#sorry about ultra long form on tumblr

[steppin-on-the-last-train]

The End of Love

Natasha Romanoff x Taskmaster!Reader

Although I encourage everyone to read this, full disclosure it is male!reader. I tried to keep specified pronoun use to a minimum, but it can’t always be helped. There might be some mental rewriting required if you decide to go on.

Synopsis:

“You think too much,” she says.

You can’t argue with that. Because now that you’re looking at her in the light and you’re so close you can see each fractal of green in her eyes you're thinking there’s nothing more intimate than this.

She’s not your friend but if she were she’d be your best one.

Or, a look at who Natasha Romanoff was before the Avengers. Told through the eyes of the person who loved her the most.

Word Count: 43,000

Foreword: I wrote most of these scenes out of order and then proceeded to edit nothing so if something disagrees with something later on that’s why.

Acknowledgements: One) Title from the song with the same name by Florence + The Machine. Two) The final scene with Willem is indeed a copy from that scene in Good Will Hunting. Three) All rights to the original media.

It’s spring and something has shifted. You’re in bed with her when the feeling hits you. You are in bed together, legs twisted together under the sheets, the callous pads of her feet warm against the inside of your calf. You wonder if she feels it too.

You’ve been like this for hours. Nothing more, not tonight. Just the simple act of breathing in tandem with someone. Of holding tight until you don’t know how you could ever part again. 

She likes you because you are hers. Her mission partner, her choice, hers. There is power in choosing who you give yourself over to. And you understand but you prefer this. You hate to disappoint her, to stop her after just a kiss, knowing there is want for much more.

But her head is tucked beneath your chin and she’s so close she might as well have burrowed herself inside you and you hope it’s enough. Because this is safe. Her, always. But there are some things which you can’t speak. So she starts with a kiss on your cheek and you end with a kiss on her lips.

You are not at peace, but for now, wrapped in her arms and the scent of something that is so distinctly her, you are content. And you’ve done this so many times before, too many but somehow not enough all at once. 

The first time had been after your plane went down shy of returning to the Red Room. You were smaller then, less muscle and too long limbs and grief enough to suffocate. The walk back had taken two nights to complete. You would freeze to death if you didn’t share body heat after the sun went down. You both knew this. You slept back to back, bundled in extra shirts and the parachute from the jet. You both pretended you didn’t trust each other just a little more in the morning. 

Now you roll and stretch and Natalia makes a small noise of protest. You tell her you’re getting a glass of water, ask if she wants one too. She doesn’t answer.

The air in the motel room is stale and the light in the bathroom stutters like a heartbeat trying to stave off death. You fill a glass under the tap and drink until it’s empty again. Your breath wavers ever so slightly. You push down on the countertop a little too hard, your palms beginning to sweat. 

Then she’s behind you with a steady hand creating a rhythm of up-down, up-down on your back. You had tried to be silent, hoping she would not notice. You didn’t want her to see you like this. But she extricated herself from the warmth of the bed to be by your side anyway.

She knows you. And it’s terrifying.

She is not gentle but in these moments she is human, and so are you. 

“I’m sorry,” you say. You are not a person who apologizes. So you say it when the only thing it can mean is nothing. When it’s as weightless as the breath from which it comes from.

“It’s okay.” She is not a person who forgives. She is both the bullet and the finger behind the trigger. She is the dazzling starlet who shines the light in your eyes so you do not feel the knife in your back.

Your reflections in the mirror do not feel real. You make a point not to look too closely. Because when you do you see with the eyes of those who would put a bullet in your head for this. No, not quite. Because they would do much worse.

Lately you’ve been dividing time by the moments with Natalia and the moments in between. By one stolen night followed by a week, five weeks, a dozen. You never know. And it’s an adjustment because you can’t quite pinpoint the moment you stopped sleeping down the hall from her more nights than not.

You spend the time without her taking orders, putting on the Taskmaster mask, leaving messages in the form of bodies with sword-shaped slits. Then you’re still taking orders but wearing a different sort of mask, one where they can see your face but still can’t see you and you’re shaking hands and learning real politics is nothing like what you’ve studied. 

“You see what sort of dogs I have to deal with?” General Dreykov asks. Ever since the military dress uniform appeared in your room and you flew to Moscow as his “second” he’s been speaking to you more and more as a peer. Far from most of the time. But occasionally. Enough for you to remember and collect like they were some sort of medal. 

And Madame B, who has always detested you for being too emotional, had finally seemed to approve. One day on your way out after you had been training some of the young recruits she spoke to you across the wasteland of the dance studio. You stopped at the doorway to turn back toward her, but she stayed facing the wall like it was a window to another studio where she must judge a dozen more girls with bleeding feet.

“I never understood why he kept you around.” She always spoke clipped, enunciating each syllable like the crack of a cane. “You were an insolent child. Yes, you can dance but this power makes you think you’re invincible.” You watched her, too stunned to feel indignant about the criticism, too apprehensive to notice how small she was now that you were grown. “But. Perhaps it was not such a bad idea to rear you here. You will lead with an iron fist. And most importantly, you will understand.”

You left without saying anything.

What was there to understand. This place was all you knew.

You come back with a hand on your cheek. Natalia is staring into your eyes like they reflect the answer to life. But if your eyes were mirrors all she’d see was herself.

“You think too much,” she says.

You can’t argue with that. Because now that you’re looking at her in the light and you’re so close you can see each fractal of green in her eyes you're thinking there’s nothing more intimate than this.

She’s not your friend but if she were she’d be your best one.

She asks you to come back to bed. You nod and follow her into the dark. She is sitting up. On your stomach you drape yourself over the edge of the mattress and take her hand. Already you mourn this night. You cannot enjoy the time you have when you don’t know if it will be your last. You have become far too important to each other.

You can tell she feels the same. Misery has settled over the both of you like a cold, wet snow. She is tense as she runs her fingers through your hair. You lay your head in her lap and close your eyes against the danger lurking outside.

It is spring and something has shifted.

—

And it is that stupid feeling which makes you turn yourself over to the Americans after she is captured. That feeling which has transformed since you were small and angry. That feeling which has always been evolving; this new chapter taking an ugly turn. Perhaps you have let this go on for too long.

You are grown now, but still very much full of rage.

They show you a file they have on you which you think looks very hastily put together. Because they would have no reason to suspect you of anything. That’s the way your life has been curated. There is what you do in the daylight and what you do in the dark with a skull mask over your face and a hood over your head. These people are not the same. 

But you’ve made a purposefully big mess on American soil as Taskmaster and they’ve finally connected his face with the official headshot of one Junior Lieutenant of the Russian military.

Is this you, they ask and despite the handcuffs cutting into your wrists and the four guards with guns on their hips you laugh and call the man asking an idiot. The other guy is your twin brother. 

You don’t think he appreciated your answer because the next thing you know you’re being cuffed on the ear.

Along with the picture of you in your official uniform there is a mugshot of you from the day they brought you in. You don’t often see photos of yourself. The guy in this one looks dangerous. There are also two very grainy, very dark photographs pulled from security cameras of a figure who might be you from assassination runs you went on. You recognize yourself in one, and you’re pretty sure the other is of someone in a Halloween costume.

They’ve taken you in with nothing but the clothes on your back and your weapons and a watch of Dreykov’s he had given you a few years ago.

Even though your stomach is empty and your face is bruised you don’t help them put the pieces together. You tell them the same thing you’ve been saying. You know they have the Black Widow. You want to talk to her.

And weeks later when they think they have broken you down and built you back up with S.H.I.E.L.D.’s name around your neck they let you out of your cell.

The guy who slapped you that first day is your new handler. His name is Richard Kremer. You don’t think he likes you all that much. He’s old and he acts like he can go back and win the Cold War if he gets you to roll over.

But you’ve learned he can’t hit you now that you’re not a prisoner. So when you tell him you know his type, that he probably got discharged from field service because he broke down and nailed some kid in the head all he can do is tell you to shut up. I’m right, aren’t I? You ask and he is silent. Oh come on G.I. Joe. He tells you to get out and you happily oblige.

It is when you are outside on the track one day that you finally see Natalia again. You are allowed time outside with supervision–like you are a dog–and you don’t think you’ve ever been happier to see the sun. It’s just you, the rubber beneath your feet, and the wind in your hair. Because you are not worried about the rookie who’s been assigned to watch you. You can pretend you are somewhere else. You can pretend you are running back home instead of pacing holes through this American ground.

You tense when you hear another pair of steps. You do not want to go back inside. Five more minutes. But you look over your shoulder and the figure has bright red hair and astonishment in her eyes. 

You are so surprised to see her because you thought maybe you weren’t going to again that you stumble in your haste to stop. You skid and your feet fly out from beneath you. You catch yourself on your hands, bits of track sticking to your palms. 

Natalia laughs and you can’t fight the grin on your face. She offers a hand and you take it. You let her pull you to your feet. She doesn’t stop there. She is strong and you fall into her. You throw yourself over her, wrapping your free arm around her back. Your hands are still clamped tightly together. You are too relieved to see she is okay to care about who may be watching. Let them see. They know why you came here. And right now, she feels so familiar. 

She pulls away first. “You’re here,” she breathes, eyes wide. Her irises glitter in the sunlight. “Блять. I didn’t believe it.”

“You’re okay,” you say, still breathless. “They didn’t kill you. I thought they were going to kill you.”

“No, they didn’t.” She grows serious, the initial shock wearing off. “Change of plans, I guess.”

You switch to Russian now because you are finally leaving this place. “What idiots. To spare us both. Natalia, we can be out of here tonight.”

She stares at you for a moment, looking guilty. Finally, she shakes her head and very slowly explains, “I’m not going back to Russia. I’m staying here with S.H.I.E.L.D. We’ve come to an agreement. I’m going to defect.” You are bewildered and it must show in the whites of your eyes because she reassures, “I’m okay. This is my choice.”

You don’t know what to think, much less what to say. “Are you serious?” 

“Yes.”

“Look, it doesn’t matter how they’re threatening you. I can get you out.”

“I’m not under threat.”

You narrow your eyes at her and back up a step. They must have messed with her mind, then. Because the Natalia you know would never do this. She was vicious like the edge of a blade and she was strong-headed like no one you’ve ever met. She could not be harnessed.

She grabs your hands. “Look at me. I’m still here.” You jerk because it is like she can read your mind. “It is better here,” she says. “They’ve offered me freedom and protection. That’s all.”

“How could you–” you start, but words don’t feel like enough to convey your disbelief. You shake your head. This can’t be happening. Because you’ve quit and run without permission. You were going to get forgiveness on your return. But you can’t go back without her. You tell yourself it’s because they wouldn’t accept that kind of failure, but you think she would be a tolerable loss compared to you. No. You don’t want to go anywhere without her. “You have to go back. We need to go back. I came here to free you from them.”

“And I’m telling you there’s nothing to free me from,” she says. “I’m using them to free myself.”

But you don’t hear her. You leave, a new word coloring the image of her.

Traitor.

And she’s dragged you to hell with her.

—

Inside your pillowcase is the newest spot you’ve chosen to hide your stash of stolen items. It’s not much, a rock from outside, a fork from the cafeteria, a broken matchstick you found on the ground. 

You are not allowed to have things. Nothing is yours, they tell you. Everything is shared as part of the collective. Don’t get caught up in the scheme of materialism. That’s why everyone takes turns doing the laundry and scrubbing down the showers and disposing of waste. But you don’t really want these things to own. You only do it because they tell you not to.

They found your collection when you put it under your bed and when you began carrying the things in your pockets. Both times they beat you for it. You’re sure they’ll find this one and make you count to fifty instead of twenty-five but there is something rotten inside you and you can’t help it. Maybe after this time they’ll finally thresh it out. 

It is night and you grope through the dark until you find the items. You find all three tucked safely where you left them. But something else pokes your finger as you retrieve your things. Your hand grasps a fourth item and you can’t see it but it feels like a small needle. You don’t remember taking this. Did someone put it here? How did they know about your stash? 

You lay curled on your side and take turns holding each item. You decide the mystery object is definitely a sewing needle. Maybe you did take it and you forgot. You move on. You’ve found a good rock this time. It is small and smooth and almost perfectly round. 

You think about throwing it at Madame T’s head. Then, you hide them again and fall asleep.

You wake up with a cold hand over your mouth. You slap it away and tackle the offending person to the floor before you’ve formed your first conscious thought. 

“Сука!” She hisses as her back lands on the wooden floor and you sit on her stomach. “When are you going to stop doing that?”

You stare down at the vague outline of a body before you slowly let her up. “When you stop waking me up by choking me out.”

“I’m not choking you. And it’s not my fault you cry in your sleep. I’m helping you. Would you rather have a guard come in here?”

“I do not cry in my sleep.” You wrinkle your nose.

“Yes you do. Like a little baby.” You imagine her smirking through the dark. You don’t know who keeps visiting you in the night, only that it’s the same girl each time and she’s probably in your class. You can’t see anything at night here. You know her voice, but there is little speaking during the day. And none of the girls talk to you anyway. Her hair is a little past shoulder length, but that’s the way most of theirs is. 

And she won’t tell you who she is. 

“Shut up,” you say, shoving her in the shoulder. 

“Hey, no fighting in the dark. It’s not fair.”

“I’ll stop when you tell me who you are.”

“What, so you can rat me out?” You’re sitting close so you don’t have to talk very loud. You can feel her breath against your face.

“I won’t,” you say. “I promise.”

She laughs. It is too bitter a sound for someone your age. “Like that means anything.”

“I’m going to figure it out eventually.”

She shakes her head, hair swishing against your cheek. “You haven’t yet. And you never will.”

“Yes I will.”

“No you won’t.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

Yes,” you say, pouncing on top of her. You’ve taken her by surprise. She reacts quickly, rolling the two of you an extra time so she can sit on your chest. 

“I’m too good for you,” she says. 

“Arrogance will get you killed,” you retort. You struggle beneath her but you’re about the same size and she knows exactly how to pin you down.

“That’s a big word for you. Who’d you copy that one from?”

You ignore her, still focused on trying to get up. 

“Stuck?” She asks, her voice light. “Don’t start fights you can’t win, Markov.” She lets you up and pads toward the door. “See you tomorrow.”

Another week passes and something else appears inside your pillowcase. It’s a ribbon from a ballet shoe. You take it out and hold it up in the light of day. You know for sure, you did not take this. Someone else was messing with you. Or helping, you don’t really know.

You watch the girls around you. There are the mean ones–which are most of them–and the nice ones–of which there used to be more. You think it’s one of the nice ones who comes to you at night because she is waking you from bad sleep. But then again she likes to argue and wrestle with you. So maybe it’s a mean one.

You keep fighting and dancing and learning things like how to blend into a crowd and how to craft the perfect lie. You don’t find out who’s been adding things to your collection. But you hope you do before the guards find this new hiding spot. 

They find it when you have to strip your bed for laundry day and realize you have nowhere to hide the new things. You stuff it all in your pockets again and they call you stupid for not learning your lesson last time. So they drag you screaming and kicking downstairs and strip you naked. You bite one of them when they try to tie your hands to the pole because you remember what they told you would happen for the third time you were caught stealing. A boot collides with the side of your head and you go limp for a second. The big things in your life make you forget how small you are. 

There is a moment to breathe and for the ringing in your ears to subside. Then, just as the world refocuses, hellfire is released upon your backside.

You lay upstairs on your stomach and do not sleep. There are deep trenches of blood carved into your back. You could barely crawl into your unmade bed after they dumped you back on the floor in your room. 

You find a flower when you have to go outside the next day. It is bright and yellow and a rarity out here where everything is dead most of the year. You don’t take it.

The fourth night after you finally sleep, your body forcing itself to shut down despite the pain. You are getting better. But not fast enough. 

You only groan when you wake and realize there’s a hand on your face. 

“Shhh,” she says. Then she is silent. You think she is looking at the door. 

You push yourself up, drawing blood as you bite your lip. You slide into the corner away from her. “I can’t do this tonight,” you say. “I’m so tired.”

“I had to. It was going to be them or me.” She pauses. Then, slowly, the mattress dips as she climbs onto the bed.

“I’m serious,” you say. You are hurting and she is strong. She cannot know this. “It’s not fucking funny anymore.”

“Geez, I’m not going to hurt you,” she says. “I would’ve done that a long time ago if I wanted to. Here. Take this.”

“I can’t see you.”

“You are impossible.” She brushes your arm. You recoil. She grabs your hand. It feels odd, like she’s trying to be gentle. She flips your palm up and places something in your open hand. It’s soft and delicate and feels a little like rubber. You roll it carefully through your fingers. You brush your other hand over the top and feel the petals. They are silky. Nothing can compare. It still smells like outside, like life. 

You realize she is the one who has been collecting prizes for you. 

“You’re trying so hard to watch out for me you forget I’m looking out for you too,” she says.

“I can’t take this,” you say. “They’ll find it. You have to take it back.”

“No,” she says. “Scoot over.” 

You obey, trying to hide how much it hurts to move. She takes your spot in the corner and you hear a ripping sound. “What are you doing?” You hiss.

She doesn’t answer. “Give me the flower.” You hand it to her, brushing her hand as you do. You wait in silence until she turns back around. “There’s a little hole in your mattress. I put it in there. They won’t find it. I promise.”

“Like that means anything,” you say, mimicking her tone. And as you do, you realize who you’re speaking to. It just clicked. You know this voice. “Natalia.”

“Look who’s finally earned his detective badge.” You wish you could see her smile instead of just hearing it.

—

You stay at S.H.I.E.L.D., thinking she will see sense eventually. You can’t leave the campus yet so you spend a lot of time wandering and watching. You count how many paces it takes to get from one building to another, estimate how quickly you could run. You look up at the buildings, wonder if you could climb any of them. Every day that passes is excruciating. You can feel the Red Room getting farther away. It’s been far too long since you’ve been in contact with them. You haven’t had the chance to tell them you’re coming back. That you’re not a traitor.

The only thing that makes life bearable is Natalia. She said she just wants to be called Natasha now and it confuses you even more. She really is changing.

You tell them you want to defect too. You pretend like you are fine. Like you are not in fact drowning.

You spend time in Natalia’s room, which is exactly like yours but she has a couple of books and a badly drawn picture of what looks like a person. You can’t really tell.

You point to it. “What’s this?”

She smiles. She’s been doing a lot more of that lately. It’s certainly not the worst thing. “It’s you. In your combat suit. You like it? Clint drew it.”

“He must be some kind of artist then. I could barely tell that that thing was a human.”

She laughs, and for a second the sound makes you forget how she has turned traitor. Because it is sweet and real and uniquely hers. “Look,” she says pointing. “This is your mask. See the eyes and the jawbone?”

“So those are teeth?”

“Yeah. And this arc is the hood, and these lines are the cape.”

“What are those?”

“Your katanas.”

“Why are there five of them?”

“There’s not. These are the swords,” she says, pointing to two lines angled toward the bottom of the page. She moves her finger to three lines above the figure’s head. “I think these are anger lines.”

“Anger lines?”

“Yeah. To signify danger. You know you’re pretty scary in that thing.”

You shrug. “Sure, I guess. And what did I do to have this honor?” You ask.

“You put yourself on S.H.I.E.L.D.’s shit list.” She takes her attention from the sketch and looks at you. “Clint said they didn’t know who they had at first, so he drew me this.”

“And you kept it.”

“I needed decoration. What’s better than a picture of you?” She smirks and nudges you in the ribs. “Like a guardian angel.”

You nod because she’s flirting with you and it’s making your head spin just a little bit. You like her even though you know you shouldn’t and you think she likes you too. You aren’t dating because people like you don’t ‘date��� but there’s something, just below the surface. Like an undertow waiting to drag you under if you wade out too far. You can sense it, like a coming storm.

“You know, I’ve been thinking,” she says. “Why did they send you after me? And in such a dramatic fashion. It doesn’t make sense.”

“I don’t know,” you lie. No one sent you. Maybe you were already out in the middle of the ocean. “You’re the best they’ve got. There’s two dozen widows but there’s a reason you’re the one everyone’s been chasing.”

She shakes her head. “No. You’re the best they’ve got. Dreykov would never trade you for me.” She’s looking at you like she knows you’re lying. You hate to find that there’s hope in her expression. Like she’s waiting for a confession. But the truth is unacceptable. You cannot say you ran after her like a prince in a storybook. You cannot open yourself up. 

She has never hurt you. And you will not give her the opportunity now.

So you gamble on the chance she doesn’t know for sure. You shrug and look away. Because you’ve never been as good as her at hiding things. “Guess he did.” You open your mouth again.

“I’m not going back,” she interrupts because she knows what you’re going to say. She puts a hand on your chest, the other on your cheek. “We can make a place for ourselves here.” Despite her conviction she still sounds disappointed. Doesn’t she know she’s won?

“I know,” you say.

Eventually a month goes by but you have not left. By some sickness she has you trapped. This is why Dreykov had warned you against the widows. Because they spun and they lied and now you could not bear to leave her in this strange place.

There are weekly mandatory shrink sessions you must attend as part of your agreement. You aren’t cleared for missions unless you get their green light. It’s a whole fraud that seems to have everyone in this country up in arms but you are sure it’s just S.H.I.E.L.D. trying another clever way to extract information from you. The discussions at least have been mildly amusing. You don’t have much else to focus on right now.

You’ve been transferred to a different “professional” twice now. The first one had obviously been scared of you so you played into it. He was asking you about your life and about guilt so you spent the entire hour making up stories that were unbelievable even by your standards. You told him your job used to be to torture political enemies and captured agents. You stared him down and tried to blink as little as possible when you told him you enjoyed skinning them alive and hearing them scream.

So the next time you go in it’s office 109 instead of 212 and there’s a woman instead of a man. She’s kooky and has you lay on a couch as she asks about your childhood. So you tell her a story too. 

“My father,” you start, even though you hadn’t had one since you were six years old. But none of these people knew anything from where you came from. “He was a terrible alcoholic. He used to slap my face and shake me like a rag doll. I mean, is that what a real man is supposed to be?”

“No, honey. But it’s okay. You’re safe now. Go on,” she says. “How did that make you feel?”

“It made me so angry, doc. So one day I said to him, ‘I’m gonna show you what I’m made of.’ I grab his shotgun that he keeps under his bed and blam! Gunpowder and lead.” You open your eyes and her face is looming over you, confusion starting to bloom. You break out singing, because this is the good part. “I’m goin’ home, gonna load my shotgun. Wait by the door and light a cigarette. He wants a fight, well, now he’s got one. And he ain’t seen me crazy yet!”

You’re smiling because you heard the song on the radio once and you’d remembered it and the singer’s accent after all these years. Her confusion has turned to anger and suddenly the session is over. Oh no.

Kremer has a talk with you after this incident. He tells you to cut the shit and sit through it like everyone else does. Then he reminds you what will happen if either him or one of these therapists deems you unfit for work at S.H.I.E.L.D. But you don’t care. They’re not going to get the best of you twice.

But you go another week to a new office with something to prove. You’ve got a winning streak to maintain. This guy has glasses and graying hair and a stomach that’s a little round. There are shelves and shelves of books and you pace the room, grazing your hand over the spines.

“You got one in here that’s going to tell you how to fix me?”

“Hello,” he says. “My name is Dr. Francis, but you can call me Willem.” He is soft spoken and you think you can break him like you did the first one. “Why don’t you have a seat?”

“Okay Willem. Sure.” You slouch across from him in a chair level with his. He’s not behind a desk like the first man or hovering over you like the woman.

“Do you like to read?” He asks, because you’re still scanning the shelves.

You used to, but not really anymore. “I’m not working here because I’m some genius who sits around reading all day.”

“No. Certainly not.” Was he making fun of you? “Has anyone told you how this works?”

You shake your head.

“Well I, along with my colleagues, are not ‘S.H.I.E.L.D. agents.’ We’re privately contracted. You know what that means, yes?”

“It means you probably get more money for sitting around and talking nonsense all day.”

“Sure. You’re not wrong. But it also means I don’t owe S.H.I.E.L.D. anything. Whatever is said in this room stays in this room. My only obligation is to make sure you’re not a danger to yourself or others.”

You eye him and his cardigan, wondering how he could walk out of the house with something like that on. “That’s what I’ve been missing!” You snap your fingers. “You’ve got my full trust now Willem, goodness I can’t believe what a great resource this is. What do you want to know? I’ll tell you everything.”

He chuckles. “You’re funny, aren’t you?” 

“I’m only as serious as this whole charade is,” you say gesturing around at the office which looks so out of place here at S.H.I.E.L.D. The clutter on his desk in the corner, the old wood furnishing, the acoustic guitar lying among stacks of books. “But okay sure. Let’s say you’re not going to turn around and blab to Kremer so he can be more efficient about making my life harder. You’re only here to make sure I’m not a danger.” You make little air quotes with your hands when you say this. “You do know what kind of missions are conducted here, no?”

“Of course. I did my time in the military.”

“Really?”

“This surprises you.”

“Yeah, I mean, come on,” you wave your hand at him. “I could kill you with my eyes closed.”

He raises his eyebrows. “I have no doubt you could. But as I was saying. I don’t mean you can’t be dangerous. Just that you have to know when to pick it up and put it away. For example, now was not the time to threaten me with mortal violence.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you say, getting out of the chair. You couldn’t do that. Violence was who you were. And you were tired of this anyhow.

 You make it to the back wall where there’s a window and on the sill there’s a picture frame. You pick it up, showing it to him. “Is this your family? Your kids are pretty cute.”

“Watch it,” he says.

 You flip the frame around and look down at it. “How old are they? The little one can’t be older than eight, no? What a shame I know her father’s name.”

Maybe it’s because you don’t actually plan to find his family or maybe it’s because you’ve underestimated him that your heart pounds when you look up and he’s in your space with a serious look on his face. 

“Don’t fuck with my family or I will end you.”

“Touchy, touchy,” you say.

“Get out.”

And that’s how your first interaction goes. So you’re surprised the next week when you hear you’ve been ordered back with Dr. Francis.

You stroll into the office like nothing ever happened. “You again. How are your kids doing?”

“Shut up and sit down,” he says.

You mock pout but sit anyway.

“How old are you?” He asks.

“You’ve got my file. I’m sure it says somewhere in there.”

“Yes, but I want to hear it from you.” He’s wearing another ridiculous outfit. A gray polo shirt with a brown patched cardigan.

“So you can make some big point about how I’m young and don’t know anything, right?” You ask. Because this feels awfully familiar. 

You remember a time when you were twelve and told this Foreign Intelligence Service (SVR) officer named Evgenia you were eighteen when she asked. Zhenya laughed and said, yeah right, if you’re eighteen then I’m forty. When you’d finally told the truth she looked at you funny. Do you know what this assignment is? You told her this was a joint mission to take out high-ranking members of a certain Russian mob family who had overstepped the line between civilian and state.

You’re a little young for this, no? She’d asked. 

No one had ever given pause because of your age before. You assured her you were capable of this assignment. 

She let it go but didn’t stop calling you “kid” for the whole two weeks. You hated it until you realized she didn’t mean it in a bad way. It was kind of nice, actually. To feel looked after. Carrying things on your own was so exhausting.

She made you try Oreshki as you sat in a hotel working on the mission reports because she couldn’t believe you’d never had it. Then she asked what your parents were feeding you at home because she’d never seen someone your age so strong. You told her your parents were dead and she’d stared at you for a few minutes. You pretended not to notice. 

When it was time to go back she told you to look after yourself. She seemed reluctant to let you go.

You assured her you would be fine. You always were.

Now you stare at Willem and wonder where he wants to go with this question.

“Something like that,” he says. “Come on, it won’t hurt you.”

“I’m twenty-eight,” you lie. Because there’s no way the number in the file isn’t just an estimate.

He’s quick with his response. “No you’re not.”

You’re about to tell him yes, you are but there’s something in his eyes, in his posture. He’s confident you’ve lied. “Fine. I’m twenty-two. Happy?”

“Exactly. You’re twenty-two. You’re a kid. You’ve barely reached the age we let kids have alcohol in this country. Tell me, have you ever read anything by Shakespeare?” You shake your head. “You ever swam in the ocean?” Another no. “Been to an art museum? Hiked up a mountain? Fallen in love?”

You stop him then. “Love is a scam. It’s some great ideal everyone chases like an idiot because they think their worth resides with another person. It’s an opiate for the masses. You tell someone they’ll be fulfilled if they find this ���love’ and they’ll blind themselves in pursuit of it. People are more easily controlled when they are distracted by emotion.”

“I don’t think so. And I’ve been in love for twenty years. Almost as long as you’ve been on this earth. Love has brought me great joy and great sorrow. But you wouldn’t know about that. About giving yourself over to someone else. About allowing someone to open your eyes, to challenge you. I am not distracted by emotion, and even if I was I wouldn’t care. Because at least I’ve lived.”

“Then you’re a fool.”

He raises a hand. “Or you’re a coward. You want to think you’re above it all. You had Dr. Casey thinking you were a psychopath. You wanted me to think you were a monster. But you’re not. You’re a scared kid with his chest puffed out. You’re the kid who pushes others on the playground because you’re getting pushed at home. But guess what. I can’t be pushed.

You’re scared to talk because you don’t know what might come out. Scared to let people in because you think they won’t like what they see. How many people have you talked to since you’ve been here? How many people knew you, and I mean really knew you back in Russia? What about that young woman who got here a couple weeks before you? You’re unique. I’ll bet I’ve never met someone like you and I never will again. So I can’t get anywhere, I can’t start if you don’t help me. You have to talk to me.”

And after that he dismisses you, just like that.

The next time you come back the ball is in your court. He doesn’t talk to you, just sits and stares expectantly. Well two could play that game. You’ll show him you won’t talk if you don’t want to. So you sit and count away the seconds and leave when the hour is up.

Another week passes and you’re in his office again. And he’s silent, again. 

You won’t be the one to break. But you’re looking at the guitar on the stand in the corner with all its dust and you think it’s as safe a conversation starter as any.

“Do you play?” You ask, nodding at the instrument.

Willem sits up and blinks a couple times like he hadn’t been expecting you to speak. “No. Not really anymore. And to be honest I could never really play even when I used it. Shame, it’s a beautiful instrument.” He gets up to retrieve the guitar and begins to tune it. “I’ve never really had the ear for music.” He plucks at a string and goes onto the next one.

“Wait,” you say. “Go back. That one’s not right.”

“Too flat or too sharp?”

“What?” Just turn it a little more.” He complies and finally it sounds right. You nod and he goes to the next.

“I didn’t peg you as the musical type,” he says as he plays and you nod or shake your head.

“I’m not. Just a feeling, I guess. I know what notes sound like.”

“But you don’t know this is the ‘E string?’”

“No, nothing like that. I can play a song though.”

“Let’s hear it then, champ.”

He hands you the guitar and you play a song you saw someone playing one time on a mission in Mexico City. There are the movements of the man in the street who had captivated you to stop and watch, and there are your own hands, years later, mirroring his. 

When the song finishes Willem is quiet, then asks, “When did you learn that?”

“I didn’t really learn,” you shrug, like it’s not a big deal. “Saw a guy do it once. Copied what he did.”

“Do you know what chords you used? Can you play anything else?”

“No.”

“Unbelievable.”

You smile, because you have impressed him. “Neat party trick, huh?”

“Seems like it could be more than just a party trick.”

You tilt your head back and forth because he’s right but you don’t want to talk about that. “I don’t use it to sing pretty songs, that’s for sure. Where’d this interest of yours come from anyway?”

“My wife got it for me actually. When we were overseas I used to go on and on about missing music. About how I was butthurt having to join the army because it meant I never got to learn how to play the guitar. And she remembered. And the first Christmas after we got home, even though we barely had enough money to get by, she got me this. That’s part of what love is.”

“She’s ex-military too, then?”

“Yes,” he says, like he’s trying to recapture an old dream. “Let me tell you something. Wait, actually, this first. You ever been in a warzone?”

You hesitate for a second and he must see the debate in your mind so he clarifies.

“I mean a real warzone. Out in the trenches with a couple hundred other guys trying to fall asleep to the sound of bomb fire. Not knowing who’s going to have their leg blown off or their head opened up before the next sunrise. Knowing you’re all out there as nothing but cannon fodder, that everything they told you about the army before you left was nothing but a load of horseshit. And you ate it because your life was shit too.” You shake your head. “Well, it’s damn lousy. You have to keep each other’s chins up somehow. There was this joker in my squad, you see. Terrible sense of humor but we all laughed anyhow because things were just that bad. One day, she looks over at me and says, “Imagine this. Two fish are in a tank. One looks at the other and says, ‘Hey, do you know how to drive this thing?’””

You blink at him but can’t help the laugh that escapes. “That has to be the most awful joke I’ve ever heard.”

“It is!” Willem agrees. “But you know what? That’s the moment I fell in love with my wife.”

Now you are surprised. “Because she told you a bad joke?”

“No. Because she was so serious she didn’t know how to be funny but she always cracked herself up anyhow. And I loved her for it.”

“She was?”

“Pardon?”

“You said she was serious. Is she dead?”

“No. We are,” he pauses, quieter now. “We are separated for now. I suppose it’s been long enough that I've started talking about her in the past tense.”

“But you said she’s your wife.”

“She still is, nothing’s official, but,” he trails off, like he’s given up already.

“What?” You smirk. “You cheat on her? She cheat on you? Found some other guy who thought she was pretty and laughed at her dumb jokes?” When he doesn’t react you try something else. “You beat her up?” His head snaps to you and his eyes harden like you’ve pulled out a gun. ���That’s it, isn’t it? You talk about war and all this stuff like I need a lesson but you can’t even handle it yourself so you spend all night drinking and you come home and she’s there with her ‘where were yous’ and her idiocy that you didn’t see before because you told yourself you were in love but now she’s annoying the life out of you so you try and put her head in the wall. Right?”

His glare has faded and it makes you a little nervous because it was always a bad sign when Dreykov stopped yelling and got quiet. “Yes,” Willem says calmly as if you hadn’t just gutted him open. “There’s one thing you’re wrong about though. I never had to tell myself I was in love with her. I just was. And I still am. She was right to kick me out.”

You puff your cheeks and blow out air. “You are a bigger идиот than I thought. Have you apologized?”

“Yes. I did the next morning when I realised what I’d done.”

“And she didn’t accept it.”

“No, she did,” he says, dragging a large hand down his face. “She did but I thought some time apart would be for the best.”

  “So you could get yourself a shrink.”

“Not exactly. They say therapists make the worst patients. I’ve found that to be true.”

“Well,” you say. “Sounds like you’re a coward too.”

Willem smiles. Just the smallest upturn of his lips. “Time’s up.”

—

The wilderness is no place for two children. Especially not the barren wasteland of Siberia. The boy has a rifle slung around his shoulder and no coat. The girl has two coats. Blood from a wound on her side drips out onto the snowy terrain underfoot. But she is strong. She refuses the boy’s offers to help her walk.

A long trail of footprints in the otherwise unblemished landscape leads back to a small massacre site.

The children are hungry but cannot stop because something is chasing them. It’s why they had to leave the little house with the fire and the old woman. 

They will hide, they will kill, they will walk until they collapse so the ground may swallow them whole. 

Because the wilderness is no place for two children. It certainly cannot be the place for three.

—

More weeks pass and you keep living and you try not to think too much about how Natalia is doing fine for herself. She has a team now with agents called Barton and Hill and Coulson and May. 

You do not talk so often, even if this is the most freedom you’ve had to talk since you’ve known each other. At first you tried to convince her to go back but no. She is adamant about staying here, about untying herself rope by rope from the Red Room.

The things you exchanged seem so trivial now. You know her favorite color is blue and that she is fine with coffee but would much rather have tea and that she has a scar beneath her collarbone. But here such information is freely given. 

You see other men talk to her in the cafeteria, watch her in the gym. She has always been the most beautiful woman in the room. 

And it is one day when you are eating lunch together that another agent approaches. He has an apple in his hand and sits next to Natalia like he knows her. “Natasha,” he greets. You don’t like how close he is. He extends a hand across the table. “I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure of meeting,” he says. “I’m Agent Matthew Hunter.”

You take his hand and shake it, squeezing a little harder than necessary. “Nice to meet you.” This is a lie. He is entitled and he is American and you would prefer he left you alone.

“Matt,” Natalia says, smiling.

He turns to face her like you aren’t there. “Listen I got to run, but I haven’t had the chance to say how great of a job you did on the Berlin mission last week. I wanted to catch you before I forgot.” 

She licks her lips and turns her shoulders toward him. “You weren’t too bad out there yourself.” 

He waves her off. “Are you kidding me? I have never seen someone handle a room like that before.” Agent Hunter looks at you next but his body is still facing Natalia. “Did she tell you about this? I mean what a fucking bombshell.”

“No,” you say. “We haven’t had the chance.”

“Ah, well. You should really ask her. Hell of a story, hell of an agent.”

Natalia looks down at her lap, her cheeks reddening ever so slightly. 

“Anyway. I have got to go hit the gym. No days off, am I right?” 

He is looking at you and expecting a response so you just say, “Sure.”

“Alright, nice to meet you, man. See you later Nat.”

You watch him walk off like he owns the place and it’s only when you turn back that you realize Natalia had been watching him too.

You take a drink of water and ask, “Do you like him?”

She snaps her attention to you. “Who, Matt? Yeah he’s nice. A bit talkative, but that’s all right. What did you think?”

You ignore her question. “No, I mean. He was flirting with you.”

“I know that.”

“So,” you gesture. She would lead you in circles until your head twisted off if you let her. “Are you going to get with him?”

Her smile fades like you’ve asked if she was planning to kill him instead. “No. I hadn’t thought about it.”

“Why not?” You ask. “He’s handsome, young enough. You said you liked him.”

“Because I don’t want him.” And there is this look on her face like you have grown a second head. “I’m not just going to go run around sleeping with people.”

“I didn’t say you should. I was just wondering because I could tell you were into him.”

She scoffs. “I’m not ‘into him.’ He’s friendly. He gave me a compliment. What's so bad about that?”

“Nothing. It was just a question, that’s all.”

She is quiet for a moment, dragging her fork through the last grains of rice on her plate. “You know I like you too, right?”

“Of course. And I like you.”

“No. I mean, in the way you think I like Matt.”

Now it is your turn to choose silence. The two of you kissed and shared a bed sometimes when you had only ever slept alone before. And Natalia was the only person you’ve had sex with, at least in any way that counted. But that didn’t mean anything. You didn’t know any better and neither had she. There was bad and there was worse. You just happened to be sufficient for her when the bar was six feet under the ground. 

“You know, that doesn’t mean anything. You don’t owe me,” you say.

“I know I don’t owe you anything. It’s not about owing,” she says, shaking her head in incredulity. “You’ve been weird since we’ve been here. It’s not a death sentence anymore.”

“I’m saying just because we got together before doesn’t mean you can’t go after this guy now. It was a matter of circumstance you know. There was no one else to choose so you chose me, I get it.”

Her eyes narrow as you say this. You speak for her, but you do not know.  “What are you talking about?”

But you’ve built up steam now and you think if you stop you won’t get the words out because you’re sure they’re not true. You speak for the man you want to project. The one Dreykov would approve of. “And you’re pretty and you came on to me so,” you shrug. “But come on. You were a warm body. So were a lot of the other widows. And so was I. Let’s not make it a bigger deal than it is.” 

But it is a big deal. You ignore all the times you held each other in the middle of the night. The time she taught you how to braid her hair. All those times you made each other laugh. These are the things you take great effort to minimize.

And you are so focused on pushing her away because you are a bird with its wings clipped hurtling toward the ground that you don’t notice her own rage building.

She is used to being silenced. She just never thought you would join the long line of others who’ve treated her as lesser than. She thought you understood, that you were different.

“Fuck you,” she says, looking you straight in the eye. You can’t read the expression on her face. She has always been good at making her face vacant, like marble.

She leaves. Not that there was anything to leave in the first place. 

You tell yourself this is what you wanted. For her to be free. Free of you and free of any guilt that might plague her. Not that the Black Widow felt guilt.

But if this is what you wanted, then why did you feel like you had just severed a limb?

But you are fine too. You have a team with agents called Rumlow and Ward and Rollins. They are callous and crass and they remind you of the guards back home. They do not care where you have come from, despite the fact you still bear the title Junior Lieutenant, technically. Despite what everyone else thinks.

You are strong like the fabled Captain America and could home a bullet into any target with a blindfold on. That’s all they care about.

They say they do not care about your accent that you wear like a scarlet flag. And sometimes, you join them when they go out to drink. Ward and Rumlow are outspoken. Rollins is not. But they all share the same cynical view of the world. And so do you. Maybe that’s why you get along.

There is control and there is chaos. You are all agents of the former.

After word about your squadron placement gets around, no one eyes you in the hall like they want to fight. No one questions your–albeit minimal–authority. At least not to your face.

Missions with them are quick and bloody. You use a rifle most of the time now. One that is bulky and can fire an unnecessary amount of rounds per second. You are a strike unit, so you creep up to the outside of an office or warehouse or home and when everyone is crouched like predators in the shadows you jump out with blazing muzzles. You can’t really call what you do fighting.

It is one day you are out with them that you run into an old friend. She is one of the ones you are hunting. S.H.I.E.L.D. likes doing that, you’ve figured out. Sending you out on missions to destroy what you’ve spent your life building. What you were supposed to sit at the head of the table of one day.

They want to see when you might snap. They want you to cut and run. They do not believe you can change. You don’t believe it either.

But she tells you, and oh is it nice to speak Russian again, that Dreykov wants your head. You cannot go back. You hadn’t wanted to be a traitor, but you’d lit the torch when you let the Americans take you in. And now when you look back, the bridge is engulfed in flames.

She says rumor of your defection has grown and spread like a tumor on Dreykov’s name. You’ve humiliated him by turning your back, and now he is losing power.

“But,” you say. “I didn’t. I don’t want–I’m not loyal to S.H.I.E.L.D.”

She stops you. “It doesn’t matter.”

“But I’m still–”

“You’re not listening to me.” She grabs you by the arm. “If you go back there you will die. Apparently Dreykov was kind of a black sheep. They were all looking for a reason to strip him of his rank, and now that he’s lost his two best weapons no one will listen to him. The entire Red Room is on alert, looking for a way to capture you.” She stabs a finger to your chest.

“Oh,” is all you can manage to say. “But there must be some way to clear this up. If I could talk to him I know I could explain. Or if I could get back. If I talked to the Headmistress.” You know she would understand and she would not be mad. Because she was stern but she never hit you. You used to talk every week in her office, just the two of you. You missed her.

Your friend shakes her head. It’s a “no,” but it’s also full of admonishment. 

“What?” You ask.

“Always so eager to please.”

“It’s called having honor.” 

There are footsteps outside the office you’ve pulled her into. She tugs on your arm and you retreat around the corner.

“We don’t have much time,” you say.

She’s silent for a moment, then, “Come with me.”

“What?”

“I’m leaving. It won’t be hard. No one will be looking for me as long as you have that S.H.I.E.L.D. emblem on your chest. I’m saying you should leave too.” She puts a hand on your cheek, makes you look her in the eye. “We could be extraordinary.”

“I can’t,” you whisper.

“Why not?” There is disbelief, there is frustration. “You just said it yourself. You’re not loyal to them. And these brutes have nothing on us. We can disappear.”

“You should go. I really think you should. It’s what you’ve always wanted, right?”

“I wanted it with you.”

“Goodbye, Svetlana,” you say, kissing her on the cheek. She is still.

On your way out, she speaks up. “It’s because of her, isn’t it? It’s funny. You’ve always been so blind when it comes to her. You think anyone can know the Black Widow? She will drain the life from you.”

She leaves you with a note with an address on it.

“In case you change your mind.”

When you get back you hide the slip of paper in the nightstand with Dreykov’s watch.

—

You pull on the hideous shirt with the too large sleeves and try not to think about how ridiculous wearing tights is. You grab your shoes and head down the hall to the other dressing room. 

When you enter the dancers that are actually a part of this company stare at you. The four widows–excluding Natalia–don’t bat an eye. Modesty was a long lost concept for all of you. Especially around each other. Nastya looks over and smiles at you. You wink back.

The understudy for the lead part–who like the rest of you earned the role after members of the main cast suddenly became ill the night before–finds you like a heat-seeking missile. Her blood red hair is pulled back tight in a bun, and the fluorescent lights pale her skin to a moonlight shade. She looks like she has come from another world to ravage war upon this one. She is muscle and sinew and bone. She is magnificent. 

She snakes an arm around the back of your neck and kisses you on the jaw. She wants them all to see. You are hers in this show and hers backstage. You wouldn’t have it any other way.

You go out and perform on auto pilot because you watched a recording of the show once and now the movements are ingrained in the memory of your muscles. You focus on the crowd, try to spot your targets. There is a war going on in the shadows. You’ve all been sent to end it. To show them the Red Room is superior. They won’t even know what hit them. 

You have a break to watch Natalia perform her solo. You stand in the right wing and watch her under the spotlight, dazzling the crowd. Even here she is dangerous. She is like a panther getting upwind of its prey. Every move is measured, every step beaten into submission because of how many times she practiced. She makes herself delicate, but you know better.

There is a part where she almost rushes off stage as if reaching for something, but an invisible force drags her back to the center. You are standing in the spot she reaches for. Maybe you knew she would end up here, maybe you didn’t. It doesn’t matter because her eyes snap open and for a half second you lock eyes. The audience members aren’t the only ones she’s made believe in her desperation. 

After the first act ends Anastasia and Yeva leave for the targets’ hotel where they will be waiting. The four of you who are left finish the show and keep eyes on your targets. When you take your bow you are holding Natalia’s hand. Then you slink into the shadows, ditch the outfit, and put on your mask and hood. 

You leave as a unit out a back door and climb to the roof. It is raining outside. Not more than a drizzle, but the brick underfoot is slick and your targets will be hiding under coats and umbrellas. Stefanya kneels to assemble a rifle that had been packed into a violin case. You crouch in the shadows, feel the rain begin to soak through your pants. 

The crack of the rifle is loud like lightning and the crowd parts around the dead man. An ambulance is called but you know it is too late. The four of you split there. You will find each other later in an apartment building across town. 

You know Natalia will beat the ambulance to the hospital and an accident will befall the entourage of the dead. Nowhere is safe.

You follow a fleeing family of four to their car. The father is a high-ranking official of your enemy, the mother a scientist. They both know tonight is no accident. They run into the dark, down an alleyway instead of along the main road. Smart. You watch them go. You know where they will end up. 

You get in a vehicle which has been left for you and follow them out of the city. You drive until the houses have become sparse and so has the light. The rain is pouring down in sheets now. You step on the gas and flip the car’s brights on. The front of your car rams into the back of theirs. The sedan spins out of control, tires squealing against the wet asphalt. The car drifts into a ditch and you pull up beside it. 

You step out of your car and draw your swords. Because this is a message, not an accident. Two shots are fired your way. You duck behind the car and let the guy shout insults at you. But you hear the fear in his voice. He saw who they’d sent for him.

You rush through the dark, cape heavy and soaking behind you. You ram your fist into the passenger window and slide the end of one sword through the woman’s mouth. There are more shots but you have already disappeared again into the night. 

The children in the backseat scream. Their anguish refuses to be drowned out by the storm. You hear them as if they are crying right into your ears. The man gets out and slams the door shut. You see him in the flashes brought by the lightning. He yells for you to come out. So you oblige. You launch yourself onto the car roof and stare down at him. Here I am, you say. He points the pistol at you and you slice his hand off. He goes down, still cursing. The last thing he does is ask you to leave the kids out of this.

You go up to the backdoor. Didn’t he know? This was a family affair.

You tell yourself what you have done tonight is for the greater good. Many more will live off the blood of this sacrifice. 

When you get back to the rendezvous point you find only Stefanya and Marina. You were supposed to be the last one back. Where are they, you ask. They are quiet. Stefanya looks you in the eye and says none of them ever showed. You know she is lying. You take a breath and step closer so you may look down on them. They are not intimidated by you. Even in the dark, even with the rain outside, even with your face behind a mask they know you will not hurt them. 

Because you all grew up together. And that means something. 

So you draw back your hood and remove the mask. You let them see the worry in your eyes. Come on, you say. What happened.

They are quiet for a moment longer. Then, Marina whispers. Yeva and Nastya never returned. Natalia went after them. She told us not to tell you. 

You put your gear back on and rush out the door. Stay here, you call over your shoulder. You fly through the night to the hotel they were supposed to be at and find Anastasia sitting against the wall bleeding. She raises her gun at you when you barrel through the window. You take off your mask and rush to her. Nastya, you say. She is shot and she should be dead but widows are not ordinary humans. You ask if she is all right and she laughs. Clearly, I am not. She already has a shirt tied around her stomach and she is holding another tight to staunch the bleeding. 

Natalia has been here, you say. Yes. You ask where she has gone and where Yeva is. She tells you she doesn’t know. That Yeva and she were ambushed and overwhelmed. The room is trashed. Bullet holes in the walls and broken furniture. There are bodies littering the floor. They must have had two dozen men up here to overpower just the two of them. 

You ask if she will be all right if you go. She tells you yes she thinks so. Then you hold a hand out. She takes it. Her hand is clammy and cool to the touch. Are you sure, you ask. Because Katya might actually kill me if you die on my watch. Go, she tells you. Find Yeva. 

So you leave out the window and try not to think about it all being too late. If they had the chance to drive off they could be out of the city by now. You weren’t even supposed to be out hunting for them. You should’ve taken Stefanya and Marina and gone back to base. The others’ failure was theirs alone to bear. So you stand in the dark collecting raindrops, wondering why this has come as an afterthought. You realize in your haste you’d left your mask back in the hotel room. Water drips down your face as you stare up at the sky. Maybe the stars know.

Then, through the stench of the storm and the dirt and oil the rain has sloughed from the ground you smell blood. It is sharp and metallic and unmistakable. You trot down the near pitch black alley in search of the source. There are a number of irregular shapes down a perpendicular alleyway. You can barely see they are there. You stop, your boots splashing in a puddle. 

With measured steps you stalk forward, unsheathing the swords on your back. The shapes are bodies of men in ruined suits with ruined faces. One’s eyes have been gouged inward, pushed deep in toward his brain. Belly-up he stares unseeing into some void. And as if he hadn’t suffered enough he is also eviscerated. Guts and blood leak from him onto the dirty ground as if from an overfilled trash bin. No wonder you were able to smell it.

There is another with his throat slit and his head bashed in. Another with his jaw ripped wide open. He has been shot, but only in the leg. None of these men went out with a clean death. All of them suffered.

You find Natalia in the middle of the carnage, holding another body. Yeva is limp in her arms, eyes closed. You kneel beside both of them. She’s gone, Natalia whispers. You try to ignore the awful pang in your chest. Because she died in the service of her country. She died a soldier’s death. It is an honor. 

But alone in the rain in a struggle is no way to die. Dark blood is still seeping from the hole in her forehead to stain her blonde hair. She looks so young. 

There are footsteps at the entrance to the alleyway. Stefanya and Marina have Anastasia supported in between them. Stefanya is taller than them both which makes it an awkward position but they have made it. You’re not surprised they didn’t stay at the rendezvous either. 

The cops are here, Marina says. We need to go.

Natalia stands, Yeva in her arms. You pull your hood deeper over your face and lead them away. In a stolen car you drive out of the city. There’s a field and it’s on its way to being flooded but it will have to do. You have no tools so you dig with your hands and you try to ignore how familiar the action is. Even Nastya insists she helps. 

Dawn has already broken when the grave is finally dug. You lower Yeva’s body in and replace the dirt under the young sunlight. None of you care about the consequences the day will surely bring.

Very few will ever know that she lived. And only you will know about her death, about this gravesite. It’s only fair you take a moment. They tell you you are nameless, faceless, inconsequential and that it is selfish to believe otherwise.

But dammit Yeva was a person. They refused to give her a place in the world. So you suppose that’s what the four of you have done now. What a shame it could only be given after her last breath.

—

The next time you’re being briefed on a mission there are forty agents in the room. You go to the side of the room where your squad along with the rest of the platoon are standing. Rumlow tells you there must be a big fucking fish to fry.

Crowded on the other side of the conference table are members of STRIKE Team: Delta, including Clint Barton and Natasha Romanoff. You lock eyes with her for a moment but you turn away because Agent Matthew Hunter is right there next to her. Rumor has it they’ve been “going out.” Last week Ward asked you how it felt to have some tool like Hunter steal your girl. You told him she wasn’t your girl. That she’d be fucking a new guy in another week. You don’t know why you said that last part.

Then everyone is quiet because Fury is here and the Director never bothers with things as trivial as mission briefs.

Turns out there’s a huge freaking terrorist compound in Iraq and you’ve been authorized to take it out. Agent Barton is in charge of tagging the leader. Everyone else, don’t get killed.

So you fly out in three separate jets and you’re on the one holding a mix of both teams. Everyone’s keeping to their own side but Natalia comes over to stand by you.

“Hi,” she says. 

“Hi,” you say back. You hadn’t realized how much you’d been missing her. But now that you’ve heard her voice and she’s so close your shoulders are almost brushing it hits you like a bucket of ice water. “How’ve you been?”

“Good. It’s odd though, you know.” 

“What is?”

“Not speaking with you.” she says. “I mean we’re in the same building most of the time now. It’s just been too long.”

“I agree,” you say. And because you cannot bring yourself to admit you feel less alive when she’s not around, that now that she’s here you have to stop yourself from grinning like a moron, you say, “I don’t think we’ve been on a mission together yet. Not since coming here.”

She’s looking at you and now you’re thinking about the furrow in her brow and the shine in her eye when she’s thinking hard. The little things you’re sure only you know because you’re the only person she’s shown them to. “You’re right,” she says. “We haven’t.”

“Kremer was probably scared shitless about the potential the two of us have together.”

“Kremer?”

“My handler. He’s an absolute asshat. I feel like he had one look at me and has already sentenced me. Nothing I do can change his mind.”

“That’s too bad for him,” she says. “He’s missing out on a great agent.”

You finally allow a smile to crack through. “How’s Barton?”

“He’s good. I think the two of you would get along.”

“Why is that?”

“Because you both know how to be a huge pain in my ass.” She smirks and you shove her lightly on the shoulder.

“Oh you don’t know what you’ve got yourself into Romanova.” 

She takes your hand and traces circles on the inside of your palm. “You’re the only one who calls me that anymore,” she murmurs.

Your face flushes because you hadn’t even realized what you’d said. “I can stop. I just, I forget sometimes. And besides.” You lean in and switch to Russian because someone is always listening in. “Natalia Romanova is the strongest person I know. I don’t think you should be ashamed of her.”

She turns her face toward yours and responds in kind. “You don’t have to stop. I like what it means when you say it.” You can feel her breath on your cheek and you wonder if she might kiss you. But she pulls away to smile at you again. “And you’re the only one who can pronounce it right anyway.”

You touchdown and by some force of habit you and Natalia pull away from the others and slink into the shadows. You pull your pistol out and shoot a figure with his gun out before Natalia can get to him.

She turns back to you. “Since when do you use a gun?”

You shrug. “Since I became American.”

“You don’t have your swords?”

“No. Those are still confiscated. But,” you take a retractable blade from your belt and unsheath it. “I’ve got this.”

“Can you use it?”

“Well enough,” you say. You could use a sharp stick if you needed to. “Actually, it’s quite different from using my katanas. First of all there’s only one of whatever this is. It’s pretty terrible. Americans have no idea about blades. Whoever made this shaped it like a toothpick.” You thrust it forward into the empty air. “You can’t slash with it, which is what you want to do,” you say, drawing an arc this time.

“Easy, tiger. I can’t believe I almost forgot how much of a nerd you are.” You’re about to retort but she stops before a corner and gives you a look. Down the hall there’s an open door and a light on. You edge up to it and count four guys smoking and playing cards. As one you jump out, Natalia covering you as you barrel into the thick of it. There are two guys with bullet holes in them and one writhing on the ground from one of her taser discs.

You’ve plunged your sword through the last one and are still trying to wrench it free when she kicks the one getting shocked in the head. Finally you get it free, his ribs cracking from how hard you had to pull it out. 

“That’s disgusting,” she says.

“Oh please,” you respond, wiping the blade off on your sleeve. There’s blood on your hands and face and more spreading over the concrete floor. “You’re the one who likes making messes on purpose. I told you this sword is atrocious.”

She shrugs. “I only do that if they really deserve it.”

“So that’s like everyone, right?” You turn away from her, shaking your head hard enough you know she must see. “It’s appalling really. I mean have some decorum Natalia. Twenty-three times is a lot to stab someone, you know.” 

Silence is the only answer you receive. But the hairs on the back of your neck stand up and in a flash she’s on your shoulders trying to bring you down.

You keep talking in between the short bursts of laughter rising from your chest. “At that point it’s disrespectful.” She covers your eyes with one hand and your mouth with the other. Then she twists with just enough force to signal she wants you down and you get to your knees to soften the blow before you completely collapse on your back. 

“The cops can’t even recognize the poor bastards.” She’s on top of you with a glint in her eye like she’s hungry. You put your hands up. “Please don’t, oh no I have an ounce of cocaine I still need to snort tonight.” She puts the handle end of a knife against your cheek and drags it down toward your chest. “I have so much to live for,” you say, suddenly putting on an American accent.

She cracks, a little smile emerging on her face. She stands before she thinks you’ve seen and leaves the room. “Get up. We’ve got a job to do.”

“I saw that,” you say, jogging after her. 

“Saw what?”

“You think I’m hilarious.”

“No, I think you’re dumb.”

“I can be both. It’s called having range.”

You wouldn’t say you enjoy what you do, but it’s all you know. At some point you had to become numb to it or you’d drown in the guilt. But you have missed working with Natalia. Your team is fine. But it’s different when she’s had your back in the field since you were ten years old. When you could pass out right now and know she’d keep you safe. When you know exactly what move she’s going to make next.

The end of the hall splits off and you go left while she goes right.

You pass a couple of S.H.I.E.L.D. agents and give them a nod before turning down another hall. You check another room and there’s a woman in there with a gun.

You raise yours, and you don’t know why but something makes you hesitate. Maybe it’s because you don’t think she’ll shoot. Maybe it’s because there’s been this bug in your ear nagging about innocence until proven guilty. 

But she doesn’t and there’s a shot and a bullet in your side. You don’t waste time before you fire a return shot that shatters her kneecap. She drops her gun and goes down screaming.

Rage explodes hot in your chest. At her, for shooting you. But mostly at yourself for slipping. “You bitch,” you seethe in Russian. The pain in your side is mixing with the anger in your chest and the storm is deafening. 

“I’m sorry. Please don’t kill me,” she sobs, laying on the ground. “I didn’t mean to. I’m not with them. I won’t fight anymore. Just don’t kill me. I’m sorry.” But you’ve seen this act before. You won’t underestimate her twice.

“Shut up,” you say in English. You put your foot on her broken knee and stand on it. She wails even harder. You’re looming over her as you unsheathe your sword. Her sobs are the only sound left in the room. You seethe in silence. Like you always have. 

You raise the blade above your head like an executioner with his axe and bring it down over her neck. Her head comes apart from her body. There’s a thud as she settles on her back. The sword snaps as it strikes the concrete from the weight of your full strength. You stumble forward. Sometimes you forget how strong the serum has made you.

For a moment, it’s quiet. Just the sound of your ragged breathing. You can’t tell if you can’t catch your breath because you’ve been shot or because of something else.

Then, “Holy shit.”

You whip around and aim your gun at the voice by the doorway. 

“Woah, woah, woah. Don’t shoot me, partner,” says Agent Hunter.

Блядь.

You put your weapon away but don’t say anything.

He looks at the blood on your face and the broken sword you’re holding onto like a lifeline and the body at your feet. The woman’s eyes are still open. Locked in a panicked gaze. Then he blanches and turns away. The sound of him throwing up almost makes you hurl too.

“Hunter,” you pant, finding your voice.

But he’s backing away with his hands out like you’ll get him next. “You’re sick.”

More footsteps come down the hall and a group of agents checks on him. It’s over for you as soon as the first new arrival sees the body and the blood on your hands. Oh my god, he says. The judgement rolls through the crowd that’s begun to amass. 

Agent Hunter is out of your sight now but you can hear him. “He fucking killed her. She was on the ground begging for her life and he fucking chopped her head off.”

Your face heats up and your heart is pounding something crazy in your chest because you still haven’t caught your breath. There’s too many people in the room. Too many eyes on you. You can hear every gasp, every hitch in their breathing, every whisper. It’s driving you nuts. Why can’t they just mind their own fucking business. 

They’re going to kill you for this. You’re injured and vulnerable. There’s a dozen of them now and they’ve all got guns. 

“What the fuck are you all looking at?” You yell. “Get out!” 

They stare at you for another moment before shuffling away. 

You think you see a glimpse of fire-red hair in the crowd. There one second, then gone. Like the flicker of a flame.

Rumlow is the first one to approach you. He doesn’t touch you, doesn’t come too close. “Come on, man,” he says in the same rough voice he always uses. The familiarity is good. “It’s time to go.”

—

The girl with the blood red hair stops at a small grove of trees. She tells the boy it is time. She cannot go further.

The boy stops because the girl is the strongest person he knows. If she says she cannot go on she must mean her feet have fallen off. But he is also confused because there are supposed to be weeks and weeks left. This is not right. 

The girl curses and curls into a ball at the base of a skinny, bare tree. Because she knows this too. Stupidly, she thinks if she makes the area around her stomach just a little warmer everything will be okay. She is desperate.

But their luck has run out. The girl was good at keeping secrets and when the secret could not be kept any longer a man named Ivan put her on a long-term espionage mission. The boy has always disliked this man whom the girl looks to like a father but he owes him for this. 

But things went sour as things happen to go and when the girl sent the message from the cabin the boy should not have come. But this was a thing worth running for. 

Miracles do not exist.

The boy sinks into the snowy ground next to the girl. She turns her face toward his and they press their foreheads together Like a kiss, but with the tenderness that can only be born from the innocent. I love you, the girl tells him. 

The boy tries to be brave even though he is scared. I love you too, he says. No matter what happens.

—

They make you go to medical when you get back because everyone was watching you on the plane and it was obvious you had a bullet in your side.

You sit in a private room that’s got a door instead of just curtains between beds. But it’s not really private because there’s a doctor and two armed guards at the door. All three of them stare at you. They haven’t gone so far as to handcuff you but you know you’ve taken a huge step back. 

The doctor introduces herself as Helen Cho and asks, “Are you able to remove your shirt?”

You don’t want to take your shirt off. It leaves you too vulnerable. And you don’t want them to see your back.

“Agent, there’s a bullet in your torso. Remarkably it hasn’t hit anything vital. And by some miracle you’re sitting up like nothing’s wrong. But I still need to take it out. It’s not supposed to be in there.” She is direct but still somehow soft-spoken. You don’t like being in this white room with these strange people but you suppose she could be worse.

You fidget with your hands. You’ve washed them but there’s still red on your palms, dried flakes under your fingernails. Finally, you say, “I can get it out myself. I’m sure you’ve got better things to do.”

“I would be more comfortable if you would let me do it. Have you ever extracted a bullet before?” You shake your head. “It’s tricky, it requires precision, and it hurts the person it’s in. It’s hard to keep your hand steady when you’re in pain.”

You glance up at the agents keeping guard. “Sure I know.” 

Doctor Cho notices and waves at them. “Would you mind giving us some privacy?”

“Ma’am, we have orders to keep him under supervision.”

“He’s injured. You can stay right outside the exam room. Nobody is going to disappear into thin air.”

“But–”

“I’m the doctor. And this is my patient. You can wait outside,” she says sternly.

And this time they listen. “We’ll be right outside.”

She turns back to you. “Better?”

You nod slowly, finally drawing in a larger breath. Your side ignites in fire and you gasp, which only makes it hurt worse. Your hand flies to the wound, hovering over it. 

“Getting shot isn’t fun, is it?” She asks, not waiting for an answer. “Now there’s two ways we can do this. You can lay here and let me help you or I can have you sedated.”

“No,” you wave a hand at her. “No, don't do that.”

“Okay I won’t,” she assures. “But I’ve been at this long enough to know some people need a little extra help. It’s all right.” She pauses. “I still need to see the wound site. I’ll walk you through it every step of the way,” she offers.

“You will?” 

“Of course.”

You hesitate. Maybe it’s to stall a little longer. Maybe because you actually care. “You’re not worried about being in here alone with me?”

“Why would I be? You’re not going to attack me, are you?”

“No,” you say. “But you have to be wondering why I’ve got a couple of angry looking sitters.”

“Sure,” she shrugs. “‘I’m curious. But I don’t make a habit of judging people I don’t know. And besides. I’m a doctor. I’d treat you no matter what.”

“So there’s no limit?”

“No, I’ve got a limit.”

“Yeah? What’s that?”

“It’s for people who think they can talk their way out of treatment,” she says, looking you in the eye. “Come on.”

Slowly, you maneuver your right arm out of the t-shirt. The movement stretches your side and it hurts but you grit your teeth and push through the pain. You leave your shirt on around your neck and left side. The wound is still oozing blood just above your right hip. You figure she has enough room to work.

Doctor Cho sighs. She takes a once-over glance at your body. Her attention locks on the bullet wound then flickers to your back then refocuses again. 

“You’re probably going to want to lay down.”

You oblige and she comes over with gloves on her hands but no mask on her face. You’re grateful for this. The doctors in the Red Room always wore masks and headgear that made them look less human. They also didn’t talk. Not to you anyway. And their notes always had the word “Subject 094” instead of your name.

You swallow as she sits on a stool by your side with a pair of forceps and a pen light. You don’t know when you'd gotten so sweaty. 

“I’m going to locate the bullet and extract it. Sound good?”

You nod and she waits. “Yes,” you say. 

She clicks on the flashlight and puts a cool hand on your stomach. “Last chance. You sure you don’t want to go under for this?”

“I’m sure.”

She presses down lightly with two fingers around the entry site. It hurts but it doesn’t really hurt until the fourth spot she touches. You suck in air through your teeth and clench your fists.

“I started working in the medical field because I wanted to cure cancer,” she says. “My passion was research, but my parents wanted me to get my M.D. They said there’s no success in research. So I did both. I have an M.D. for them and a Ph.D. in biomedical research for myself.” 

You focus on her words, imagining a younger Doctor Cho in your mind. She can’t be much older than you. “You must be some kind of genius,” you grit around a clenched jaw.

She blushes, and even though there’s a pair of forceps lodged way too deep inside your torso the pain eases a little. “Nothing like that. I just worked hard. And you know the crazy part? I ended up loving the patient work almost as much as I loved running tests in a lab. So my parents had the right idea after all, just for the wrong reasons.”

You’re looking at her face now instead of her hands and trying to memorize the slight purse in her lips and the brightness in her eyes. This is her arena, her fight.

“Сука!” You curse and jolt a little.

“Steady,” she says. “I’ve got it. Just have to pull it out.”

You try to draw in deep, steady breaths through your nose and out your mouth. “Great.” You can’t watch anymore so you squeeze your eyes shut and tell yourself pain is only a mental construct even though it really doesn’t feel that way right now.

There’s a clink and a rattle and Doctor Cho says, “The hard part is done. I’m going to clean, stitch, and bandage you now.”

“So you’ve given up on curing cancer to take bullets out of idiots instead?”

“No. Actually, I work in research almost full time now. They’ve got a pretty nice lab here. You should stop by, if you’re not too busy catching more bullets.” She doesn’t look you in the eye as she says this. 

“This is my first time getting shot.”

“There shouldn’t be a first time,” she counters.

“You said you do research almost full time now. Should I feel special, then?” You smile.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself. You’re a disturbance to my day off, actually.” She takes a bottle of water and flushes it through your wound. 

You hiss. “Please remind me never to get shot again.”

“If you come through here injured again I’ll kick you out,” she says, smiling. “I thought you all had armor for this type of thing. What’s it called, again? Oh, yeah. A bulletproof vest.” She wipes the rest of the blood from your skin.

“I don't wear those. Too much of a restriction on movement. Agility is the most important thing out there.”

“I don’t know about that. Sounds like I’d want this thing that keeps me from ending up on the wrong side of this bed.”

You shrug. Because she’s running thread through your skin and it hurts more than you try to let on. Maybe she has a point.

Doctor Cho retrieves a roll of bandages from a cabinet in the corner. “This part will be easier if you stand up.”

You stand and stumble. You have to catch yourself on her shoulder. “Sorry,” you say. “Might have lost a little bit of blood recently.”

“You don’t say.”

You fix her nametag, the picture smiling shyly back at you.

She wraps the bandage taught around your stomach. “No strenuous activity until I clear you, understand? Nothing that raises your heart rate too much. And I want to see you back in three days. Think you can manage?”

You shrug back into your shirt. “Does that mean I can’t go to my underground fighting club tonight?”

She makes an overexaggerated frown. “I’m afraid so.”

“Thank you, Doctor Cho,” you say earnestly.

“Don’t mention it.” And as you put your hand on the door knob, she adds, “Call me Helen.”

You smile over your shoulder. “See you in a few days Helen.” 

Your personal guards march you down to Kremer’s office. You tell them you’re sure you can get there on your own but they’re not in all that talkative of a mood.

Kremer is standing over his desk, arms braced against the wood like he’s trying to ground himself. He has his glasses on but removes them when you enter. He makes a dismissive motion with his hand and the guards disappear, shutting the door behind them.

“Sit down,” he says. When you don’t move he says it again, louder. “Sit down! That’s an order.”

You sit but he doesn’t. He stands, hovering over you like some angry buzzard.

“What the fuck was that? I’ve got a dozen eyewitness reports saying you beheaded some defenseless woman. You want to tell me something different happened?”

“Sir,” you start, cautiously. Because even though a plan is already in your mind to bolt you would rather not have to sleep with one eye open tonight. “I don’t know how you have a dozen eyewitness reports. Agent Hunter was the only one present for the moment of death.”

“I don’t care,” he says. “I don’t fucking care if it was one person or fifty people or just God himself as witness. Did you do it?” “She shot me first. She wasn’t exactly defenseless.”

Kremer mutters to himself under his breath. “But you didn’t need to chop her goddamn head off! I’ve seen the pictures. Looks like an excessive use of force to me. Was she threatening you when you did it?”

“She could’ve had another weapon under her shirt or in her waistband. I made a call.”

“Hunter said she was sobbing, begging you not to kill her.”

“That doesn’t mean anything! She could have been acting. I’ve seen it done a hundred times.”

“You Reds and your excuses,” he shakes his head. “It’s my ass when you pull some stunt like this, do you understand? I don’t know how you did it back in Russia but here we don’t go around beheading people like barbarians. And if you don’t want to end up in some hellhole I suggest you get yourself up to our bar, quickly.”

“You think I did that just because? The bitch shot me first! I just spent twenty minutes having a bullet dug out of my stomach because of her.”

“Yeah, I think you did,” he points a finger at you. “I think you’re a fucking animal who was just waiting for some excuse to make another person suffer. I know your type. You get off on this kind of violence. If it was up to me you’d be rotting out in the middle of the ocean right now.”

“What the fuck?” You sputter. “I don’t–”

“We’re done here. You’re on a month’s suspension.” He sighs, putting his glasses on and sitting down. “But if you step one toe out of line you’re out of here.”

You stand up far too quickly. The ache in your side flares like you’ve ripped it open again. 

“And I think you should know,” he adds. “Fury has given me complete authority over this matter. Whether you stay or go is my call.”

You salute him before you go, pretending your eyes could burn holes through his skull.

The agents turned guards aren’t waiting for you when you leave Kremer’s office so you head back to your room. Your side hurts even worse now. The adrenaline has worn off. Every step you take makes you want to sink to the floor. 

By the time you make it across campus to the barracks you’re sweating a little and breathing hard. You’ll have to tell Helen you broke her rule. 

Natalia is in your room, sitting on the edge of the bed in her mission suit. Her hair is still braided back, little flyaways sticking to the back of her neck. 

“How did you get in here?” You ask.

“You’re all right,” she says in relief. She crosses the room, one hand on the side of your neck, the other on your cheek. 

“Yeah,” you breathe, putting a hand on her arm. “Can I sit? I’m not exactly totally good.” You don’t wait for her to answer before almost collapsing into the chair at the desk in the corner.

“What happened?” You look up at her, thinking about how you saw her in the crowd. How she didn’t come up to you. Didn’t defend you.

“I was shot,” you say. You lift the edge of your shirt up, just enough to reveal the bandage.

She sits on the bed again. “And?” She prompts, head tilted slightly. 

“And I got it patched. But it still hurts,” you say. Because you’re not going to give her what she wants to know yet. She has to play her hand first.

“I heard what happened. On the jet. People were talking.”

“People were talking,” you say, looking away and nodding your head. 

“They were,” she answers. “And I thought maybe you weren’t coming back. You know how people like to talk. Things get embellished. But you’re okay. They let you off. Right?”

“I don’t know,” you say flatly. You look right at her so she can’t hide. “Were they embellishing? You can cut the shit Natalia. I know you were there.”

She is quiet, but she doesn’t look away. “I saw the aftermath. That doesn’t mean I know what happened. Only you can know that.”

“Why don’t you ask your buddy Matt?” You spit his name like it is a curse. “He saw most of it. And I’m sure he wasn’t shy about telling everyone.”

She stands, says your name. She is already close, but takes two steps to completely close the distance anyhow. “I don’t care about what happened. I just care that you’re okay.”

You look up at her. She is frowning down at you like you are some wounded dog. You want to ask her why she did not ask this thing when you were standing alone, a dozen pairs of eyes on you. But you know. Oh you know. She did not want their judgement to pass to her, did not want to be seen with the outsider with blood on their hands.

And maybe, part of her was scared of him too.

So you don’t ask. Instead, you say, “And if I told you they were outside the door waiting to take me away?” You come back to a way she has already disappointed you.

She takes a breath. You search her face. She searches yours. “Then you would need to disappear.” You wait for the second part. About how she would let you go but in a month’s or year’s time it would be her sent to hunt you down. It would be her with the gun to your head. Because she was the only one smart enough to find you, ruthless enough to betray you. She was the only one you would ever lose to.

You lower your head. You need to stop pulling open this wound. Things are hard enough.

But then. She rakes a hand through your hair. “And I would need to disappear too. I’d kill everyone in here for you, you know that. If it came down to it, I would leave with you too.”

This is new. She has not yet chosen you over them. You feel an opening.

Your head snaps back up. “We can go.”

“But they’re not coming. They’re giving you a chance.”

“I don’t want a chance,” you say. 

“Don’t say that,” she shakes her head. “You can’t say that.”

“Why are you so adamant about staying here?” You are getting frustrated. “You left the Red Room because you were a pawn but now you want to serve some other cause. It doesn’t make sense.”

“Because I’m not going to spend my life on the run, in the shadows. Not when I can do something with it.” She sighs, her gaze turning melancholic. “I need. I need to make up for all the pain I’ve caused.”

“There’s nothing to make up for,” you argue. She was already perfect. “The world needs a little pain. Humanity will never go in the right direction without it.”

She shakes her head. “We can’t control everything.” She puts her hand on your cheek. You hate yourself for leaning into it. You hate her because she knows how to make you pliant. 

You think of all the other times she’s touched you like this, the times she’s made you feel chosen only to turn away the next moment with apathy in her eyes. Because she is a mask of indifference, a one-night flirt. But for you she’s made an exception. You’ve seen her come apart, seen her struggle to be human. But still. Some part of you whispers, “trap.” She is just using you to keep herself afloat. After all, she is first and foremost a survivor. If anyone was going to make it out alive it would be her.

“But we could,” you say.

“No,” is her only answer. She says it like she is watching you drift away and she cannot follow. 

Maybe you are. Or maybe she is the one leaving you.

—

You dread having to talk to Willem after the incident. You know what he is going to ask about before he opens his mouth.

“I heard you had an eventful last week.”

“Are you going to lecture me too?”

“Maybe,” he smiles. It’s a cheeky smile without teeth, but the corners of his eyes wrinkle all the same. “I heard you got yourself on some kind of double probation. I didn’t know that was possible.”

“You hear what I did?” You ask. Part of you hopes he hasn’t. You’d never admit it, but you don’t mind him. Whatever this was was weird. But it would be a shame for it to change now.

“No,” he says. “And I don’t care to. I want to know what you think. I’ve known Kremer for a long time. He’s a hard ass.”

“You’re telling me,” you scoff. “He needs to come in here.”

Willem laughs. It’s a nice, hearty sound. But he keeps whatever he had found funny to himself. He steadies himself with a hand on his knee. “You think he’s unfair.”

“I mean, yeah. He doesn’t give me the time of day. It’s like he’s out to get me.”

“Do you think he was wrong to suspend you?”

You hesitate. “I don’t know,” you shrug.

“Oh, come on, you can do better than that.”

You hated Kremer but you also hadn’t lost control like that in a long time. But that wasn’t exactly your fault either. She was dead the moment she pointed a gun at you. What did it matter how you’d done her in? And she’d only shot you because you’d hesitated. That was Kremer’s fault for yelling at you so much about restraint. You pivot instead. “Have you ever killed anybody?”

Willem frowns at that. You think it’s not so much at the content of the question, but at your lack of answer for his. “Yes,” he replies.

You wave your hand in a vague gesture. “Then you know.”

“You’re going to have to be a little more specific.”

“The feeling,” you wave again. “I don’t know. That rush when you, you know.” 

“The bloodlust,” he supplies.

“Sure,” you say. “That seems a little extreme.” 

“That’s the name we had for it in the army. Everyone had a similar story. Some guy in their platoon you wouldn’t have thought would make it a week. He’s too skinny or he wets the bed or he cries at night. Whatever. But by some miracle he survives. And one day he’s toe-to-toe with some enemy combatant. Everyone thinks he’s a goner. But he gets his first kill. And it’s not from some machine gun a few hundred yards away or a mine he rigged up. No. This is personal, it’s bloody. From then on the guy’s an animal. Nobody makes fun of him anymore cause he might claw your eyes out. The bloodlust.”

You shake your head. “Not like that. Just in the moment. When it’s you or them. Everything else fades out. You get this urge. Like something has to break. And it can’t be you.”

“Sure,” he says. “In the moment. But you can’t go on living like that all the time. Or you end up like that batshit private.”

“That’s all it was,” you say. “I don’t get why it’s not acceptable for me to blow off a little steam.”

“Because it’s dangerous. If you can’t control yourself you shouldn’t be out there.”

“So you’re taking Kremer’s side, now?”

“It’s not about sides. But you have a job to do. And there’s standards you have to abide by. You think I could do this if I flew off the handle with every client?”

“You’ve yelled at me,” you point out.

“You’re the exception.”

You roll your eyes.

“Do you feel good about what you do?” He asks.

“I don’t feel bad about it,” you say, although it’s only a half-truth. You used to feel terrible when you had to hurt someone. You didn’t want to do that. But time went by and you got used to it. You had to. There’s only a twinge left now. You call it respect for the dead.

“Let me rephrase. Do you like what you do?”

“Define ‘like.’”

He ponders for a second. “If you were free to do anything you wanted, would you still be here?”

“That’s a stupid hypothetical. No one is free to just do as they please.”

“I think we are. Or at least we should be.”

“So walk up out of here right now,” you say, gesturing at the door. “Try your luck begging for money on the street. See how you like your freedom then.”

“I’ve walked away once before. That’s how I ended up here.” Of course he’s got a story for everything. “My first job after I left the military was private security. Ex-military means a lot more to civilians than it does to anyone who actually served. It was nice. I never once pulled out my gun. I had to babysit these assholes who thought way too much of themselves but it paid. About two-and-a-half times what I’m doing here. And all I needed was my high school degree.

I worked awful hours. Wasn’t at home much. But it didn’t matter because I was supporting them. Giving them the life my father couldn’t give me.

Then I got this gig. Full-time bodyguard for some idiot who was going to pay half a million a year. I took it and realized I wasn’t happy. My family wasn’t happy. So one night I don’t show up. They called and I said I couldn’t make it. My kid had a ball game.”

“You just left?” You ask.

“Yes. I realized life is short, and you only get one. I needed to reprioritize, so I did.” Willem pauses to give you that look he always does. As if you can’t hear him if he doesn’t stare you down “It can be done. So let me ask you again.You’ve been given a second chance. What the hell are you going to do with it?”

“Of course that’s what this is about,” you say, throwing yourself into the chair back. “You just want to make sure I’m on the right side. You and Kremer playing ‘good cop, bad cop.’”

“Cut the crap,” he retorts. “I couldn’t care less about that. You’ve been given a fresh start. You have a world of opportunity ahead of you and you’re throwing it away. Do you know how many people would kill to have a re-do like this?

“I didn’t ask for this,” you say, throwing your hands up.

“Then why are you still here?” He asks, his voice flat. “Someone like you, the prodigy you are doesn’t just get taken in by the enemy without a fight. And he certainly doesn’t stick around for no reason.” 

You are silent. You can’t admit that you came here for Natalia. And you definitely can’t admit you’ve stayed because this place hasn’t been so bad after all.

“Nothing to say?” He taunts. 

You don’t answer.

“Then we’re done here.” He stands and walks to the door.

“What?” You ask, incredulous. Because he can’t just quit. That’s not how this works. You jump up and follow him.

“You think you’re some martyr,” he says, opening the door. “You’re crucifying yourself for things you’ve been given a real chance to overcome. I’m not here to watch you jump into an early grave.”

“Fuck off,” you yell, slamming the door shut. “You want to talk about martyrdom? Why haven’t you made amends with your wife?”

“Because I did a terrible thing,” he says in that annoyingly calm voice of his.

“You fucked up!” You pace a few steps away. “But you don’t want to put in the work to fix yourself. So much for all the love you have for your family.”

“That’s my call to make.”

“That’s right. It’s your fucking call and you’re making the wrong one. Some people they fuck up and they own up to it! What are you doing? Coming in here and hiding behind someone else’s problems so you don’t have to look at what a mess your own life is!” You’re shouting and you can’t keep your hands still. 

He stands across from you, hands in his pockets. He says your name, tells you to look at him. “Why are you here?”

You stop and put your arms down. Because he is calm, and you are not. It’s like nothing you’ve said has stuck. 

“Look at you, tough guy. You’ve got a smart remark for everything but you won’t answer this simple question. Because you can’t face the truth.”

He opens the door again. And this time, you walk through it.

—

You wake tied to a chair. It is because your eyelids are heavy like lead that you jerk and try to escape without reason first. You breathe from your nose because when you tried to take a panicked inhale through your mouth there was something gagging you out. 

Look who’s awake, a deep voice says. Looks like you won the bet.

You settle because the rope wrapping over the entire length of both your forearms and your ankles gives you no other choice. You are stripped down to your underwear but still you sweat. You are in what looks like an office with the furniture removed. There is a man you do not recognize and a woman you do.

Evgenia looks nothing like the woman you have been working on and off with for six years. Nothing like the woman who scolded you but not for the same reason as anyone in the Red Room. She told you you had to stop hiding your injuries because you are a kid and not a dog and showed you the real world was not as intense of a picture as you believed. 

She showed you new foods and taught you the songs her grandma taught her even though she could not sing. And one night after a particularly gruelling mission she told you you had to draw lines between what was okay and what was not. That nobody could tell you what those were except yourself. You have to listen in here, she said, pointing to your heart. And don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.

There is more to life than just the fight. You just need to look up.

Her face was also the one you saw as you felt a prick in your neck and a tiredness began to consume your body.

You look at her now, at her cold gaze and think what a glorious trick she has pulled on you. You challenge her to be the first to look away as you search for an ounce of guilt in her posture and find none. In the end it is you who breaks away first.

The man, who is dressed in a black shirt and black pants approaches you and takes the gag from your mouth. He tells you he has a few questions about Dreykov and the Red Room. He tells you you all are an outdated parasite on modern Russia and need to be excised. Let me demonstrate, he says, picking up a thin knife. He grabs your bicep and you try to jerk away but the rest of your arm is tied down and even though you are awake the world still feels out of focus.

Everything becomes clear real fast when he starts sawing at your arm. You don’t scream, managing to minimize your agony into a series of gasps and grunts. This is a yet undiscovered pain. He comes away with a little piece of your skin. He holds it in front of your face and flaps it like it is some sort of banner. Like this, he says. You know the air is not burning even if your arm is trying to tell you it is.

You look at Evgenia. She is standing back a few paces, arms crossed. 

Where is the Red Room? The man asks.

I’m not telling shit, you say, even though it feels a little like your brain is having trouble connecting to your mouth. You think I’m some traitor? You would all be lost without us. Dreykov is going to–

He slices at you again, this time on your shoulder and you can’t stifle the yell that emerges. You clench your fists and fight to get away but it's no use. 

You can’t help but look at Zhenya like she is a source of comfort. Like she might help you. She says your name. Just tell him and this can end. Please, you don’t have to do this to yourself.

Go to hell, you grit. The man grips you by the hair and takes a large patch of skin from your neck. You scream. You had never thought there could be this much pain without a single drop of blood.

He steps back. Where is the Red Room? You stare at him, breathing hard. The rope digs into your skin. You ache to put your hands around his throat. You are going to regret this, you say. You should know who you’re messing with. 

Oh, he says, cocky. He waves the knife at you. But no one will know it was us, you see. 

Kill me, go ahead.

I’m not going to kill you, no. You’re very valuable property. Very marketable. You are only the second man in history to get Russian version of super serum and not go batshit insane. Did you know this? Yes, there are powerful people who would pay a lot to have you in their arsenal. And they already have. You’ll be someone else’s little hound soon. And guessing at who our buyer is, you won’t even remember this conversation after they do what they do.

He holds the knife to your cheek. Too bad keeping this pretty face intact was not a part of the deal.

Wait, Evgenia speaks up. Let me.

He backs off and shrugs. All right.

She takes the scalpel and kneels before you. Hey, she says. Hey, hey, look at me. You must still be pretty out of it because you thought you were looking at her. Just tell us what we want to know and this can end. Don’t make me do this. 

You are looking into her eyes and you think you see a little bit of the woman you thought she was. I trusted you, you whisper.

I know, she frowns, mocking. I’m sorry. She starts to cut at the skin on your thigh. It feels more painful than any of the other times because she is the one doing it. You watch the strip of skin come loose and then think you must be dreaming because she turns away and rushes at the man. 

She stabs him in the stomach with the scalpel and throws a punch at his head. He is caught off guard and stumbles back. Without hesitation he rips out the blade and swipes at Zhenya. She takes a couple of quick steps back. 

You strain anew at the rope holding you down but it is thick and unforgiving and wrapped around your arms and legs like a python. 

He presses forward with the blade out, forcing her to work around him. She takes a step too close and he slices her across the stomach. Blood begins to bloom and stain her shirt a shade darker. But she is quick, she cuts at his wrist and forces him to drop the knife. Then, without missing a beat, she tackles him to the ground.

But he is bigger than her, stronger. He shoves her into the wall and dives for the scalpel. It lies just outside of his reach. Evgenia seizes the opportunity. She kicks it farther from his grasp and scoops it up. 

She turns around just as he tries to get her from behind. The scalpel cuts deep through his throat. Blood sprays from his neck onto her face as if from a fountain. His hands raise and try to staunch the bleeding but it is already too late. He falls first to his knees and then flat on the floor. He gurgles as he tries to draw his final breaths and then it is quiet. 

Zhenya stumbles backward, holding the wound on her stomach. You are still trying in vain to break free from your bonds. She curses and comes to you with the knife. You flinch a little when she points it at you. She apologizes. I didn’t know what to do, she says. This was the only way. I didn’t want to hurt you.

It’s okay, you tell her as she saws through the coils and coils of rope. You forgive her easily, instantly. You don’t think you could have been mad even if she truly had betrayed you. Because you will always be that twelve year old kid with fists aching from the weight of your anger. And she will always be the one to catch your wrists and demand you let go. 

She gets your clothes for you and you try to ignore how the fabric sets your raw skin aflame. Then, you stare down at the body of the other SVR agent. Zhenya has made herself a traitor because of you. She has ruined her life. You are not worth that sort of action. You shouldn’t have done that, you say. You should’ve let him have me.

No, she says. You are where I draw my line.

Her words make your heart pound and your face heat up. You will not cry because you haven’t for years and it would be ridiculous to now. You have recently turned eighteen after all. You are a proper adult now with proper responsibilities. That’s why they came after you.

You’re going to have to disappear, you say. 

I know.

I can’t know where you go.

I’ll find you, she says. When it’s safe. I promise.

You want to say it will never be safe. But you cannot entertain the notion you will never see her again. When it’s time you walk out first. So when they ask you where she went you can look them in the eye and say you don’t know.

—

Two months later and you have been carving room out for yourself. There is no back so you look forward. You tell yourself you can leave anytime you want. 

The hole in your side has healed, thanks to Doctor Cho. You went and saw her three days later like she’d asked. You checked the medical wing first, asking after her. Most of the staff avoided looking at you, but one nurse told you she didn’t work around here anymore and that you should check the laboratory building.

You thanked her and apologized for the disturbance. Perhaps your reputation was getting a little too out of hand after all.

The scientists in the research building weren’t much better either. They all stared at you when you entered, but that might just have been because they’re not used to talking to a huge circle of people.

“I’m looking for Doctor Helen Cho,” you said.

You were directed down a hall and into a different room. She was there, black hair tied up in a bun, talking to another person in a white coat.

“Doctor Cho,” you said, feeling somewhat off-put in this place. You couldn’t even name half of the equipment in here. 

She turned around, a smile lighting up her face when she saw you. That was nice. It didn’t happen with a lot of other people. She greeted you. “Let me wash my hands,” she said. “We can talk in my office.”

She discarded her gloves and safety glasses and the two of you walked down the hall into a small office.

“How are you feeling?” She asked, sitting on the edge of her desk.

“Okay,” you replied. “All things considered.”

“Can I take a look?” 

You shrugged. “What am I here for?”

She unwrapped the bandage and stared down at your side. You could see the gears turning in her head. “Well this isn’t right,” she said.

You couldn’t help but smile, just the edge of your mouth turning up. “Am I going to die, doc? Don’t tell me it’s too late.”

She shook her head, still unable to look away from the wound. “No,” she replied, so enraptured she’d missed your joking tone. “This is. This is incredible. It looks like a graze wound. Are you sure you got shot?”

“I didn’t let you take a bullet out of me for kicks.”

Now she looked up at you, eyes wide. You were smiling because her awe was infectious. You’d never impressed someone like this before. You were never good enough. They always wanted you to be faster, stronger, more durable. But the way she was looking at you said this was more than enough.

“How?” She breathed.

“I heal fast,” you said. 

She laughed and you found yourself thinking of more ways to draw the sound out of her. “No shit,” she said. “But I mean, this should be impossible. It won’t even scar.”

“You’re the genius scientist,” you said. “I don’t know how it works either, to tell you the truth.”

“I’ve never heard of anybody having genetics like this. But I suppose it’s possible. People have different heights and intellectual traits. Your cells must be able to process energy at triple the rate of anyone else.”

You tilted your head. “Eh, not exactly.” Then you paused because you’ve never talked to anyone about this before. And it was sensitive information. You eyed the woman in front of you. If you told her about the serum they’d stuck in your veins maybe she’d tell someone else, and then you’d be a rat in a cage. You couldn’t. So you smiled and said, “I should get back.”

For a second you thought she might press for more. She looked like she had a million more questions. “Do you think you have time for me to show you the lab?” Was all she said. 

You sighed in relief. You decided you liked her. So you let her take you into the lab and explain all the things you’d never understand. She was excited because they were on the edge of a breakthrough, she could feel it. She told you she was working on growing tissue so they wouldn’t have to rely so much on transplants. She hoped their work would save a lot of lives some day. She would be happy if she lived to the day it would save just one.

She was almost winded when she’d finished speaking. “Sorry,” she shook her head bashfully. “I’m not usually so talkative.”

“It’s all right,” you said. And it was. Because you’d had more attention on you in the last week than you thought you could handle. “The world needs more people like you.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re good. You’re not doing this for yourself. You’re going to help a lot of people.”

She looked down at her shoes. “I hope so.” When she looked back up at you her cheeks were a little red. “We should talk again. Outside of work.”

“That sounds nice,” you agreed.

Now you have come back from a mission gone slightly awry. The intelligence had been perfect, the lab waiting for you like a glowing jewel hidden beneath depths of concrete maze. There was nowhere to run when you broke the doors down and aired the place out.

The lead scientist put his hands up as soon as the bodies of his colleagues hit the floor. You were supposed to bring him in for questioning. You are looking right at the man and his empty hands when there is shouting and a single gunshot.

The target is dead, his head all exploded like rotten fruit. Ward holsters his gun. He says he thought the man had been reaching for a weapon. And that’s what all four of you report when Agent Hill asks you about it later.

It’s a problem because you are supposed to be the most seasoned strike team there is. It’s a problem because that scientist also functioned as an administrator and he could have led you to more cells.

It’s a problem because it’s not the first time something like this has happened.

It’s the third one since you’ve been here. There was the neo-Nazi who claimed he was part of a huge underground organization and the Russian politician who swore he would tell all in exchange for asylum. Both of them had become suddenly violent at the moment you tried to bring them in. Both are now dead.

The first time you had been confused. Then Rumlow looked you dead on and smiled, holding his index finger over his lips. Then you understood why they wanted you on their team.

Because they are imperfect, and so are you.

So you don’t tell your superiors the target had been subdued at the time of death. And they believe you because strikers are always like this, a little jumpy and a little imprecise. Consequences of pulling from ex-military and ex-police force pools.

But now you’re getting back from a long flight and an even longer debrief and Natalia is in your room with her arms crossed and an indecipherable look on her face. You’ve been on good terms. But you haven’t done that thing which is not a thing because it’s nothing where you lay with each other in the dark and communicate without speaking. 

So you find it odd that she’s in your room. 

“Hi,” you say, like a question.

“What are you up to?” She’s not asking what your plans are for the day. It’s dark out, and you’re exhausted.

You shake your head. “What are you talking about?”

“Maria is pissed. About the mission. And so is Fury.”

“So? It’s a shame the mission went bad but the target was hostile. He might’ve shot one of us. We’ll get the next guy.”

“Except this is the third time something like this has happened in as many months,” she says, slowly. “And you don’t make mistakes.”

You aren’t alarmed. She’s smart, smarter than you maybe. So you keep your face and body still like you’ve been taught and say, “I don’t. But they do. You must know I was never the one to pull the trigger.”

She huffs because you’re right. On paper nothing is afoot. But you know she has a feeling. You’re stubborn but so is she. “If something is going on you can tell me.”

“Nothing is going on,” you lie. Something definitely is. But you don’t care.

“I’m trying to help you,” she says. “Those agents you work with, you can’t trust them.”

“And how would you know that?”

“Because Clint,” she pauses to rub at her temple, “he doesn’t like them.”

“And that’s the end of the conversation?” You scoff. “Your new buddy says one bad thing and my team is suddenly suspicious.” 

“It’s not just him. Your ‘team,’ is made up of a bunch of assholes. Everyone knows it.”

“I didn’t know you held such high moral standards. Tell me, what is your squad up to, huh? You go out and you spy on people so you can throw them a big party?” You don’t want to be angry, not with her, but she is different now. She is jumping on you when she always used to give you the benefit of the doubt, when she always used to be on your side.

She has become a stranger and now she thinks she can barge back in and make you behave as she sees fit. Perhaps you never knew her in the first place.

“I never said that,” she says.

“No, but you think you’re better than everyone else. You always have. And now you’re acting all righteous because the director has made you his pet project.”

“You’re one to talk.”

“What does that mean?”

She scoffs. “Really? Dreykov Junior?”

“I’m not his son.”

“No, you just wish you were.”

You turn away and take a deep breath. 

Her voice is closer and softer the next time she speaks. “I didn’t mean for this to get so out of hand.”

You shake your head as if the motion would fling all the anger away like it was some pesky bug. “Me neither.” “I just wanted to make sure you weren’t in trouble. That’s all. I wanted to help you.”

You turn back to face her. “I don’t need help.”

“But you do.” Her face is a stone wall, a chiseled mask of indifference. 

You blink at her. It is dark outside, and you are exhausted. Your quarters which have always felt a little like a jail cell shrink in on you. “What?”

She sighs, like you are a child who doesn’t understand. “They think you’re a spy,” she hisses, like she’s not supposed to be telling you this. “They think you are a spy and that you are trying to find a way to bring them down.”

“I’m not.” They have it all wrong, you want to say. You’ve been exiled, but you can’t tell them that. Because then they’d know you’re cornered, and there’s nothing more vulnerable than being caught with your back to the wall.

“Then why are you here?” She asks. And you feel like she’s pushed you off the top of the building. Because she is truly asking this question. She thinks you are working against them too. Working against her. “You came here to retrieve me, right? And I said I’m not going back to that hellhole. So you have a new mission.”

You must have some sort of surprise on your face because something clicks in her eyes, like she’s solved a mystery. But you can’t tell her that no, no one sent you here after her, because she’d ask you why you had jumped ship like an idiot and you’d have to tell her you were scared. You don’t have the words to describe how panic had seized you by the throat when news of her capture reached you. How even the daydream of her death made you want to die too.

Because you are not a savior. And she is not supposed to be worth saving anyway. Everyone is expendable. No one is special. And she was just a warm body all those years.

And because you cannot say all this, cannot accept that you ruined your life like some emotion-poisoned whore, you say, “You don’t understand.”

She is quicker with her response, because she has the power. She has always had the power between the two of you. “Then help me understand.”

You shake your head more furiously and back away. “Why do you even care, huh?”

“Because I want to understand you! You have to give me something. You have to show them you’re trying.”

“I am trying.” Could she not see that? How you were killing yourself everyday you woke up in the name of S.H.I.E.L.D.? You shake out the wrist you normally wear your watch on.

“But they don’t think so. You can do better.” She approaches you a little too quickly. You can’t tell if her outstretched hands are trying to support you or strangle you.

You seize her by the shoulders before she can touch you. “That’s what this is about? You’re worried I might be a stain on your reputation?” You are loud but you don’t care because you are furious.

“No. No, I never said that. I don’t care about my reputation. I want to help you, but I can’t because I don’t recognize you anymore!”

Her face is flushed red like it’s never been before and it scares you so you let her go. “You think I need help?” You throw your arms up because she is ridiculous and so are you. “You think I can’t handle this?” And she is shaking her head and getting redder and the corners of her mouth are turned down in the shape of a frown. She is saying no but you aren’t hearing her. “My whole life I’ve been handling everything just fine! And guess what. I have never needed you.” You’re pointing at her and every time you shake your fist it feels like pulling the trigger of a gun.

“You think I don’t know what you’ve been through? I was there too. I get it but it is no excuse to keep protecting them!”

“It’s not that simple.” Because you had fought and you had suffered and you had had a role to fill. You still do. No, you weren’t just going to accept that you’d lost and roll over for the enemy. You can’t.

“It is!” She says. “S.H.I.E.L.D. is not perfect, but it is a fucking haven compared to back there. Why can’t you see that?”

“Because I’m not willing to turn my back on things so easily. I can’t just run from one thing to the next, changing who I am to fit in. I’m not like you.”

“Well then you are an idiot and a coward. And I see right through you.” You believe her. You feel so exposed under her gaze. “I’m not pretending to be someone else to fit in. I’m trying to be more than them, to be better. Fuck you.”

“Yeah? At least I’m not a spineless traitor. How could you leave? What has S.H.I.E.L.D. ever done for you?”

“Are you being serious right now?”

“Yes! The Red Room gave us everything.”

“The Red Room didn’t give us anything. It took our choices and our lives and it’s taking still. Look at yourself!” She thrusts her arms out at you and you flinch. Just a little, but you know she sees. Because you thought she didn’t care about all the ways in which you are ruined.

“I am better for all they put me through. It wasn’t easy, sure, but I’m not crying about it. They saved me!” You eye her, up and down, pretending you hate her. “And where would you be without them? Starving and pregnant by some guy you married who spends all his money on booze?”

“You’re fucking unbelieveable. I am not who I am because of them. I made myself.” She glares at you. You can’t look away. You hate this intimacy. She speaks slowly, making sure you hear every letter. “But they broke you.”

“I’m not broken,” you say, low, like the warning of thunder. You’ve been made in their image.

“You are! It’s not normal to beat children because they do not act like soldiers. It’s not normal to think of sex as a means to an end at twelve years old. But you still think it is! You think it’s all okay when it’s not! You are stuck with what they have told us and you’re too scared to break out.”

“I’m the scared one? You’re the one who ran away because she couldn’t handle it!”

“Maybe you’re not scared. But you should be. You should be terrified of the person you’ve become. Because the boy I knew, the boy who would take a slap over having to slap someone else wouldn’t be okay with this. But they told you you were the chosen one and suddenly it’s okay to let others suffer because you’re on top, right? You’ve forgotten what it was like to be treated like a slave.

Things changed for you. You got your uniform and they told you your name meant something. But things didn’t change for me, or for any of the other widows. They are still trapped like the dirt under someone’s shoe. Their names don’t matter because they are called ‘whore’ and ‘weapon.’ Just like mine didn’t. Until I forced people to see me.”

Her words scare you because there is a truth in them you’ve pretended like you could manage. It’s why Svetlana always dreamed of running off. Why Ekaterina tried to kill you after you’d accidently walked in on her and Anastasia. 

But you can’t let go. There is fear and pain when you submit. But there is so much more if you dare to go against them.

You scowl. “Well who had a hand in making me ashamed of that kid? I changed because I was chasing after you.” You point at her. “Perfect little Natasha.”

“You think I wasn’t scared too?” She retorts.

“Fine,” you say. “I’m evil then, is that what you want to hear? If I’m so bad, why don’t you just kill me for it?” Your heart is racing like you’ve been in a fist fight and your muscles keep flexing like you’re about to hit something.

“I don’t want you dead. I don’t. You придурок, I never said that.” Her eyes are shiny like she might cry and it spooks you because you can count on one hand how many times she’s looked like that. “I want to help you. But I can’t when you don’t talk to me.”

“And I don’t need help. I’m not some victim! You want some explanation for why I’m not good like you? You want to hear how they used to take me downstairs and whip me until I passed out and that’s why I’m so messed up? How I got into an argument with Dreykov once and he broke my jaw? You don’t want to know that shit!”

She is shaking her head and speaking calmer now, but you don’t hear her. You are somewhere else, lost in the storm of all those nights you can’t quite remember right. You are drowning in anger. Yours and Dreykov’s and the Widows’ and the Madames’ and the guards’. Building and building in your chest because you cannot let it go, it is not in your nature to not feel, to not care. 

She is coming at you again and she looks a little like Marina did that one night you slept together only because you had never been taught to say no.

“Get off!” You yell. She is blocking the door so you make a fist and pound it into the drywall next to her head.

She grabs your wrists and tells you to calm down. She says your name. “Look at me. Look at me.”

“I am looking at you!”

“I didn’t know. I didn’t know. But this is what I’m talking about. These are the things you have to say. The things I don’t know about you.”

You sneer back at her because she is strong and you are not and it’s the only way to protect yourself. “Don’t act like you don’t have your secrets too. But you wouldn’t tell me because you have to be so perfect all the time.”

 “I couldn’t, you’re right. But I will now. I will. Trust me.”

“But you’re a widow,” you say, cold and sober. “How could I ever trust you?”

“You don’t mean that,” she says. Because what she hears you say is that she is not human. That all she’s ever been and ever could be is a weapon. “Look me in the eye and say you don’t trust me.”

So you do. You look her square in the eye and say, “I don’t trust you.” 

Then there is fire in her eyes as she stands there and stares. “I hope you’re proud of yourself. You really are just like him.”

You almost slap her. She is standing tall with her chin up like she is waiting for it and you think you should knock her down a peg. 

But you don’t. You just walk around her and leave. Because she isn’t worth it.

Continue

[mhrarepairmonth]

Rules & Guidelines (pretty much everything you need to know)

Prompts ✦ AO3 Collection ✦ Asks/FAQ

Hey ghouls! As MH Rarepair Month creeps closer and closer, here are some rules, guidelines, and everything you need to know for this event!

Don’t hesitate to reach out if you have any questions, comments, or concerns that may not be addressed under the cut!

What is Monster High Rarepair Month?

This event is dedicated to super rare romantic pairings from all generations of Monster High. The 'spirit' (pun intended) of this event has its roots in crackshipping, any ship that has less than 10 works on AO3 is permitted. (see the fandoms tagged for g1, g2, g3, the g3 movies, and general 'toys' fandom tags to see if your pairing is eligible)

Monster High Rarepair Month will run during the entirety of September, with prompts being delegated on a week-by-week basis.

How do I participate?

Just create something about an ultra-rare pair! Whether it’s fanart, fanfic, edits, headcanons, meta, poetry, analysis, gifs (gifsets if you’re feeling fancy) - anything and everything you can think of is welcome! Following the prompts is encouraged, but if you’re really inspired by something outside of the prompt list or want to combine them in any way, that’s cool too! (PS - if you have a really niche crack pairing you've been waiting to show off, this is your time to shine!)

Please use the tag #mhrarepairmonth in your works as it will be tracked! You can also mention this tumblr, mhrarepairmonth, in your submissions if you want to be extra sure it gets reblogged!

Feel free to add your work to our AO3 collection! It's by no means required, but it's fun to have everything all in one spot.

All submissions will be reblogged to this blog by the end of each week. Late submissions are also permitted, whether it's by a week or even longer! :)

What pairings count?

As mentioned above, ships should not exceed more than 10 works in the above MH AO3 fandom tags. We’re counting counterparts from each generation as separate characters, so if there’s a ship with >10 ships but they’re marked under the Monster High (Toys) fandom tag, take a closer look and see if the pairing from whatever generation you want to create for is eligible! Some exceptions to our >10 fic limit may apply, see this post for more information.

Polyships/OT3s/OT4s+ are allowed, provided they also follow this rule. Get creative - maybe you'll even create an entirely new relationship tag in the process? :)

Since this is a ship-focused event, your work should be focused on a romantic pairing; even if the characters aren't explicitly dating, they should hold a romantic interest in one another. Incestuous pairings and selfshipping will not be included in this event.

Are crossovers allowed?

Unfortunately, crossovers from fandoms outside of Monster High won't be permitted (sorry EAH we love you 💔) Feel free to cross over the various generations of MH characters, though! As long as your pairing follows the rest of the rules, go crazy!

Other Rules

1. Follow general fandom etiquette; The principles of being kind and respectful of others’ works and don’t like, don’t read apply (for the latter, where applicable). Ship/character bashing will not be tolerated, and most importantly: tag your work properly!

2. Works that have been plagiarized or generated using generative AI will be excluded from this event.

3. NSFW works will be allowed - non-con/dub-con and adult/child relationships will not be permitted. Please be sure you follow Tumblr’s guidelines regarding explicit content. Worst case scenario, you can post your submission elsewhere and just link it here so it can be shared :)

4. Whitewashing, racism, transphobia, homophobia, ableism, sexism and any other forms of bigotry will not be tolerated. However, works that explore these themes (i.e, internalized homophobia) will be accepted, provided they are tagged with the appropriate warnings.

5. Have fun! Rarepair month is supposed be a fun and silly event to explore or create really rare pairings.

[graceshouldwrite]

How to Write Devastating Betrayals (Pt. 2)

[FIND PT. 1 on @ grace_should_write on IG, or by scrolling through my Tumblr profile!]

Here are more elements + tips on satisfying betrayals that will destroy both your characters AND your readers! Sorry for the wait... 😅 As usual, the examples all contain spoilers!

1. How does the TRAITOR feel?

This is first because I feel it's SO so undercovered. I've definitely seen lots of tips about viscerally describing the feelings of the betrayed, but...how does the traitor feel?

Let's use the example of cheating, universally recognized as one of the biggest forms of romantic betrayal. Obviously, the person getting cheated on will probably feel devastated, but this betrayal can be made even MORE gut-wrenching if the writer explores how the cheater feels.

Maybe there's guilt that occurs before, during, and after the cheating. It might build over time, going from a small tinge to absolutely crippling shame. The cheater will probably realize what they really lost after they get caught. Maybe they reminisce on all the good times they had with their proper partner and immediately feel thrown back into reality, asking themselves how they could ever have done what they did. Maybe, after all this, it still kills them to see their partner so hurt by their actions.

Guilt is one of the most common feelings traitors have after betrayals, but a portrayal of the flip side—a ruthless, pragmatic satisfaction—can also be interesting.

One of the best historical examples I've seen of this is the life of Joseph Fouché, a French politician active from the 1789 French Revolution all the way to 1816, during the Bourbon restoration. For reference, that's a crazy long period of time for any politician to hold so much (albeit behind the stage) power.

Aside from being a master at political scheming and intrigue plots, he was known as a "chameleon"—able to seamlessly and shamelessly shift his loyalties. He never really committed to a single group or person, always joining a group as soon as it became, or had the potential to become, influential, and leaving it (often actively working against it) as soon as the group was projected to lose power.

One of the biggest manifestations of this is the juxtaposition of his own childhood to his adulthood—he was raised and educated in the Church and even taught in a Catholic institution for a while during his young adulthood. He never harboured any sort of hatred against the Church.

Then, when the French Revolution rolled around and religion was seen as highly unpopular and ultra-traditional, he was one of the most enthusiastic church ransackers and dechristianizers. He wanted to "[abandon] the role of religion in society altogether" just one year after he'd advocated for "the role of the [Church] in education." He pulled this sort of turncoat trick on group after group, even including Napoleon.

While guilt is generally recognized as emotionally effective, the LACK of guilt in a traitor is a super underrated tool. Often, a lack of guilt can be even more surprising and jarring to the reader, eliciting not only sadness, but anger, or just pure shock at how depraved humans can be. If the context doesn't really call for those emotions, at least this type of betrayal will be quite memorable.

KEY POINT: If it's something 100% morally reprehensible, e.g. cheating in a safe relationship, a parent selling a child for money, a friend betraying another purely for power, etc., NEVER justify the traitor's actions.

Showing the side of the traitor doesn't exonerate them; it just allows the reader to get hit with the full complexity of both parties' emotions. Twice the turmoil!

Of course, in more morally complex cases, you could choose to mainly explore the traitor's actions and motivations. For example, Brutus betrayed his friend Julius Caesar because he thought Caesar was becoming a tyrant who would take away democracy from the Roman Republic.

Here, Brutus' betrayal could be condemned if you purely look at it as "a friend betraying a friend." However, it could also be justified if you see it more as "a person sacrificing a personal relationship for the greater good of a nation."

2. How does the BETRAYED feel?

This point is definitely covered more than the previous one, so it will be shorter. However, here are a few other ideas of how the betrayed character can feel/react instead of the typically seen, angry "WHAT THE HECK? No way! How dare you?!"

they had suspicions very early on, and the betrayal doesn't shock them as much as it confirms their beliefs -> emotions like sadness, disappointment, and generally less aggressive forms of resentment will probably come out. (e.g. I can't remember where I've seen this but I have lol...but have a meta example. Think of when YOU see a character with major betrayal flags actually betray! Isn't that feeling just...more quiet resentment than fury? Now, think of how a character would feel)

they are understanding. Even if they're surprised, they can see why the betrayed chose to do what they did and aren't as resentful as they are compassionate. (e.g. Il-nam when Gi-hun betrays him in the show Squid Game)

they accept it. Although similar, this is still different from "understanding" because the betrayed character doesn't necessarily sympathize with the traitor; they just acknowledge that they're powerless to do anything at the moment, and they won't waste any energy getting angry. (e.g. Jesus when Judas betrays him)

quiet horror. No room for aggressive resentment, just that slowly dawning feeling of fear or hurt when they realize it happened. (e.g. Lydia Rodarte-Quayle when Walter White betrays her at the very end of the show Breaking Bad)

A diverse range of reactions can help your reader be more emotionally receptive. Seeing the same type of reaction to fictional betrayals can be quite numbing—these less commonly used ideas can feel more like cutting open a fresh wound, instead of rubbing salt in an existing one, if you get what I mean...

3. Aftermath of the betrayal

I RARELY see this covered at all, so I'll slip this in here: Betrayal is MORE than just the moment, even more than the foreshadowing in events leading up to it.

One of the most important parts of betrayal is the aftermath. The key question to ask yourself is: what is left behind?

What is lost? What is left? Most importantly, WHAT HAS CHANGED?

Now's your chance to imply, or even show, how the betrayed person/people/party will recover. Will they do it healthily, or destructively? What does this mean for the future of their relationships (existing or potential), endeavours (are plans ruined or improved?), self-image, and anything else important?

For example, lots of characters go on their angsty, "I'll never open up to anyone ever again and I'll brood forever" arc after a betrayal. Still, others try to process the betrayal as it tanks their self-worth. Of course, there are characters who process their betrayal through healthier coping mechanisms. They might choose to continue trusting and being open in the future.

For bigger parties, it can be even more complicated. Was the traitor an important person in an organization? Will the organization collapse without them, or will it thrive because they were only in it because of non-skill-related reasons? How did other people in the organization see them? So many options!

The aftermath can amplify feelings of anger, sadness, emptiness, or anything else your readers feel after your betrayal. It also allows for a more satisfying story conclusion (if that's what you're going for). It will even help your readers be even MORE invested in your characters because a betrayal is another big milestone that they've now experienced along with your characters.

∘₊✧────── ☾☼☽ ──────✧₊∘

instagram: @ grace_should_write

WHEW! Took a while before I finally fished this one out of my drafts and continued it. I love LOVE media and historical analysis in general, so I hope the length of this post is kinda complemented by the information I tried to provide.

I hope everyone's doing well! I'm super excited for a grad trip to ITALY NEXT WEEK!!!! As such, I might miss a post over that weekend, but stay tuned for more posts that week before then! Thank you all so much for engaging with my posts, it means the world ❤️

Hope this was helpful, and let me know if you have any questions by commenting, re-blogging, or DMing me on IG. Any and all engagement is appreciated :)

Happy writing, and have a great day!

- grace <3

[hermitcraftheadcanons]

To Do List:

What's up, my Herd of Nerds?

Anyway, as you can tell, tomorrow is AU Sunday. But, because it's one after a 'my input' one, it's a follower input AU day! Yay!

So, send me your AUs and I'll put all of em in a hat to pick one randomly. The winner is picked and posted and we'll all try and make headcanons about your AU.

Done:

Zombie Apocalypse AU :: (https://hermitcraftheadcanons.tumblr.com/post/618314308275863552/zombie-apocalypse-au-masterpost)

Pirate AU ::

Currently In The Raffle:

-Toy Story AU.

-Ever After High/Descendants/Vaguely 'nex gen priness' AU.

-Eldritch Horror AU :: Or if that's a bit too out there, a more normal Monster AU. I don't care, but in my heart, I know Cleo is some kind of eldritch horror. Zombie is far too easy.

-Eldritch Monster AU! Hermits are all Lovecraftian horrors who all individually decided that they wanted to pretend to be normal and are all trying to hide their otherworldliness. I also feel like Mumbo or X or someone as the one actually "normal" player on the server would work well. Most hermits don't know that everyone else isn't normal either, but some find out about friends maybe.

-Rabid Debate Club AU :: Random weird au idea where it's basic hs/uni au but like two of them try to start a debate club, then invite some friends just so there's enough people; cut to like two months later, it's all the hermits just fighting over whether or not pineapple should go on pizza or not lol it isn't very good i'm sorry but ya know rabid debate club AU.

-Animal/shapeshifting AU :: (Suggested Twice.) Every hermit can shapeshift into one token animal. (If it's something like "dog," they can only turn into one breed and color of dog, EXAMPLE: doc can shift into a black sable belgian malinois, but not anything else.)

-Wedding Planners AU :: Hermits work in various unrelated businesses such as a bakery, flower shop, etc., but see each other semi-often bc they're semi-often called upon to work together by another hermit's wedding planning business (obvs if you couldn't tell i know absolutely nothing abt wedding planning & businesses n shit lol but it's the /concept/ of it yannknow)

-Avatar: The Last Air Bender AU. (Suggested Thrice.)

-Fusion AU :: (Also suggested by Anon.) (Suggested Twice.) What if Hermits could fuse with each other? (Viva and Jumbo fused into MumboJumbo.)

-SCP AU :: The hermits have spooky powers and are kept locked up bc of it (or they have to keep the world safe from monsters and cursed objects!)

-RPG AU :: I feel like someone already thought of that but I am just wondering about it lately :p -🍋

-Adventure Time AU :: The hermits live in a post-apocalyptic world and the Lich (bad guy) is making everything decay. They need to gather all the gems (belt colours) to unlock the Enchiridion (a book) and have one wish each granted from Prismo (multiverse wish granting dude) before the Lich does. Only 4 elements can enter the multiverse: Slime (The Lich & Jevin), Redstone (Tango or Mumbo?), Ice (Stress), and Dirt (Grian, much to his dismay). Only the elementals can see the book. Grian's the protagonist with his sidekick Scar. He originally started collecting the belts because they were shiny but eventually decided to read the book and find out what they were for when Scar said he didn't see it. Doc, False, and Iskall are major obstacles because they don't believe the book exists.</p>

-Total Drama Island AU.

-Magical Girl AU :: Zedaph's the lead magical girl and rounds up a bunch of other magical girl hermits.

-Pokeman AU :: What are the Hermit's roles in this world? Who's the Champion, Elite Four. Are they scientists? Trainers? Do they compete in competitions, do they specialize in types? Who's everyone's starter? Has anyone encountered any legendaries?

-College AU

-High School AU

-Wizard101 AU :: I (🦊) recently got this AU idea and recently started going off somewhere with it in terms of writing, but, like, Hermitcraft meets Wizard101. Tons and tons of magical shenanigans, monster hunting, and idk what else.

-Magic AU

-My Hero Academia AU :: Headcanons can be about which hermits would have what quirks and occupations based on them.

-So I'm writing an AU where there's a second game of Demise but 5 years later. So far the first 2 hermits (Joe and Xisuma) have died, and their dead forms are cracked with an arrow in his chest (Xisuma) and cyborg (Joe). So since it's Saturday, I'm looking for what some skins would look for.

-City AU :: I mean this is really just a normal everyday AU.

-School AU.

-Terraria-Minecraft Fusion AU :: Who chooses what class? what events do each hermit prefer? how to they deal with the world infections? preferred biomes? Favourite NPCS? It has potentiallllll.

-70s/80s Teen Horror AU :: (like Stranger Things, Carreie, The Lost Boys, Halloween, etc.) -🦇

-Demi-God AU :: Sort of like percy jackson (everyone being the children of different gods from all different cultures.)

-Supernatural AU

-Marching Band AU :: Xisuma is the band major and all the show music is the remixes. I need to come up with some ideas for uniforms. Outfits and flags for the colorguard too.

-Different Eras AU :: (Suggested Twice.) All the hermits are from different time periods or eras. Like Wels is from the mediveal/dark era, Mumbo is from 1890-1920's, Iskall is from 2030, TFC is from 2020(?), Cleo is from 2130, etc!!! Like the mobs/animals became feused with humans, is when the mob players came from.

-Star Trek AU :: Like maybe they could be on one ship and each have different roles like engineers or doctors? I don’t know if this has been suggested but hope you enjoy! - 🐦

-House Mates AU :: ApartmentAU but scaled down?

-Atlantis AU :: (Could be merged with Mermaid AU???)

-Fighting Game AU :: Some influences would be Street Fighter, Mortal Kombat, and Ultra Instinct, that kind of stuff.

-Time loop AU :: The hermits each have to deal with their own time loop.

(All those above in red are from our community's lovely Anons!)

-Superhero/superpower AU :: They each have a unique power/powerset that is in some way connected to their personality. (ie Mumbo *could* control electricity because of his love of redstone) Some Hermits may even choose to be "villains" and prank their other servermates. If you need power ideas, I've got a couple. (12u3ie)

-Daycare AU :: The recap peeps are the caretakers :P (-@tikauniverse.)

-Incredibly Long Cross Country Train Ride AU :: they all are in the same train car, telling stories of where they’re going, backstories.)

-Stuck In An Airport AU :: pretty similar to train au but they can be going diff places.

-Doctors AU :: they’re all doctors working at the same hospital.)

-Circus AU (Also suggested by an Anon.) (Suggested Twice.)

-Spy AU (Also suggested by @shadeswiftdraws.) (Suggested Twice.)

-Runaways AU :: The hermits are all teenagers who have run away from home, they all live on the streets until TFC takes them in. Head canons can be about backstories, living on the streets, or when they’re with TFC.

-Criminals and Police Officers AU

(-@lookitsspacekween)

-Dancer AU :: I mean, I already got a list kind of planned out, but headcanons for why specific styles are chosen would be appreciated! :) (usedtobelucythefallenangel)

-Broadway/Musicals Hermits AU :: The hermits are all casts of various musicals and when this newly-built theater opens up they all fight for which musical gets to play in it first (they have a riff-off maybe?) musicals mainly included are Hamilton, BMC, DEH, SiX, Beetlejuice, etc (feel free to add more!) (-@heyitsroby.)

-DnD AU (Also suggested by Anon.) (Suggested twice.)

-Mermaid AU :: In honor of the end of Mermay

-Space exploration AU :: There could be different ships, command centers, aliens.... Maybe someone could even get stranded/crash on a new planet? Who knows, could be fun.

-Paranormal/ghost hunter AU :: A couple Hermits could be the ghost hunters going to haunted locations to prove/disprove their hauntedness, others could be camera crew, owners of haunted buildings, or even the ghosts themselves.

-Camping/Vacation AU.

-Summer Cottage AU :: They all spend summers/weekends along the same shoreline and do different summer activities together. Outdoor fun and shenanigans!

-Space AU :: like star trek or similar.

-I would say evil clone au but I think that's pretty much the entire Hermitcraft tumblr right now lol. (Suggested twice.)

(-@shadeswiftdraws.)

-Magic AU :: Magic exists and all the hermits have powers. They can also summon a weapon but what that weapon is depends on the hermit. I'm thinking it'll take place in a sort-of Demise 2 in S7 with a big war. So far I've got: Grian - Cloning himself to his different personas (each has a different power). Xisuma - Making barriers, teleporting, and transforming into different mobs. Scar - Making mutant plants & boosting other hermits' attack & health. (-@datsaltyperson.)

-Demon AU :: Something enters the overworld and turns into a supernatural style-demon through Dimentional Distortion. Who gets posessed first, who goes crazy, and who actually kills it? Honestly I think that, if anything, Tango would know how to gank it, for obvious reasons. (-@fireflower-dusk.)

-High Street AU :: Everyone owns a different shop on the same street or some run a shop together (-@violets-arepurple.)

-Cat AU :: Either they're were always cats, or Hels turned everyone, including himself, into a cat, and they have to survive and overcome challenges in the Season 7 world. An example of a challenge would be Cub's a Sand Cat(the cats that always look like kittens no matter how old they are and live in deserts), and everyone's not sure if he can actually swim, so they have to find a way for him to get around without involving water. (-@scp10000.)

-How about a secret AU.. Every hermit has their big secrets and when Grian joined. He doesn't really know anything about those secrets even till season 7. Not many hermits talked to him in S6 anyway.. Mumbo was the closest to him so they would have regular chats For Iskall is mostly business related things Grian wants to know why so he set out on a quest to force the others to at least talk to him so he wouldn't be lonely. (-@babylightstudentbiscuit.)

-Hermit Family AU :: Xisuma is very busy dad but when he isnt busy the kids and younger hermits annoying the hell out of him. Grian once asked to use Xisuma's computer and crashed the whole thing trying to download illegal gamesites and get money off the internet. Mumbo and his trains run through the entire house and Xisuma trips on them daily. (-@gamerutx.)

-College AU!! But they are not students. THEY ARE THE TEACHERS (-@ivi-prism.)

Ones I planned to do anyway but Hermitblr Hivemind and all that:

Battle of The Bands AU: i believe u once mentioned a bands/ battle of the bands au... thats my jam... (Anon.)

[emeraldbiscuit]

Bunnies

Bnha Spring Time Event 

Word Count: 1.8k

for at @quintessential-kaminari​ -  🌸 

Note: I’m so sorry for this being late, tumblr has never deleted one of my fics before so that was a surprise. I really enjoyed talking to you and stuff, I hope we can be friends :), anywayyyy, I hope you enjoy ^-^

━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━

I was awoken by the warm spring hues that beamed through the gap of my curtains. I groaned at the disruption of my tranquil sleeping state. I rolled over on my soft bed away from the window to avoid the blinding lights, while I reached over and grabbed the nearest stuffed animal - which so happened to be my favourite, my grey and white bunny squishmallow with an adorable pink button nose named Princess Sparkle - and promptly placed it over my face to prevent the light from disturbing me more.

My new-found peace didn't last long though. The offensive beeping from my alarm quickly brought me to the realm on the awake and living. I lazily reached over to my nightstand and picked up my phone to dismiss the alarm and check the time, 08:32. I grumbled knowing I had to get up or I would be late. 

You see, I had my first date with my forever long crush, Denki Kaminari, but I am regretting agreeing to a date for so early in the day. Who in their right mind agrees to go on a date at 9 in the morning, who?? I sluggishly removed my blanket off of my frame before I sat up and swung my legs over the edge of my bed, hissing slightly as my feet made contact with the chilly flooring. 

I tried my best to ignore the aching cold attacking my feet while I walked over to my window and dramatically opened my curtains. My eyes forcefully went into a squint due to the overly colourful skylights that reached my window.

I should probably stop spending so much time inside, then maybe I could adjust to the sun easier, I thought to myself as I made way to my closet to find a cute outfit to wear. I look through my closet for a good few minutes before making a choice. I ended up deciding on a black skater skirt along with a light pink off the shoulder top, as well as a pair of super fluffy baby pink socks with lilac hightops converse.

I moved to stand in front of my mirror. "I look cute as hell" I muttered to myself as I grabbed my brush to brush out my bedhead then put on my favourite stary hair clip to help keep my hair out of my face.

Satisfied with how I looked, I grabbed my phone, keys and a small black purse to hold my items before leaving. I quickly checked the time 08:56 as I left my house. He said he'd pick me up so I guess I'll just wait. I wonder what he has planned since he refused to tell me cause "It's a surprise but wear something cute yet comfortable"

I was pulled out of my thoughts when I caught a glance of warm blonde hair out of the corner of my eye. I smiled brightly knowing who it was, I quickly waved to Denki and walked over to him. He was wearing a pair of denim jeans along with a plain white t-shirt with a light blue dress shirt on top left unbutton along with blue converse. He also had a black bag on his back.

"Hiya Denki!" I said with a cheerful tone, honestly, I was super excited for today and what he had planned - but also super nervous. Eek.

“Hey y/n!!” He said with a large amount of excitement dripping from his voice, my smile only brightened at his excitement. Denki leaned in for a hug which I happily accepted, the scent of his cologne engulfing my airways.

"So, what do you have planned for today?" I asked after I felt his slightly chapped but moistened lips press softly against my cheek before he pulled away from the warm embrace we shared.

He brought a finger to my lips and pressed against them gently as a way to shush me "You will know all in good time, my little buttercup" He held out his arm and gestured for me to hold it.

I rolled my eyes at the nickname as I felt the blood rush to my cheeks "Alright, my prince charming" I intertwined my arm with his as I allowed him to lead the way.

"I know I should have said this earlier but you look really pretty today" He stopped walking and started frantically shaking his arms like a mad man "N-not that you don't look pretty every day but today you just look extra pretty!!" He added but didn't seem to stop his weird actions. "Ahh!! I'm not tryna say you look less pretty on other days" He took a deep breath to help calm himself down "You just look ultra nice today" He paused before continuing "I mean every day, you also look nice every day"

I giggled at his dramatic acts "Thanks, Denki. You look good too"

For the rest of our walk to an undisclosed location, we shared a small conversation full of laughs and giggles and some very awkward unprotected handholding.

We eventually reached a huge gate, decorated with gorgeous flowers and dense greenery. I looked over at Denki confused on what he had plans, all I knew about this place was that it was a botanical garden. I think I was having a conversation about them with someone one day, is that where he got the idea from? Who knows

He linked his arm with him and lead us through the beautiful gate, the garden itself was stunning. Full to the brim with all sorts of artistic flowers with such vibrant but soft colours contrasting with all the earthy greens of the stems. It was honestly a sight to behold, it was beautiful in every single way, there was not one single fault in the place.

"It's so beautiful," I thought aloud, my eyes sparkled with enthusiasm to see the rest of the captivating blooms.

"Nowhere near as beautiful as you, sweetcheeks," Denki said without a hint of hesitation. "Now, may I have this walk M'lady"

I nodded "You may," I said with a small giggle. Truth be told, he could have brought to hang out at the back of a dumpster and I would still be happy as long as I got to spend time with him. He seriously does just brighten up a room.

We walked around the garden, admiring all the scenery. There was quite a lot of people, some couples, some just families with their children. Some of the parents were being careless and letting their kids jump all over the flowers ruining the lovely flowers, kinda heartbreaking to see the growth of the flowers just scattered on the ground in the form of petals.

I was brought back into the world when I heard Denki's voice but I didn't quite hear what he said. But whatever it was, it certainly made him flustered.

"Denki? Are you alright?" I looked up at him with concern filling my eyes. His face was bright red and he was consciously avoiding eye contact.

"Y-yeah, I'm fine. Just, um...you wanna eat? I brought picnic food" He asked while looking at the ground.

“Sure,” I said with a smile.

He nodded and looked up to look for somewhere to sit. He spotted a bench and wasted no time leading me to it. We sat down on the bench with our knees touching slightly.

Denki opened his bag and brought out a collection of sandwiches and snacks. “I had to ask Mina what you liked,” He said with a chuckle.

I smiled knowing he cared enough to ask what I liked. Maybe this could actually go somewhere. 

We dug into the food he brought and started talking about the most random of things. I really do enjoy spending time with him, he’s so much fun and he brought my favourite foods with him. Like how sweet is that?

I was listening to him talking about a new game he got but I lowkey zoned out cause his voice was just so calming to listen to. Though the peace didn’t last since I heard a large scream come from Denki. I looked around for could have possibly scared him - to which there didn’t appear to be anything.

I looked over at him confused, as he is now sitting on the top of the bench shaking and staring at the ground. I looked down to see a small ball fluff, also known as a bunny-rabbit. 

“Denki, are you scared of a bunny?” I asked, trying to hold back a laugh. How could someone be scared of something so cute?

“Yes, they’re evil carrot munchers!” He shouted while pointing at the bunny.

I rolled my eyes and reached down to pick up the bunny (don’t pick up wild animals) and started to pet the creature. “Denki, they’re not going to hurt you, they’re just fluff balls and they can’t actually eat carrots. They’re bad for them” I said while cradling the fluff ball “Aren’t you just the cutest, yes you are, oh yes you are”

Denki didn't appear to become any less frightened from the bunny. I looked at him sympathetically before putting the bunny down and letting it hop away into some bushed. I joined Denki sitting on the back of the bench and wrapped an arm around him, pulling him in close.

"I'm sorry, you must probably think I'm pathetic now..." He said while looking down, he was still shaking with fear.

I placed a soft kiss against his cheek before whispering in his ear "That's the last thing I think, Denki, everyone has their own fears. I'm sorry, is there any way I can make it up to you?"

"I suppose there might be a way" He sniffled and wiped away some tears I didn't notice existed.

I held his hand and rubbed circles on the back of his hand in a comforting manner as I waited for him to continue talking. I didn't realise someone could be so scared of a bunny but the more you know.

"I think a kiss would help," He said while looking up at me with hopeful eyes.

I looked at him shocked for a second, I guess his flirtatiousness doesn't stop even when he's scared. I giggled before leaning in, giving him a quick peck on the lips. "Is that better?"  

He pouted "No, I wasn't ready," He said with a whiney tone.

"You should have been paying attention then," I said before standing up and holding out my hand "Wanna continue? I'll protect you from any evil fluffy creatures"

Denki took hold of my hand and we continued our date. We finished the walk around the garden and he walked me home.

I leaned against my front door and looked at Denki. I nervously fiddled with my fingers as I struggled to keep eye contact "I really enjoyed today and I wouldn't mind doing it again sometime" 

Denki looked shocked "Really!? Oh hell yeah, I'd love to"

I smiled softly at him "Cool. I'll, uh, text you at some point"

[ocularose]

Rose I'm sorry if you get this twice Tumblr isn't letting me send asks but plz I need to know who's the best undertale character

Oh pal, i’m like, the least objective person to ask this because i’m all about Mettaton... BUT i’ll do my best to explain the ones i feel are the best!

I’ll get my bias and big mega ultra fave out of the first: METTATON... I think what makes him great is his ‘backstory’, that you can find only if you buy a certain key that might seem useless at first. Said key opens his previously locked house, who’s right next to Napstablook’s, a genderless ghost who’s quite insecure, to the point where lying on the ground and ‘feeling like garbage’ is a ‘family tradition’. The now unlocked house contains five diaries, where it’s essentially written that Napstablook and the ghost writing the diaries were cousins, and that ghosts can become corporeal by possessing an item- but that the writer didn’t want to do that, because they don’t want to leave their cousin behind and that they’d ‘never find the kind of body they’re looking for, anyway.’ They then explain how they created an ‘human fanclub’ (which is can be controversial, because ghosts and monsters in Undertale are TRAPPED underground because of humans, and resent them as result), and how only one person came, Alphys, the anime-loving scientist, and how despite their differences (the ghost seems to love humans/their culture based on human objects that fall underground (like tvs, dvds, books or any type of object really) but calls anime ‘weird’) they seem to bond/form a friendship. The final diary is worth transcribing because it’s important: ‘She ((Alphys)) surprised me with something today. Sketches of a body that she wants to create for me... a form beyond my wildest fantasies. In a form like that, I could finally feel like... "myself." After all, there's no way I can be a star the way I am now. Sorry, Blooky. My dreams can't wait for anyone...’. The body they’re talking about is probably Mettaton EX’s body, that you have seen since it’s the humanoid version of him. There a lot of trans undertones but it can get 100% confirmed if you use a certain item- the phone, to call other characters, Undyne and Papyrus. Undyne is actually Napstablook’s neighbour, so she knew of their cousin and refers to them with they/them pronouns, because in UT ghosts are genderless. While Mettaton, now that the ghost is corporeal/has a robotic body they can possess, is always referred to with he/him pronouns. Mettaton was a genderless ghost who loved human culture, that got to become an humanoid, male robot and realized his ‘dreams’. This is a trans male robot.... Something important to know is that if you don’t go out of your way to find this, you’ll probably never know he’s trans- because like many trans people he doesn’t want to acknowledge his past self’s life. For example, the key you have to buy to get to his house was found by the shopkeepers in a pile of garbage; and if you show the key to Mettaton during his last fight, he’ll ‘pretend it isn’t there’. If that ain’t trans... Furthermore, a big part of Mettaton’s character is that he absolutely loves himself and his body- specifically, his legs. Which makes much more sense if you understand his transidentity, and the fact that UT ghosts don’t have legs... He loves his legs because he never had any... How can i, a trans man who loves narcissistic fictional boys, can not love him... Don’t get me wrong though, he absolutely has a character outside his trans side; i just need to mention it first because that’s the context, in a way. Mettaton, in-universe, is a TV star that does plenty of shows, that are more or less stupid- it goes from normal cooking shows to a show about washing your hands on wednesdays, or 27 movies that are all the same hours long shots of Mettaton lying down and having rose petals falling on him. The shows’ content changes with the player/human, that are essentially puzzles/games that no matter how much the player fails, can never be harmful to the human. Mettaton loves to say on camera that he loves violence, but only shows so in his final battle, who can hurt the player because thia battle is his most selfish moment by far, where he wants to take the human’s soul (meaning killing them; live on camera) to go alone in the human world...

Despite that, the same battle in the genocide’s route is essentially a sacrifice (Mettaton NEO’s body is a one hit kill no matter what), so yeah. Mettaton is mostly enamored with himself due to his new male body and be selfish as a result, BUT he genuinely loves his fans and in the pacifist route he fixes his lost friendships with Alphys and Napstablook (though it doesn’t seem that Mettaton told them who he used to be). Another thing i love about Mettaton is that in canon he consistently has four fingers no matter what... In a deleted tweet Toby fox said that’s because Mettaton is unsure how many fingers humans have. That’s so cute. Also as a TV star, Mettaton is famous enough to have a whole brand to himself (MTT-Brand), and all of it is endlessly silly. It goes from the glamburgers who are burgers made out of sequins, edible glitter and GLUE, to something called ‘anime-powder’. Or how in his hotel rooms, the lamps doesn’t work because it’s written on it ‘stars make their own light’. Note that all of it- ALL of Mettaton’s sillyness is genuine/unironic, he just has a certain view on human culture that he saw via media. Which in my view is probably western mid-century cartoons, but that’s speculation on my part.

so uhm yes this is very long but Mettaton is the best imo. Obviously because he’s my one and only fictional husband. There... As for the other characters they’re cool too and like Mettaton you can fond out abt them if you go out of your way to do so. Some might seem shallow on the surface, but you just have to dig to find out that they’re not exactly how they may seem. Example: outwardly, Undyne the fish girl is an extreme and angry person, but if you talk to her and ppl that know her, she’s just always extreme even with those she loves, and is only angry at the human because humans are thought as bad in the eyes of her kind. She even has a secret sweet side, that she tries to hide by yelling. Or, despite all the jokes the internet makes about him, Sans is a fun character actually because in normal playthroughts he’s essentially the comic relief that, understandably, only gets menacing when you kill his loved ones; while in the evil route he beats you up- which is kinda funny actually. Because again, he’s the comic relief. You’re getting savagely beaten up by him out of all people. And as the many videos of his fight shows, he’s rly powerful. Like the others he has a secret side, and his is fairly complicated because it breaks the fourth wall- the way i understand it, he’s the only one who’s aware of what’s happening when you restart a new game. He more or less doesn’t forget if you killed one if his loved ones in a previous playthrough. I’m not the best to explain his character though. Sorry this is so long but if something is unclear feel free to reply here and i’ll explain!!

[mihanada]

Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation / Mo Dao Zu Shi Final Trailer

“Final Trailer” because I lost count of how many of these we got lol.

If you read Chinese, you now know something about the year it takes place in (probably)! I can only read ‘Year 25′ haha. I guess the first two have something to do with the era name...

Anyways, we have the burning Burial Mounds again in this shot.

lol Gusu Lan...you really don’t like giving clear screenshots do you? So stingy! Their cloud motif flag was at a bad angle + difficult to see due to the colors in the opening and now you can’t get a good screenshot of the flag with their name on it...

So: Jiang, Jin, (can’t actually freaking read this but it’s Lan), and Nie

all four clans are here! Pretty sure we actually got this a while back, but I’m not sure if I screencapped it.

Alright, we’ve seen these shots before...

Some text I can’t read...something about 13 years later...

Ah! An extension of the summoning scene!

Mo Xuanyu is appropriately...crazed? here. His eyes are bloodshot and wide open, brow furrowed, his voice has that desperate strain in it, plus the grimace or tension in his mouth. The red energy from the summoning and the darkness gives him that sinister feel.

Can’t forget how he still has his makeup on! Instead of looking silly, because of the lighting, it looks sinister...he looks like an evil ghost himself.

Don’t think we saw this before. It’s a shot of the summoning circle, then a silhouette of Mo Xuanyu weaving before falling down.

Mo Village. The voice over is saying something about the Mo family. I think it’s one of the Lan disciples talking (sorry, can’t tell your voices apart yet...)

It’s the spirit attraction flag that Mo Ziyuan stole! It’s...actually kinda cute. I always imagined them a bit larger. Nice design though.

Is this our dear friend??

This is Madam Mo in some blue flames or something.

Ah, so this part is actually

Lan Sizhui taking off his outer garment to use against the hand. (you can tell it’s Sizhui and not Jingyi by the long strands of hair at his sideburns; Jingyi doesn’t have them.

Then we get the signal flare calling for help!

Why you gotta show sad baby Jin Ling. why.

You know, if you take this totally out of context-

I’m gonna stop there before I die of laughter or Jiang Cheng curses me or something. xD

There’s ultra pissed Jiang Cheng stroking his ring/Zidian.

You can see the design a bit better in this shot. The pattern is kinda cute, it looks like the whip that comes out from the ring.

I want to know if they ever needed to draw this guy smiling or does he just have three modes: resting bitch face, angry, angry 2.0.

I’ve always liked the Yunmeng Jiang’s purple uniforms though...

sorry for the Jiang Cheng spam

how do you play this standing up and holding one end I want to know

finally got a good shot of the Lan sect’s clouds motif except it’s on the clothes.

Lan Wangji’s pretty face!

I like this shot of his forehead band and the sparks drifting in the background.

I’m pretty sure the only way you can show emotion on his face 70% of the time is with his eyes narrowing and even then you don’t really know what he’s thinking unless you’re Lan Xichen.

Wen Ning flying to the rescue! Ok but that is a slightly terrifying sight if you were a random cultivator on that damn mountain just trying to do your job haha.

Look at those demonic eyes! And holy shit your nails, Wen Ning. Come to think of it...he’s dead. Do his nails and hair still grow despite that?

More Wen Ning because why not. The animation of him wildly attacking is pretty nice, you definitely get that unhinged feeling from it.

Speaking good animation, I laugh every time I see our dear friend’s arm flopping around. I always wondered how the heck this thing moved.

Nice fight sequence, nice fight sequence. Fluid, I can actually see all of their movements when I pause the video. Needs a gif.

Yess fight on the roof! Wei Wuxian, what were you doing, going on a liquor run in the rain.

Ah, Lan Wangji is the real mvp here. He continues holding the umbrella! lol 

Uh, considering the Lan people’s arm strength this is probably more treacherous than it seems?? xD

I love how Wei Wuxian just dodges around though, his movements are always so fluid, carefree, go with the flow - just like his personality.

Oh! The waterborne abyss scene! Very nice, very nice.

Yess, we get to see more of the awkward “flying on my sword” scenes. I still think it’s sort of hilarious but ok. um. at least it’s cooler than a broom right??

lol Wei Wuxian do you just want to be different and not wear the Yunmeng Jiang uniform or something. (I think it can be implied that he does wear it in the novel, it’s just the animation decided to go with a variation of his black clothes. notably, he at least seems to have different styles at different times in his life so they aren’t all the same outfit like is so popular in certain shows)

donghua: we must color code our characters for the viewers’ convenience

after this we get to see these two being blown around by the force in the air but I won’t subject you to seeing Jiang Cheng’s ass so we’ll move on

wait IT REALLY IS LIKE SURFING

Jiang Cheng why do we almost see more of you than Lan Wangji in this trailer huh.

But also: young Jiang Cheng! Aw, baby face. Still scowling though.

So Wei Wuxian’s eyes were...purplish grey.

that’s su she the ass. look, you wouldn’t have lived to form your own sect if this guy hadn’t rescued your sorry ass because you decided to mindlessly copy Lan Wangji and lost your sword.

Also, this waterborne abyss is sort of even scarier in the donghua just because it actively SENDS TENDRILS TO TRY AND CATCH YOU.

Ok.

So, now that we have two images at approx. the same angles of Mo Xuanyu and Wei Wuxian (young), let’s compare:

Mo!Wuxian.

young Wei Wuxian. Ignore the derpy face.

I actually am sort of impressed at how they made very subtle changes to his looks. While you can totally ID Mo Xuanyu as Wei Wuxian (they’re like twins lol) they don’t actually look the same. Mo!Wuxian does look older (he’s certainly older than 15 even if we don’t know the exact age). the young, original WWX has more of a baby face.

and, like I’ve pointed out before, he has that ahoge and his fringe curls more than Mo Xuanyu’s.

they’re still practically twins lol.

Don’t know if they’re actually going to bother mentioning Su She’s name, but here he is. lol he’s like a freaking rag doll.

also, nice shot of Wei Wuxian’s outfit from this time period?

In this earlier one you can see his sword’s scabbard and the Jiang clan’s bell (it’s attached to the belt/sash and not the sword, but on the same side as it)

I LOVE THE DETAILS OK

also the music is very nice

Who are you fighting, Lan Wangji?

Falling into a pool of water I see. That green is kind of creepy.

This is just a very pretty shot. nice perspective too

Alright there is something moving in that water! I can’t screenshot it though, it’s too dark.

WELL, that’s a wrap. That was actually a really long post omg even though a lot of this content was stuff we saw before.

Anyways, I’m really looking forward to the donghua now! ahh it’s gonna be so cool.

but I will probably have to break the live blog into 2 parts per episode or else tumblr will probably flip out on me.

[campdnp-winter-blog]

Idk if the foxes submitted a fic yet but here’s one if they didn’t (sorry my tent is asleep and I couldnt talk to them last night)

Furry meetup

The Arctic Foxes excitedly entered the airport, suited up for their special meeting. There’d been a contest, of course, on the deepest, darkest part of Dan’s tumblr, asking for the “smollest group with the cutest mascot uwu” and boy, did the Foxes deliver. The stepped off their plane to London in full fursuits save for the masks; they wanted Dan and Phil to see the chaos in their eyes.

Each fox had a specialized pursuit of an arctic fox in the group’s colour scheme. After collecting their luggage (extra fursuits, of course), they spotted Their Dads waiting by a window.

“Thewe they awe uwu!” Erin exclaims, pointing at them. The Foxes started towards the closeted furries and were quickly noticed. Phil was shocked and honestly kind of scared but Dan looked ecstatic. As the group neared, they could hear the men’s conversation.

“See, Phil, I told you we should have worn our fursuits!”

“Not gonna happen, Danny boy. I refuse to do it.”

“But Philllllllllllllllllll-”

“Hey guys!” Phil cut off Dan’s whine. “We’re so glad you could make it!”

“And so jealous of your fursuits!”

“Well, he is.” While dan seemed happy and to be living his best life, Phil seemed… off. He was hiding something. Something the Foxes were sure they could get out of him.

After some Good Bants they went back to the boyes place to hang out. Though Phil suffered to hang up their suits many times, the Foxes stayed in their True Forms. Dan went to change into his fursuit while Phil stewed, looking more and more uncomfortable. Finally, he was the third wheel.

Soon Phil asked if anyone wanted anything to eat. Everyone replied, “yes uwu”.

“Do you guys have to do the uwu thing all the time?” He asked. The furries all shared a Look.

“No… they all replied at the same time. They all began to chime off one by one.

"uWu”

“UwU”

“UWU”

“OwO”

“owo”

“Owo”

“HOW DID YOU ALL JUST DO THAT OUT LOUD????? IM GOING TO GET FOOD PLEASE DONT TELL ME, GOODBYE”

And with that, phil left. With all this time, Dan and the Foxes came to the sad, yet inevitable conclusion. They were going to have to kill Phil.

“He isn’t one of us.”

“He knows too much.”

“He doesn’t it like it when we hang out together.”

The Foxes forced Dan to realize the truth.

“How are we going to do it, then?” He asked, finally.

“We have a plan,” said the Foxes simultaneously.

“I’m all ears,” dan said with a cheeky wink.

~~~~~~~~~~an hour later~~~~~~~~~

Everything was in place. The apartment quivered with anticipation. All that was left was-

“Dan? Foxes? I brought the food!” Phil announced as he walked through the door.

Finally. Two of the Foxes, Sef and Harley, grabbed Phil and silenced him as they brought him to The Place. They tied him to a chair with great difficulty because of his long, noodley limbs flailing about. Dan stood directly in front of Phil, with Sef, Erin, Hannah, and Harley right behind him. The rest of the Foxes stood in a half circle around them. Dan removed Phil’s gag but not his blindfold.

“ what’s going on? Dan? Foxes? Are you guys playing with me?” Phil’s voice cracked as he spoke, and you can see him restraining a comment about it. This was no time for jokes, Mr. ladydoor.

“Phil,” Sef spoke.

“ you’re not one of us.” continued Harley.

“Your jealousy is not hidden well,” said Erin.

“You have heard too much,” added Hannah.

“Heard what? I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

“The uwus, Phil!” Dan said. “They’re a code. A secret fiery code.vwe thought you might know it, that you were just hiding it. But no.”

“And now,” said Harley.

“You must” continued Sef.

“Be killed” finished Erin.

Dan nodded solemnly. “I wish there were another way, Philly. However we risked to secret information. Information we cant let get out to the public.”

“What? Dan, you cant be serious! Surely this is a joke!” Phil yelled, desperate.

“Unfortuanately not, phil. Km sorry it has to end like this.” Dan said, and everyone but phil started a chant. It started out low, then it started to grow. It was the Official Farewell chant of the Furries. Dan got out his emergency recorder and played the first notes of My Heart Will Go On.

As the song came to a close, Phil was getting more and more anxious. He knew death would be upon him soon. He had to act fast, but could he break The Code? This was life or death, but still… The final notes played and he made his decision.

Dan reached for a knife behind Phil, but as he did so, phil screamed.

“IM A FURRY!”

Gasps rang out through the Foxes. Boos and murmuring followed. Sef called out, “Horseshit!”

Erin yelled “no way!”

Other yells soon came, until through it all, Phil’s voice thundered…

“ØwØ”

Again, gasps rang out. Dan stood in front of phil in shock. He took off the blindfold.

“The secret uwu…” dan whispered in bewilderment. “You broke the code…”

“Yes. I had to. I couldnt watch you become a killer.”

“But the rules-”

“To help with the rules! I’m not going to sit here and let you and a bunch of kids become wanted murderers because some rule says that I cant talk about my secret furry status!”

“But they’ll find us.”

“Let them come. Look at us! Were a kick ass group of furries! We’ll fight them. Move around. Well be dan and phil and the Arctic Foxes- furry vigilantes.”

“That sounds like a really terrible fanfic idea conceived at three in the morning.”

“Yeah. Too bad this is real and we have to fight our furry overlords now.”

With that, they untied phil and ate the food that was now cold on the counter but still tasty. Phil showed them his ultra-mega-super fursuit from a hidden hatch in his and Dan’s closet.

They talked for a while about what needed to be done, who’s memories needed to be altered (cause furries can do that, obviously). They made a plan to move back to Manchester and make that their HQ. they decided how they were going to recruit using none other than tungle.com. good thing none of their fursuits have female presenting nipples.

They hashed out their income and where they would shop, and of course decided on a method to see who had to go get the door when they ordered takeaway (rock, paper, scissors).

Soon they had devoted members and were successfully thwarting the Furry Overlords. We love our Furry Vigilante Daddies, I guess.

And that’s how the Arctic Foxes met dnp and became furry vigilantes.

idk how to feel about this so you get a 

95/100

-Jax

[minyoongijjangjjangmanboongboong]

Quick enterance here I love the chapter. For my taste it was so short. I try to look under to read more. Sad hours for fangirls. Ahem. From start. Jungkook was... he was really easy to get huh? One seductive look and his in. I wouldnt expect that from him but his in golden ages I suppose haha. In the work scene I was ready to fight because its so accurate! So many women faces out justice in work because they are simply women and it would turn out worse if it wouldnt be a story. Very realistic+

+ and it boils my blood. If it would be a man none of it would be a problem. And its very hard to catch up with life too. Just be understanding of your very humble employee you boss. AND TAE.... My baby. He is so creepy but cute. To be honest if I feel some stanger touch my head when I sleep I would go crazy. But its a story and he is ultra cute. Sorry Jk but you have to stay in corner in thi story too. He win. Like last time. I'm glad that she know. +

+ I hope wont turn out a misunderstanding. It would break my heart. I wonder in next chapter will we get a confrontation. I liv for those moments. Anyway great work of yours again. Love you and take care. -anonIhvsmchtsy Ps. Dont quit writing the story please please please.. (and I hop you doing okay. I forget asking all the time)

Ahhhh it was short for my taste too! Normally I have a few extra days to get the chapter to my preferred length (about 8k), but this week I couldn’t :’( Huhuhu I’m telling you guys Jungkook isn’t as tough as he seems! He may look/act like a macho, strong man but I’m not so sure that’s who he really is!

Oof, and I agree. I hate things like that. I was lucky to work in an environment where my boss allowed me to wear whatever I felt comfortable wearing, but for a lot of women that’s just not the case. It’s a real shame, and I think it highlights a huge problem in our culture of placing the responsibility for how other people feel onto women. Like it’s our job to make sure men aren’t uncomfortable, or it’s our job not to be ‘tempting’. Which is garbage, considering it’s a million times easier and healthier to simply teach kids not to sexualize the human form outside of intimate situations. Idgi lol, but maybe I’m just ranting at this point.

God, exactly! You see it a lot in kpop with GGs versus BGs. Boy groups can wear next to nothing and it’s completely acceptable, but girl groups do ONE edgy choreo and they’re branded sluts forever. It’s unacceptable. You can’t simultaneously infantilize and over-sexualize women. Either we’re too naive to make our own decisions or we’re too dangerous and provocative to wear what we like without incurring the male gaze. I’M GONNA STOP NOW BECAUSE HONESTLY I COULD GO ON FOREVER OOF.

N E WAYS haha yes I agree! Tae needs to figure out what to do without making a mistake. This is a pivotal moment for him, and whatever he decides to do with completely affect the way his relationship with our main character progresses. Hopefully he’s smart and makes a good choice that won’t further damage her trust. We shall see~

Haha and please don’t worry! I only considered stopping work on the story because Tumblr may have glitched and for the first hour and a half or so the update had zero notes. I was worried people had lost interest in the story, so I briefly considered halting it, but everything worked out and people are still engaged! So long as I have anyone reading the story, I’ll continue it haha. No worries! And I’m doing so well! Thank you, my dear. I hope the same goes for you!

[attract-mode-collective]

Nothing Sez “Student Game” More Than The Dinosaur Evening News (that’s a good thing, btw)

The above is Mediazoic, which takes place in an alternate reality in which dinosaurs have come back to rule the earth and they've hired you, puny human, to make sure their televised broadcasts are dino family safe.

You moderate comments left on message boards, censor full frontal dino nudity, and so on. It's a student game alright, and one of my top picks from the NYU Game Center Student Showcase2018!

I was also fond of Dreams For Your Computer because CRTs, magnets, and cats...

... Here's what it looks like in action, btw.

Though the one game that I liked the most, and which would actually fare well on the marketplace, would have to be Static...

And honorable mention goes to an updated take on Flight Simulator, which recreates a 6 hour long commercial flight as a passenger...

... The best part was the look on Stephen Totilo's face, who kinda didn't get it.

When was the NYU thing btw? Over two weeks ago, and it’s been even longer since the last update. Sorry about that. You know the deal: a million, billion things going on. As usual.

Hence why it’ll take not just one, but two bursting at the seams posts, to cover the second half of May! So onto part one…  

Please, please, PLEASE let these Game Center CX Blu-rays have an English language option (via miki800.com)...

Not a day goes by in which I don’t wonder how that guy who appears in the instruction manual for Bomberman B-Daman is doing these days (via videogameartarchive & videogameartarchive)...

I really love the “are you for real?” vibe that Samus gives off in the instructions for the original Famicom Disk System release of Metroid (via nintendometro)...

If you’ve ever wondered what a pair of bosses from Mega Man 9 & 10 would look like with 8’s 32-bit sheen, well here ya go (via mendelpalace)...

A print ad for the Famicom adaptation of Akira that wasn't all that hot (via videogameads)...

Though whenever anyone hears the words “Akira video game”, this is basically what immediately comes to mind. Anything else is a disappointment, no matter what (via aaronkraten)...

Welcome to the rabbit hole that is the Memorex VIS (via @ColinWilliamson)...

Is the soundtrack to some ultra-obscure home banking software for the Mega Drive worth a listen? You goddamn right it is (via mendelpalace)...

… The accompanying article is also totally worth a read.

It’s the Battletoads X Blue Swede mashup that you can’t believe hasn’t been done yet (via SiIvaGunner)...

Replace Link with myself & Navi with my iPhone, which I use as an alarm clock, and you have earlier this morning in a nutshell (via nintendometro)...

“So where you going?”

“Down a road. A low poly road…”

“Where you headed towards?”

“Whatever’s at the end of this street. This low poly street...”

“If you look up, what do you see?”

“Low poly buildings, under a low poly sky. Who knows, maybe there’s some low poly birds up there, behind those low poly clouds…” (via pmpkn)

From looking at low poly skies to soaring high above them, but what a difference an arcade board makes huh (via kazucrash)...

This is what Metal Max 2: ReLoaded on the DS looks like, at its normal resolution...

And this is what it looks with the resolution bumped up (via gaucheartist)...

Is this sprite of a BMX biker animated unusually well or am I just out of touch when it comes to 2600 software? Granted, it does come from a game made in 1989 (via segagenesisevangelion)…

According to the law: “NO JUMPING” (via vgadvisor)

“Hi guys.” (via beowulf-ultra)

Such a heartwarming scene (via @PicturesFoIder)...

This is what VR looked like many years ago, which is basically how it still looks today as well (via peazy86)...

It’s Yuji Horii, from way back in the day, presumably before he had created Dragon Quest (via videogamesdensetsu)...

Why yes, I have heard of the Ocelot Arcade System, by virtue of it being Quality Simon Carless content...

... BTW, “Quality content” is in reference to this. Moving on: yes, I've also heard of VecFever. It plays games that you might be familiar with, since it emulates old vector MAME titles...

Meanwhile, am only just learning that Tiger released their handhelds in Japan under the Game Vision label (via segacity)...

The Sega Dreamcast: it's thinking... about you, cuz it cares about you (via posthumanwanderings)...

"Wait… was he always there?" asks the official Sonic the Hedgehog Tumblr (via sonicthehedgehog)...

And the final nail in the coffin for this gag came courtesy of the official Sonic Tumblr as well (via sonicthehedgehog)...

"Good news everyone skyrim has been ported to the Bethesda offices carpet" 

"Who the fuck designed support pillars to obstruct a quarter of the hallway?" 

"Bethesda" (via mysteriouslypeculiar)

Yet another "it's funny cuz it's true" (via highlandvalley)...

So annoyed that I only find out about this Games Glorious shirt on the very last day of kylefewell‘s Japanese extrusion (via miki800.com)...

Not a fan of the game (don’t hate, I just don’t find it very enthralling), yet for whatever reason, I REALLY want this vintage Mappy sweatshirt (via namcomuseum)...

When video game attire looks plausible IRL (via @cvxfreak)...

Much like with regular attire, with cosplay, sometimes it’s all about the accessories (via frankiebalboa)...

Don’t think I’ve ever seen this piece of Marvel Super Heroes vs Street Fighter art before (via segacity)...

For those who dig POC, as well those who dig VF, and also those who dig FV... that last one's Fighting Vipers, BTW (via fightersmegamix)...

It’s a crying shame that Fighting Vipers is such an unknown commodity these days (via kazucrash)...

Virtua Fighter vs Virtua Fighter… Kid (via segacity)...

It’s a crying shame that Fighters Megamix is such an unknown commodity these days (via segacity)...

So hyped for RPG Time, based solely upon the headline image used for this 10 ten list of BitSummit games (via @indiegameweb)...

Please enjoy yet another thing that I originally posted on a Saturday late at night, whatever time it might on your end right this second (via contac)...

Been a while since I’ve seen the handiwork of Joe Bleeps, largely since it’s been a while since I’ve been collecting Game Culture Snapshots; the man has certainly stepped up his game (boy mods) since way back when (via kotaku.com)...

Am also very much impressed by the Game Boy Macro, though once again, am super irritated that GBA games do not rest flush with the DS Lite’s body...

An example of function over form I guess (@gamesyouloved)...

Familiar with Line Wobbler? Ever wished you could play it on the go? Are you into demakes? For the Game Boy Advance? (via @diskmem)

Today’s corrupted GBA boot up sequence is (via corruptionasart)...

Can anyone tell what Famicom game we’re seeing that’s all glitched out? (via mendelpalace)...

My fave part of this NES 2 print ad is how, in order to truly drive the message of “EVOLVE OR BECOME EXTINCT” home, whomever felt it necessary to include a little picture of a dinosaur (via nintendometro)...

Was this an ad for the SNES? I ask because it’s considerably more sophisticated when compared to what you usually encountered in gaming rags at the time (via nintendometro)...

This ad for the GoldStar version of the 3DO, hailing from Korea, makes me so proud to be (half) Korean, you have no idea (via notablegamebox)...

This Space Invaders tribute piece is like the cover art to some 80s heavy metal record (via shmups)...

Meanwhile, the album art for the Metal Black soundtrack feels more Pink Floyd-ish than anything else (via reportal)...

As amazing as it would have been to attend a ZUNTATA concert 20 years ago, I desperately wanted to see them perform various Darius cuts live just the other week (via miki800.com)...

This cover art for a tribute album celebrating 25 years of Mega Man is still quite good, 31 years after the fact (via rnn-draws)...

My recommended reading this time is a comparison of all the various Mega Man sprites that have been, including a few that you may not be familiar with (via retrovania-vgjunk.blogspot.com)...

Apparently there was a Mega Man boss that was part arcade machine, but he only appeared in some mobile game, for f's sake Capcom (via mendelpalace)...

Guess now’s a good time to share another random game canter pic (via gogopri)...

Pathos at the game center, even among Sailor Scouts (via funnysailorm00n)...

A pride & joy of my personal collection is both the original retail Japanese release of Jet Set Radio & the available via Sega Direct only edition: De La Jet Set Radio (via videogameartarchive & videogameartarchive)...

Here's an alternate take on it’s alternate cover star (via @Drooling_Demon)…

Putting together the necessary gear to properly grind the streets of Tokyo-to (via kiroziki-cosplay)...

JSR tales place in a fictionalized, idealized interpretation of Japan, whereas this gif is a very realistic take, yup (via dehtyar)...

Meanwhile and elsewhere, somewhere in the United States of America it would seem (via behexagusthegreat)...

There's still dinner time in the future (via kirokazepixel)...

My contribution to #WorldGothDay (via it8bit)…

From dark & dreary, to warm & fuzzy, yet still black & white (via this old post from a few years back)...

Old photos of a Japanese school kid obsessing over the Famicom are somewhat dime a dozen, but the PC Engine? A very rare treat (via gamingremembrance)...

From black & white photographs of Japanese 80s kids playing consoles, to a full color animated gif of US 80s kids at the arcade (via tvneon)...

Time to wrap things up by touching upon something that kept me awfully busy over the past few: Death By Audio Arcade X Dreamhouse II. Here's a rather mysterious image that appeared on the FB event page, and which was utilized in my promotional push...

... Did it work? You’ll have to find out in my part 2 of my Attract Mode X Tumblr: May 2018 recap! Due tomorrow. Maybe.

[datafruits]

WITOLD (METEO founder) mix

WITOLD, founder of METEO prepared us a 30 minute fruity cocktail mix combining a great range of fruity sounds. It will premiere live on datafriuts.fm this Friday! While you get ready to listen to the mix, check out this short interview where I try to get the goos on this France/Switzerland based label/media site.

what is METEO and how did you start it?

METEO is a Geneva-based (primarily culture-based) information site created by journalist, producer and creative Witold Langlois in September 2016. Witold Langlois defines METEO as "a creative webmedia with variable geometry whose coherence resides through exposure and exploration of my passions ". Its various sections are hosted on the appropriate social networks (Soundcloud, Mixcloud, Tumblr, Instagram, YouTube and Facebook). Its content although very oriented to the current music also addresses cultural themes such as comics, japanese cartoons, fashion. Current societal issues are approached from a cultural perspective. Its editorial team is disseminated voluntarily in the 4 corners of France and French-speaking Switzerland. METEO is a creative and arty webmedia and constantly involves many emerging (or confirmed) talents to participate in its visual and sound dressings. METEO, in addition to its editorial content, produces its own projects and artistic creations. Many evenings are organized throughout the year to promote the new Francophone music scene (Various bars and clubs, La Bâtie Festival 2017, Montreux Jazz Festival 2018 ...). What kind of music is on the compilation?

METEO DIC PROJECT is a compilation of some of the most interesting new producers of Francophone hybrid electronic music scenes (sometimes called post-internet for some (Moesha 13, MORSE) or Berite club music for others (Sunareht, De Grandi, Birol , Violeta West)) around unpublished remixes of credits and themes of cult animated series produced by the DIC (Diffusion Information Communication) of Jean Chalopin in the 80s. A great meeting between 2 pop-futuristic generations belonging to 2 different epochs. Dancefloors, experimental or contemplative, the pieces of the METEO DIC PROJECT form a true artistic coherence that pay tribute to the ten years of the end of the "acronym" D.I.C.

Tell us about the mix you prepared for datafruits.

I love Datafruits and have been listening to this webradio for a long time. My mix for you is a kind of big party cocktail with varied tastes, quiet and dancing summer bursts. A bit of France, Anglo-Saxon sounds and Japan (with Ken-U's mash-up)! As I used to do in my mixes for more than 10 years, I like to mix novelties and so-called "serious" music with old or current ultra pop references. I am having fun dancing people on unknown titles and global successes. With me the underground meets MTV and the boulevard clips of the 90s of M6 ... It's a little messy sorry hahaha but listen, you'll see it tastes great!

Anything else you'd like to say or shoutout?

The best djsets are the most uncomplete, the least monotonous. These are the ones that we directly detect the pleasure that took the DJ in realizing. I am a cultural journalist and crazy about music. Mixing and discovering sounds for informational purposes is cool but it's the composition, the narration that makes the difference. Since very young, I started my mixes on K7 at the age of 6, then, teenager on MK2 Technics. The discovery of the Pioneer turntables was a revelation, a comfort ! It’s finish, no need to fight to stall his vinyls ! Pffiuu. I think that never using the SYNC function on Pioneer decks at all is like putting yourself in « manual-mode » on a Smart. WTF… Kiss Data F !

Mix will air on: 07/20 - 06:00 PST - 09:00 EST - 14:00 UK - 22:00 日本 http://www.datafruits.fm/shows/367075

Here are the goos addresses :

https://www.instagram.com/meteo/

https://meteooooo.tumblr.com

https://www.facebook.com/meteo0o0o/

https://soundcloud.com/meteo0o0

https://www.mixcloud.com/M_E_T_E_O/

[doubleddenden]

What's your Fakemon project can I ask?

Yeah no prob, thanks for asking. It's kind of less an official project than it is kind of a hobby of mine I go back to now and then. I had made a ton of fakemon in the past when I wasn't so good at Sprite editing, splicing, or scratch spriting, and I've always kind of wanted to make my own game but I just could never get the resources or help or talent/know how to do it.The project would have about 162 Fakemon, still give or take, and about 30 or so would be regional variants. I did originally want to include real Pokemon, but I decided that after Gen 6 and 7 had to rely heavily on past pokemon, I wanted to try and make a dex with new designs, so if theres an older pokemon present it's always a regional variant. There would be a few new fakemon that could have megas or multiple forms as well.The project itself is still kind of a wip but my current idea is that it takes place maybe somewhere in a Northern mountainous area, maybe Oregon, Canada, or Alaska. There would be standard gyms and elite 4 but also a mix of new things like with the Kahunas and Totem pokemon from Sun and Moon, but remixed a bit to where you encounter these pokemon in old ruins and junk. Sort of a trial checkpoint after so many towns or badges I guess.The story is still a bit iffy as well but it revolves around you, your three rivals, your professor, and the evil team, who are basically on a road of conquest after being chosen by one of three dragons that come from space and influence the lore and legends of the region, Tauraro. You and one of your friends, ie the pathetically weak/wally-rival, are chosen by dragons to oppose this team. That's about all I have to work with.There are elements I want to work with in terms of story elements. I want the story to be on the scale of Black and White, Platinum, and Ultra Sun and Moon in terms of risk and storytelling investment, and I even want to try and implement time skips, romance, what have you. I kind of want to tell a larger than life story that fits the Pokemon game I've always wanted but usually fell short of because of one thing or another, and really make you feel attached to and feel adrenaline and amazement when you fight certain characters.The project is called tentatively called Pokemon Quasar, and I couldnt tell you if or when it would even officially be started. My plan for now is to work on the fakemon and overall story until I have a better idea of what I want and I'm satisfied with the fakemon I have. When all of that is done, I'll try to work on the game itself when I have the proper equipment and programs. I'd need to get a better PC so I can actually use these programs like RPG maker, then a tiling system that satisfies my needs, and I'd like either the funds to commission official music and cries or make it all myself. Hope that answers your question! Sorry if it's long winded or just kind of jumbled but that's about the best way I can think to explain it, lol. I have a few sprites posted to my tumblr account, mostly trainer sprites. I have a DA account as well with a lot of my old fakemon designs, but I'm going to redo most of my sprites because they were done terribly. Anyway, thanks for asking!

[anotherramblingfangirl]

In our brains

Summary:

Some secrets are harder to keep than others. For Brainstorm, amongst the absolute worst of all are those that used to be precious, shared memories. Until the self-inflicted pricks of needles in a friend’s neck made them that no more.

Link to Scattergun fic: Tumblr or AO3

Link to Pivot fic: Tumblr or AO3

Link to this fic: AO3

Fic:

“Are you two amica?” Was asked again, recently.

Not long before he made his way to here, in fact.

It was by a colleague this time. Brainstorm didn’t know them too well. Didn’t care much to.

Too busy, busy, busy with his own work to get to know everybody. They wouldn’t like him anyway. Too intimidated by his genius.

But still in that moment, no matter knowing so very little about them at all, he’d still found himself disliking them immensely.

Not necessarily because of the question, no.

Not really.

But because Brainstorm already knew exactly what answer Tumbler was going to give.

Genuinely, without any sort of hesitation.

“No. We’re not.”

An answer which sent a pang to his very spark itself every time…

 “Brainstorm? It’s Tumbler.”

“Busy!” Brainstorm called without even looking up from what he was doing.

The colour was just starting to shift in the viscous slime he had contained in front of him. Which could mean one of two things: either it was becoming that super-super-glue he was supposed to be making or he had just inadvertently started a new species of sentient slime.

How exciting!!!

“I just need to borrow you. It won’t take long.” Tumbler persisted.

“Maybe later, I’m in the middle of science!” The liquid shifted and made a sudden shift of movement, slamming against it’s containment with a loud thud.

Brainstorm was leaning towards this being a case of him inadvertently starting a new species of sentient slime.

“Brainstorm!” Tumbler meanwhile was not dropping whatever issue he’d come to the lab with. “Can you just- I’ve said it won’t take long.”

“So we’ll do it later then. Go away!”  The slime…seemed to be multiplying. Splitting into smaller slimes which were also slamming against the container with littler thuds.

He wondered what would happen if he added just a bit of-

“You can’t be like this with me.” Tumbler objected, not going away.

“...Because?”

-Maybe adding just a bit of that had been a mistake.

The slime was multiplying and growing much faster now, and he didn’t like the colour it had gone either. The colour it had before looked much nicer.

This new shade was just tacky.

“I’m your friend! Being nice to me’s part of that.”

The container was starting to sizzle. Bubbles forming as the slime creatures stopped their insistent slamming and instead just remained still. The container was already full, their numbers were still growing, and they now seemed to have become corrosive.

It was only a matter of time until they got out now.

Shame. Brainstorm would have liked to have kept them a bit longer. This development of aggressiveness and sentience was fascinating, and he was sure he could find some awesome way to weaponize it!

…But…if it broke out and melted his and Tumbler’s faces off…and ruined all his other projects in here…

“And we can’t do it later. After this shift is done I’m being sent to-“

Tumbler was cut off by a sudden vwoosh as Brainstorm used his failsafe.

The failsafe was an amazing plan he always had on hand for situations just like this.

An ultra-incinerator.

Couldn’t go wrong with- Whoa!

Now that was interesting.

Very bad. Very dangerous but also very cool.

Couldn’t have predicted that happening.

…Actually.

“Maybe going with your plan wouldn’t be such a bad idea Tumbles!” With a cheery thumbs up.

And with that, the lab was very quickly exited and put into immediate lockdown.

With the decision that this was something that would be dealt with later. No biggy.

“We can’t do it in here!” Tumbler shouted over the facility’s now blaring alarms, as they headed away from the locked down reinforced door.

“Obviously, the slime would eat us.”

“No, we can’t do it in the facility because- why did you even make that?!”

“I didn’t hear anybody telling me not to make that.”

“Why did I even ask?” Tumbler questioned to himself.

“But we can’t do it here because Scatters isn’t allowed in. He doesn’t have the clearance.” He then went back to his originally intended explanation.

“Scatters? What’s he to do with this?”

Brainstorm had presumed that Tumbler must have required his brilliance to help him with something, but if his conjunx was also involved…?

“He’s waiting so we need to get a move on. I told him I would be quick.”

Tumbler avoided the question entirely.

And continued to do so for his subsequent questions as they made their way to their destination.

Whereupon reaching it he was greeted by an enthusiastic-

“Stormy!” Hands gripping onto his shoulders. “You made it!”

“Whatcha been up to? Any cool projects?”

“Of course! What do you take me for? Everything I make is cool! What’s in now is super-super-glue.”

“That could be medical!” He’d known that would be what Scattergun caught onto. “Y’know, leaking out all your energon from severed wires, just stick ‘em back together with that and all’s good! ‘Till you get them to a medic anyway.”

“If it weren’t corrosive, sentient and aggressive then yes! That would work perfectly!” Brainstorm agreed.

The smile of Scatter remained on, but at the same time it and the rest of his face became distorted with what was clearly confusion.

“He just had to put his lab into lockdown because of that.” Tumbler anticipated his conjunx’s oncoming question as he made his way further into the room.

Scattergun moved to follow him, letting go of Brainstorm’s shoulders in the process.

“Maybe next time you can make nice sentient super-super-glue! Or normal super-super-clue.” He chimed back as he did so.

Brainstorm considered the idea, resting his hand on his chin in thought.

The question is, how would he ensure the niceness of the substance?

But, actually, another questioned remained that he looped back to too: he’d been forced out of his lab by Tumbler’s insistence along with a very dangerous substance. That much he knew.

But what was he doing here?

That question was then repeated aloud.

“Gonna tell him now?” Scatters asked Tumbler, beaming and looping his arms around his shoulders from behind, before giving a playful tug on his finials.

Tumbler in turn lifted a hand up and took a hold one of his conjunx’s, helm tilting slightly to the side so that both of theirs rested together.

“Brainstorm, you’re my best friend and there’s something I’d like to do. To show that.” Tumbler spoke fondly.

“And since I know, you gave Fins the moral support to propose to me-” Scatters paused to give that Fins a quick peck before unfurling himself from around him and starting to quickly move backwards.

“-I’m here to return that favour.” Was finished with a wink.

Whatever quip Brainstorm might have about this was then cut off before it could even be started, at the sight of Tumbler starting to open his chest plates.

“Brainstorm. I bid you stand in the glow of my spark that you feel the heat of my words and know them to be true. I bid you to receive my light and in doing so become my amica endura- from now until forever.”

…He was never stumped. Brainstorm was never ever stumped. He tool pride in his permanent unstumped-ness. But…

Hands taken by Tumbler in a firm grasp.

“As you are to me, may I be to you, today, tomorrow and always”

Brainstorm knew what he was supposed to do here. The words he was supposed to repeat.

He knew the ceremony to become amica endura.

It’s just he’d never thought anyone would ever want to do it with him.

Meaning, that in an occasion so rare that one might never witness it, Brainstorm hesitated.

Whether it was from the shock of it or because– because he was touched.

And when he did say those words, he meant them with every fibre of his being.

“Today, tomorrow and always.”

 An answer which sent a pang to his very spark itself every time…

Because it was an unknowing lie.

Brainstorm treasured that memory, as much as he’d never said it. Had always kept it close to his very spark.

But for Tumbler, for Tumbler it had died with Scatters.

Purged from his brain by his own needles before Brainstorm had even been able to know to stop it.

…He should have known to stop it.

He was his amica, how could he have not known what Tumbler was going to do?

“I was sure you were.” The colleague had spoken again.

“Nope!” And with that Brainstorm had lied too.

“But that’s an idea! Prolonged proximity to my genius as amica might just boost yours!” He’d turned to face his friend.

His friend who’d then scoffed at the apparent joke, causing Brainstorm to feel his spark break all over again.

…But he couldn’t tell him. He knew what that would do to him.

Couldn’t tell him about Scatters, who had deserved so much better than this, and couldn’t even tell him exactly who he himself was to him either.

He couldn’t do that to Tumbler.

Instead, he just had to watch.

No matter how it hurt or how sometimes it was all he could do to not just tell him! Tell him all those shared things he’d suddenly been forced to keep all to himself.

When asked if they were amica he would lie.

When he listened as Tumbler mused about feeling sad for no reason, or how bare his home seemed and how he just couldn’t figure out why, he would stay silent.

Lie and stay silent as he had to let his friend’s secrets rattle around and around and around over and over and over in his brain, as he kept them from that very friend.

And from you.

With that lingering, ever prevalent thought, Brainstorm spoke at last, looking down.

"Sorry he couldn’t make it again.” He apologised on behalf of a mech who didn’t even know he was here.

“Where are you going?” “Getting minerals! Can never have too many Tumbler!”

“It’s not that he doesn’t care. You know him as well as me. Cares too much.” He fiddled with the container in his hands.

Somebody who didn’t care too much would never have even been friendly with known knock off MTOs who didn’t fit the mould they were made for.

And somebody who didn’t care too much would remember when they became more.

“It’s just he prefers to think of you…before.” Helm further drooped.

“And he does! Think of you that is. Every day. And talk! So much it almost gets annoying really. Blah-Scattergun-Blah.”

And he repeats the same lie as always to a grave who should but never will be visited by their conjunx. A grave he’s visiting now because someone ought too.

Or it would be like the mech contained in it had never even existed at all.

Tumbler had gone a total of once, carrying himself with a strange sort of detachment the entire time, before going off to lock himself away. It had been assumed to just give himself some time.

And then when he came out…

“Who?” A blank, confused face had stared back at him. The worse look he could ever possibly have gotten.

“That’s why he sent me. His favourite scientist and amica extraordinaire to keep you company.” He placed the thing he had down on the ground.

“I brought a gift too! That super-super-glue you liked the idea of. Got it non-explosive, non-corrosive, non-radioactive, non-sentient, non…there was a lot of ways that project turned out that wasn’t super-super-glue. Not that I regret any of them. The science of it was awesome. But this one is just boring regular super-super-glue which could be used for medical stuff. Went back to it for you. You’re welcome.”

There was no reply, of course.

That would be a different issue entirely, if a dead mech was talking.

Brainstorm slumped against the wall, drumming his digits against it.

Thinking.

“His habits have gotten worse since you left.” He confessed at last, because who else was he supposed to confess too now?

And this was the truth this time.

You used to barely be able to notice it at all. Just the occasional gap in a memory. Something that could have gotten passed off as just genuine forgetfulness if you didn’t know any better.

Not so much now.

Not at all now.

“Seems, with you, he didn’t feel the need to do it so much. You were good for him.”

And in his absence, Brainstorm hadn’t been good enough to stop him from spiralling.

No matter how much he had tried.

“But don’t you worry Scattergun, I’ll keep my optics on him. Look after him for you.”

A reassurance that was terribly un-reassuring with that past and current precedence in mind.

But he would do better. He had to.

Because-

“Isn’t that what an amica is supposed to do?”

Today, tomorrow and always

Even if he forgets us.

[bnhaslumberpartyzine]

ABOUT+FAQ

we’ve come to the realization that the FAQ page won’t show up on mobile for whatever reason so here it is as its own post! sorry for any confusion and, as always, feel free to ask us about any questions y’all may have!! PLUS ULTRA!

ABOUT

🌙  this zine is a for-profit, SFW, gen zine focused on the theme of a BNHA slumber party/sleepover/pj party!!

🌙  the mods for this zine are mod britt (@a-phuphu) and mod wave (@waveoftheocean)! this is the first time either mod has organized a zine, but mod wave has participated in two (one Haikyuu!!, one BNHA) so far.

🌙  the zines will be shipped from the US and deadlines will follow the PT (Pacific Time) timezone.

FAQ

🌙  how do artists apply?

on october 20th we will be posting a link to a Google form to be filled out!

🌙  what do artists need for the application?

we’ll be asking for your email (please be sure this is one you check often, we’ll be sending the most important updates through email!), preferred name, social media handles, link(s) to your portfolio/pieces. there are also a couple of other general interest questions but these are the most important things!

🌙  is the application for final zine submissions?

applications are not for final zine piece submissions! while you are more than welcome to to draw something along the theme of this zine/create pieces for the application, you certainly do not have to!! (see answer below for more detail on what is needed for the apps)

🌙  what are the mods looking for in the artist portfolios?

you can send us links to 3-5 pieces that you think are demonstrative of your capabilities as an artist, or just send us a link to a general portfolio! it also doesn’t have to be formal - a link to your tumblr art tag or other social media is totally fine. we’re mostly looking at anatomy, color/linework, characterization, and general composition (do the elements of your drawing fit together in the piece? how well is space filled/not filled?)

🌙  do application pieces need to be BNHA related?

the pieces you submit for the application do not have to strictly be BNHA related, but submitting at least 1 BNHA piece will help us better determine how you’ll draw the characters!

🌙  how many artists will be in the zine?

currently there are 6 invited artists, so there will be 14-19 spots available for open applications! ultimately though, the total of number of artists will depend on how many applications we receive.

🌙  can i submit a piece that i have already drawn as my zine piece?

we are looking for new/unpublished pieces as final zine pieces!

🌙  what characters can we draw for our pieces?

any characters are fine, whether they are from the manga or the anime!

🌙  can my piece be shippy?

this is a gen zine, so please keep everything platonic! suggestions of ships are ok, as long as nothing is overtly romantic. if you’re unsure about whether or not your piece will be considered gen, please contact either of the mods about it!

🌙  is traditional art allowed?

yes, as long as you can get a high quality scan of your piece!

🌙  will this zine be printed or digital?

currently, there are only plans to have a printed copy of the zine available for purchase! if there’s enough interest in having a digital version available too us mods will definitely consider it as an option!

🌙  how will the artists be compensated for the zine?

the artists will need to have a PayPal in order to be compensated! zine profits will be split evenly between the artists and the mods. if there are merch-only artists, profits from merch will be split among them. we’re also hoping to be able to be able to send a physical copy of the zine and the merch to all participating artists!

🌙  SCHEDULE 🌙      🌙  ARTIST LIST (coming soon)🌙      🌙 ANSWERED ASKS 🌙  

[tedfashionski]

Finking, Finking.

Hi, welcome to my ted talk. (That is the only time I will ever make that joke. This is Fashionski Finks. Expect radically low standards of self-involved rantiness with zero research or accountability from here on out). For a while there I seriously thought that the covid-19 quarantine was going to result in people being increasingly placid and accepting of creeping extensions of the police state. But here I am, getting depressed again, not about the protests, which I love, but more about my relationship to in-group pressure dynamics. One of the problems with being a relentless contrarian is the discomfort of my impulse to rebel against groups even when they’re championing the right thing. I have to find my own way to fight against the system as an outsider. No gods, no masters, no fucking peer pressure.  I’ll never be happy joining a chorus line. I don’t sign fucking petitions (they’re just lists for the NSA). I do donate, but like fuck will I do it performatively. I can’t go to protests cus I get panic attacky in crowds. I empathise pretty strongly with outsiders of all stripes but believe ridiculously excessively in the public good of criticism, and have a nostalgic love of trolling (I like to think I’m gentle with it though). Bring back the troll! We need that fucker, he’s a sign of a healthy internet. I’m writing this blog thing as an extension of my need to vent my extreme negativity. TBH I never expected to get any followers with ted twitter and the bizarre welcomingness of the hf twitter community totally wrongfooted me. I’m not nice. Ted isn’t meant to likable. He’s my dark side. I was meant to be using this alt as a way to terrorise the nice nice (secretly cruel) fashion people. I’m gunna try and up that aspect more. Just bear in mind, my complaints are largely about the system, but if I see you perpetuating fashion’s entrenched anti-intellectualism or its insidery bullshit, I’ll come for you with a little meta-bomb with your name on it. Maintaining my misanthropic tone does take work tho, like, deep down in some twisted part of my psyche, I guess I do actually want to be liked. It’s fucked up.

I suppose it’s only fair to explain this Ted fursona. Like, new concept, who dis? Why all the furry porn? …..because I just think it’s hilarious. Every time I think about the furries I cackle (not at them, mind). I just love the mad corruption of pure Disney aesthetics into hardcore pornography. That’s anti-authoritarian as fuck. I love the sincerity of their culture. The way the crazy fetish aspect means they’ll never be fully blandified by mainstream acceptance. The way it’s so cringe but so delightful. And more seriously, I’m interested in how a culture of mostly gay male nerds developed to the point where they’ll invest 10k in custom fursuits and support eachother’s independent businesses in ways that the fashion community completely fails to do. The fashion world sucks. There’s so many correlations there that I want to investigate: the newness (furries date from around the 70s, fashion culture in its self-aware state dates from the late 19th C – both very young fields); the centralisation/decentralisation; the hierarchy (furries can be pretty catty, I have discovered in my research, and we all know what fashion people are like); the adoption of new identities; the cis-boy gayness aspect (I’m increasingly tired of the extreme nasty hierarchy of certain CSM queens. It’s all very UGH. Just, fuck those particular bitches.) There’s more to the furry love, but I’ll explore it in future posts.

More importantly, why Ted fucking Kaczynski? I’m not like, actually a terrorist. (….yet. tehehe. NO, seriously I like non-maiming violence. Fuck yeah to property damage. Fuck yeah to disabling the system in extreme way. But no to wooden IEDs. Think of my shitty jokes that fail to land as my hand-crafted bombs). I think I like the shitness of Ted. He was just an epic fail of a terrorist. I’m a little white girl living in London. I’m not actually a primitivist, as much as I crave a hut in the woods. I did go to an elite school though. I had some really shitty experiences in the fashion industry in my early 20s, and I watch my friends who are relatively successful in that system and I get so angry on their behalf at their poor treatment. They think I’m too angry. Fuck that. They should be more angry, and the fact that they can’t be angry at their extreme precarity and the fact they’re still insecure and terrified of being ejected by the system after all their investment and skills they’ve built up is BULLSHIT. I’ll be double angry for them, I’m not invested in that system. I don’t need it to pay my rent. I’m free, motherfuckers, and I’m coming for the abusers and exploiters. If you’re a complacent industry figure not fighting hard from within, uggghhhhh fuck you. Yes, YOU. Soooo, I relate pretty hard to the MK ultra stuff. (go look him up, he was basically tortured and experimented upon by the elite). But there’s a pretty big chasm between my views and his, and I’ll try to be clear about the extent of my interest in his extreme beliefs. I haven’t even finished reading the manifesto. Basically, I watched that shitty show on Netflix with sam worthington around the same time I watched Joker (that movie fucked me up) and thought it’d be a good outlet to larp online as a terrorist. There’s the angry white alt-right school shooter aspect, which I’m still figuring out, cus I’m non-binary and I was raised by nutso trumpy right-wingers, who I barely speak to anymore, and I struggle to get along with people generally. There’s sad, self-pitying rage here. I empathise with the angry white dudes too much. I feel guilty about it. That’s good ground for artmaking (yes, shamefully, this…is…art. Sorry). I modelled this fursona a little after my brother, who I spent years living with and arguing with and trying to lift out of his scary racist youtube rabbit holes. This is actually quite an emotional thing for me, cus I did the ‘talk to your fascist family’ thing. And I completely failed. I realised his right-winginess wasn’t lessening, I wasn’t gaining ground, and in fact my excessive empathy and desire to reach out to the relative most similar to me in character meant his extremism was rubbing off on me. Making me more resentful and depressed. Feeling powerless. I was being too kind-hearted and forgiving of his masculine impotence. So I’m exploring some personal shit here. But Ted is also a cute lil fuzzball teddy bear. He means well, but me being super autistic and faily at social skills means he’s kind of a dick, cus I am. I’m going to try and further develop this character, this POV, and this post is the only time I’ll explain the divide between him and his creator (moi). The ‘I’ on the twitter and here is Ted Fashionski, I need that space between me and him. Masks give us this freedom to be more ourselves. Internet culture has lost a lot of its wild brutal anonymity in the last decade or so, now everyone’s afraid of making mistakes. How the hell do you grow if you’re not allowed to fuck up? This is a vital outlet. He’s become an important part of my life and I have to say, I love being Ted Fashionski. He’s like Paddington Bear who just escaped form Guantanamo or something.

I get pretty fatigued as a matter of course. I’m a long-term depressive since childhood. I have a difficult time keeping my hard-on for living. I don’t get suicidal really but I do struggle with extreme fatigue. I sleep a lot. I often fall into spirals of self-hate. And as someone who utterly believes in revolutionary leftist politics, I beat myself up about not doing enough. I’m so middle class and english and white. I was raised in such a chauvinistic and complacent culture; I don’t even know where to start. I’m wading my way through post-colonial literature and beating myself up for finding it boring and uncomfortable. It’s hard to force yourself to acknowledge your culture is The Bad Guys. It’s easier to fall into fanstasies of supremacy and butthurt misunderstoodness. And it’s not like my depressive brain needs any encouragement to hate me. My trajectory is ever leftwards, but I remember the righteous fury of being right-wing. I get it, that was me. We need more paths back from fascism, more comprehension of why people are that kind of shitty. I talk less, and less well, the more depressed I am. If I’m talking, it means im feeling a lot better. Just, fyi.

Give me a minute to be critical here. With the George Floyd protests, a lot of the cool guys on fashion twitter has gone blazingly hardcore on the political side. But there’s this troubling rhetoric about ‘no return to normal content’ or ‘this isn’t the time for fashion’. Like fuck it isn’t. This is a key problem with fashion culture right here, we have this received perception of fashion as empty escapism. Escapism matters in fashion, yes. But seriously, talking about the surfaces of things does not equal not caring about deeper meaning. What the fuck. Clothes are a connective tissue, a membrane between us. They’re emotional and powerful. We can talk about things that matter THROUGH clothes. I speak fashion, pretty fucking well. Most people who work at fashion magazines are morons with no understanding or respect for their subject. They’re incapable of doing it justice, and that’s deliberate. On this tumblr you’ll see rants and reviews of fashion and other artforms, always interpreting through a fashion lens. cus it matters, cus it’s a vital part of the culture, cus just because something has a glittery, seductive surface doesn’t mean it doesn’t communicate or contain depth. There’s no going back to ‘normal fashion content’, yes. Normal fashion content is a fucking psyop to divert legitimate interest in aesthetics amongst largely non-academic dyslexic visual types away from careful thought/feeling and towards empty consumerist commericiality. The traditional fashion media wants you to express yourself and your interest in the zeitgeist through buying more shit. Another fashion world is possible. Let’s destroy the old and build a new one, one where surface and spirit are connected and true and fashion can’t be abused in service of evil industrial monopolists.

/end rant. TLDR: angry fictional teddy bear with tin-foil hat and an eco-anarchist fetish says no to stupid fashion and yes to the renewal of conceptual fashion. Also, Fuck White People.

[sapphicbigsister]

i'm pan and in a 2 yr long relationship with a guy i love!!! i really think i'll spend the rest of my life w him.. but, god, i miss girls. i miss girls so much sometimes that it hurts. he's the only boy for me, honestly i'm like 98% into girls and 2% into boys. he knows i'm sapphic and he's OK with it but sometimes he can get kind of anxious if i like, talk about it too much? bc his anxiety makes him jump to "oh no i'm not good enough" but that's not what it is at all!! so i don't really (cont)

mention it around him much bc i don’t want him to feel bad. sometimes it feels like i’ve got part of myself buried and hidden; i never really have anyone to express my identity to. i have no interest in cheating, breaking up, or polyamory, but every now and then i just want to scream because i feel like an ultra-sapphic ball of emotions wearing a hetero facade and the only outlet i have is secretly reblogging things on tumblr and i guess i’m just not sure how to cope with all of these feelings

hi bug bug!! first, thank you so much for being so understanding and i’m sorry this took sooo long!! i hope everything’s going well for ya. i’m happy to hear you’re in such a good relationship!! i think this is a common thing a lot of wlw who are attracted to other genders experience. i know it’s something that personally i wonder about if i were to end up with a guy, especially since i definitely have a strong preference for girls. i don’t wanna feel like my identity is invalid and everyone would just assume i’m straight! i think really the best thing is communication. you said he has some anxiety about not being good enough, and that’s understandable - i know i feel that way too because of my anxiety! but i do think since he is your partner it would be helpful for both of you for you to be able to express your identity without his anxiety causing him to feel a bit threatened by it just because of his insecurities (completely understandable, this isn’t a judgement on him). but i think that by you starting to share this part of you with him, he will become more assured in your choice to be with him and you will feel more like you can be completely honest about yourself in your relationship.

and i think ultimately it’s something that doesn’t just go away - that’s always gonna be a part of your identity, and if you continue to make that commitment to be with him in a monogamous relationship, the reality is you’re still going to have to deal with these feelings. i know that is tough and it can really be hard to cope so i think it’s also good idea to try to form a strong wlw/lgbt community - both online and irl if possible - with people who are having a similar experience as you so you can have that outlet not just with your partner but with other wlw who can better understand exactly what you’re going through. that way, you won’t feel so alone or like you’re identity isn’t valid. you do belong here, and a lot of us have this experience! you being with a man doesn’t make you any less sapphic or mean you can’t prefer women.

i hope this has been helpful and isn’t too unclear!! i’m always here if you need to rant or just wanna talk! stay lovely xxxx

your sapphic big sis