’m loyal to a fault.”

“Should I be concerned about criminal activity?”

Grant laughs. “I’m a model citizen, though I did steal a piece of cake when I was a kid.”

“I’ll be sure to inform the local authorities,” you tease, grinning. You slide the notepad onto your desk and stand, holding out your hand for him to shake. Grant obliges. “You’re hired, Mr. Carter. If you’re ready, I’ll show you to your room so you can get settled in before your first day tomorrow.”

“I’d like that, thank you,” he replies.

“I won’t take the room out of your salary unless it prevents us from taking guests, but I don’t see that becoming an issue, except maybe in mid-July,” you tell him as you move around the desk to the door. “The handyman position pays 800 euros a month. You’ll be paid bi-weekly in check or cash, whichever your preference. We don’t have direct deposit here. If you need an account in town, there’s a bank down the road.”

“Cash is fine,” he says. He picks up his bag and swings it over his shoulder before following you back out into the hallway, then out to the lobby. You make a pit stop at the front desk to grab a key before heading up the main staircase.

The private, single person rooms on the third floor are a little older, and you briefly worry as you climb the stairs if the beds will be able to hold Grant’s weight. You don’t use them as often now that you’ve finished transforming the old hotel into a hostel. There’s a thin coating of dust on the handrail and you make a mental note to give this floor a thorough cleaning tomorrow while he’s occupied, that way you won’t be intruding. 

You lead Grant to the end of the hall, where the rooms are slightly larger and the windows overlook the ocean. While the view is great, most of your summer guests only fill the dorm-style rooms, so you’re fairly certain you won’t be missing out on any profit by giving him this room.

“Here we are,” you say, and you open the door before stepping aside so he can enter first.

Grant ducks through the doorway and flips the light switch, then looks around in silence. You wait in the hallway, holding your breath as he makes his inspection.

“This is nice,” he finally says, looking back at you. He drops his bag at the foot of the bed. “You’re sure it’s alright if I stay here?”

You wave one hand dismissively. “It’s fine.”

Your phone chimes in your back pocket and you pull it out, quickly reading the notification. It’s only mildly urgent, but you can feel Grant trying to look occupied as he waits for you to leave, so you look up and gesture back towards the stairs with your phone. 

“I’ve gotta take care of something, but you’re in luck. Every Thursday night we host a group dinner for the guests. The food is all cooked by a chef from a local restaurant in an attempt to promote the local cuisine, so you’re welcome to join us, or I can recommend some other restaurants in the area, if you want to explore a little bit more. We eat at seven.”

Nodding, Grant smiles and crosses the room to pull the key from where you’d left it in the lock. “I’ll see you at seven. It was nice to meet you, Y/N.”

“You too, Grant. Welcome aboard!” You smile once more, then turn and head back down the hall. His door closes as you reach the top of the stairs, and suddenly, you can’t wait for dinnertime.

You occupy yourself for the majority of the day by compiling a list of projects for Grant, as well as contacting the references he sends you using the email address on the hostel’s website. He gets glowing reviews from each and every person on the list, though they all seem a little confused when you first ask about him. 

Grant comes down to the first floor at five minutes to seven, and you’re just greeting the first small group of guests to arrive back from their excursions when he steps down from the bottom step. You glance over and give him a quick, acknowledging smile before turning back to the guests.

“Dobor dan! How was your time at the beach?” you ask. They reply politely in a mix of English and their own native language. You vaguely recognize it as French. You’re about to tell them in English about the dinner schedule, hoping that they’ll understand at least partially, but Grant begins talking in rapid-fire French before you even open your mouth.

It takes everything in you to keep your jaw from dropping straight through the floor. None of Grant’s references had mentioned he was bilingual, and neither did he. It feels like it should’ve been obvious, however, given that every single person he’d talked to had mentioned his incredible intelligence and ability to pick up skills quicker than anybody they knew.

Still, you watch in stunned silence from behind the front desk and Grant chatters with the guests. He leads them from the lobby and into the adjoining sitting area, where you hear them sit down and continue to talk. Someone laughs, and then Grant does, too. It’s a deep, mellow baritone, and you catch yourself grinning before you manage to stifle it.

When the next group of guests walk in, you guide them into the sitting room with the others. Grant catches your eye as you turn the corner, and when he smiles, you swear that your heart stutters in your chest.

He’s your employee, you chide yourself, and you turn your back on the group on the premise of prepping a plate of cookies for the coffee table.

“Dinner should be ready soon,” you say as you set the plate in the center of the group. Grant translates for you, first in French, and then in a language that sounds almost Spanish, but you know enough of that to know that it’s something different. All the guests nod in agreement.

You settle against one of the heavy wood bookshelves and watch quietly as Grant chats with the guests, switching fluidly between languages whenever he turns to a new person. It’s amazing, so you simply stay silent as you listen to the flurry of foreign words in the sitting room. You’ve never heard the pre-dinner conversation so lively. It brings a new warmth to the hostel, and you can’t help but smile as you watch the guests come alive, even though they’re exhausted.

“Dinner is ready!” Ana calls. She pokes her head in the door, and she smiles wide when she sees the guests talking excitedly. Every seat is taken. When she turns to look at you, you only grin.

“What’s going on?” she asks, stepping closer so she can lower her voice. “Who is that?”

You lean in, whispering, “His name is Grant. He’s the new handyman, and apparently, he speaks multiple languages.”

“Apparently?”

“I didn’t know when I hired him! This,” you gesture with one hand towards the circle of guests, who have started to rise now that Grant has passed along the message about dinner, “was a surprise to me, too. He just started talking to them on his own. I didn’t ask him to do anything.”

Ana raises her eyebrows, giving you a meaningful look. Before you can scold her for trying to meddle in your love life, she slips away and Grant appears at your side.

“Who is that?” he asks.

Goosebumps erupt on your arms at the sound of his deep voice so close to your ear. He’s leaned down so you can hear him clearly, and though he’s not quite in your space, he’s still close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating from him. It should feel stifling in the early summer heat, but it’s comforting, and you turn towards him with a bright smile.

“Ana. She’s the manager when I’m not here. I’ll introduce you later. How come you never told me you spoke all those languages?” you ask.

Grant just smiles back at you. “You never asked.”

“I’ll make sure to add that to my list of questions for the next time I have to hire someone.” You gesture at the line of guests filtering through the doorway to the hostel’s dining room. “We should eat. Most of the guests have spent all day hiking or at the beach, and they’ll be hungry. Our local chefs are all amazing, so the food always goes quickly.”

“What’s on the menu?” Grant asks. He starts to walk and you fall into step beside him, noting how he angles himself sideways and stoops through the doorway so that you’re not squashed into the doorframe. It’s a miracle he doesn’t hit his head on any of the lowered ceilings or hanging decor in the building.

I’ll have to warn him about the lights in the rooms on the second floor, you note.

“Punjene paprike. Stuffed peppers,” you translate. You pause and watch as the guests choose their seats, silently making sure there are enough chairs. When it’s clear you’ve done the math correctly, you look over at Grant. “How many languages do you speak?”

He shrugs and surveys the long table filled with food. People are already piling their plates high and chattering with their friends and family, and the room is filled with amicable noise. The sun coming in from the windows is golden. The windows face south, which is one of the many reasons why you’d first purchased the building. It needs a lot of work, and it always has, but the view of the ocean from the dining room windows, along with the way the sun illuminates the whole room, helps make all the work worth it.

“This place is beautiful,” says Grant, quietly. “You’ve done well.”

You look over at him, surprised at the praise. It warms you from the inside out, and you smile when he meets your eyes. “Thank you. I’ve worked hard.”

He nods, and after a moment, he gestures towards the table. There are two empty seats beside each other, near the far end of the room. Ana has taken the seat across from them and she’s already begun to eat.

You follow Grant across the dining room, and you try not to act surprised when he pulls out the chair and helps you sit before taking the spot beside yours. Ana catches your eye as you reach for a dish, but you look away. You can’t risk having her embarrass you in front of the guests.

Or Grant, the cheeky little voice in your brain adds, but you quickly push the thought to the far reaches of your brain. Showing your hand—and your burgeoning feelings for Grant—right now is something you need even less.

“So, you’re from New York?” he asks.

You look up from where you’re pulling a napkin into your lap. “What?”

“Your degree. It’s from NYU, so I’m assuming that you’re from the States.”

Nodding, you allow him to serve one of the peppers onto your plate, and you heap an extra serving of rice onto the side of your plate before handing him the bowl. You don’t want to assume he likes anything, especially since he ordered one of the most American things on the menu at the cafe.

“I am. I grew up in Manhattan, and I decided to stay there for college. Once I got my degree in hospitality, I decided it was time I see more of the world,” you tell him. 

“Why Croatia?” Grant asks.

You shrug and pick up your fork. “Honestly? I don’t know why. I didn’t even mean to come here. I ended up on the wrong train and decided to stick it out. I figured it would be a fun experience either way, but I fell in love with it here. On my second day here, I saw that this building was up for sale and I had just enough money in my savings to buy it. It was a big risk, but I think that it was worth it.”

He looks around the room, listening to the conversations for a few moments before he smiles. “I think so, too.”

“Where are you from?” you ask. “You’re clearly American.”

Grant laughs at that, nodding. “I grew up in Brooklyn. When I was old enough, I served in the army for a few years, and since then I’ve just been… traveling.”

The army thing makes sense, and you file that information away for later. The two of you start to eat, exchanging a few more words throughout the meal. Grant offers to help Ana with the dishes. She’s giddy at the proposal, so you let them head into the kitchen as you help guests arrange their plans for the next day. You find yourself straining to listen for the sound of his voice during the quiet moments, however, but by the time the dishes are finished, Grant tells you that he’s exhausted and he wants to get a good night’s rest before his first day on the job. You wish him goodnight from the front desk, then wait for Ana to appear and barrage you with a million questions about the new handyman.

You learn quickly that there’s even more to Grant than meets the eye. He’d been telling the truth in his interview—he’s deceptively strong, and he really does learn quicker than anyone you’ve ever met. His Croatian improves leaps and bounds in the first few months at the hostel. By the end of the summer, he’s practically fluent, even if he does bumble through some of the more complicated phrases with a faint blush on his cheeks.

The longstanding projects for the hostel are all completed by the end of August, leaving you scrambling to keep Grant busy. When you can’t find anything to do, however, he busies himself by exploring the far reaches of the island, speaking with the guests in a myriad of languages, and keeping you company in the lobby or in your office. His presence, which had once seemed much too large for the old brick building, has settled. He seems at home in the armchair you buy for the corner of your office, and he’s become a fixture in the doorway of the lobby, where he likes to stand and watch traffic pass by.

It’s on one of the hottest days of the year that you first get a glimpse behind Grant’s ever-friendly facade. You’re behind the desk, going through the reservations for the upcoming week, when there’s a shout from outside. The front door to the hostel is propped open in an attempt to let in a breeze, and Grant has taken up residence in his normal spot. You’ve only just processed the shout when there’s an explosion. The floor beneath you shakes and shudders, and you grip the edge of the desk in an attempt to keep upright.

Grant whirls around and fixes his eyes on you. He’s scanning you, up and down, searching for any sign of injury.

“Are you okay?” he asks. You nod, swallowing thickly, and peer over his shoulder. There’s no sign of what’s happened outside, but you can hear screaming and shouting. There’s a gunshot and you flinch.

“Stay here, and stay hidden,” says Grant, and you know in an instant that it’s an order. “Stay quiet and don’t let anyone in. Okay?”

Nodding again, you drop to a crouch, then curl up on the floor with your back against the desk. You clutch your phone in one hand and listen as Grant closes, then locks the door. When he doesn’t appear behind the desk, you crawl over to the side and look out into the small lobby. He’s gone.

Your arms shake beneath you and you have to fall back against the desk for support before you fall flat on your face. Squeezing your eyes shut, you listen to the commotion outside. There are no more explosions, but you hear more screams and shouts, followed by a crash and gunshots. Your heart pounds in your chest as the noise gets closer and closer. You know that Grant was in the army, so he must have military training, but the thought of him outside—the thought of him in danger—makes you want to puke.

There’s a thud against the front door and you flinch. Your body tenses and you curl up in the fetal position, trying to maintain your breathing. It doesn’t work, however, and when there’s another bang, you scream.

“Molim! Molim, let me in!”

You look around the edge of the desk again. It’s a woman on the other side, and the desperation in her voice propels you to your feet and into the lobby without a second thought. You twist the lock and yank open the door.

A slim woman dressed entirely in black grins at you. Her eyes are a shocking shade of electric blue and her teeth are bright white—a stark contrast against the mask that hides the rest of her features.

“Sorry, dragi,” she says, and you gasp when she reveals the gun in her left hand. With the other, she reaches out and grabs you. “You’re coming with me.”

“No!” You fight against the woman’s grip, and when you lift your eyes to search for help from someone else, you can’t believe what you’re seeing.

Grant is lifting a car off someone. He lifts the car and tosses it aside with a heave and a grunt, and then he’s fighting someone hand-to-hand. The man in black is clearly trained because he gets in a few hits, but Grant never stays down for long. He’s slowly forcing the man back down the street, towards the beach, instead of towards the line of shops that’s on the other side of the hostel.

There’s a blast as another explosive goes off, this time in a restaurant diagonal from your front door. Stone and rubble flies in every direction. The street is empty of people, thankfully, except for the people Grant is fighting. Somewhere down the street, a car alarm is going off, and the light from the harsh midday sun is almost blinding. Your ears are ringing from the blast and the alarm. You think you scream at some point, but you’re not sure.

The man that Grant has been fighting has been thrown back by the blast, but Grant is still standing, as if he’s anchored onto the pavement. There’s a metal car door in his hand. He’s gripping onto a piece of the leather interior, and the red painted finish on the outside has been battered by the flying debris. His chest heaves as he tries to catch his breath.

The woman drags you out of the hostel and onto the street. She wraps her arm around your shoulders and places the gun against the side of your head. You stop struggling then, and your breath catches in your throat as your heart begins to pound even harder. Your vision is going blurry along the edges, but not enough to miss the way Grant’s jaw clenches when he catches sight of you.

“Captain Rogers!” the woman shouts.

He throws a second man off of him and turns fully towards you and the woman. “Let her go!”

In your ear, the woman chuckles. It’s low and dark, and full of malice, and you shiver. You close your eyes and pray that it’s all just a bad dream.

“Not until you come with us,” the woman replies.

“Leave her and the others out of this.”

When you open your eyes, Grant is looking past you at the woman. The light reflects in his deep blue eyes, and it’s then that you realize what he’s been hiding from you.

How did I miss it before?

“Steve Rogers,” you choke.

He looks at you again. “Y/N…”

“You’re Steve Rogers.”

There’s a pause as he watches you with clear regret, and then the woman laughs, shocking you out of your revelation.

“How precious!” she exclaims. “Your little boss had no clue who you were?”

“Let. Her. Go.” Steve takes a step forward and the woman’s grip on you tightens. You can’t stop the whimper that escapes you when she pushes the gun harder against your head, making you crane your neck to one side.

Two new men in black come up behind Steve. He turns his head slightly, listening to their approach, but he doesn’t move. You can tell that he’s calculating what to do next.

There’s a moment of clarity as you watch them launch themselves at him. Steve fights like he was born for it—and maybe he was, you rationalize—and as he easily overcomes them both, you have a revelation that’s nothing short of a rock at the pit of your stomach.

Steve has to get out of this alive. So many people count on him, and they always have. Though you know that there are a lot of people all over the world who consider him a criminal, you also know that there are a lot of people just like you that think Steve deserves a place of honor for all that he’s done and all the sacrifices he’s made.

The safety on the woman’s gun clicks off and Steve freezes. The two men take advantage of that, and they grab his arms, pulling them tightly behind his back and pushing him to his knees. He falls with a grunt. One of the men grabs a fistful of his hair and yanks his head back until he’s looking at you and the woman from his place on the ground. He doesn’t fight back.

“Steve,” you plead. “You have to fight. You can’t let them take you.”

“I’m not leaving you,” he replies. He shifts his gaze to the woman without moving his head. “If I go with you, you’ll let her go?”

“You have my word.”

Heat swells in your eyes and you know that you’re about to cry. “No! Don’t trust her, Steve! You can’t believe her!”

The woman jostles you and you close your eyes on instinct. A tear slips down your cheek.

“Shut up,” she growls. 

You swallow thickly. At your sides, your hands and fingers have gone numb, and your legs are barely holding you upright. 

“Alright,” Steve agrees. “I’ll go with you.”

A sob bursts through and the woman releases you. She practically throws you to the ground, and you have just enough time to get your arms out in front of you before you hit the road. Pain shoots up both limbs and the pavement digs into your forearms. From where you lay, you watch the men pull Steve to his feet. He moves with them and doesn’t fight back as they drag him to a black cargo van on the perimeter of the blast zone.

“Steve!” you scream. Your voice breaks and your throat feels raw as you push yourself up and stumble in their direction. The movement sends pins and needles into your hands and feet, but you do it anyway. Your limbs feel completely out of your control as you attempt to go after them.

Steve looks back at you. He’s too far now for you to make out his expression, but you can see that he’s trying to tell you something. The man on his right shoves his shoulder and he’s forced into the van. 

“Let him go! Steve!” You start to sprint, running after the van as the back door slides shut and the woman, who climbed into the driver’s seat while you were getting to your feet, begins to navigate it through the rubble from the explosions. The tinted windows keep you from seeing Steve inside and your mind immediately goes to the worst.

“Someone help me! Stop that van!”

You run until you physically can’t. The van is long gone, and when you collapse onto the street, a crowd gathers around you. People are murmuring and asking you questions. There are too many hands, too many faces, even if many of them are familiar. Your vision swims as you’re rolled onto your back. The summer sun beats down on you harder, and you try to focus, but all you can manage is a mumble of Steve’s name before you lose consciousness on the pavement.

When you wake, the soft beeping noise is enough to tell you that you’re in a hospital. You open your eyes, expecting to be greeted by white walls and bedding, and maybe a wall of cabinets with a sink. Instead, there’s a slanted wall of glass windows, each separated by a pillar of concrete. Thin, almost invisible computer screens with golden text are scattered around your room, each displaying charts, figures, and data in a language you can’t read. Some are embedded into the walls on either side of the bed, while others float above white counters that look more like control panels for a spaceship. There are scans of someone’s body and brain—your brain, you realize after a long moment—that spin in circles on the floating screens.

A hiss makes you flinch, and you quickly look away from the brain scan to where a young, dark-skinned girl is walking in through a set of sliding glass doors you hadn’t seen before. Her white, high-necked sheath dress looks nothing like hospital attire, especially since it’s sleeveless and only has mesh to cover her shoulders and a few inches below her knees, but she’s holding a tablet and looks so serious that you wonder if maybe she’s not a regular doctor. After all, this doesn’t seem like a normal hospital. Where are you? Did the men in black come back to get you, too?

“Y/N, it’s good to see you awake. How are you feeling?” she asks.

Her accent is jarring, and you blink. When you go to speak, you have to lick your lips a few times. They’re dry, and your mouth feels so much like sandpaper that for a moment you don’t think you’ll actually be able to say anything at all.

“Where am I?” you finally ask in return. “Who are you?”

She smiles briefly and checks something on her tablet, then glances over at one of the floating screens off to the side. Seemingly satisfied, she locks the device and sets it aside.

“My name is Shuri. You’re in Wakanda. You will be safe here.”

You frown. “Wakanda?” None of the hospitals even remotely close to the hostel hold that name, not even in passing, but it sounds familiar.

“Yes. We’re friends of Captain Rogers. When we heard about his capture, and how you were involved, we brought you here.”

Tears burn hot in your eyes as the memories from the street outside the hostel come flooding back all at once. How long have you been in the hospital? Who’s looking for Steve?

“We have located him already,” she continues, and you inhale sharply, shifting in the bed as you reach up to wipe your face. “And the Dora Milaje has been sent to retrieve him.”

“The what?” you ask. Your voice shakes and you swallow hard in an attempt to steady yourself.

Shuri smiles again. “The Dora Milaje. They are our special forces here in Wakanda. Let me ask again, how are you feeling?”

You move in the bed a little bit more, testing your limbs for stiffness or pain. Surprisingly, there’s very little. “I’m… I’m okay, I think. Confused, mostly. Thirsty.” Your stomach growls, so you quickly add, “Hungry.”

She laughs and nods, then picks up her tablet. Shuri taps a few times before glancing down at something through the slanted windows. 

“Someone will bring you food shortly. I’ll also have someone come change the bandages on your hands and wrists. Your injuries are healing nicely. You should still rest a while longer, but I will make sure you’re notified when Captain Rogers has been safely returned.”

Nodding, you sit back against the pillows, but you quickly sit up again with a gasp. “The hostel! Ana!”

“We’ve sent someone to assist Miss Mitrovich in your absence,” Shuri soothes. She steps closer to the bed and you lie back as she approaches. “There were very few repairs that needed to be done to your building, but they are taken care of, and all your guests are safe. I have already dispatched a team of Wakandan specialists to help with the rebuild of Brdonik. We are also installing a security system in your building.”

You sigh in relief and close your eyes, swallowing against the dryness again. You lay in silence, listening to Shuri as she moves around the room and mutters to herself. When you finally open your eyes again, it’s because she’s greeting someone as the sliding glass doors hiss open for a second time.

“Grant,” you murmur, and he gives you a weak smile from just inside the doorway. You correct yourself, shaking your head. “Steve.”

“Grant is my middle name,” he quietly explains. “And Carter…”

“Agent Carter,” you finish. “I see the connection now.”

While waiting for your food, you’ve slowly been piecing together the different parts of Steve’s life that you knew, trying to get the full picture. You’ve known him personally as Grant, the quiet man from Brooklyn that is good with his hands, always knows exactly what to say when you’re in a bad mood, and is a hit with every guest that crosses your threshold. On the other hand, you also know him as Steve, the All-American super-soldier that’s plastered across every history textbook you’ve ever been given. He’s also the super-soldier that you’ve watched on the news, listening to reporter after reporter praise him like he’s a god, then publicly curse and shame him on their next breath.

Shuri quietly excuses herself. You stare at Steve as she leaves through the sliding doors behind him. There’s a cut above his right eyebrow, and blood caked in his beard, right below a nasty split in his lower lip. He’s standing lopsided, like he’s keeping the weight off his right foot, and he looks like he could use a shower and a long nap.

“Are you okay?” you ask.

He nods again. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For dragging you into this,” Steve answers. He sighs. “For getting you hurt. For putting you in danger.”

You shake your head and sit up a little more in the bed, allowing the pillows to prop you upright. “None of this is your fault.”

“It is, and—”

“And nothing,” you interrupt. You give him a stern look and he presses his lips together with a wince. “You didn’t know that there was any danger. If you had, wouldn’t you have left?”

After a second, Steve nods, and you continue,

“And if you’d been able to stop it from happening, you would’ve, right?”

Another nod and you smooth the surprisingly soft hospital blanket over your legs.

“Then it’s not really your fault, Grant. Steve,” you correct again, more firmly this time. You’re still coming to terms with the fact that he’s not 100% who he said he was.

“But you still got hurt. I still put you in danger just by being there. I shouldn’t have stayed as long as I did. I got too comfortable, and too close, and I was careless.”

You purse your lips and watch him for several moments. Steve stays still under your inspection, waiting for you to say something.

Finally, you tell him, “I don’t regret what happened, and if I had the chance to go back in time and change things, I wouldn’t. I’m not in mortal danger, and you’re safe again. The hostel is being taken care of. None of the guests got hurt. Tourism might be down for a couple months but…” You shrug. “It’s the end of the busiest season anyway, and I have enough savings that I’m not going to worry.”

Steve shakes his head at you, then turns to look at the screens. He doesn’t seem to be actually reading them, but he puts his hands on his hips as he stares at a spinning scan of your hand and wrist.

“Do you regret it?” you ask.

He turns back. He’s silent for a few seconds as he watches you fidget with the hem of the blanket in your lap. “No,” Steve finally replies. “I don’t.”

“Me neither.”

When he doesn’t move, you swing your legs over the edge of the bed. You’re not dressed in a normal hospital gown—someone has put you in leggings and a tunic of some kind—but you still shiver when your bare feet touch the floor.

“Y/N—” Steve limps towards you, holding both hands out to steady you if you lose your balance. You don’t, and he stops a few feet away.

“I don’t regret any of it, Steve,” you say. You start to close the distance between the two of you even more. “Not a single minute.”

“Volim te,” Steve murmurs.

You freeze, now within arm’s reach. “What?”

“Volim te.”

Your brain is working a mile a minute to catch up with what he’s said. Steve shifts in place, wincing as he transfers the weight to his injured leg. 

“You should get that checked out,” you quietly tell him, glancing down at his leg.

He stares at you, as if he was expecting a different response. You know he was, but you’re suddenly so overwhelmed by everything that it’s the first thing out of your mouth. 

“I—” You close your eyes and shake your head, letting out a small self-conscious chuckle. “I’m sorry. I love you too, Steve. I do. I love you. I don’t— I don’t know why I said that. I guess I’m just worried—”

He cuts you off by stepping into your space and cupping your face with one hand. His fingers thread up into your hair and he tilts your head back so he can press his lips to yours. Your arms fall limp at your sides for a second, but then your brain catches up. You close your eyes and reach up to put one hand on the back of his neck. The other slides around his waist, pulling him closer as he kisses you.

Steve’s body is warm and though he winces with pain, then pulls away slightly to touch his fingers to his busted lip, neither one of you actually moves away from the other. You stay close enough to feel the heat from his breath on your skin.

“You need to eat,” he murmurs.

“And you need a doctor,” you reply.

He smiles a little, more just pressing his lips together than anything, and kisses your forehead. You close your eyes again when he lingers.

“Don’t go,” he says as you step away. 

You frown and crowd close again, and you place both hands on his chest. “Steve?”

“No. I mean, you should go now, but…” He struggles for a second, trying to find the words he wants to say, and you wait patiently. “What I meant was: Don’t go back to Croatia. Stay with me.”

“What about the hostel? What about Ana and the guests?”

“I’ve heard you say a thousand times that she could probably run the place on her own. Plus, it’s the end of the busiest season, and after everything that’s happened, tourism will probably be low. You said it yourself.” 

Steve reaches up to pull your hands off of him, but he holds them and rubs little circles over your knuckles with his thumbs. He watches you carefully, giving you his full attention. His eyes are deep and blue, and the crinkle between his eyebrows has disappeared completely now that he’s sure you’re okay.

“So, what? I’d stay here in Wakanda? What would I do?” you ask, frowning. “They don’t really have tourists here, do they? It’s not like they need a hostel.”

“No, but I need a partner.”

“Don’t you already have partners, Steve? What about the Falcon? Or Black Widow? Or even your friend that you told me about—James? Isn’t he a superhero, too?” 

Shaking his head, he answers, “That’s not the kind of partner I need, Y/N. I don’t need a partner to fight with. I need a partner that I can live with. Someone to make a home with.”

You stare at him for a second, allowing your brain to process what he’s just said, and then you give him a slow, sly smile. Inside, you’re giddy and jumping up and down, but all you do is pull your hands in a little more so he has to step closer to you.

“Steven Grant Rogers, are you asking me to move in with you?”

“I guess I am.” His ears are starting to turn a bright shade of pink, and it’s beginning to creep along his cheekbones as well, just above his beard. 

Steve’s still holding your hands captive, so you simply raise an eyebrow. “Do you have a place to live here in Wakanda? Or are we going to be staying here in my hospital room until you find one?”

He shrugs and grins back at you. “King T’Challa gave me an apartment.”

“The king gave you an apartment?” You pull your hands away and step back. You can’t hide your disbelief, though deep down, you figure it’s very likely that the king tried to give Steve more. He’s a hero, even if most of the world doesn’t believe it.

“The princess was just in here going over your medical information, and you’re shocked that he gave me an apartment?” Steve asks, a smirk on his face.

You gape at him even more. “You’re kidding. Steve, that was not—”

“Princess Shuri. She’s made most of the technology around here, and she oversees the recovery of important patients. Like you,” he adds.

“If I’d known—”

He leans in and kisses your forehead again. “You don’t need to bow or anything. They don’t do that here, though I’m sure she’d appreciate a thank you the next time you see her. Maybe compliment one of her inventions. T’Challa says she likes that.”

“The next time?” you hiss. “Steve—”

This time, he laughs at you. It’s a full-bodied laugh, unlike the sparse chuckles you’ve gotten out of him since his return, and you relax. You smile, too, a real smile that makes your cheeks ache as you press your burning face against his chest. Steve wraps his arms around you. His body shakes as he laughs, but he quickly settles down and kisses the top of your head.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” you tell him, not letting go. In fact, you hug him tighter around the waist with both arms.

“Me too. Come on, ljubavi. Let’s go home.”

Dobro jutro = Good morning

Kako vam mogu pomoći? = How can I help you?

Govorite li engleski? = Do you speak English?

Dobor dan = Good afternoon

Molim = Please

Dragi = Darling

Volim te = I love you

Ljubavi = Love/my love

Thank you for reading! If you liked this, please consider reblogging my work so that others can enjoy it too.

I do not consent to have my work posted, translated, or published to any third party site or app. If anyone sees my work anywhere other than my personal tumblr, Patreon, or ao3 accounts, it has been reposted without my permission.

If you want to support me further, consider buying me a ko-fi! My ko-fi is also under my SPN fanfiction blog, but I promise it’s me.

If  you would like to be added to my tags, please send me a message or an ask! I tag for Everything, Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers, Thor Odinson, and Peter Parker.

Forever: @aya-fay

Steve Rogers: @lipstickandvibranium​ @delicatecapnerd

[kfedup]

Regretsy no more

Hey, y'all. It's the lurker here.

I've been in the funkiest of funkless funks for the past few months and over the past few weeks, I've been unpacking why. Seeing how much I'm isolating because of a constellation of health-related issues and generalized depression. Have been considering trying meds. But one thing keeps coming to the surface and I finally decided it's time to deal with it.

The one thing is the only thing in my life that I regret. That thing is never having finished my bachelor's degree.

I'm twice divorced, have lost several important friendships, and moved more times than I can count to places I didn't really want to live to maintain relationships I should have never entered in the first place, but I wouldn't trade any of those things. I don't feel regret about them. Why would I? I discovered who I am and who I am not because I experienced those things. Each of them allowed me to learn how to repair what's possible and how to let go of that which is complete.

I'm very good at this marketing copywriting work but I'm bored senseless. I want to challenge myself and taking online workshops is fine but it's just more interacting through a screen and lord love a duck, my spirit needs more. Plus, I am not using my gifts of communication, empathy, mirroring, and holding space for others in the way I know I am meant to use them. For two years I've felt like I'm wasting what's left of my life.

I am so afraid I will die full of this regret.

The cost has kept me from pulling the trigger on this dream for several years. I wish I started sooner, but clearly, I wasn't miserable enough yet. I'm well and truly stuck in the muck at the bottom of the lake about it now. There's nothing left to do but swim to the surface, so here I go.

Today I applied as a transfer student to the Psychology program at Kent State University to start classes this summer. It will probably take me 3 years to finish the 2 years I have left because I'm a single-income household and will have to work. I'm terrified I won't be able to manage both, but I hope I can rally.

I'm not sure if I'll continue on to get the Psych MA at KSU or go elsewhere to get an MA in Art Therapy after I finish the BA. I also want to get certified in Internal Family Systems therapy, so I'll be 63ish or older starting a new career as a therapist and I feel excited about my future for the first time in... well... I don't even know. A very long time.

I want a career that feels meaningful to me, helps people instead of businesses, and lets me use my gifts. One I can do until I'm dead because I'mma need to work until they're spreading my ashes.

I plan to take a class this summer to dip my toes in.

Holy shit, y'all. Lila will be a senior and I will be a junior on the same campus. She's so supportive and I've been crying happy-scared-overwhelmed-curious-excited tears all day.

Kelly's going back to college. Holy shit.

[ilikekidsshows]

hey I figure that you’re probably tired of talking about the Sentimonster nonsense but I genuinely still can’t stand that it’s an actual thing. The wildest thing about it is that I JOINED the fandom because of the Sentimonster theory, actually got excited for it and looked forward to hints, not believing the skeptics or the salters bc it didn’t seem like such a big deal—that is until I saw with my own eyes how SO MANY FANS said with their whole chest that, in “Ephemeral” Adrien HAD to be a Sentimonster or there was no other “sympathetic explanation” for why he didn’t de-akumatize himself or fight off Gabriel.

Seeing the victim blaming in real time was such a punch in the gut—and then they just kept on coming!! It finally hit me how damaging the entire thing because for the show as a whole. If even regular fans that weren’t even known for salting could so willingly disregard and ignore genuine abuse coping mechanisms in favor of magical BS… it was such a dark time. Abuse Apologism and victim blaming in a whole package

Sometimes, when I write about Miraculous, I pretend I'm writing about a show that only had three seasons. That's what the "zagulous fandom" tag is for; it's for posts that are about the parts of Miraculous that had Zag's executive control keeping Astruc in check. I also kinda accepted long ago that my blog's kind of a support blog for people who are against the Sentihuman concept.

When I first heard of the expanded Sentimonster theory, the one that went "all the rich kids are Sentimonsters", I instantly went: "You do realize how making victims of child abuse nonhumans with questionable rights minimizes their victimhood and excuses their abusers, right?" people told me I was making stuff up and whoopsie doo, the writers did exactly that.

Neither Gabriel nor Tomoe faced any consequences for abusing Adrien and Kagami because, after all, since they're Sentimonsters, the real abuse was that they didn't have their Amoks so giving them their Amoks resolves all their problems. The only abusive parent who gets acknowledged as such is Félix's dad, who is dead by the time we hear about any of this, because we can't have abusive parents face consequences for their actions because that might upset people or whatever excuses Astruc's giving for Gabriel's vindication now.

This also minimises all the affects of the abuse on the kids, since they can be handwaved away with: "They were just programmed that way." Kagami's bad social skills aren't because her mother isolated her, it's because she forgot to program Kagami with those skills. Félix's villainous behavior isn't because his mother is overly permissive with him, he was just programmed that way (by the eeeeevil Colt). Adrien isn't a people pleaser because he's repeating his abuse coping mechanisms with his overly controlling girlfriend to keep her happy the same way he did to his overly controlling father, he was just programmed to be the perfect doting son and boyfriend.

You'll notice how neatly this ties into the crew denying that Chloé was abused in any way ever by her clearly abusive mother. Chloé wasn't made into a Sentimonster, so we can't have her bad coping with her abuse be excused by "Sentimonster programming", so now the writers are just gaslighting the audience and saying: "Chloé wasn't mistreated by her parents which caused her to act to out to get attention (which she literally stated to be her motive in season 3), in fact, she's the one who's been terrorizing her poor, innocent father and he needs to be protected from this naturally occuring evil hellspawn."

All child abuse in this show gets excused.

Of course, now the writers have an added reason to make sure Adrien's abuse gets excused in particular: because they made Marinette benefit from it. As I said, Adrien is repeating abuse coping mechanisms learned from dealing with his father to keep Marinette happy. He's always prioritizing her feelings and never brings up his own problems, and this is good for Marinette, because she can just enjoy having a perfect boyfriend who caters to her every need and doesn't have problems of his own or with the ways she treats him (for all she knows). She's even maintaining this status quo by lying about Gabriel to Adrien, so Adrien won't get upset (and have emotional needs that she would need to help him with). Either we have to excuse Adrien's abuse, or we have to admit Marinette is benefitting from the fact that Adrien was abused, and even taking advantage with the way she makes no effort to improve their communication on her end, preferring to spy on Adrien and lie to him instead of just talking to him like an equal.

The show writers are also allergic to following through on their creative decisions, is what I think. They put all these different victims of child abuse and neglect in the show, and then dehumanized these children in different ways so that they wouldn't actually need to say anything about that abuse they wrote in and they can instead pretend it was never there. This is why I also think that, no matter how much the show's defenders insist the story isn't over yet, we will never be getting a proper resolution to the Sentinonsense.

[kirbybecomesastarwarrior]

Prince Fluff's Father

Okay, so you guys can keep reading if you want spoilers, but.. if you guys wanna put in any, guess feel free.

But believe it or not, I have mentioned Prince Fluff's father 2 or 3 times before... you guys just didn't know it.

I may not have the event play out exactly like this (have Falspare less angry), but... Prince Fluff... is the son of the FISHER KING! Believe it or not, I planned this plotline ever since I introduced the Fisher King into the story.

Kirby and the gang aren't going to see Fluff any differently but Falspar...

Ya'know like Fishnet (cloth)- Fisher...

Yeah, I know far far-fetched connection but bear with me! This is just my way of connecting the game lore is to mix it with Arthurian lore, there are a few more surprises but the ones I have on the list.

Ribbon & Ripple Star's connection (Morgan Le Fay/ Dame Morgan)

Epic Yarn/ Prince Fluff's Connection (the Fisher King/ Fluff's father)

Planet Robobot Susie Haltman (Sir Icarus)

Moving on...

And a quick poll and more info on Fluff's father. (keep reading)

You know just enough to spook Falspar and make him wince and make him think it's the Fisher king at first glance.

After the whole incident (also mentioned here)... this was awake up call to the Fisher King. (I don't know whether to change his name to something else or keep him with a name.)

He magically isolated his planet, locking away Patchland and separating it from the galaxy & the war. (Also, so he can escape Uther's wrath for pulling away his support; so yeah all of that blame and anger went to Falspar.)

Basically, the land that suffered was not Patchland but the galaxy... Being cut off from the biggest source of good, destroying the galaxy's economy.

The Fisher King did do the work and eventually did become a better person... In a sense, the Pathland, (while still wealthy & stable in his rule) still suffered deeply inside. Tolling away regretting his actions...

A part of him does want to rejoin the galaxy, but he's too afraid that people will still see him as the man he was... the fear and shame kept him away from it all... Everyone!

He put the well-being of his kingdom and his people first... they loved their king. Patchland was prosperous and thriving while their king suffered in silence. He'd put on a smile and watched on in the shadows... Denying himself the love of his people and the fruits of his labor... (Basically, he was punishing himself for years...)

Until a certain, (Fluff's mom) had broken through the barrier by mistake... I have a cute love story planned out for them, but yeah, she was the only one who saw the king's hidden sadden.

Fluff's mom: Why do you suffer?

FK: Because I was a terrible man... I deserve to suffer.

Fluff's mom: Are you the man you were before.

FK:No... I uh-

Fluff's mom: Then why should you suffer?

Basically she's the one who "freed the Fisher King"

Yeah, long story short they fell in love, got married, and had Fluff... You're probably asking "Wait, hold on a minute didn't the Fisher King receive an injury that left him impotent." (unable to have children)

Yes, that is true... which is why he sought out a certain Yarn Wizard: *cough* Yin-Yarn! Who was able to magically create a son for him that was biologically his & his wife's. Giving her the child she's always wanted...

And the Fisher King... WAS THE BEST FATHER TO FLUFF! And loved him so much... He prepared him for the outside world. And told him of the man he was, before... regardless Fluff loved, respected, and adored his father dearly and never saw him differently.

Having a family gave him a newfound purpose in life... and gave him the confidence to return to the outside- Oh no, tragedy sets in... he falls ill (and slowly starts to lose his mind... the only thing he could remember was his wife & son.)- the price he had to pay for Fluff's birth... but he did not regret it at all.

Resulting in his wife & son having to see him lose his mind and his life fade away... bedridden. But all his plans to rejoin the galaxy and the GSA remain untouched... ready to be used.

Basically, the Fisher King's death plays out like this...

However, even though he passes on these plans to his son he gives him the option to never use them as well... knowing how difficult it would be for Fluff... being his son.

Even telling him, "Should anyone who has any grievance with me... accept it, don't deny it, and apologize to them, alright."

The Fisher King started off as an arrogant two-faced King but died a kind and loving man... he considers Fluff his greatest achievement... and his greatest regret is not being able to see the fantastic ruler he knew he would become.

He dies leaving his wife & son to grieve... two years later Prince Fluff's mother disappears... I know it's sad.

Prince Fluff looks over these plans but isn't sure if he can do it... though after meeting Kirby the gang he feels confident enough to do it... He's just going to need their support.

I'm not gonna reveal how this goes down just yet but... Flaspar was never able to find closure with the Fisher King incident... but perhaps he can find closer with his son. (>:3)

[lsleofthelost]

once again, im here with set pictures, info from the set designer, Mark Hofeling, and my own commentary on it. this time, i wanna share stuff on Isle of the Lost from Descendants 2.

post about Isle of the Lost in part one

post about Maleficent's castle

Ursula's Fish and Chips Shoppe:

About Ursula's place: "Like all the imprisoned villains on the Isle of the Lost, Ursula has had to find a way to make ends meet. Thus her Fish and Chips Shoppe is right at the tide line of the prison island. I wanted the feel of a faded old carnival attraction, still alluring despite its decay."

"Uma (China Anne McClain) and her pirate gang, including her trusted lieutenants Harry Hook (Thomas Doherty) and Gil (Dylan Playfair) rally to take back what is theirs in Uma's mother's dingy tidal pool of a Fish and Chips Shoppe."

"A detail of the menu board and specials in Ursula's Fish and Chips Shoppe."

i think this gives us info on the money on the Isle. there are two units, m and n, and there are a 100n in 1m. i think the prices are comprable to us dollars back like 30-40 years ago? which further supports my theory that the Isle is stuck in the past, in the time of their imprisonment. the menu itself has some genuine regular items, like fish cakes, dumplings, but most of them are isle specials, like pond scum, shell smell, and gulf goo. which i think is hilarious considering Ursula and Uma still just serve them whatever.

"A detail of Uma's coral throne."

Isle of the Lost:

"A view of Low Tide Lane on the Isle of the Lost. Having been an isolated prison island for decades now, the idea was that every slat and board is on its 9th or 10th life, and every object not screwed down had changed grubby hands hundreds of times."

they kept the dirty candy colour palette! and i love how they truly kept to the 'everything is used and stolen 10 times over' philosophy.

this is the Bazaar, which is another market on the Isle. there is one in the main square and then this is the one closer to the docks, we can see Mal riding through it in D2. here, we once again see the money measurement. and i think it's intereting to see that crab and potatoes are priced higher than other things. i also like the 'satisfaction no guaranteed' sign.

Curl Up and Dye:

"Drizella's Curl Up and Dye on the Isle of the Lost is where Mal and Evie load up on chemicals for their showdown with Uma's pirate gang. So more than a hair salon as absurd as the rest of the Isle, it also had to be a repository for all kinds of chemistry and alchemy. The idea here was that out of every 100 of young Dizzy's experimental, chemical beauty concoctions, 99 blow up."

"The ever-unpredictable dye distillery."

"A detail of the dry chemistry set up."

i like that the base for this is a rough finish, like a construction before any renovation. and then its just neon splashes and broken mirrors from Dizzy's experiments. also i like the note that it's more chem lab than a salon.

Rotten four's hideout:

"The VK's hideout was always a place of respite from their raging and overbearing parents. It's where the VK's purloined all the best stuff on the Isle, and where Mal perfected her street art. "

this is Mal's room! which confirms for me that she doesn't live with her mother, at least not full time.

im kinda sad that we didn't get a view of the side with all those board games (kitchen, i think?) but even just these pictures are full of interesting details! as far as i saw only Mal's and Jay's 'Long Live Evil' tags are on the walls, i think it's because it was theirs first. i like the thorns that are circling the walls, like Maleficent's thorns around Sleeping Beauty's castle. they have some kind of an old school sound system, too! which i can i assume they use when throwing parties. and there are bikes, probably repaired 10 times over, but prised nonetheless. also, i thought that the green lamp in Mal's room is a hookah lol

Uma's ship:

"Uma and her pirate gang rule the rotting docks and rocky edge of the Isle of the Lost."

"Uma's HQ is this ruined pirate ship. After all the Disney Villains were relocated to the Isle of the Lost, all the ships that brought them were scuttled and they were all locked behind an enchanted barrier. So this is one of many wrecks in these waters, including the sails of the ship, rammed into her side. We found real tall-ship riggers for this work, and they used 10,000 feet of rope in the process."

i love that they really rigged that ship! i think it's a detail that shows that Uma's pirates are real professionals.

"This photo shows the "rickety" and treacherous landscape of the rotten docksides. This became the setting of a 20 person melee to rescue King Ben and escape the Isle and Uma's vengeful clutches."

we can see Uma's 'We ride with the tide' tag in the bg, signifying that this is her territory.

there are a lot of cool details but what i'm focusing on here are the old school washing machines, again showing us how the Isle is frozen in time. im assuming theyre on the docks because this is where the water is.

i am looking to make another post with details from D3, here's hoping i'll get to it sooner than i did this follow up

[verdemoun]

The non-warpers.

Mary-Beth Gaskill is regarded as one of the greatest female writers to exist, up there with Shelley and Austen. In the foreword of her best novel, she writes: “to Kieran.”

Orville Swanson’s annotations and teachings of the Bible are so influential; his attitudes towards different ways of life cause drastic positive change to how Christians act towards those of different cultures.

On what is now the main street of a large town Rhodes, a supermarket stands, modern as any other. Behind the till, Johnathan Pearson smiles at a now faded photo of eight people around a wagon, his grandfather Simon in the front seat.

Tilly Pierre dies of natural causes in her sleep, next to her snoring husband in the largest house in Saint Denis.

Mary-Beth absolutely is up there with Shelley and Austen, which means all the school aged babies come home complaining at least once about having to read her books. The whole gang scold them for whining only to pretty much do the homework for them because they all love her novels - many of which are basically her own take on fit-it aus.

The Lady of The Manor, for example, reads as a beautiful tale of love between Susan Grade and David Vincent fleeing police inspector Mellon to the islands with her niece and Mr Vincent's apprentice, only for Ms Grade to realize the curse David Vincent claimed to be under (that compelled him to commit increasingly heinous acts) was a complete fabrication. She banished him to isolation on his precious islands while raising her niece and the highwayman's apprentice as her own children in the new world.

Mary-Beth's dedications would never mention names for the sake of protecting her past as a VDL, but the gang suspected many were to them. One of the more obvious ones was a novel titled Strawberry Roan, which was dedicated 'to the one who helped me realise I could be happy without being in my head somewhere else'. Strawberry Roan reads much more like Mary-Beth writing a 'how to look after horses for dummies' as she learned to look after the horses the gang left behind, except for a slow burning love affair between protagonist Marie and a charming stable boy who is tragically forced to flee the estate to avoid being drafted and no doubt killed in a fictional war.

Orville Swanson was such a charitable and revered member of the community he not only accidentally founded a whole new branch of Catholicism based on his annotated bible, but remembered as a significant figure in recent American history. The gang still randomly find his likeness on commemorative coins in their loose change (and usually keep them).

While his church was accidentally destroyed in a fire several years after his death, a garden was planted on the site in his honor and memory. It's a major tourist attraction featuring Orville's Fountain, with wishing coins thrown in collected for donation to non-for-profits and community services that support at-risk teenagers.

His legacy shows everywhere in modern era America. Arthur one day got really lost in modern era Blackwater and needed to call the gang to come get him - only to find himself standing on the corner of Orville St and Swanson Boulevard.

Counter-claim Pearson lived long enough to see other grocery stores start to pop up in Rhodes as it became a bustling town and was afraid his little local store would be out-competed. Before he passed away he significantly expanded the local produce range of his store. By the time his grandson inherited it, it had become one of the best local delicatessen + sandwich shop in Rhodes and is often featured in top 50 places to eat at in America. Johnathan is also going to be featured later yoinking that character.

Not only is a photo of the gang, as passed down for generations, still proudly displayed (well, a slightly sharpened copy of the original photo, which is now kept in secure storage to protect it from UV), but his grandfather's treasured compass. It is a small shrine to his grandfather's legacy both before, during and after the VDLs: copies of his navy enlistment and honorable discharge forms, newspaper articles featuring photos of a post-canon older Pearson receiving awards for both his store, and having the best damn stew at the local fair.

Tilly Pierre lived a long and truly fulfilled life. She never knew discomfort. She found a man who loved her, and worshipped her for who she was and had always been. She saw her oldest daughter go off to marry a wonderful man who loved his mother-in-law as much as he feared her and would always treat her daughter right. She helped her youngest girl fight for the right for an education, and go on to a remarkable career. She raised sons that would never know the perils of turning to crime to survive, or fear where they would sleep that night. She died peacefully, in a bed more warm and comfortable than she could ever have dreamed of knowing in 1899, knowing every day of her life she was loved.

[cosmicjoke]

Part 2 of the Psychological and Emotional Impact of Levi’s Early Childhood:  How Levi’s Years with his mother weren’t Idealic:

So some of the conversations and additions to my post about Levi’s childhood got me thinking and focusing a little more on one, specific aspect of it, that I wanted to delve into here.   

Again, it’s interesting, because, as we know, Kuchel was a loving mother toward Levi.  She clearly loved him and, at risk to herself, wanted and kept him.  Something which undoubtedly made her own life exponentially harder, when obviously it was already incredibly difficult.  I also talked about how this decision had an aspect of selfishness to it, though, as she knowingly brought Levi into a situation in which he would also end up suffering a great deal.  I want to reiterate that this isn’t meant to be taken as a criticism of Kuchel or her love of Levi.  It’s just a stated fact. 

Kuchel clearly struggled to take care of Levi.  The fact that Levi was at death’s door when Kenny found him is testament to this reality.  All the love in the world wouldn’t have been enough to provide the basic necessities a growing child requires.  Levi was in a state of extreme neglect.  He was starving to death.  He was filthy.  He was barefoot and completely alone, with no sign at all of anyone having come by even once to provide help, and no sign that Levi ever left to seek help.  It was pure luck that Kenny came by when he did and was able to rescue him.  If he hadn’t, Levi would have surely died.

So what I wanted to get into here more specifically is what it tells us about Levi’s upbringing with his mother, that he was left in such a state, and why when Kenny found him, it was obvious that Levi was totally isolated, that nobody came by to help him, and that he also, apparently, never left their room to find help.

What that tells me is that Levi likely never had any real social interaction outside of his mother.  That his isolation may have been so extreme, in fact, that nobody outside of their home even knew he existed.  This seems supported by the fact that Levi was socially inept when Kenny first meets him.  He barely speaks, almost to the point of muteness.  When Kenny talks to him, Levi more often than not says nothing, just stares at him with shuttered eyes.  Kenny describes Levi as “cold” or “unfriendly”.  Levi is also constantly looking at Kenny.  He rarely seems to take his eyes off of him, which could indicate a wariness of him, which, given the sort of life his mother was living, and given where they were, the Underground, makes plenty of sense.  Levi would be wary of strange men. 

Given these details, it seems likely to me that Kuchel, in the least, kept Levi as isolated and alone as she could manage, and that she likely did this out of a desire to protect him from the dangers of the Underground.  It seems likely that she kept him in their room and rarely, if ever, let him out.  Again, probably because she wanted to shield him from danger.

But as we see, there was a price to pay for doing something like this.  Not only was Levi maladjusted, but when his mother was dying, and Levi was left to starve to death, Levi seemingly didn’t know how to ask anyone for help.  Now it’s possible Levi might have tried finding help, and nobody listened to him.  I wouldn’t find that surprising either, given the environment they were living in.  The Underground is a cut-throat, dog eat dog place, where very few people can afford to help anyone else, given the general, desperate circumstances most down there find themselves living in. 

Whether Levi sought help and was turned away, or he didn’t seek help because he didn’t realize he could, and also because nobody ever came by to help either of them, either way, this would have, tragically, affirmed for Levi that neither his nor his mother’s lives were worth anything to anyone. 

I assume it took a long time for Kuchel to die.  She was completely wasted away by the time Kenny found her, essentially skeletal in her appearance.  Part of this could have been because her body was decomposing.  But the fact she’d been dying from disease would have obviously ravaged her body, too.  Levi would have had to witness this slow, no doubt agonizing deterioration for who knows how many weeks or months.  That alone would have been horrifically traumatizing for him, especially given his own, general helplessness.  And in all that time, nobody ever once, we can assume, offered them a helping hand, offered them food, offered them money, offered them medical assistance. 

It’s interesting to consider too that Kuchel must have known that she was dying, and that without her, Levi would surely die too.  She had no way of knowing that Kenny would come by when he did, or that he would come by at all.  She hadn’t seen him, I’m assuming, since before she gave birth to Levi, since Kenny didn’t even know Levi’s name when they met.  So what does this tell us?  That Kuchel knew she was dying, and that without her there to take care of him, Levi would die too?

One might think Kuchel, once she realized her case was hopeless, would attempt to hand Levi over to someone else to care for him.  But clearly that didn’t happen.  There could be a million reasons for this.  Mainly, I would think, Kuchel didn’t trust anyone she knew enough to actually care for Levi, or that she simply wasn’t close enough with anyone to feel confident in her ability to ask them to care for her child, and that gives us a pretty good idea of what Kuchel’s relationships with other people in the Underground were like.  We can assume from this that she didn’t have any close friends, and in turn, we can assume that neither did Levi.  I would go so far as to say Levi probably didn’t have any friends.  I don’t think he ever had any real, meaningful interaction with other children, even.  Again, remembering Levi’s social ineptness when Kenny finds him, how withdrawn he was, seems to support this.  So from all of this, I think it’s likely that neither Kuchel or Levi ever got much social interaction, or had any, real social lives to speak of.  I think we can clearly see the ill effects of this in Levi throughout his entire life.  He’s famously very socially awkward.  He doesn’t really know how to express himself in words.  People often mistake him for being apathetic or rude or unfriendly because his face isn’t generally very emotive, and he often speaks in a monotone.  This in itself is it’s own kind of tragedy, because at his core, Levi is actually exceptionally compassionate and kind.  Levi’s social difficulties would also have obviously been terribly exacerbated by the way Kenny raised him after Kuchel died. 

But going back to the way Kuchel raised him, I think it’s fair to say that she kept Levi very isolated, and that she herself was probably very isolated too, and so we have to think about how this bleak reality likely impacted Kuchel’s own ability adequately care for Levi.

Again, going back to the state Kenny found Levi in, it’s obvious that something went very, very wrong in Kuchel’s ability to take care of her son.  It’s obvious that she was struggling severely to provide for him, once again not from lack of effort, but because of the desperate circumstances of their lives.  Food, clothing, shelter, warmth, etc...  We see those things were clearly not being provided to Levi on a consistent basis.  He was dressed in rags, some type of garment that was too large for him, and might be supposed to have belonged to Kuchel herself, meaning she couldn’t afford to buy him anything better.  He was barefoot, meaning she probably couldn’t afford shoes for him.  His hair was uncut and unwashed, as was the rest of his body.  They were living in what appears to be a single room with next to nothing in it.  There’s a single bed which Kuchel occupies, some pots and a pitcher for water I’m guessing, and that’s about it.  We see no toys.  We see no books.  We see nothing of any comfort or luxury.  There’s no other obvious rooms attached to the one they’re in.  No bathroom or washing area.  No doors leading anywhere else but outside.  And finally, Levi clearly hadn’t eaten anything of substance, or any kind of full meal, in a long, long time.   And he was completely alone.  So we see that, in the end, Kuchel, despite her obvious and genuine love for Levi, wasn’t able to take care of him.  Obviously Levi’s deteriorated state when Kenny finds him is a direct result of Kuchel herself falling ill, and she no doubt did her best when she was still able to work to provide for him these basic necessities.  But it’s also still obvious that it was always a struggle.  They had no money, and that’s plain.  They were living, very obviously, in abject poverty.  And already living in such a dangerous, cut-throat environment, where criminals and predators were able to openly roam the streets without consequence, since the above ground authorities rarely ventured down there, a lone mother and her very young child would have struggled all the more to survive.  With such a poor financial situation, their day to day lives must have been incredibly precarious and uncertain. 

But I’m also not just talking about providing the bare life essentials when talking about Kuchel’s struggles to take care of Levi.  Going back to Kuchel’s own seeming lack of social interaction or dependable friends, one has to consider the psychological impact of this on her, and how that in turn would impact her relationship with Levi.  Being a mother is a hard job.  It’s hard enough even in the best of circumstances.  Taking care of a helpless child that is in constant need of love, care and attention is incredibly draining and time consuming.  We often hear people joke about how mother’s should be paid to be mothers alone, because it’s such a consuming job. 

Now, you take the general difficulty of that job, and you amplify it with the sorts of difficulties and bleak realities Kuchel and Levi faced, things like abject impoverishment, a lack of any sort of real social life or friends, constant fear and paranoia of ones surroundings, the ever present reality of being surrounded by criminals, and Kuchel’s own day to day life working as a prostitute, and you start to really realize just how bad and difficult their lives together must have been.

Kuchel wouldn’t have had any sort of outlet, or escape, from the harsh realities of her day to day situation.  If she had no real friends (again, something that seems almost certain when considering everything else), then we have to assume whatever downtime she had from selling her body for money was spent with Levi and Levi alone.  So after hours and hours of being forced to let strangers have their way with her and use her body for sex, which we can pretty much guarantee also involved plenty of physical violence against her, Kuchel would then have to come home and take care of a young child who needed to be fed, clothed, washed, paid attention to, etc, etc...  all things Kuchel was clearly struggling to provide.  I don’t think the mental and emotional toll this sort of existence must have had on her can be exaggerated.  She had to have been exhausted, both physically and mentally.  With no one outside of a young child to talk to or interact with, she must have been deeply depressed and often felt incredibly alone.  Those feelings would have only been worsened by her struggle to provide enough food and shelter and warmth to keep them both alive.  They would have only be worsened further by her need to constantly be vigilant and protect Levi from the many, many dangers of the Underground. 

My point with bringing all this up is to show that it’s unlikely that Kuchel, in these circumstances, would have been able to provide Levi, not just things like food or clothing or warmth, but a healthy social environment.  It’s very, very doubtful that Kuchel would have had the time, or the energy, or even the mental capacity, to be able to give Levi the kind of love and attention she would have under even slightly better circumstances.  Realistically speaking, she was probably simply too tired at the end of each work day to really play with him, or spend time with him in any meaningful way.  She was probably too exhausted to indulge in any sort of wants or needs of his outside of immediate essentials.  Assuming Kuchel was often depressed (which I don’t think is at all a stretch or unlikely, again given her own isolation and the ugly reality of her life), that would have also impacted how she interacted with Levi.  Children aren’t stupid, they’re intuitive, and we know Levi in particular is maybe the most emotionally intelligent character in AoT.  He would have picked up on her depressive moods, and her general unhappiness, I’m sure.  He would have felt that negative energy coming from her. 

Going back to Levi’s maladjustment when Kenny finds him, to his muteness and wariness, his “cold”, “unfriendly” demeanor, I think it’s safe to assume that these problems in Levi were a result of not just the incredibly harsh circumstances of his life with his mother, but also came from Kuchel’s failure to provide Levi with enough stimulation to teach him social skills.  Again, please remember, this isn’t meant as a criticism of Kuchel or her love for Levi.  I don’t want anyone to think I’m trying to cast doubt on those things.  Again, it’s just to highlight and draw attention to the fact that, despite that love, Kuchel still wasn’t, and frankly couldn’t have been, a perfect mother to Levi.  Their situation just simply wouldn’t have allowed for it.  And so I think it’s realistic and fair to assume that Kuchel failed Levi in certain ways. 

Levi wasn’t okay when Kenny found him.  Again, not just based on the fact that he was literally dying and in a state of extreme neglect, but based on the fact that he was clearly a child who had never learned to be social.  He was strange. He didn’t act at all like a normal child his age might.  He was deeply withdrawn, almost mute, he never smiled or laughed, he was wary, probably from having been taught to be afraid of men, listless and resigned.  None of this speaks to a child who is well adjusted or who received a lot of love and attention.  He doesn’t demand attention, the way most children do.  Instead, when Kenny finds him, Levi is curled against a far wall, just waiting to die, quiet and accepting.  Think about this.  He wasn’t crying, he wasn’t making a fuss, he wasn’t even visibly upset in any way over his situation.  He was just resigned to it.  He didn’t beg Kenny for help when he came, or even talk to him, except to tell him his mother was dead, and after being promoted multiple times, to tell him his name.  Levi didn’t demand or seek attention, even from the first person to show up and offer help, likely because Levi was taught through example not to expect attention.  And once again, this isn’t a criticism of Kuchel, but an acknowledgment of the likely reality that she just didn’t have the time, energy or ability to give Levi attention beyond providing for him the bare minimum required to keep him alive. 

Levi’s state when Kenny finds him, not just physical, but his emotional and mental state, suggests a certain amount of neglect in Levi’s life from his mother. 

So again I posit that this general perception in the fandom of Levi being provided plenty of love and care from his mother in the first, few years of his life is idealized in the extreme, and fails to acknowledge the harsh reality of their lives and circumstances, as well as fails to acknowledge the state Levi was in when Kenny found him.

I say all this, and think it’s important to acknowledge, because I don’t think Levi is given enough credit for making himself into the man he would eventually become.  Very often, the credit is solely given to his mother, and sometimes even to Kenny (really don’t get that one), for Levi turning out to be a kind, caring and compassionate human being.  But in my opinion, in the face of everything we know, this belief doesn’t hold water.  It doesn’t account for just how bad off Levi was, not just physically, but mentally, when Kenny took him in. 

There’s always the question of nature vs nurture, and I’m always of the mind that how a person turns out is more a mixture of the two than any, single one.  And certainly, we see parts of Levi’s personality which have been shaped by the way he was raised, both by Kuchel and Kenny.  Levi’s social awkwardness, his blunt, sometimes rude interactions, his anger and violence, his fear and readiness to act in the face of that fear, etc... all these things were no doubt informed by Levi’s experiences growing up.  And yes, I’m sure that part of Levi’s ability to love and be loved came from his mother.  But not all of it did.  Levi, from seeing how his mother was treated, from seeing the negative results of the life she was living, not just on her, but on him, would have been sent the lesson early on in life that neither of their lives were worth very much to anyone but each other.  From Kuchel’s inability to really take care of him, Levi would have undoubtedly questioned his own worth, not because Kuchel didn’t love him, but because he would have picked up on how his existence was a burden to her, how it made her life harder, how she in turn wasn’t always able to provide him with a great deal of warmth or affection, because it was already too much to provide him with basic necessities for staying alive.  Levi knew not to expect a lot of love or attention, and that tells us an awful lot about Levi’s life with his mother.  He doesn’t throw a fit or complain when Kenny takes him in and starts treating him harshly.  He doesn’t whine or demand love when Kenny starts teaching him how to use a knife, or how to “greet people” (ala, beat the shit out of them).  He doesn’t show any expectation from Kenny at all, let alone an expectation for love and affection from him.  Every panel we see of Levi with Kenny shows Levi standing there, mute and listless, simply accepting of his new situation and the new way in which he’s being treated.  He just... takes it.  This isn’t a child who’s been taught that he deserves better.  This isn’t a child who expects to be treated with kindness or respect or gentility.  This isn’t a child who is used to getting his way, or who expects to be paid attention to.  This isn’t a child who expects much of anything at all.  Again, the fact of Levi’s immediate acceptance of the way Kenny treats him tells us a LOT about what his life with his mother was like.  He wasn’t spoiled, he wasn’t treated as special, he wasn’t given an excess of attention or love.  If he had been, that would have made itself evident when Kenny took him in and started treating him the way he did.  And once more I reiterate, this isn’t meant as a knock on Kuchel, or to cast doubt on the love she had for Levi.  It’s just a simple acknowledgment of certain facts.  When Kenny leaves Levi, Levi just accepts that as well, though obviously it hurts him immensely.  He doesn’t chase after Kenny, or beg him to come back.  He just stands there and watches him walk away.  He just accepts that he’s being abandoned.  Again, this isn’t indicative of a child who has a particularly strong sense of self-worth or importance, or a child who was taught to fight for his right to love.  He was taught to fight for his life by Kenny, sure, but he was taught the exact opposite regarding other people’s lives in turn.  And we know, bizarrely, from how resigned he was to his own death after Kuchel died, that Levi’s experiences in the first years of his life with his mother didn’t teach him to fight for or value his own life, though I’m sure that isn’t what Kuchel ever intended. 

And so when we take this all into account, when we take into account that Levi wasn’t ever really taught to value or fight for his own right to love and compassion, or even life, how he wasn’t taught to even expect those things, on top of which, taking into account how he was taught not to value the lives of others through Kenny’s lessons, and then you reflect on how, DESPITE all that, Levi was open enough to make, on his own, his first, real friends in Furlan and Isabel, to form an actual family with them, and to make more friends after they died in Erwin and Hange, how he fights with everything he has to protect the lives and dreams of others, how he has so much deep compassion and care for others, how deeply affected he is by the deaths of others, how hard he tries to keep everyone around him alive, how much he values life, values the lives of others, and their right to life, you realize how remarkable that really is.  You realize that nothing in Levi’s life growing up can really account for that ability to care, or that deep compassion he holds.  It comes down to his nature.  Levi is just an innately caring, kind and compassionate person.  Rather than inheriting that ability from Kuchel’s example, I would rather say Levi inherited that ability from Kuchel’s nature.  He wasn’t taught to be loving and compassionate.  He just was.  And so was his mother.  Both of them maintained that capacity despite their horrible circumstances and experiences, not because of them.  Just like how Levi and Mikasa are innately loyal, Levi I would say is also innately, inherently kind and compassionate.  Some traits of our personalities are just inborn, not taught.

I think Levi deserves so much more credit than he generally receives for being the kind, caring man he is.

[anotherrosesthatfell]

I couldn't resist 💀. Remember this ask?

Yeah I twisted the story and here we are..

Meet Callisto Luther! (AI name = Nox Luther)

Vishenka (cherry) and I were having conversation and I got idea omg

So basically, Hope and Dream had a fight which cause their magics to combine and created Callisto. Hope lost all of their magics because if a witch gave birth or create a living being, their magics will be transferred to the child.

Hope is powerless and Dream feels overwhelmed so he couldn't take care of Callisto (What a pain in the ass!)

Hope take care of Callisto then Lux because the original had to stick around lmao.

He hates Killermare family and he hates Dream and his family too (expect for Lux, he cares deeply for his little sister <3) (Even so he respects women-)

His opinion on people

Dream

"A massive headache. I am ashamed I was born from a fight... What a pain.. I really hate him. I don't care that he neglected me but what pisses me off that he dare to abandoned my little sister and mom all by their own! I don't curse because Mom really dislike it..."

Hope

"Mom is doing better. I really wished that I never inherited Mom's power... Mom is was so weak that she couldn't even eat.."

Lux

"my adorable little sister!!! I really adore her, she is my light of this horrible world. She support me to take the throne and I will! I'll make sure to give her everything once the throne is mine."

Palette

"Even if he is my brother... I will never see him as one... Arrogant little brat, he dare to bully my little sister and tell everyone that she is crazy because of a revengeful spirit? That's stupid-"

Drop

"I heard the little girl is locked in the castle for years now. I never see her appearance and I don't think anyone do. Dream kept her away from world... What a pain.."

Ink

"I don't care if she is kind or pretty. She is depressing- I don't like the fact she cope with depression. Drinking... That's just terrible. She needs help, a therapy will be good."

Alphonse (Corrupted Nightmare)

"I am holding myself from cursing... I hate him. That's the final."

Crescent

"I can't believe Dream is this stupid. Taking a child of an enemy as priest? This kingdom chances of getting attacked are very high.."

Angst (If he were alive)

"The crown prince of darkness kingdom... I don't know much about him. Rumours say he isolated himself from the world and waiting for death to take him."

Merciless

"I never interact with him. Sometimes I saw him walking next to Palette, sometimes he sat alone and sometimes... He feels so empty. He don't resemble the darkness king at all so I don't think I should hate him. Beside he is gives a really calming vibe."

Goth

"Oh lady Goth! Lux really adore her best friend. I'm glad Lux has someone to rely on. Lady Goth is genuinely kind to Lux. Even if she is close to Palette, she still treat Lux nicely and never believe in any of Palette's lies."

Bonus

Artemis belong to @itzcherrybonbon /@abloomingsunflower

"The precious daughter of the king I despise. Ugh... Well she is kind of pretty, I give her that. Mom said not to hate on her since I don't know anything about her.. Well she told me not to hate on anyone but I did it anyway. As long she don't interfere in my way on taking the throne, I'll be nice to her..."

Vivi belong to @canon-vi

"Oh my other little sister? Well she is adorable! Lux really adore Vivi so much and I am the same. Though, we don't spend much time together because she is a princess and has her own duty."

Kira belong to @canon-vi

"I will never understand why Dream took another child of an enemy to be a priestess... At least she is kind and look nothing like Alphonse. I am not that religious so I don't visit the church that often."

[winters8child]

It´s been a long, long time

Chapter 71

Whenever Nat managed to find a spare moment, she would drop by in the weeks that followed. Each visit brought bits and pieces of her latest missions and updates about Steve. Her reports were always mixed with an undercurrent of concern. Steve had become a shell of his former self, barely speaking to anyone, including her, and retreating into what used to be our shared room. The weight of his isolation was evident in her tone.

They had assigned a new agent to Steve—someone codenamed Agent 13. Nat was unusually vague about her as if she was carefully navigating around a topic she didn’t want to fully address. I couldn't help but suspect that her reticence had something to do with the way Agent 13 was growing closer to Steve. Nat’s evasive answers and the way she changed the subject suggested she was trying to spare me from uncomfortable truths about the new agent’s presence.

We hadn’t really discussed the specifics of this break. Was Steve thinking about dating anyone else? I knew I had no intention of doing so, but perhaps he did. Nat had mentioned that Steve was isolating himself, which didn’t exactly suggest he was keen on pursuing new relationships.

I had so many questions swirling in my mind, but the thought of talking to Steve directly to get answers was more daunting than reassuring. Amidst all this chaos, my thoughts kept drifting to Bucky. I found myself wondering if he had already left for Romania and if our paths would ever cross again. The uncertainty gnawed at me, a constant undercurrent in the sea of my daily distractions.

During this turmoil, I found myself contemplating returning to nursing. Even though I was still receiving payments for being part of the Avengers I kept sending the checks back. There was a sense of purpose in nursing that I missed, a chance to connect with people and help them heal, even as my own heart felt so fractured.

A job seemed like it might offer a much-needed distraction, I thought because living like this felt like a nightmare. No matter how much I tried to rearrange things or hide Steve’s belongings, this place was saturated with our past. Every corner, every object seemed to echo memories of him.

I spent my days waiting for Nat’s visits, clinging to the rare moments of connection. The rest of the time, I was confined to my bed, unable to find any solace in sleep.

My plans to return to a semblance of normalcy were abruptly shattered the day Nat’s call came through, her voice tight with tension. "You need to come to the Compound," she said, each word weighted with urgency. "General Ross wants to talk to us... all of us."

A wave of anxiety surged through me. The idea of going back to the Compound filled me with dread. It wasn’t just the thought of seeing Steve again that unsettled me—it was the crushing realization that I might be drawn back into this life I’d hoped to leave behind forever. The prospect of facing not only him but the entire tangled web of Avengers’ affairs was almost too much to bear.

I made a concerted effort to look human again, even going so far as to apply makeup and slip into a pretty dress. I recalled my mother’s advice: no matter how sad I felt, making myself look good would somehow help lift my spirits. Yet, as I stared at my reflection, meticulously dressed and dolled up, I found myself disagreeing with her. The effort seemed futile; my reflection only highlighted the chasm between the image I projected and the turmoil I felt inside.

I took a cab to the Compound, my heart racing the entire drive as the driver made futile attempts at casual conversation. I barely responded, lost in my own anxious thoughts, and he soon gave up, focusing on the road ahead.

When I stepped into the meeting room, I found everyone already assembled. Nat immediately sprang from her seat and wrapped me in a warm hug, and I clung to the comforting embrace, grateful for her unwavering support.

Sam greeted me next, offering a reassuring pat on the back. "It’s good to have you back," he said with a genuine smile, though his eyes briefly flicked toward Steve. Steve, meanwhile, was engrossed in the pen he was twisting between his fingers, deliberately avoiding eye contact. The atmosphere was heavy with unspoken tension, and Steve’s detachment was palpable, casting a shadow over the room’s otherwise welcoming gestures.

"I'm not really back, Sam, but thanks," I replied with a faint smile as I took a seat in the empty chair next to Nat.

"Ross should be here any minute," Tony said from his spot in the corner, where he was leaning casually, his tone betraying none of the tension that crackled in the room. Everyone else was seated around the table, a silent testament to the gravity of the meeting. Even Wanda was present; Nat had informed me that she was now part of the Avengers. It was hard to push aside the unsettling memories Wanda had once stirred in me, but I reminded myself that it was no longer my concern about who was on the team or why. For now, I had to focus on what was about to unfold.

I dared to glance at Steve for just a second, only to find him already looking at me. He appeared exhausted, with dark circles under his red-rimmed eyes. The sight was jarring, and I raised my eyebrows in surprise at the intensity of his gaze. As he seemed poised to say something, Ross’s abrupt entrance cut through the moment. “Thank you for coming,” he announced with a commanding tone, immediately shifting the room's focus and severing the brief, unspoken connection between Steve and me.

Ross launched into his prepared speech with an authoritative tone. "Five years ago, I had a heart attack. I dropped right in the middle of my backswing. Turned out it was the best round of my life, because after 13 hours of surgery and a triple bypass... I found something 40 years in the Army had never taught me: Perspective. The world owes the Avengers an unpayable debt. You have fought for us, protected us, risked your lives..."

He paused, his gaze sweeping over the room, his expression serious. "But while many people see you as heroes, there are others who would prefer to call you 'vigilantes.'" His words hung in the air, heavy with the weight of unspoken implications, setting the stage for whatever came next.

Natasha locked eyes with Ross, her confidence unwavering. "And what word would you use, Mr. Secretary?" she asked, her voice steady and challenging.

Ross didn’t hesitate, his tone turning stern and accusatory. "How about dangerous?" he replied, letting the word linger in the air like a warning.

Ross continued, his voice growing more pointed. "What would you call a group of U.S.-based, enhanced individuals who routinely ignore sovereign borders, inflict their will wherever they choose, and, frankly, seem unconcerned about what they leave behind?"

The rhetorical question hung in the air, dripping with accusation. He was no longer just addressing the room; he was laying out a case, his words carefully chosen to provoke and challenge the very foundation of what the Avengers stood for.

Ross activated the screen behind him, and it flickered to life, displaying footage of the devastation from New York, Washington D.C., Sokovia, and the most recent incident in Lagos. The scenes were brutal—cities in ruins, people fleeing in terror. The sheer scale of the destruction was horrifying, a stark reminder of the collateral damage left in the wake of these battles.

As the footage shifted, my heart sank. The screen flickered again, and there I was, my face contorted in fury as I shot a Hydra scientist. The image was haunting, capturing a side of me I wished I could forget. I could feel the weight of everyone’s eyes on me, but I was unable to tear my gaze away from the screen as it flickered again, showing another moment—this time, me in an elevator, slamming my gun into a man's face before driving my knee into his stomach. The violent images were a harsh reminder of the lengths I had gone to, and seeing them displayed so starkly made my skin crawl.

The screen shifted one final time, and there I was again—this time on the helicarrier, guns in hand, with the Winter Soldier by my side. The cold, determined expression on my face was unmistakable as I fired at every S.H.I.E.L.D. agent who crossed my path. The relentless, unflinching violence on display felt like a punch to the gut.

Steve finally broke the tense silence, his voice firm but tinged with something close to disbelief. "Okay. That's enough." His eyes were locked on me, and the shock in them was unmistakable. The images had clearly shaken him—images of me doing things he hadn’t known about, things I had never wanted him to see.

The final nail in our broken relationship.

Next Chapter