#the trauma was hinted at heavily since the beginning and i knew it was coming but i didn't expect it to hit me this hard

[justwatchmebloom]

i recently watched cowboy bebop for the first time (i'm late i know i know) and i am not okay

[plaid-shirtsandvibranium-arms]

Nemesis: Retribution (4)

Summary: 10 years after the Avengers had left you for dead during a mission gone wrong, you unexpectedly re-enter their lives. Wholly unrecognizable from the person they used to know and now with a new team behind you, they ask for your help to stop a chain of syndicates who were manufacturing and peddling the super soldier serum. You were determined to say no until the chance at the vengeance you had been chasing for years was added to the offer.

Fandoms: Avengers, Marvel, MCU, The Punisher, Daredevil

Pairings: Female Reader x (Frank Castle, Billy Russo, Matt Murdock, Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes, Pietro Maximoff)

Warnings: EXPLICIT SMUT. SHAMELESS SEXUAL BEHAVIOUR (18+ ONLY. I WILL BLOCK YOU), voyeurism, exhibitionism, authority kink, praise kink, spanking, slight dom themes, polyamorous relationships, reverse harem, blatant disregard for canon timelines and events, angst, Punisher canon level of violence and gore, strong language, mentions of trauma, mentions of character death, fluff if you squint, 

A/N: Slowing it down just a bit to move plot along. Freaking out on the reblogs and comments are encouraged and will be rewarded with cookies. Seriously though, I love hearing what you guys think and use some of it to make the next chapters better. I adore you all! Have at it!

No permission is granted to repost, steal, or translate my work. Not even a credit makes it okay. Tumblr is the only place I post my writing. If you see it anywhere else please report it.

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1:4 Apple Crumble

Steve Rogers had kindly offered for you and your team to stay at the Compound. For however long this mission would take, you were all going to start running straight at it early tomorrow. In terms of the mission, he was relieved to have your help. The sooner the serum was out of circulation the better and they truthfully did need your help. This underground world was more your scene now and you could better navigate it.

On a personal level, he was glad that you were sticking around even if it was on a contract. He would take whatever opportunity he can and make the best of it. That's how he's always been and he wasn't going to change that now.

He told himself that it was because he was the Captain that he was at your door this late after you all had agreed to part for the night. It was out of consideration that he carried with him some of his own clothes to offer you in case you needed something to change into. It was out of a need to clear the tension with you now that you were going to work as a team again that he was knocking on your door.

That was all.

You opened the door a moment later wrapped only in a short towel and with your hair still dripping wet from the shower. The smile that rose on your face was sly as you leaned on the doorframe with your arms crossed and your hip cocked to one side. He swallowed.

Maybe that wasn't all.

"What can I do for you, Cap?"

He opened his mouth, but no words came out. He was far too distracted by the little droplet that rolled down from your temple to the valley of your breasts. He shook his head and cleared his throat, forcing himself to focus only on your eyes and not the inappropriate answers that sprung to mind at your question.

"I brought you a change of clothes in case you need it," he managed to say. "And I wanted to talk to you if you're not too tired."

You opened the door wider and took the clothes from him without a word, turning into the room toward the bathroom. You casually dropped your towel to the floor and Steve choked at the sight of your bare back, a small set of black panties the only stitch you wore. The breath in his chest released only when you disappeared into the bathroom, the door cracked open offering him enticing glimpses as you moved around.

Steve hurriedly closed the door behind him and as he made his way further in, he caught sight of an open go bag beside your bed with clothes clearly visible. There was also a shirt and sweats beside it, the design he knew belonged to Pietro. He felt a little embarrassed. Of course Pietro would have already beaten him to it and that your team always came prepared. Still there was a satisfaction that bloomed in him when you stepped out clad in his shirt, the hem barely reaching mid thigh and bare feet soundlessly crossing the carpeted floor until you came to sit with him on the sofa. You tucked your legs under you and rested your head on your hand over the back of the seat.

"Gotta say I like this look, Steve," you grinned at him.

He chuckled, self-consciously rubbing at his beard and pulling at the hair at the back of his collar. The light dusting of red on his cheeks didn't go unnoticed by you.

"What? You don't like the all American apple pie look?"

You hummed and took a leisurely look at him from head to toe. Rugged and imposing as he appeared, the heat on his face intensified at your obvious appreciation and the way you swiped your tongue along your bottom lip. You were biting your lip when your eyes met his again, trying to stop yourself from laughing at how flustered he was getting and how much you were enjoying it. You've always found Steve handsome and he made apple pie look damn good, but this look on him was just so dangerously delicious.

You had a type.

"I'm more of an apple crumble kind of girl. I like the texture better," you winked. "And I don't mind a little beard burn."

"Will your team mind that I'm talking to you without one of them here?"

You raised an eyebrow and held his unsteady gaze, clearly understanding he meant more than just your professional relationship with the three men.

"You're curious."

"It's none of my business. That's not what I came to talk to you about," he stammered, unaccustomed to how forward you were.

"What did you want to talk about then?"

"I wanted to apologize properly and thank you for agreeing to help."

You groaned and threw your whole body back on the seat, causing Steve's shirt to ride up just shy of completely flashing him. You sat back up and pinched the bridge of your nose, letting out a long breath. It was only the fact that it was Steve that you were even entertaining this conversation.

"You have nothing to apologize for, Steve," you firmly dismissed.

"I do, Nem. We all do."

"Fine. List down what you're sorry about. Let's go through it one by one or we can draw lots to make it interesting."

"Nem," he said, low and clear with warning yet imploring you to listen. "Can you take this seriously for one second?"

The ever present smirk on your face dropped as you sighed heavily and ran a hand through your hair. For the first time since he's seen you, your expression softened a fraction and a shadow of the person he used to know passed across your features.

"Listen to me, Steve. I don't blame any of you. I'm not angry at any of you. I honestly have no room for more anger even if I wanted to be."

In the beginning you were. There were days while you were getting tortured that you hated them while you pleaded to the heavens for them to rescue you. It had taken a decade and three incredible men for that inferno of fury to turn into a manageable bitterness.

"Do you know how tiring it is to be so fucking angry all the time?" you chuckled darkly. "It took a while, but I learned to prioritize what I choose to be angry about."

"Salvacion," he muttered and you nodded, your eyes staring blankly forward.

"I've carried that name for a decade, Steve. That asshole has to die by my hands."

Steve saw now how selfish he was for forcing the conversation with the purpose of earning your forgiveness. It was for easing his own guilt that he was doing it when instead he should have just been thanking you for what you did and had to endure.

"Why didn't you ever come back?"

"I tried, Steve. When I was recovered enough I tried to go back. Did you know my sister had a girlfriend?"

He shook his head, throat suddenly closing at the sight of absolute misery in your eyes. He regretted starting this conversation even more.

"Jill. She was amazing to Lily and she was like a sister to me too," you smiled a little, not in your usual sarcastic way but with a hint of gentle fondness before your expression hardened once more.

"I saw her and I just couldn't bring myself to face her. I'm the reason the love of her life is dead. I couldn't, Steve"

It started off with the fear that they might have killed Jill too. You told yourself you had to know, but truthfully you were trying desperately to find a connection to Lily. You found her visiting the graveyard, laying flowers on two stones and spending the afternoon sitting on the ground tearfully talking to the dead. The shame burned through you and from then on you made it your sole purpose to destroy the man who took Lily from you both. Until then you had no right to face her. You had no right to return to the life you once knew.

Steve noticed that you weren't crying although the look in your eyes was swimming with grief. He expected you to cry, but somehow seeing you with dry eyes only made you look more in pain. You only clenched your fists, your shoulders tense and your jaw stiff. Steve decided he would tell the others instead of having you go through this conversation again.

He would do that for you.

You woke up surprisingly refreshed the following morning, strangely lighter than you have felt in the past decade. You didn't expect for that talk with Steve to have such an impact on you. You smiled ruefully, remembering your many counseling sessions with Curtis before and that maybe you were finally seeing his point.

FRIDAY had directed you to the larger conference room for today's briefing session with the rest of the team. You were wearing another one of Steve's shirts paired with your usual cargo pants, a fact that didn't go unnoticed judging by the raised eyebrows and teasing smiles. Billy in particular was leaning in to whisper to Matt what was going on.

"You don't have to tell me. I can smell it," Matt chuckles, crinkles visible at the edges of his dark sunglasses. "His cologne is quite distinct."

You smacked Billy on the arm, but laughed with them as well before throwing a wink at Steve who proceeded to blush a deep red. As you took your seat, a cup of coffee suddenly materialized in front of you accompanied by Pietro's ever bright smile. You smiled gratefully and took a sip, eyes slightly rounding in surprise at the taste.

"You remembered how I took my coffee."

"I've forgotten nothing about you, little star."

You haven't taken your coffee that way in so long. It's been just strong plain black coffee lately, the lack of sugar and cream where you lived with the boys being a factor. It had seemed pointless to eat something sweet when there was a permanent sour taste in your mouth from life. Now though you couldn't seem to help taking one sip after another, licking your lips before going in for more.

Right now this tasted right.

You didn't notice that Billy was smiling adoringly at you and sharing a look of approval with Frank as the briefing began, happy that someone aside from him was spoiling you. You certainly didn't know that Matt was smirking because he heard your heart literally skip a beat at the sweet gesture.

It took hours for the meeting to wrap up, but there was still more to do before you could actually take action. A number of the Avengers were sent out to gather more intel while the rest would stay to make further preparations.

"I only really need to talk to Frank a bit more," Steve said as he approached your group. "Why don't we have Pietro show you guys around the Compound? There are some improvements I think you'll find interesting."

Your tour guide for the afternoon appeared beside you, taking your hand in his and bouncing on the balls of his feet in his excitement. He was just too cute that you couldn't help but let out a small smile. The effect he had on you remained it seems.

"A tour would be really helpful for me," Matt easily agreed.

"And I go wherever the pretty girl goes," Billy added, slinging his arm over your shoulders.

"Great. Surrender your weapons and you should be good to go," Steve asked with a pointed look at both you and Billy who groaned in answer.

Billy was ready with a string of complaints and counter arguments when the clang of metal on the glass conference table stunned him into silence. He watched in complete disbelief as you removed every gun and blade attached to your body, efficiently dismantling them and lining them up on the table.

"Is she?" Matt murmured, leaning closer to Billy.

"Yeah."

"All of them?"

"Yeah."

By the time you stepped back, there was practically a decent sized armory on the table. How and where you managed to fit all of it on your person was a mystery to them.

"You missed one," Billy said, snapping out of his daze.

He stepped in front of you and casually slipped his arm up the front of your shirt and under your sports bra. His fingers grazed unnecessarily close to your now hardened nipples and he simply winked when you raised an eyebrow at him. Billy pulled out two small throwing daggers soon after and placed them alongside your other weapons.

"Oh yeah. I keep forgetting about those," you chuckled.

"Do you always come armed to the teeth?" Bucky snapped, clearly bothered by the display.

"She doesn't want her team to carry extra ammo for her, Sergeant," Billy scowled at him, the obvious animosity surprising Bucky. When he turned back to Pietro, his expression was back to his usual playful one. "So how about that tour?"

Frank turned to Steve when you had exited the room. "You gotta teach me that trick, Cap."

"What trick?"

"First time in 10 years I've seen her take any kind of order without a knife fight first," he said, cracking a smile and shaking his head.

It turns out that coming back was doing some good for you and this made him more comfortable around the Avengers. He wasn't about to braid them friendship bracelets but he was less inclined to pop a cap in their ass. At least for the time being.

Walking around the Compound brought back some of that wonder you felt when you first stepped in, but it recalled everything you had lost. Sensing the sudden tension in you, Billy gripped you by the waist and pulled you into his side. He kissed your temple, a silent reminder of what you had gained.

Pietro had been an absolute sweetheart, specifically describing what was in the area for Matt's benefit and pointing out the changes to you. The training area was your last stop, the place you had spent the most time in during your short stint here. There were loud sounds coming from the area and walking in you saw fresh-faced recruits in paired off sparring sessions.

Your full attention was on Pietro as he happily listed off the new features and answered questions from Matt and Billy, the latter now in businessman mode as he thought of what he could implement for Anvil. You were having an unusually pleasant time until a familiar shrill voice demanded your attention.

"Well look what the street cat dragged in. Y/N?"

You knew that voice. A decade with torture and trauma included apparently couldn't change how much her voice grated at you. The cold smirk made a reappearance on your face as you slowly turned to face her, the three men with you were instantly alarmed at the change in your demeanor.

"Kim," you nodded.

"Thought you were dead."

"Thanks. Can't say I thought about you at all though."

"I see you're still pathetically clinging to Pietro."

"What can I say? He's really cute," you said with a wink at Pietro who seemed to enjoy the compliment.

She sneered at you, her irritation rising when you weren't backing down like you used to do. She couldn't quite put her finger on what had changed about you, but you seemed rougher around the edges and far too cocky for her liking. Luckily, she still remembered a sure-fire way to take you down a few pegs.

"I'm teaching a class on hand to hand combat. How about we show them a demonstration on what a real fight looks like?"

You giggled as your smile grew, a disturbing sight that made even Kim doubt herself for a moment. You nodded your head in easy acceptance and she looked like she was pleased at herself for getting this opportunity. Before you could step forward though, you found Matt's walking stick blocking your path.

"What? It's not assault if it's provoked," you grinned at the frown on his face.

He hated it when you found loopholes, but he relented with a heavy sigh. He was too used to this. He leaned toward Pietro and told him that he should inform the Captain.

"Get some snacks too, roadrunner," Billy chuckled, delightedly watching you strip off your shirt and walking confidently towards Kim on the sparring mats.

Pietro had returned a moment later after completing his task, actually handing Billy a bag of fresh popcorn. The smile on his face froze when he caught sight of your bare skin. So far all he had seen as evidence of your torture was what was visible on your neck and face. He had stupidly brushed that fact aside, too excited to have found you again. Now the vicious marring on your beautiful skin was a cruel reminder of their failure as your team. They had failed you.

He had failed you.

Back in the conference room, the same feelings were shared by two super soldiers. They had pulled up surveillance on the training area after Pietro's message, just in time to see you take off that shirt.

Bucky felt the air leave his lungs at the horrific sight. He was alive and you had paid a heavy price for saving him. He could barely keep his eyes on you, the shame burning through him. He didn't want to imagine the amount of pain you had to endure to sustain those injuries.

"Don't you people dare look at her with pity," Frank warned. "Those scars are a testament to her strength. She's damn beautiful."

Steve agreed. He'd caught a glimpse of your scars last night and jarring as they were, your complete lack of self consciousness to them just made you more alluring. Looking back at the screen though he was concerned that you could hurt yourself. Kim was a top agent now, high enough in the ranks to be training recruits and leading missions. She had proven herself deadly in combat, but the way you were grinning was chilling in itself.

"One question before we start," you said.

"What?" Kim scoffed, flipping her braided hair over her shoulder.

"When's your next mission?"

"2 weeks. Why?" she answered, perfect brow raised in confusion.

"Just calculating your recovery time," you shrugged. "I'm nice that way."

Kim predictably charged at you then, growling and cursing at you under her breath. You smirked, standard SHIELD movements were easy to read for you. You stayed completely still and relaxed in your stance as she lunged at you with her fist. You timed your movement precisely, sidestepping at the absolute last moment. One hand grabbed at the back of her head, forcing it down to ram against your oncoming fist with a sickening crack.

Broken nose.

Kim shrieked in pain as the blood gushed from her nose and she tried to pull away from you. You didn't let her. You pulled her down by the shoulder to bend her over before driving your knee up her midsection. She wheezed at the impact, the mat below her smattered with her blood.

Bruised ribs. Maybe slightly broken.

You unceremoniously threw her aside, letting her fall groaning on her side. You clicked your tongue, watching her struggle and turning to the class she was supposed to be teaching.

"Lesson 1, kids," you waved your hands in Kim's general direction. "Don't end up like that."

Broken ego.

You turned to go back to your boys when the glint of metal caught your eye. You tilted your head just in time for the dagger to zip past your eye line, only thinly scratching at your cheek. Your hands reacted on instinct, reaching for the small hidden pocket along the waistband of you pants. You flicked the thin blade with deft fingers, embedding on the mat and landing it purposely close to Kim's eyes that it cut through her fake lashes.

"Nem!" Steve's unmistakable voice boomed through the speakers. You had forgotten that they had FRIDAY everywhere. "We said no weapons."

You rolled your eyes and smiled cheekily at the cameras. "It's just a nail file. I don't like keeping blood under my nails."

"You call that training?" Steve groaned rubbing his eyes and turning to Frank.

"I call that anger management," Frank said, amused at how unpredictable to handle they already found you when they've barely scratched the surface. He noticed how Bucky looked furious, his metal hand clutching a little too hard onto the table. "Don't like what you see, Sarge?"

Bucky didn't answer. He didn't tell them that he didn't like what he saw because he knew he was a major contributor in what caused it. If only he had been kinder, gentler, more honest. Maybe things would have turned out differently.

He walked down the hallways much later gripping a first aid kit in his metal hand and nervously running the other through his cropped hair. The cut on your face was barely anything, but he needed an excuse to talk to you. He was afraid you would turn him away, but he was terrified that you wouldn't. He didn't know what to say to you. He didn't know how to begin to apologize for everything he's done. His palm grew sweaty and beads were beginning to form on his brow.

He was only a few steps away from your bedroom door and he was sorely tempted to turn back around when he noticed that it was cracked open and he could hear voices from inside. He should have followed his instinct to keep his distance but a high whine that definitely came from you pushed him to peak through the small opening.

What he saw made his already thumping heartbeat grow quicker. His eyes grew wide and his throat went dry. Whatever he was expecting, it definitely wasn't this.

You. Stark naked. Grinding your mound on someone's face.

You looked absolutely glorious as you wound your hips in your chase for release; head thrown, back arched, and lips in a dreamy smile. The view he had of you, facing him and deep into your pleasure, was enough to cause his pants to tighten. He couldn't see which one of your teammates was beneath you, the bedframe blocking his view. Whoever they were, Bucky was jealous. He wanted to taste you too.

He felt that stirring of longing again now as he watched you in the throes of passion with another man. He felt it the moment you stepped back into their lives. He felt it during the 10 years they thought you were dead. And he felt it when you were still in training as a recruit every time you smiled at Pietro and Steve.

You picked up your pace and he could see muscular arms reach up to grip your waist and pull you down harder. You were panting curses, your breathing turning erratic and Bucky could see your thighs begin to shake. The sight of you coming undone has to be the most entrancing thing he's ever seen.

Movement from you and your partner pulled him from the hypnosis caused by your erotic display. His face heated up, deeply embarrassed at having watched you for so long and finding enjoyment in basically violating your privacy. He was about to leave when the man whose face you had been riding, came up to kneel behind you.

He pulled your hips back against his own, sliding his hard length easily into your dripping cunt causing you to moan so deliciously that Bucky felt a shiver run down his spine. You reached your hand up to grip the back of his head, letting him bury his own in your neck as he set a languid pace with his thrusts.

Your head rolled to the side and your eyes opened, locking directly with Bucky's. You smirked and reached down to circle your swollen bud, pressing your back further against the hard body rutting behind you and purposely putting on a show. You winked at him.

He bolted out of there.

"That wasn't very nice, honey," the low voice was thick with lust in your ear. His breathing was growing labored too, finding your heat wrapping around him overwhelming.

"I don't see you stopping, Captain."

"How can I when you're gripping me so tight?" He snapped his hips earning a sharp moan from you. "Did you like that? Torturing my best pal with me balls deep inside you?"

You sighed and closed your eyes. Apple pie Steve wouldn't have whispered such sinful things to you, but this Steve could make you cum with just filthy words alone.

"Yeah, you did. Look at you clenching and soaking my cock from having Bucky watch you. You like being bad to him, honey?"

A sudden smack to your ass had you snapping your eyes open. He chuckled into your neck, biting down hard on the juncture as he felt you gripping him even tighter.

"Answer," he growled, landing a harsher smack to your bottom.

"Yes! Yes, Captain, I did."

"Good. Will you be good for me now, honey? You caused a bit of trouble today." His thrusting was still slow, making sure you felt every ridge and vein with each stroke as he drove you into a stupor. "Will you be a good girl for your Captain now?"

"Yes, Captain."

He smirked against your skin, pleased at your compliance. He was reveling in the power he had over you. Frank had said that you never took orders without a fight, but here you were being so good for him. Pliable. Yielding. He was enjoying it.

He gathered your hair in one hand and pulled, your back arching beautifully and emphasizing where his cock was buried deep inside you. With each thrust his cock came out glistening with your slick. The image made him lose control, abruptly escalating his pace to rail feverishly into you.

He had you gasping and clutching at the sheets instantly, begging for him to go harder and push you over the edge. He bent over you and reached around to rub furiously at your throbbing clit.

"Cum like a good girl, honey. Cum around my cock," he commanded. "I wanna feel you fucking drown me."

You came, lights dancing in your eyes and your head empty of all thoughts aside from the pleasure that racked your body. He followed soon after with a loud grunt, the sensation of you fluttering around him too much to resist.

He fell on top of you, spent and satisfied. Your sweat and heavy breaths mingling together as you both tried to return back to the world. You liked the heavy feel of him on top of you, strangely finding comfort in the weight.

He dragged you with him when he rolled off you, spooning you and planting kisses on the back of your shoulders that had your skin tingling from his beard.

"When are you going to put him out of his misery?"

"When it stops being fun?" you chuckled.

Steve wasn't going to push the issue. He knew that it was up to you whether you forgave Bucky or not and when that would be. It would be on your own terms how things moved. Just like what happened between you two. He wasn't expecting it, but the heated argument about the injuries you inflicted on one of his best agents had somehow escalated into him spanking you and you growing wet from it.

Not that either of you were complaining.

You turned around in his arms to face him, looking up at him with a taunting smirk. "You sure your old heart can take being in a polyamorous relationship?"

He chuckled and pecked your lips before going back in for a much deeper kiss that had you swooning. When he pulled back, he was looking at you lovingly.

"I'm known for waiting too long about things like this. I lost my shot at you 10 years ago. I'm not missing out on you again."

His words were firm and genuine. He honestly thought that he would mind having to share you with several other men. He thought that he would feel jealous and possessive. Instead, he felt reassured. He knew that wherever and whenever he lacked, someone else would pick it up and he would be the same. There was a sense of relief knowing that you would always be taken cared of by people who felt the same for you as he did.

"Well then you have some making up to do for waiting so long," you said nibbling at his lower lip.

He groaned and grabbed your thigh, hitching your leg up on his hip. Your thighs and core were still sticky and slippery from both your releases. His tongue dove into your mouth and he could feel you moan against his lips as he ran the tip of his cock against your still sensitive core. Your nails dug into his back as he sunk in, fitting perfectly inside you.

"You're running with a super soldier now, honey," he said, eyes burning with want. "I can do this all day."

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A/N: Some asked about Jill and Kim so here you go, lovelies. Come freak out with me in the comments and reblogs. Thank you all for the support! More coming soon. 

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[hford0311]

He's Back

*Where the reader is also from the 1940s, and is now a part of the Avengers. Now, she has learned to deal with her displacement in time and moved on from the idea of love, especially after the death of her love, Bucky. Until, one day Steve calls for an emergency meeting where her world is turned around. Word Count: 2.2k*

Whispers were indistinctive around the Avengers Tower that you could never end up being a part of. When you made your entrances in different rooms, people would instantly stop talking, even if you were nearly silent coming in the room.

"Okay!" You exclaimed and threw a glass cup in the sink when it happened once again. "Do I need to set up a meeting, so I can be told what's being whispered around or something?" You yelled at Nat, Tony, and Bruce. They were shocked by your response. "I'm tired of this stupid silent treatment." You added, almost panting in anger. "Y/n," Bruce started to speak before the other pair in the room shot him disapproving looks. "No, tell me, Bruce. I can handle it." You stated. "Yeah, the cup can really tell that you can handle something," Tony dully remarked. "So you're going to stop everything to make sure that I do not know the stupid secret that everyone else in the tower gets to know but me. Cool, thanks, Tony," you stomped out of the room.

Steve was gone, the only person from your time, and he was the only person that you could confide in at times. You were also from the 1940s. You were friends with Steve and actually Bucky's girl up until his death in 1945. You were a nurse during the war. They shipped you off to Germany. There, you were one of the captured nurses that were forced to treat the German soldiers, and HYDRA decided that you were useful enough to keep around for decades. On and off ice for decades.

You kept messaging Steve to know when he was going to be back and where he had gone. It took hours for him for him to respond Emergency Meeting at 8. You tried knowing the content of the meeting, but he did not give you a response. You huffed and stayed put in your room until 7:55. That's when you walked into the main living area, where everyone was surrounded, including Steve. There was chatter, they obviously have not noticed you yet, this time. Steve asked everyone to back up and give them room. Them? You mentally questioned, who else is here?

The mini crowd back up and dispersed more in the living room. That's when you saw him. You were slightly embarrassed yourself when you noticed how you had pinched yourself. When you met his eyes, you felt time slow. He was not paying attention to anyone else either. You walked a few steps closer, "Hey, Sarge," you gently said. Bucky's body and face softened at your voice. "Long time, no see," you gave him a small smile. You could tell he wanted to reach out to you, but something was holding him back. Suddenly, you felt your stomach drop and a large amount of feelings suddenly attack you. For over half a century, you've known of his death, and it took you so long to accept that he was dead. Now, everything had backfired. All of that had now changed. You felt yourself beginning to sob. Bucky, your Bucky is alive. "This can't be real," you whispered and ran to your room.

The nightmares came back to you. There were incredibly recurring and were from your, what you call, main past being the 1940s and 1950s. However, they did not just include the horrible reliving the past like they used to be when you experienced them before. They included the screams and cries from Bucky to you. Your name and cries for help kept repeating, but you could never find where they were coming from until it was all dead silent, and you awoke panting and sweating. A few of the times included you crying out for him too and patting over the bed until you realized it was a dream.

This time after waking from the nightmare, you grabbed your throw blanket, quietly escaped your room, and went out to one of the patios. It did not matter how many times you did this, the view was always something that distracted you from the nightmares that occurred. The lights from all the apartments and other buildings were something that you always appreciated about living in the city. It did not matter that you were awake because you were not the only one. Sometimes, you would people watch and make up stories of the shapes of people that you go in and out of their lit living areas. It was all comforting. The opening of the sliding door made you jump in your seat a little, but you were fine when you saw it was Steve.

"Another one," he questioned and sat in the chair next to you. You nodded and wrapped the blanket around you tighter. "You know you can talk to whenever about them." Steve reminded you like he always does. Sometimes you debated making up a fake one to tell him about, so he could leave you alone about it. But like always, you pursed your lips and shook your head, "I'm fine," you quietly spoke. Steve sighed and looked out into the city. "It makes you wonder why their all up sometimes." He changed the subject that he knew he could get you to talk about. You gave a silent, second longing laugh before answering, "That's when you make up people stories. Like that building," you pointed at one about the height of where the patio was, the third closest building on the right, "on the third floor down from the top and fourth one to the right that couple are planning their wedding, it's going horribly, but they keep having fun along the way." You had a comfortable smile.

"Ever wonder what's that like anymore?" Steve asked while he looked at the window you exposed to him. You audibly scoffed, "Maybe almost a century ago, but I haven't ever since." Steve gave you a sad but understanding look. "Dedicate myself to fighting with the Avengers, I don't think any dreamboat could handle it. Just a single dame till the day I die...whenever that will finally be," you finished by rolling your eyes. You watched Steve looked at you with shock. "Well, Y/n, I'm surprised by you," he stated and leaned back in his chair, "I thought you would think differently with Bucky here. I know I have." You gave him a sad smile, "Steve, you and I both know that that person is not the Bucky we know and..." You faded into silence and looked back out. "Y/n, you haven't even-" "I know!" You paused after hearing yourself echo slightly, "I know, I haven't." You added much quieter. "The thought terrifies me, especially after coming to acceptance that my....was no longer, and being kidnapped with no hope in sight, I turned into a cold person. I saw him, a-and I-I..." you paused again, "I wasn't--fuck, I still don't know how to react to it, and I...am very mixed emotion about everything with him. On one hand, there's....what we had," your hands really helped you do the talking, "and now...I'm sure he has gone through worse than me. I'm sure he doesn't want to add anything to my plate of trauma, and I don't want to add to his." You finished.

"Y/n, you can't even get yourself to say Bucky's name." Steve pointed out to you. That's when emotions started. "Steve," you heavily exhaled, "that's the problem. Some nights, I wake up screaming for him. I pat my bed looking for him! I haven't done that since his mother told me about the soldiers coming up to her about his KIA in the '40s, Steve! I have nightmares of him screaming for me to help him, and I can never find him!" You took a large breath. "I am in an internal battle of wanting to run and jump in his arms like I wanted to do so badly when I daydreamed about the war being over and becoming a wife of an American hero while also wanting to stay the hell away from him because...well, everything after that to now!" You rubbed your forehead. "Y/n, he's here. Try something. Do you think he doesn't have the same feeling?" You looked up at the sky and shook your head. "It's terrifying." You breathed. "So is waking up from the ice, but we survived that." Steve said before getting up and going back in the tower.

***

Right on time again, up and terrified. You repeated your routine of going outside. You hummed old, familiar songs as you did. One of your favorite couples were dancing by their window. "You really have it all figured out, don't you?" You whispered, even though you knew you would never get an answer back. They were comfort characters in your world. You were so entranced by them that you did not noticed the other human walk out onto the patio as well, until he spoke. "Old habits never die." Your neck swiftly changed directions in shock at the voice. You tightened the blanket from a nervous habit. "Somethings never do," you simply added before turning away. However, your eyes kept glancing towards him. You noticed the recent haircut compared to when you saw him the other day at shoulder's length or a little beyond. "But so many things often do." He responded. "Can't ever go back even if we truly desired to." You added back to him.

There was silence. Eye contact never fully met. Under different circumstances of no history involved, some would say it resembled high school crushes. He finally gave in first and turned around to face you, hands on the railing of the patio. You noticed then that the left one was vibranium. You sighed and looked back at the couple near the window while humming songs from the '40s. Then, after a short while, you heard Bucky add to your humming. You stopped and shyly smiled back at him. "Music is nothing like it used to be," you mentioned. He lightly laughed and nodded. What came from your mouth next, you didn't really have control over, maybe it was an instinct like when you talk to Steve, maybe it was something you did not know you truly desired now.

"Want to head to my room and listen to it?" You couldn't avoid eye contact when he looked back at you now. You said it loud and clear enough that he looked over at you with a hint of shock. "That'd be nice," Bucky responded with a hint of a smile.

At first, it did start as simply that, listening to the records while sitting on your set of velvet wide wingback chairs. The occasional glances and small smiles shared. Then, Bucky made a move. He stood from his chair and stood in front of yours, offering you a dance. "Oh, Bucky, I haven't danced since-" "1943?" You nodded at him finishing your sentence. "I haven't either," he added and as gentle as he could be, he grabbed your hand to pull you up to dance with him. You allowed it to happen, resistance did not feel right to you in that situation.

The dancing started stiff and cautious like neither of wanted to frighten the other. However, it grew into a more fluid dancing, the pair of you getting more comfortable with each other. After a couple hours, you felt comfortable enough to rest your head on his chest. "Don't fall asleep on me, Y/n doll." He quietly said, which made you look up at him with curiosity at the old nickname. "I'm sorry," he admittedly said. "I shouldn't have-" "Don't apologize," you deeply whispered and leaned up, kissing Bucky's cheek. Then, his lips, after so many decades, had reconnected with yours, quick and short turned into long as well as passionate.

The world around you both felt like it turned back to 1943. The room was now Bucky's apartment, his clothing turned into his sergeant uniform, yours into the red shirtwaist dress, and time didn't hurt the pair of you like the present. "Never leave me again, James Buchanan Barnes." Your lips drew together and bodies grew closer. "Wouldn't dream of it, Y/n doll," Bucky would mutter against your lips and pulled your closer by the waist.

As your back landed on the bed, you physically felt your breath being caught. "Bucky," you exhaled in a tone that was no longer flirtatious or excited, rather it was a sad realization. The dimly lit apartment, the uniform, the red dress, all of it turned back into reality of your room in the Avengers Tower. You can see that the dream ideal world had broke from his eyes as well. "Bucky," you breathed as you stood and softly grabbed both sides of his face, "you were gone. You were gone for so long." You lightly cried. He embraced you, holding you close to his chest. "I know, doll." Bucky lightly kissed the top of your head. You gripped the back of his shirt. "Don't ever do that again." You whispered into him. "Why would I ever do such a thing?" Bucky held you tighter.

[pla-teau]

WANDAVISION EPISODE 6 THOUGHTS

SPOILERS AHEAD. YOU’VE BEEN WARNED!

GOOD GOD I HAVE A LOT OF THOUGHTS

GIF NOT MINE

pietro maximoff as ‘himself’ | in the opening credits, pietro is introduced as playing himself? this just made me more suspicious about him and who he really is. it’s like wanda (since she’s the one broadcasting her show) trying to convince us, and herself, that this is her dead brother.

billy talking to us | i know tommy talks to the camera at the beginning for a brief minute but it’s mainly billy talking. i think this was a hint at his incoming powers. plus, in promo trailers for the ‘modern family’ episode, wanda’s the one talking to the camera. i bet we’ll see the kids talk to the camera in that episode but i just find it interesting that billy’s the one leading us through the beginning of the episode. plus, in rewatching the episode, pietro seems to be aware of billy talking to us and reacts to when billy talks about vision and wanda’s relationship going through a rough patch.

haydick hayward’s an ass | there’s no denying that hayward has something up his suspicious ass. first with showing the footage of wanda stealing vision’s body. then, putting in a missile and planning on killing wanda. yea, the five years were hard for everyone - no one’s denying it but there’s just something that isn’t right. we clearly see that he’s hiding something when darcy finds a file of sorts that only hayward can see and that he’s been able to track vision without telling the team. either he’s got a personal vendetta or he’s covering for something more sinister. personally, i think he’s just pissed that wanda, one of the most powerful beings in the universe, took away vision’s body when he needed it to create more weapons and whatever else he was planning. i wanted monica to punch him in the throat when he told her it was better that she wasn’t around when her mom died. bless monica for keeping her cool.

wanda’s interaction with herb | their brief interaction makes me believe that herb is just as aware as agnes (if she happens to be a victim in all this and not agatha harkness) about what’s happening. we got a hint about it in episode 3 when he tried to tell vision what geraldine’s purpose in westview was. we see him mimic agnes from the previous episode when he asks wanda if there’s anything she wants changed. he looks to her the same way agnes did when she was thrown off script. both these times involve vision throwing everything off. vision’s the one that’s been off script from the beginning of the episode this time around instead of after a weird event.

residents being in a loop or immobile | as vision gets farther from wanda and explores westview, it’s evident that there’s something off about the people. we get that shot of the woman and presumably her husband stuck in a time loop of hanging decorations and putting a pumpkin on the front steps. the woman not only sheds a tear but her hands look purplish presumably because of the cold or being stuck doing the same task for god knows how long. clearly, the woman’s in pain and is aware that she can’t break free. as vision gets closer to the loop, residents are completely immobile and stuck wherever they stand. it’s eerie and further proves that this may be wanda’s doing and wherever she is, it’s easy for the residents to be active or for her to control those near her. it could also mean that the closer you are to the hex’s border, that you become immobile as you’re farther removed from the fantasy life wanda has created.

yo-magic commercial | by far the creepiest and most disturbing commercial in the series. i’ve seen people theorize that this commercial is referring to wanda’s detainment on the raft in civil war. it would make sense since the yogurt could represent wanda’s powers and opening the lid should be simple and easy, just like using your powers. on the raft, wanda was detained with a straitjacket and a collar on her neck so she couldn’t use her magic. the island could represent the raft since it was in the ocean. ‘yo-magic, the snack for survivors’ could represent wanda being a survivor in many instances: strücker’s experiments, the battle of sokovia and the lagos incident.

pietro’s ‘part’ | when wanda questions pietro, he gets defensive about how he’s just trying to do his part: come unexpectedly, create tension with vision, stir up trouble with the twins, and ultimately give wanda grief. grief holding a double meaning. obviously, pietro did bring wanda grief when he died in 2015 but it also means to cause trouble which he has done since his arrival to westview. whenever wanda questions him about their childhood or tries to trip him up, pietro retorts with a question or makes rather meta remarks about westview.

the details are fuzzy | the comment pietro makes after a moment of silence between them. he claims he got shot in the middle of the street and next thing he knew wanda was calling her. i think when ‘pietro’ was brought into the westview reality, his memories mixed with those of wanda’s pietro or skewed them at least - it’s probably why things seem hazy to him and can see that wanda doesn’t believe him to be the pietro she remembers. pietro knows he looks different to wanda and it’s like a comment to us because even though pietro only appeared in one movie with wanda - we the audience know he’s not the same actor. this could also be mephisto really mind tripping wanda because she would remember what her brother looked like but the memories are remembered differently. enough to keep her on edge with him and make her suspect but not want to because he also says “i knew you needed me” no stranger would say that right? of course, siblings and family can tell when another member needs them. this episode really makes you laugh at pietro’s antics but go down a rabbit hole with every line he says.

the hex’s effects on people | when darcy explains to monica that her cells have been greatly affected by her entrance and departure from the hex, it doesn’t seem like monica is surprised. maybe this is hinting that monica already has her powers or simply mean that she’s putting on a poker face to hide her fear (or astonishment) at wanda’s level of power. it’s interesting to see if wanda’s gonna be responsible for birthing some mutants or at least awakening the x gene if it hasn’t already. does it mean that anyone can simply leave or that if you leave, you’ll come out with serious side effects that are possibly life threatening? monica states at the end that she’s seen cells in remission which makes me believe that this is hinting at the x gene. we’ve seen what the hex does once you go in, but what happens if an ordinary westview resident leaves?

agnes and vision | we see agnes in her car supposedly leaving town or as she claims, she got ‘lost’. when vision takes her out of her trance, agnes seems shaken and even questions if she’s dead. she also seems to confirm that wanda is the one controlling everyone because she doesn’t even let them think about leaving westview. we see more of where vision’s memory stands because he doesn’t remember (or know) that he was an avenger and that he died (twice). when she says that all is lost, she quickly starts laughing maniacally like a witch. this again makes me think that agnes knows more than anyone what’s going on. assessing what she got from vision, she’s probably laughing because it’s amazing to her that wanda’s gotten so powerful and maybe everything is going according to plan - she just possibly couldn’t overcome wanda’s control and only has a heightened awareness of the situation. there’s no mention of ralph this episode and you would think she’d bring along her husband to leave and go to her desired destination in town. i don’t know, i still think she’s got an ulterior motive and plays a bigger part in all of this.

the twins’ conversation | after sharing a sweet moment, pietro quickly calls out the obvious - the kids. only in episode 3 did children finally come into the show through billy and tommy. now, for halloween, all the kids are out and enjoying halloween. pietro, like rapid fire, remarks that wanda probably kept them peacefully asleep in their beds and didn’t wake them until now for the “occasional holiday episode cameo” so as not to traumatize them even more since she’s always been the “empathetic twin”. he seems to know that this is all in a television reality which gives him even more awareness than any other supporting character we’ve met so far. he even goes into assessing (and somewhat praising?) wanda’s handling of this whole westview reality as ethically possible. he knows that wanda wouldn’t rewrite everything: couples and families stay together and personalities aren’t far off from what they are. with this, it heavily hints that this isn’t the pietro we’ve known in the mcu or the peter from the x-men universe. to me, this furthers the point that this ‘pietro’ is just a puppet for whoever is behind all this (or just a multiverse version of piet) since he seems more impressed than anything by wanda’s powers. also, he’s been the only one to ask what we’ve all been thinking since the first episode: how the hell did wanda do this? once again, wanda doesn’t remember how all of it started which still makes me thinks she was probably taken advantage of by someone and earlier in the episode when recounting a childhood memory, pietro comments that she’s probably suppressed the trauma hence why she doesn’t remember it the same way. at the end, this could all be wanda’s doing due to her feeling so alone and grieving that she may have suppressed that memory of how this all started.

pietro’s corpse | again, us the audience and wanda are reminded that this universe’s pietro is dead. it’s another person closest to wanda that isn’t alive - harking back to her comment about feeling so alone and endless nothingness. this may just be that when wanda lets her guard down and is possibly at peace with a situation, this one being of her accepting that this is the pietro that’s going to be her brother that sticks with her moving forward, she’s reminded of the truth - none of it is real and she can’t bring them back.

vision’s breakout from the hex | as we’ve seen in promos, vision is able to break through the hex. what we were hit with was vision nearly getting killed...again. it seems that he can’t live beyond the hex either due to him just being parts when wanda recovered him or because wanda won’t let him go. either way, vision can’t live outside of westview. it physically seems like wanda can’t let him go because as he steps out of the hex and is being torn apart, the hex looks like it’s trying to pull him back into it. i know the hex was wanda’s doing but this physically makes it seem as if wanda can’t let him go and is holding him back. it’s kind of true because since vision became more aware, he’s been breaking away from wanda and she’s been trying to keep him in place and on script so that they can be happy together. in their fight in the previous episode, she says that all of this is for them as to say that everything she’s doing is for their happiness. it’s a twisted way of showing how vision can’t live without wanda since it seems that she’s the one keeping him alive.

wanda expanding the hex | wanda’s clearly gotten more powerful over the years and this episode really shows us how fucking powerful she is on her own. it’s hysterical that the base and the most of the agents are turned into circus acts such as clowns. i’ll admit i’m upset darcy got sucked in and not hayward. i’m very interested to see who monica’s guy on the outside is. with wanda expanding the hex, it’s becoming more evident that wanda may be the ‘villain’ of the show or if there is someone else behind all of this, we may not see them until multiverse of madness. still, i believe wanda is victim in some capacity - even if it means she’s fallen victim to her trauma and grief.

[fullconstellationalt]

You Weren’t My Mission: Ch. 2

Chapter Two – Making Amends

TW: alcohol, mentions of violence and death

Note: Hello! All chapters will have warnings at the beginning of their content and possible triggers. If you find that I miss any triggers, please let me know and I will add them to the chapter warnings as soon as possible. Thank you! <3

Series masterpost

Also available on Wattpad and AO3

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

You stared blankly at the hand in front of you, still attempting to process his mere presence. After a few moments of silence, Bucky nodded and gave a slight grin, resting his extended arm on the edge of the bar.

“Tend to get that reaction,” he chuckled. ･:*:･ﾟ☆

You stared blankly at the hand in front of you, still attempting to process his mere presence. After a few moments of silence, Bucky nodded and gave a slight grin, resting his extended arm on the edge of the bar.

“Tend to get that reaction,” he chuckled. You glanced up, meeting his eyes for the first time since he sat down. A look of worry and sympathy met your own hesitant gaze.

As you held eye contact, your mind reeled through what he’d said, trying to sort out what exactly he meant. Amends? What does he mean ‘make amends’? You didn’t realize that you’d asked your questions aloud in a frantic whisper until the bass of his voice rushed to your ears, making you jump.

“Sorry to startle you. Uh, it’s a part of this whole process I’m going through,” he explained. He paused, waiting for some sort of reaction, but you sat frozen still. “I’ve been meeting with different people that I hurt — no, the Winter Soldier hurt — over the years on Hydra missions. You’re one of the last few names on my list.”

You gave a small nod, eyes darting back to the hand resting against the bar. His list? you wondered. It was then that you noticed how long you’d been holding your breath. You let out a small sigh and briefly closed your eyes, attempting to ground yourself.

“Why?” you asked, shifting your gaze back to his. Your voice was small, barely above a whisper, but he managed to hear you.

Although quiet, your question seemed to grant him some relief from the silence that had been hanging. Taking in a deep breath, he explained, “You were one of the few people who survived Hydra’s attack on The Tribune. I’m sure you know that, though.”

You nodded, mind taking you back to the scene at the hospital in the aftermath of the attack.

Of the forty or so staff members in the office at the time, only six of you had survived. As you laid in your bed at the urgent care clinic, nurses and doctors rushing around you, you kept your eyes pinned on the entrance, praying that more of your coworkers would be wheeled in. After hours of watching from your bed, you came to accept that it was just you six that had made it. You’d lost your best friend and boss. The only person you knew well of the survivors was your boyfriend at the time, who you watched be rushed into the ER as a piece of shrapnel stuck in his side was dangerously close to shrinking that survivor count down to five.

You were snapped back to the present by the clinking of glasses behind the counter, Vincent cleaning up after a party had left.

“Are you going to hurt me?” you asked, meeting Bucky’s gaze once again. He winced at the question, his eyes showing a shimmer of empathy.

“No, I’m not,” he assured you. “I’m actually here to say that-.” He paused, taking a deep breath before continuing. “That it wasn’t me who did those things.”

Confused, you arched your eyebrow, to which he continued.

“I was controlled by Hydra for almost about seventy years. They kidnapped me after an accident in Europe while I was on active duty and brainwashed me, making me into a living weapon. I was the Winter Soldier, they made me an assassin. But I wasn’t me, I had no control over myself.”

You nodded, vaguely familiar with the story. You’d known and read about him as the Winter Soldier, a Hydra assassin. While his pardon signified that there was a difference between Bucky and the Soldier, your memories subconsciously considered them as one.

Bucky’s eyes returned a soft and regretful look, glancing down at his metal arm before holding out his palm between you. You stared at it, eyes running over its ridges and flecks of gold.

“They gave me this, the arm,” he explained. “Well, they gave me the old one. This one’s new, from a friend in Wakanda.” Images of his old silver arm raced, memories of the way his metal fingers firmly gripped his gun, a red star painted on his shoulder.

Your eyes flickered between his dark metal fingertips and his gaze, trying to piece together what any of this meant and why he was here in front of you.

“What do you mean by making amends?” you asked again. He’d given the gist, but you couldn’t understand why he was here or what he wanted from you.

Bucky shifted in his seat, relaxing a bit as he sensed your fear turning into confusion. He delved into explaining the process of his making amends, telling you about the types of people on his list and how he wanted to give people closure. He talked about the memory wipes, the separation between him and the Winter Soldier. You nodded along, mind finally wrapping around the concept when he abruptly stopped his explanation.

“I’ll let you go,” he offered, aware of his intrusion on your evening. “I just wanted to explain, you know,” he paused. “That I’m not that person anymore. Or, I guess, that I never was.”

He glanced at the bar top before pressing his hand against the surface, pushing himself out of his seat and onto his feet.

“Thanks for listening to me. I’m sorry for-“ he glanced at the ground before meeting your gaze again. “For everything.” He turned to leave, straightening his arms and stepping out from between your seats.

Your sudden grasp on his arm startled him, Bucky whipping his head around to face you again. He'd never been able to shake the fight or flight instincts that Hydra had intensified in him.

“You don’t have to go,” you suggested. “I mean, you can, but we can talk about it more.”

Bucky nodded slowly, not used to your reaction. Most people were glad to see him leave. But you wanted to know more.

“I think talking about it could help. You know, with the memories and stuff. Plus, I don’t really want to hate you if it wasn’t you that hurt me,” you explained.

Glancing between your grip on his jacket sleeve and your gaze, he hesitantly sat back down. “What do you want to know?” he asked.

“Do you remember it?” you pressed. You relived the memory each night in your sleep and every day at work for years afterwards. It was only recently that you’d been able to suppress it, sometimes making it a couple of days without acknowledging what had happened. How did he even remember you?

“I remember all of them,” he admitted, a hint of sorrow in his voice.

Wanting to break the tension, you waved Vincent over to your end of the bar and motioned towards Bucky’s empty hand. He ordered a glass of whiskey before turning back to you, a hint of a smirk on his lips. Maybe a drink would loosen him up, you thought, unaware of the serum’s restrictions.

While the alcohol had no effect on him, having the drink in his hands seemed to help him relax. He asked about how you’d been faring in the years since the attack, to which you shared briefly of the recurring nightmares and post-traumatic stress you’d faced. You feared that you’d shared too much, but he nodded along, a sympathetic look in his eyes. You weren’t opening up much but talking about it with him helped.

It wasn’t taking you long to recognize that the man in front of you wasn’t the same man who had eyed you down the barrel of his gun. Although difficult, the eye contact and talking with him helped you make this distinction, as did his understanding and willingness to listen. Even when you were sharing about the effects of the trauma had because of the Winter Soldier, things you knew probably weighed heavily on him, he nodded along and gave you his full attention. You felt comfortable telling Bucky these things, and he seemed comfortable around you; neither of you were fully relaxed, but at least were trying to talk.

“What have you been up to all these years?” you asked. “Since Tony, you know …” Ever since everyone came back from the snap, you’d heard about him from time to time, still referenced to by most news outlets as ‘the Winter Soldier.’ You knew he’d been pardoned and seen pictures of occasional sightings, the metal arm a dead giveaway of his identity, but knew little else. He told you he’d been living in Brooklyn the past few years, to which you were shocked that you’d managed to avoid seeing him for so long.

“I’m surprised we haven’t run into each other until now,” you quipped.

Bucky smiled, but you could see the subtle grimace beneath the expression. “Yeah, I’ve been steering clear of anywhere you’d be,” he admitted. Your eyes widened — how had he known where you were? Where you worked now? “I’ve got people who’ve helped me avoid running into you or anyone else around here,” he explained as though he could read your mind, but offering no further explanation. Truthfully, you didn’t want to know the details.

“Why now? What made you come here tonight?” you asked. It had been nagging you the entire evening — what made him come to see you now?

“I’d heard you come here in the evenings,” he offered, exposing yet another detail you didn’t really wish to know. “Figured I’d give you some time before just showing up, didn’t want to scare you more than I have.”

You nodded, grateful that he hadn’t come sooner. Things had gotten better with the nightmares and flashbacks in the past few months thanks to work getting busier, and if he had come to see you any earlier you would have undoubtably had an instant panic attack. You were admittedly creeped out that he knew you would be here, but given his connections, you guessed that he had intel on nearly whatever information he wanted about anyone. Plus, talking with him had proven fruitful for you, helping you disconnect Bucky Barnes from the Winter Soldier. He didn’t say it, but it helped him too, helping him humanize himself.

Over an hour had passed since he sat down, and your stomach twisted in hunger. You’d had two drinks without eating dinner; it was beyond time for you to go home and eat. As the conversation came to a lull, you shifted to face him fully, looking him in the eye.

“Could we meet again?” you ask hesitantly. “I think it may help me, you know, with processing what happened. Only if you want to, though.”

He paused to consider your proposition and you watched as the wheels in his mind turned, weighing the possible outcomes. A moment passed and the corner of his mouth twitched upwards in a subtle smile. He nodded in approval.

“I’ll come back by soon,” he assured. You nodded and stood up, grabbing your phone and bag before adjusting your shirt, smoothing your hands over your jeans.

“I’ll see you soon, then.” You gave a small nod and did a quick wave to say goodbye, not comfortable with shaking his hand quite yet. While talking to him helped, you weren’t exactly relaxed around him. It was going to take some time for your mind to fully separate him from the man who had threatened your life and ended so many others’.

Fifteen minutes later you were at your front door, fumbling in your bag for your apartment keys. Once inside, you set your bag in its usual spot on the bench in the doorway and walked to the kitchen, opening the fridge to grab the takeout you’d saved from the night before. You dished out your food onto a plate and stuck it in the microwave. As you waited for the timer to go off, you leaned back against the counter.

Besides the sound of the microwave whirring and the occasional honk from the street below, your apartment was completely silent. The silence always gave you time to think, whether for better or worse. Tonight, your mind wandered to the conversations you’d had, running through the details he’d shared and wondering if you’d said too much. Was meeting him again a good idea? Was this really going to help, or were you doing yourself more harm than good?

Just as you began to question yourself, the oven timer rang through the kitchen, making you jump. You grabbed a fork and took your plate from the microwave, walking to your living space to curl up on the couch. Normally you’d put on the news, your mind always focused on work and the need to stay up to date on current events. But tonight, you ate in silence, instead looking out the window at the city street below as your mind wandered back to your interaction with Bucky.

You desperately hoped that this wasn’t a horrible idea.

Next Chapter (Chapter 3 – Adrenaline Rush)

A/N: Thanks for reading chapter 2! I posted both chapters 1 and 2 back-to-back, and am gonna take a little bit to get chapter 3 up but already know where I want for it to go. This is gonna be a bitttt of a slow burn, if you haven't picked up on that yet. Thanks for sticking around!

[psychoticwillgraham]

John Constantine/Will Graham Drabble Series 1

Summary: When John attempts to be cute, Will has a not so positive reaction and of course they’re both terrible at dealing with the fallout.

A/N: Ok so this ship lmao Idk if this existed before I thought of it but if it didn’t now it does lol I just thought that since both of these very screwed up boys have been through ridiculous amounts of horrific trauma, that they could work through it together! Or not, yknow and that would be the main conflict since both of them are terrible with trusting people and have intimacy issues (yes I know Constantine is a hoe but I mean intimacy in other ways). Anyway this is just one piece in a huge series of smaller fics for this ship. If you have other ideas/requests for this ship just let me know! Also I will bring all of you aboard this ship with me mark my words!!

Warnings: derealization/dissociation/panic attacks kinda?? idk something like that?? it’s very…. mish mash of stuff

****

A small yawn escaped from Will’s lips as he opened his eyes blearily, feeling the light pressure of fingers against his scalp, grasping ever so lightly against his hair. He briefly tensed up as the haze of sleep lifted from his mind, remembering that it was just John, breathing a sigh of relief at the realization.

“It’s just me love,” John whispered, “You’re safe.”

Will could feel John’s fingers lightly combing through his curls, and before he knew it, a small sigh crossed his lips. He could practically feel John smiling against his shoulder, which in turn made Will smile, even if just a bit. Obviously, this pleased John quite a bit.

“You’re actually smiling for once? Is it the end of the world again?” John chuckled, his head now nestled in the crook of Will’s neck.

“Don’t get used to seeing it, it’s a one time thing,” Will joked, but in reality John would hopefully be seeing a lot of more them.

John just hummed contently, pressing small kisses to the back of Will’s neck.

Will began to tear up, and he immediately hated himself for it. He always did this when someone showed him any kind of love like this. How could anyone even begin to love him? Especially after all of the horrible things he endured? He felt himself starting to slip into that familiar state of numbness, completely forgetting that his body tended to tense up and tremble. His vision blurred as his eyes began to unfocus, reality seeming to fall away. All he could hear was the sound of static, overwhelming and obnoxious.

“You’re ok Will, I’m here. I’m not going anywhere, please, just come back to me,”

At first, Will struggled to hear John’s words through the cacophony of static, but as the seconds ticked on, it became clearer and clearer, and only on the fifth time he heard it, did he hear the urgency in John’s voice.

He could hear him saying other words, but he couldn’t understand anything he was saying. Soon enough, his vision was returning to normal, the trembling slowly ceasing, and his sense of reality returning.

Will hadn’t even realized that he’d been breathing so heavily until he finally felt the intense lightheadedness, or that he’d been crying so much. The main thing though, was that he felt John’s hand in his, holding it in a death grip.

“Sorry about that,” John winced as he quickly let go, giving Will a very concerned look.

“Was that the worst one?”

“Not quite, but it’s up there for sure. I don’t know what caused it to be honest, but I think we should lay off on that kind of stuff for a while,” Will knew that it had been his own hangups that caused this, and that they’d never get very far in their relationship if they didn’t talk it out. But neither of them were quite ready for that yet, at least in Will’s opinion. John had enough secrets that he still hadn’t told him yet, and Will had some of his own. They would both have to come clean eventually, but now definitely wasn’t the time.

Will swore he saw a hint of disappointment in John’s face, but it was gone as quick as he saw it.

“It’s late, why don’t we just turn in for the night? I promise I won’t touch you,” Will could hear the defeat and sadness in his voice, which just made him feel even worse.

“John, that’s not-,” Will felt like the biggest asshole in the room now, feeling awful about what he’d said. In fact, he wanted John to do the exact opposite right now. He needed comfort, something, anything to calm him down.

John didn’t respond, instead storming off into their room and slamming the door shut.

Once again, everything’s my fault, Will thought to himself. I just have to say the wrong things and piss everybody off. I deserve all of the shit I bring on myself, he thought as he laid on the couch, pulling a blanket over himself and closing his eyes, hoping that he’d fall asleep quickly.

That night he dreamt of earlier that evening, of John laying on top of him, his fingers running through his curls, the domestic bliss of it all.

That’s something that I’ll never deserve.

[sometimesiwrite]

Steady As She Goes

Part 1

Fandom: The Witcher

Characters: Essi Daven/Lambert

Summary: Lambert begrudgingly insists on escorting Essi through Velen on her way to Novigrad. On their three days' journey, an unexpected bond is formed as the unlikely traveling companions encounter one another in new light. But will they get through unscathed?

Warnings: Lambert-typical language; pragmatic killing of a small animal (not a pet, for food); sexual assault (groping, not Lambert); reference to gore, head trauma; lethal self-defence; shock/trauma response, adrenaline crash; cliffhanger

A/N: A little while ago, I wrote a little letter to Lambert (you can read it here if you’re so inclined—mind the TW). I wanted to thank him, but more importantly, I wanted to offer him a place in my heart and my brain along with his brothers. This story started from a small prompt and has since turned into a 12+k proper-ass Story. This is part 1. Please join me in joyfully welcoming Lambert to the ranks with a wordcount he deserves with a character who has also become very dear to me. 

MASTERLIST

@morethangeraskier

Essi eyed the back of her travelling companion with curiosity as they rode North toward Crow’s Perch: the tight swing of his hips still keeping tempo with his horse’s cadence; the sharp alertness at the nape of his neck as his eyes scanned their surroundings; the subtle forward tuck of his shoulders; and every muscle in his body fine-tuned and ready for action in the blink of an eye. Even his silence seemed to radiate a low buzz that tingled the air around him and made Essi wonder how many thoughts and calculations were crammed inside his head at once. She’d found it charming rather than off-putting how irritatedly he’d suggested accompanying her through Velen. There was a genuineness about his prickly outward demeanor—she felt like a detail worthy of practical consideration rather than a damsel on the road and she appreciated it. Better than most alternatives.

The fact was, Lambert had insisted. Not because she was attractive (yeah, yeah, big blue eyes, blonde hair, yadda-yadda, who cares), not because she seemed helpless (there was something keen behind those big blue eyes, and he’d known better than to ignore it), but because it seemed like the right thing to do. She’d explained she was an experienced traveller, knew the roads well, had good relationships with the innkeepers along the way. She would be fine, and didn’t want to take him out of his way. 

“Sorry. Not happening. I’m coming with you.” Why? “Bandits.” 

He would know. He’d spent the last few days doing nothing but clearing out Nekker nests and trashing bandit camps all over Velen, and the last thing he needed was the innocent blood of some wide-eyed woman-bard on his hands. “Back to fucking Novigrad,” he’d grumbled, turning his horse back North. He sighed heavily and waited for Essi to catch up, “Fuck me, I need a drink—alright, stay close on my tail for the next little while. We’re taking a shortcut.” As they rode, Lambert gave his new companion a rundown of “ The Rules”.

“No chit-chat, I’ve gotta keep focused, plus I don’t like excess noise. If I say ‘duck’ you duck. And I mean get the fuck down and stay silent. If I say run, run and don’t look back. I’ll find you later. Do your best not to panic or freeze up on me, I need you to listen carefully and do exactly as I say.”

Essi nodded earnestly beside him, her big blue eye fixed on his lips, taking in every word. He wasn’t used to actually being listened to. It was nice. A little off-putting the way she stared, but it was... nice. 

On that topic, “One last thing,” he said, turning away to watch the road and check their sides, “Don’t get any ideas. I’m only doing this because no one deserves to die at the hands of heartless assholes except other heartless assholes. I am not Prince Charming, I am not a knight in shining armour, and I absolutely have no intentions of sweeping anyone off their feet. Capisce, bard?”  

Essi smiled elusively, turning her own eyes back to the road. “Good. I’m no princess or damsel, and I’m hardly looking to be swept off my feet. As far as I’m concerned, we’re merely travelling in the same direction at the same pace.” 

An agreeable grunt from Lambert signalled the end of the conversation and the beginning of “quiet time” which Essi did her best to honour. It was difficult at first. The poet was accustomed to conversation with strangers she met on the road—where they were headed, where they were coming from, how their journey had been. But Lambert was a witcher. Her usual litany of questions were either already answered or were none of her business to be asking in the first place. She was more or less quite content to travel in silence on an average day. But this was not an average day and her mind was bursting with curiosity, which made for a restless start to their journey. 

“What’s your horse’s name?” Essi finally asked as they stopped briefly at a stream for water. She decided it was an innocent enough question with a short enough answer to risk breaking the rules. 

Lambert gave her a disapproving look, a scolding reminder about ‘no chit-chat’ perched on the tip of his tongue. To her credit, she'd surpassed Lambert’s expectations for what he’d learned to expect from bards in the category of Not Talking. She’d only hummed a little and only then when she was lost in thought, large blue eye staring into the distance. She was an odd one, this woman, with her deep eyes that blinked too slowly sometimes. But his medallion was still and he didn’t have that gut feeling that usually told him when something was off. It was a harmless enough question, anyway… 

“Royal,” he said, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. “Never met a noble that wasn’t a horse’s ass.” 

Essi let out snicker, flashing her pearly teeth with an open grin. He was abrasive, sure, this witcher, but he was quickly proving himself to be animated and clever. She also believed him to be kind, despite his best efforts to prove otherwise. Whether or not Essi would earn a glimpse of his full capacity remained to be seen, but regardless she found his particular brand of panache refreshing. 

"Yours?" he asked with a nod back at the small Icelandic gelding currently occupied with nibbling at some honeysuckle.

"Ginger," Essi replied, kneeling to take her turn at the stream, refilling her waterskin and drinking from her cupped hands. She stared at her saddlebag. “Wait here,” she said, striding to her horse and extracting a bundle of fabric.

“Whoa, hey, where’re you going?”

“It’s alright, I’ll only be a minute,” she assured him as she headed for a thicket.

“Nuh-uh, can’t let you just wander off and get yourself killed before we even reach the first signpost. What’s the plan, Goldilocks?”

“I’m just…”

“Just…?” Lambert gestured impatiently.

Essi squared her shoulders to him, “Going to change my dress. It’s too hot, and I would like to feel Just Right.” 

Her sharp-witted comeback earned her a raised eyebrow. It was rather warm, the witcher had to admit. Early summer’s heat glared down with the midday sun, tempered only by an occasional cool breeze from the West. Lambert himself had pulled off his gauntlets, opened his jerkin, and tied a damp kerchief around his neck—witchers were less susceptible to heat stroke or hypothermia, but they were no less vulnerable to discomfort. It was only fair to allot his companion the same opportunity.

Lambert did a quick sweep of the area. Looks fine, sounds fine, smells fine… “Fine. Three minutes.”

He stood guard in front of the only gap in the dense bushes and waited for the sounds of rustling fabric to subside. After two and a half minutes, Essi emerged, hitching up her linen sleeves. She returned her former dress to her saddlebag and extracted two slender, ornately-carved whale bone sticks which she used to scoop her long, thick hair off the back of her neck and secure it in a twist. 

Essi squatted back down beside the little brook and let the cool water trace over the tender undersides of her wrists, cooling her veins and refreshing her as the breeze fluttered the light fabric against her skin. Much better, she thought, glancing up at Lambert. This new garment was more loosely-fitting, he noticed, save for the cinch that tied around her waist. 

She looked nice—comfortable. She looked comfortable. The dress looked comfortable. 

Essi smiled up at Lambert as she stood, pressing her damp hands to the sides of her neck and ooooh it felt nice. She thought she caught the smallest hint of a smile as the breeze wafted a bit of honeysuckle their way. He still looked tired, but he seemed lighter. Something new had come into his rugged, sun-tanned face. Boyish, maybe?

“Better?” Lambert asked. He barely waited for her to answer before he continued, “Let’s get moving, I want to make tracks before we lose our light.” Essi mounted without protest and they were on their way again, quietly riding single-file until they reached an acceptable spot to settle down for the night. Lambert left the travelling poet to make camp while he hunted for some dinner. Essi went about setting things up. She dug a small fire pit with a trowel she kept on hand, gathered kindling, and stacked it neatly to the side where it could be easily reached. Finally, she dragged two logs from the underbrush and placed them on either side of the small hole. It was, perhaps, a little domestic, but the witcher still seemed tired, and he was going out of his way to give her a safe escort through dangerous territory. She’d wondered earlier about offering him some coin for his trouble, especially seeing as he was doubling back and wouldn’t have any opportunity for new contracts. Then again, she’d thought, perhaps that might insult him, make him feel like a hired bodyguard. In the end, the very least she could do was help make the experience a little nicer. She could ask about payment when they arrived in Novigrad. 

A loud whistle caught Essi’s attention and she turned to find Lambert approaching with what looked like a squirming ball of fur. Upon closer inspection, it was a rather fat grey squirrel. “Dinner,” Lambert announced, looking pleased with himself. He held the creature toward her, “Care to do the honours?” He waggled his eyebrows facetiously. The witcher had always prided himself on his capacity to read people, to pick up on the little things that others might miss, second-guess, or excuse away. So far, after nearly five hours on the road with Essi Daven, Lambert still couldn’t get a clear read on her, and he decided (for whatever reason) the quickest way was to hand her a small animal. 

Essi looked down at the wriggling creature cupped in Lambert’s hand, her eyes devoid of any specific expression. The poet could have been feeling anything: shock and horror, stony rage, remorse, awe… casual hesitation. In fact, the only feeling that wasn’t in the running was glee, and while Lambert hadn’t expected it in the first place, it was still a relief to know he wasn’t sharing his camp with a psychopath.  But what was she going to do with it, this wide-eyed, innocent-faced, prim young traveler? Probably some tree-hugger shit like let it go. 

Essi lowered her eyes to the wriggling rodent. It had been a while since she’d had to procure a live meal. She could have declined, easily, graciously, and her witcher companion would probably have shrugged and thought ‘no surprise there’. But she knew a schoolboy’s smart-assery when she saw it—the audacious victory behind his bright citrine eyes told her everything she needed to know about what he was expecting from this brief-but-loaded exchange. A shriek, a gasp in horror, perhaps a distressed stomp of her feet and fitful shake of her gilded head? 

Essi reached a slow, dainty hand towards the squirrel, enveloping the soft, furry body as Lambert mentally prepared himself to go set another snare. There was no way this bard  would ever be the type to—

Crunch.

—Lambert’s face went slack as the now-very-limp squirrel was handed back to him. 

“I wouldn’t’ve thought a witcher would be so squeamish,” Essi remarked, casually wiping her hands on her skirt. Lambert said nothing but stared at her with a look of defeated befuddlement. She fired again, her sweet, melodic voice dripping with offhanded superiority, “Was that all? Or do you need me to clean it, too?” She blinked blankly once again as Lambert gaped, even less sure what to make of the young woman who had just snapped a rodent’s neck.

“No,” he answered petulantly. “I can do it.” He pulled his buck knife from its sheath on his thigh and went about his business. He was quiet and brief with her for the rest of the evening, and she was beginning to feel her own irritation mount. She had half a mind to bite back the next time he snapped at her for asking a simple question. Though, she admitted, he didn’t seem the type to back down easily. If she prodded at him, he might decide to leave her, and they were on a different route, completely unfamiliar to her. She’d be as good bear food without his directions.

No, she decided, it was best not to go digging and let whatever it was that was eating at him subside on its own. With no assurance of peaceful conversation and nothing but the crackling of their small fire to drown out the distant howls of wolves, Essi asked if she could play quietly on her lute—not too loudly, she promised, remembering what all she knew about a witcher’s senses, how sensitive they are. She’d asked in her usual straightforward way, her big blue eyes blinking slowly at him from across the fire. A simple request, and one that he couldn’t very well deny at the risk of being a Grade A Jackass. 

Ordinarily, he would have jumped at the opportunity to claim that title, but Essi didn’t deserve that. Stranger or no, she’d been quiet and courteous, and had shown herself to be witty and good-humoured to boot, laughing at even his crassest jokes. So what could he do but bob his head from side to side and relent, reserving the right to end it if he deemed it necessary. He’d met enough bards in his time to know that his and their definitions of “quietly” were rarely on the same page of the dictionary.

But Essi kept her word, and took up a slow, gentle melody that drifted airily through the fading twilight. The witcher might even have called it pleasant, as the dusky grey shifted to darker and darker shades of nighttime. Lambert took out his whetstone and, after a few strokes along his dulled steel blade, found his mind wandering. The poet’s voice was captivating without demanding attention—sometimes clear and bright, but never piercing or imposing; occasionally breathy, but always expressive. His eye drifted to the instrument in her hands, no longer content to merely hear the music, but wanting to watch its creation. The taut catgut strings pressed divots into thick calluses on her left hand as she fingered the fretboard, her hands flexing no differently than if she were playing at full volume. But how was she strumming so quietly? Shit, gotta keep focused. Stay on task. The whetstone once again returned to steel as Lambert pulled his mind back from its daze. 

It wasn’t long before curiosity got the better of him and he glanced back to the instrument cradled against the musician’s midriff. It looked delicate. Like something that could shatter if he held it wrong. Glancing to the hand nearest him, he could now see she was using the soft pad of her thumb to strum rather than her fingernails, which were long and carefully-shaped; well-honed in that sense, Lambert mused. He’d never paid attention to a musician this closely. They always drew crowds in the cities and experience had taught him that performers on the road were just as likely to pick a man’s pocket as they were to put on a show. But this was different. Essi wasn’t performing—on the contrary, she almost seemed to be in some kind of trance. She wasn’t even looking at her hands most of the time, and from the lyrics, Lambert began to wonder whether she was making it up as she went along. It was impressive, the way she knew her instrument so well. Despite his previous feelings of irritation at having had his ass handed to him, he couldn’t deny skill when he saw it, and Essi was clearly a master of her craft. 

The whetstone had been silent for close to a full verse when Essi looked up, wondering if perhaps the witcher was growing tired of the noise. She found Lambert closely examining the hone of his blade, and so, thinking nothing of it, went back to her playing.  It took him longer than usual to sharpen his swords. Longer still to replenish his potions and oils. He should’ve made quick work of it. Would have, too, if it wasn’t for the fact that he found the music so… pleasant. It was difficult to meditate. Not because he couldn’t relax, but because he didn’t want to stop listening. He just—there was something about… It didn’t matter. It wasn’t important. Get the shit together for tomorrow, go to bed, get up, and hope you don’t have any trouble on the road. 

Lambert laid out his bed roll and the music silenced abruptly. “Oh, are you turning in? I’ll stop now,” Essi gently lay down her lute next to her saddle bags and started to get her own sleeping mat. It was thin, Lambert noticed, as he watched her set up. His long, tired body stretched out, hands beneath his head, as he stared up through the dense oak canopy above them. 

“Thank you,” Essi said, now standing by his head. 

Lambert craned his neck to try and see her properly and resorted to propping up on an elbow. “Yeah? What for?”

“For finding us food and for letting me play a little,” she said with that same matter-of-factness that made Lambert feel both comfortable and uneasy. 

“Yeah, well,” Lambert flopped back down on his bedroll, “Don’t worry about it. Get some sleep, we gotta keep moving in the morning. I don’t want to be out here longer than we have to.” He waved a dismissive hand in Essi’s direction, and she took that as her cue to leave him alone and be quiet. 

“Goodnight, Lambert,” she murmured softly before turning and crossing back to the other side of the fire. She settled under her blankets and, after some drawn-out negotiations with a few poorly-located lumps in the ground, she was able to lie still and close her eyes. The insides of her eyelids flickered orange with the fire as it danced beside her. Before sleep took her, she heard a muffled voice from across the flames. 

“G’night, Essi.”  ---- Essi rose early, but not early enough for her travelling companion. The fire had already been doused and buried, and Lambert’s things were all neatly packed away and ready to be loaded onto Royal. Both horses were still hitched, and sleepily nibbling on some dewy crabgrass as the grey mists of early morning lingered. The sun hadn’t risen high enough yet to burn away the moisture, and Essi bundled her blanket around her shoulders against the chill. Lambert, she presumed, was off doing something witcher-y—taking a leak more like, she wagered as her own bladder complained. The moment he returned, Essi shot up from her log and headed into the trees. 

“Just where do you think yo—”

“I have to piss!” she called back over her shoulder as she traipsed into the dense wood. 

“Heh, good morning to you, too!” Lambert scrubbed his hand through his scruffy brown hair and ambled back to the fireside to begin packing and saddling the horse. When he arrived, he saw Essi’s things were also neatly packed away and stacked by her own mount. He offered a brief nod of approval before stowing his things, making quick work of the well-practiced process. By the time Essi returned, not only was Royal fully-prepared and Lambert armed and armoured, but Ginger was also mostly packed with the exception of one bag and the lute, which was cradled in the witcher’s hands as he crouched near the ground. She paused a little distance away and waited, observing as she listened to the faint sound of strings being delicately plucked.

Lambert looked up, embarrassed. “I uh… sorry.”

“What for?” 

Lambert stood carefully as Essi approached and dropped his gaze, holding out the fragile instrument for it to be angrily snatched back. The musician paused for a moment, observing this gesture of cowed humility. It was a habit, she suspected, born from decades of harsh punishment without explanation, frivolous harm without justification. Essi could sense the shame as it rolled off his shoulders, the prickly-heat of defense building under his skin. She took the lute and a swell of sadness washed through at the stark evidence of the world’s cruelty—that a man should be ashamed for a little harmless curiosity only told one story: pleasure’s not for you. 

Lambert looked up to find Essi still standing there, staring at the lute in her hands. “Did… did I…?” he pointed to the instrument.

“No,” she smiled softly, “not at all. And I’m not bothered that you looked at it. If you like, you can look at it again. I can even show you a chord or two?”

“Ah,” the witcher scratched the top of his head, “that’s okay. It’s, uh… I mean it seems like it’s good—well-made. Never seen one up-close like that.” There was a lull in conversation as Lambert ran out of things to say. But Essi just stood where she was, smiling her little enigmatic smile and blinking at him. He turned back to the horses, and motioned for Essi to do the same, “I, um, packed up your stuff, well most of it.”

Essi took the hint and followed suit, strapping the few remaining things to Ginger before mounting. After a brief survey of the area to make sure they hadn’t forgotten anything, the two were off, Essi following behind as Lambert continued on his shortcut through what mainly seemed to be wilderness for the first several miles. They finally emerged at a small footpath, though, and Essi finally got her bearings. They were back in familiar territory, at least for the time being, and it was proving to be a beautiful morning. Even Lambert seemed to be in a better mood, offering her things to eat along the way, and even starting his own little snippets of conversation. 

It was an hour or so after midday that Lambert’s ears pricked at the sound of hooves in the distance. Could be soldiers, could be travellers… could be bandits. After a few minutes, they seemed to fade, and the witcher relaxed a little as the path took them into a wooded area by yet another stream, though this one was deep and flowing quickly. Better keep my ears sharp, Lambert thought as they rode along. Water’s too loud. Can’t hear for shit. They stopped next to the water to stretch their legs and replenish their drinking vessels again. The rest of the journey would take them mostly through high ground without much shade, and swampland. Any water they wanted to have with them, it was now or never until they reached Novigrad the next day. 

Lambert relieved himself against a nearby tree while Essi washed her face and, having determined the coast was clear, gave her the go-ahead to have a squat in the underbrush. He was still on the alert. It wasn’t a high-traffic area, so in theory bandits would be less interested in diverting from the main road. On the other hand, a less-trafficked area meant less chance of a hideout being discovered. But it smelled okay, although the wind was coming across the water. And it sounded okay, although the water was so damn loud. And things looked okay, aside from the fact that there was only so far even a witcher could see without trees getting in the way. 

A twig snapped in the woods behind him and the hairs on the back of his neck bristled, his hand mechanically finding the grip of his steel sword. He chanced a glance back into the woods—Fuck it, what’s the point of modesty if you’re dead? Another twig, this time from another location beyond the line of trees. There was a flash of golden hair as Essi finished her business and stood up, straightening her skirt. She turned to Lambert, ready to scold him for looking until she saw his hand on his sword. Somewhere in the near-distance, a horse whickered. The witcher lifted his finger to his lips and the poet stood stock-still, her hand slowly reaching for the small dagger at her waist as her heart beat heavily in her chest. Something rustled to Lambert’s left, and he turned, stepping quietly as he stalked in the general direction of the sound.  It wasn’t wolves or Endregas, they were too high for Drowners, too woodsy for Nekkers. 

Essi watched with interest as the witcher’s body went on full alert, his senses sharpening, his posture shifting, muscles coiling to accommodate any number of reflexes. She scanned the trees in front of them then looked back out to the road, marking the location of her horse in the event Lambert told her to run. A large horse came to a standstill beyond the edge of the woods somewhere and Lambert froze, listening carefully for sounds of footfalls or rustling clothing.The gears started to click a little faster as Lambert entertained the possibility they were being surrounded. He flicked his left hand at Essi in the direction of the road: get out of the woods. Quietly. Without a second thought, she began to carefully make her way back to the road as silently as she could, Lambert following, his eyes still searching. 

Just as Essi’s feet met the smooth dirt path, a beefy arm wrapped tightly around her waist. But the brute was foolish enough not to cover her mouth first, and Essi let loose a loud, powerful scream that a witcher would have heard at least a mile away. Lambert abandoned his methodical retreat from the woods and came crashing onto the path, fixing his eye dangerously on his target as he circled his sword around his wrist. The witcher felt a rush of angry heat flare under his skin at the sight of Essi kicking and clawing in the bandit’s sweaty grip. He was large, reeked of booze and the funk of cured meat. Essi fought the urge to gag at the stench of his clothes as she did her best to keep her mind sharp, or else risk becoming collateral damage. Her best bet: keep her eyes on Lambert.

“Hands off the bard and you might keep your head,” the witcher barked as he approached. “Can’t make any promises about your other appendages, though.” He wanted to lunge, run him through, gut him and leave him to the wargs... but it was too risky. He was holding Essi too tightly, and there was no guarantee he wouldn’t snap her neck if Lambert took a wrong step. To make matters worse, the trees were full of footsteps. Eight, maybe ten men. Hmmm. 

“Oh-ho-ho, look what we got, lads!” the bandit called to his approaching comrades as they began to filter out from the woods. “Your plaything still any good, witcher? Or have you ruined the fun for the rest of us?” The man grasped roughly at Essi’s breasts and Lambert felt his stomach drop as her eyes met his. He knew the look that was waiting for him behind those eyes, that broken terrified look of “I trusted you.” But the look never came. Those big beautiful blue eyes were steely and determined in spite of the fear he knew was churning in the background and he felt a thrill of triumph. Essi was still with him in whatever this was about to turn into. Not only that, she was thinking something, devising a plan. Lambert hoped to Gods it wasn’t something stupid. What is it, Essi? What are you thinking?

As if in answer to his question, Essi tilted her head, seductively baring her neck to her aggressor as Lambert’s options quickly decreased, the other bandits starting to close in, clearly in no rush, confident that they could easily take one man even if he did have two swords on his back and eyes like a cat. Sure boys, that’s going to go real well for you. He did a quick circle, taking stock of their exact locations before turning back to Essi, watching carefully as her hand traced up the outside of the bandit’s right leg. Yes, Essi, come on, come on, come on… 

The man rasped something foul in her ear, but all she could hear was the sound of her ears ringing and her own heart beating out of her chest as she did her best to focus on the task at hand. She barely knew what she was doing, but the witcher was watching her every move intently, and that somehow made whatever she was about to do feel possible. She felt her thumb brush the cool handle of her dagger, and Lambert nodded almost imperceptibly. Do it. 

With a swift, fluid movement, she plunged the short blade into the man’s side and he roared in pain as his compatriots mulled around in confusion, their fisstech-addled minds still catching up. Lambert took the opportunity and sliced through the three nearest him with swift, clean strokes, focusing back in on Essi just in time to see her take a right hook to the face. She fell to the ground and blinked heavily, her vision blurry and head spinning. Her fingers found a large rock as a pair of meaty hands grabbed her legs, pulling her across the rough dirt road. She scrambled and turned, bringing the heavy rock squarely to the side of the man’s head with a sickening crack. He fell limply to the ground as the poet found her way to shaky legs, the makeshift weapon falling limply from her hand. 

From out of the chaos of grunts and screams and clanging weapons, Essi heard her name, “GET OUT, GO, GO!” It was Lambert. Without a second thought she stumbled the short distance to Ginger and mounted, bolting across the river and holding on for dear life. She rode until the horse slowed, until she wasn’t sure where she was or whether the river she’d stopped beside was the same river or a different one. Essi dismounted and only then noticed that her hands were shaking. Interesting, she thought, as she was overcome with trembling and heaving sobs. I suppose this is what they mean when they say ‘fear catches us later’. She sat on a boulder and listened to the clear water, waiting for Lambert to find her.

[mybg3notebook]

Loving your analyses of Astarion's behaviour and character so far! It has really reaffirmed in my eyes just how much of a bastard he really is. (I say that fondly, of course.) Do you have any thoughts on why the general reaction on tumblr has leaned so much towards woobifying him? After looking at his actual (explicit and implicit) morals in game it seems quite odd that some people are reading him as an edgy soft boi who just needs a hug from the right person to fix him.

Hello!

Thank you very much! I really enjoy seeing chars in a deep way. It makes me change my opinion on them, sometimes. That's why I like to do these analysis, even though it's a lot of work for a person who doesn't speak English as a native.

Lol, please, I won't be offended. Astarion is a bastard in the whole sense of the word, lol.

However, I find Astarion an interesting evil (evil neutral imo) char to explore the narration of “abuser who found a greater abuser”, with all the topics I talked about in those posts. I would feel a bit disappointed if Larian suddenly changes him into a man who always had a gold heart (because for that, you need to give hints, even in EA, and none of that has been seen so far).

An example of how this is done is with Shadowheart, she is evil and she supports a lot of cruelty that Astarion does too, but we got meta-knowledge (and not so much meta when we see her heavily drunk after killing the tieflings) that gives us enough reasons to believe she has some heart in her, despite Shar and her teachings. I do not support the idea of “she is a softie”, because she is not, but she doesn't have the same level of cruelty nor revels in murder so much as Astarion does. They represent different degrees of evilness. What plays in her favour is her face, which gives the idea of more softness than she truly has; the same happens with Astarion. Lae'Zel is less cruel than Astarion in general, with more logical reasons to be so because her brainwashed culture made her to be more pragmatic than a taster of cruelty, and yet, she receives a lot of more hate in the fandom... and it is clear to me why: she is not “beautiful” in the traditional white euro-centric standard sense.

And this is my point to answer your question (remember all this is personal opinion): I think there are many reasons why people woobify Astarion (not only in tumblr, but also in Reddit or in Larian Forums, it's a big part of the EA fandom).

First and foremost, I believe it's his appearance. If he were a bugbear or a goblin, few in this fandom would give a thought about his abuse, his pain, Cazador, etc. They would focus on his “bastard” side and leave it at that (again, Lae'Zel has this treatment). I want to make clear that I'm not questioning people's taste, everyone can like whatever they want to. I'm saying that, for me, there it proof enough to sustain this idea that Astarion is woobified because he is beautiful: when you read that a lot of people in this fandom never had an interest in Larian's previous games, or isometric rpgs, or even turn-based combat games (there are some people who are giving feedback against the game being a turned-based combat one! It's the nonsense because it's basically Larian's style), but they bought bg3 because they saw Astarion, even though they knew nothing about him.... All this, clearly, shows to me that a lot of people approached this game for only one char, for only his design (a big amount of them say it explicitly), and it is not far-fetched to know that people justify more easily beautiful villains than ugly ones. We can explore a lot of examples of this in many fandoms. People can love villains because they have real complex reasons to be so (like Loghain in DAO), but they also can like whimsical villains just because they are “hot”. I feel this is Astarion's case, he is a “beautiful villain” who apparently has always been evil. His reasons for his whimsical evilness is more like “it's always been in his nature”. Unless the family part has a different role in his backstory (mirror option) and it's not a mere line for a player to play a “good aligned” Astarion when picked as Origin. I don't like to read much about it in that scene because the game still doesn't have companion Tags; those options in the mirror can be there just for the player to pick, flavoured with each origin, but not necessarily the three of them are canon. This will be seen once we have the companion tags activated as it happened in DOS2.

What we can say for sure is that Larian knew what they were doing when they picked Astarion's design; they choose a dangerous white guy with white hair and evil alignment: an archetype that catches a lot of people in many fandoms.

Part of his woobyfication process has a deep root there, in my opinion. Again, if he were a bugbear, a goblin, a githyanki, a monster-humanoid... we would not have 90% of the EA fandom collapsed with his image, or Larian focused on him to the point that after 4 patches he had new scenes, lines, corrections, and development, while Wyll is still there, sitting in the bench of “the less developed chars” (with around 2k less lines than the rest of the chars, and his personal quest bugged since the first day). Yes, I don't like the preference on one single companion when I am seeing the “future Beast” (from DOS2) in Wyll.

Second, he is a vampire. Vampires are a great element in any fantasy narrative. You know you will have a lot of fans behind a vampire char. Not by chance Vampire The Masquerade is one, if not the most important product of White Wolf, which keeps still giving them a lot of profit despite being decades old. Vampires are always a good element of personal horror, of lack of control of your own body, and also an allegory of abuse, power, and rape. This concept of “being a monster without control” that they embody helps a bit more for the woobification.

Third, people tend to mix a lot headcanon with what a character gives us as canon. We can have a long useless discussion about which is more worthy: canon or headcanon, or about why one should or should not respect canon, but putting all that discussion aside, and considering the previous two points, I see that a small part of his woobyfication comes from the fact that people love denial and self-projection instead of analysing of what they are given (and let's be honest, we know in tumblr, reddit and others social networks, people lack of reading comprehension skills, which makes analysis all about self projection without a real effort in understanding the character's perspective. It's all about the player unilateral perspective. How can you analyse a char you didn’t play with or explored in all its paths? ).

So if their beautiful character is behaving in a way they don't want to, they start considering him “random” (I read this so much that confuses me, because Astarion has clear patterns for everyone who wants to see them, like the rest of the companions. He is not random, he follows pretty well all what I listed here, that list helps you to predict what he will disapprove or approve) so they end up filling this apparent “randomness” with headcanons and self-projections. Don't get me wrong, I don't despise headcanons, I love them, I have a lot of them and create with them. But I also like honest analysis and separate what I want from what I get from a company (to correctly give them feedback, otherwise I will be giving them my headcanons).

If you don't want an aspect of a given char, and you want to deny it, it's perfectly fine. Do it, it's your entertainment, but be honest with the fandom about it, acknowledge this is a personal denial you enjoy. And mainly, don't use headcanons and self-projections to attack the rest of the chars you don't like in their own tags. We know how aggressive some people in this fandom are, and it's a bit frustrating to see aggression without the slightest effort in understanding the character they hate.

There is also something sad to say, related to self-projection, that contributes to Astarion's woobyfication too: a lot of players are survivors of abuse who connect with him from trauma, and I can understand if denying his past is a way to help them to release any kind of pain or need for vengeance against their abusers. It's a natural and totally understandable projection. The woobyfication, then, ends up in an intense self-projection where they give to the char something that they needed because their own trauma.

This is why I would like Larian to give us other survivor chars that people can project onto, whose stories are really about survivors of abuse who were not evil in the beginning. Because I feel a lot of people approached Astarion as a narration of a “victim who will become a victimiser” or as a “bad behaved victim”, instead of what I think it's shown: an abuser who found a greater abuser (and his story is about punishment of the abuser and the concept of justice in a world which has none), so trauma survivors will end up with disappointment if they think Astarion is something similar to the representation of what they experienced. Plus, vampirism is never good to use as allegories of abusers/victims because the relationship Sire/Childe is too sick and twisted. So, again, this is a mere opinion from all what I've been reading since the game came out.

I hope Larian sticks to the narration they seem to follow with Astarion: an abuser who found a greater one, and now wants to become the next Cazador, and this woobifycation doesn't change the real potential of a dark deep story that I believe they want to give us: not every char is redeemable, and sometimes evilness is capricious. We had chars like these in bg1 and bg2 after all. 

[starr-fall-knight-rise]

HASO “Leading the Witness.”

Alright guys, this is going on longer than I thought and way more detailed as well but its been interesting. Also I am sorry for the late update, my boss has me rolling quarters at work so I am trying to do that and write this in between.

Thank you to my discord member Eddi for the testing logs he wrote and that I am using as evidence in this story. He deserves all the credit for the well thought out and executed test logs.

WARNING: Graphic depictions of blood, gore, bodily mutilation and mentions of suicide. The Steel eye project development is very graphic, so if you wish to read, please skip the test logs, which will be bolded. 

The room spun around him, and he took a few long, deep breaths hoping that it would stop.

He wast sure he could survive another few hours of this.

He wasn’t sure at all 

He was sweating, and his body throbbed all over. Clammy hands gripped the sides of his chair as he sat straight backed in his seat. A line of cold sweat dripped down the back of his neck. Blood had long since drained from his face, and he wondered if he looked as sick as he felt half expecting the bailiff to walk over with a bucket or something. A part of him fancied he could feel every eye in the room staring at him. The prosecution was still talking, but he could barely hear them as his head spun around and around in circles, ears ringing.

The lights pulsed.

He jerked out of it as a hand came to rest on his shoulder. He looked up, confused for a moment as he tried to figure out where he was, the room was partially tilted and it took him a moment to realise that he was slumped slightly to the side. Waffles had her head in his lap whimpering very softly.

“Adam, adam are you ok, do you need to step out.” 

He lifted his head and turned to look at Admiral Kelly, who now sat beside him, a hand on his shoulder.

His ears were still ringing but not enough to realise that the court had stopped.

The lead judge had held up a hand to the prosecution and was looking directly at him. 

Well… at least now the blood was rushing back to his head, and he could feel his ears burning, “Is everything alright, council?” The judge asked, “Does your witness need to step out.”

The lawyers turned to look at him, hints of both concern and concealed annoyance on their faces.

They looked at him expectantly.

He cleared his throat awkwardly, “No your honor. My apologies.”

His voice was surprisingly strong for someone who felt like he was about to pass out. The judge didn’t seem too annoyed at him, and looked on with some measure of concern. They whispered something to the nearby bailiff and then motioned the council to continue.

Admiral Kelly didn’t move seats keeping one hand on his shoulder. The bailiff walked over after things had started up again and sat next to them for a moment, “If you need to step out.” He whispered, “Take the side door to your right and someone will let you back in.”

He nodded, “Ill be alright, but…. Thank you.”

The man nodded and stood returning to the front of the room.

“As you can see, their first attempts at creating a proper drug cocktail to dull the pain of direct neural interface, was a complete disaster. Dr. Gladstone, assuming you were forced to use drugs instead of subdermal implants, how would you have gone about this? What is the proper procedure dictated by ethical state law.”

“Drug trials can take months to years, we test them on animals, rats monkeys and even inject them into synthetically grown human tissues and tube grown organs before we even test on animals. Each phase of testing can take up to eighteen months in clinical trials, and if the drug proves to be wrong we start over again.”

“Have you ever done phased drug testing on human subjects.”

“No, certainly not.”

“But of course they continued. May the prosecution present Experimental log 32 for For consideration by the court.”

Experimental log #32:

Over the past experiments we have been testing multiple drug mixtures to try and reduce the pain induced by the Direct neural interface our most recent tests have involved morphine much to our resident doctors discouragement it is one of the few drugs we have found capable of suppressing the pain induced by the direct neural interface. This test involves the use of an automatic dispenser controlled by the pain sensors in the arm.

The subject, as before has been sedated for the implantation of the test augmetic. This time however the drug reservoir has a direct link to the bloodstream. 

-recording break-

The subject seems to be stable and moving around without much interference, although slightly lethargic and a little dopy due to the drugs.

We made sure to remove the augmetic well before the drug reservoir ran out. This seems to be successful and stable Several more tests are to be made to confirm this before moving on to the next stage. 

“Dr, do you happen to know the laws in relation to the regulation and use of morphine during testing?”

The doctor nodded, “Morphine is heavily regulated even on the research level owing to its additive properties. Only doctors are allowed to prescribe it, and even then, the morphine dosages are regulated and reviewed by an internal board of directors. There is a cutoff point for the amount of morphine allowed for personal use,and the amount of morphine allowed for medical use. This cap can be broken if the board of directors determines the patient is terminal and in extreme pain.”

“How about for research purposes.”

“You can’t research with morphine, and you certainly cannot give it to a patient with no prior history of injury, or other medical conditions.”

“Thank you doctor, the prosecution wishes to present experimental log 34 to consideration.” 

Experiential log #34:

Our continued experimentation has lead to the conclusion that stronger chemicals may be required to reduce the pain, one subjects auto-dispensary caused an overdose When the subject spent some time prodding and poking at the implant site it caused excruciating pain that was responded to by the auto dispensary by flooding the body with over 500milligrams of morphine. A stronger painkiller would mean lower doses are required thus avoiding an overdose. Despite our team's medical advisors continuing protests. 

Prosecution turned to the judges, “You see here your honor that instead of considering the ethical questionability of their actions, they determined to use more morphine despite the overdose and even extend the use to even more potent drugs. These are not the actions of scientists who were considering ethics, or even the value of human life.”

“Objection your honor on conjecture about the thoughts of my client.”

The judge waved a hand, “It may pass.”

The defence took a seat.

The prosecution adjusted her tie, “Three people died as a result of these tests your honor. Marvin Dess, William Moseratt and Angela Vilgrin. Not once were the tests paused or delayed. Instead, they moved onto the next phase of testing.”

Adam was starting to feel a little better now. He wasn’t sweating so much and he had finally managed to even out his breathing.

“The prosecution would like to present experimental log 28.”

Experimental log #28

Calibration of the arm mounted augmetic seemed to proceed without error or difficulty, The drugs delivered through the internal reservoir developed by Dr. Nkosi renders the subject inured against the supposed pain induced by the augmetic. The primary tests we will be administering are of the use of high strength servo motors to power the augmeitc, reducing its weight and increasing the power behind the subjects rapid motions. 

-Recording break-

The Reaction of the servo motors and torsion cables was far too extreme delivering significant damage and trauma to the subject, Further testing will have to be done and fine tuning of the suits will be needed. 

Adam knew what was coming and tried to close his eyes and block out the sounds as the next visual log was projected before him. 

Audio-visual log transcript:

The subject appears bleary and unresponsive. The augmentic is mounted on their right arm, supposedly their dominant one according to the research notes. The subject is drawn to attention by the scientist administering light taping on their cheek. Upon raising their arm the subject appears a little shocked at the size of the augmetic and the fact it is connected directly to an external power source, questioning the scientist on this who confirms it is just an experimental version. The augmetic appears to only be active on the elbow joint. The scientist appears to be requesting the subject extend his arm in an attempt to punch an invisible foe. Upon doing so the augmetic appears to cause an extreme reaction of force, resulting in not only damage to the subjects musculature, but outright stripping the subjects muscle tissues away from the bones, the pins seem to be functioning as anchor points as the subjects skin and muscles are removed from the skeletal structure. Functionally stripping the flesh away from the skeleton in a manner that can only be described as ‘glove like’. It appears that this area also contained the drug delivery interface as part way through the emergency removal of the upper section of the augmetic, the subject seemed to come out of the semi stupor and begin to register the damage done to themselves, screaming and becoming violent. It was only after the subject was re-drugged with the remaining contents of the drug reservoir that they calmed down.

His attempts to block out the sound do not stop him from hearing the hydraulic hiss, the tight whirr, and the horrific cracking popping noise as flesh is torn from bone. The screaming echoed around in his head. His heart was beating at a million miles an hour. Sweat poured down his back and neck and in between his shoulder blades. Flashes of red sky cut before his vision, the sound of gunfire and the smell of ash.

Admiral kelly squeezed his shoulder hard bringing him back. The dog was halfway in his lap her head pressed against him, and the Bailiff from earlier was on his other side steadying him as his body seemed prone to leaning to one side.

He took a few very deep breaths.

A few of the judges were watching him, but they didn’t stop the proceedings this time. Most of them just looked like they wanted an excuse to look away.

“Your honors, this is not the last log in the series. Even after the catastrophic failure, they continue to implant the steel ee pieces onto test subjects without prior testing in a controlled environment. I believe we have been making realistic ballistic dummies for the past thousand years. I am sure there is something that could have been done.”

Adam was fading.

The lights were growing up in his vision, turning everything around him white.

The defence stood, “THe defence calls for recess, your honors.”

There was a pause, “Recess granted. You have thirty minutes.” 

The room burst into a flurry of murmurs and movement. Admiral Kelly leaned forward hands on his arms, “Adam, you should get up, walk around a bit.”

He nodded and stood feeling the world tip around him as he did. With one hand he gripped heavily onto the back of the pews and staggered forward out of the room. Waffles followed after him whining and whimpering. He waved admiral Kelly off him as he wobbled his way down the hall and burst through the outside door and into open air. He took a deep long breath and leaned against the wall trying to choke down the bile that welled into his throat.

“You alright here buddy.”

Blinking owlishly, he turned to the side to see a man leaning against the wall on the other side of the door.

“You don’t look so good, Cigarette?” He asked offering a pack of the things towards him.

Adam waved a hand, “I don’t smoke but, thanks anyway.”

The man shrugged and lit up puffing a billow of smoke into the air, “You know breathing exercises.”

Adam blinked and nodded, “Yeah.”

“Don't forget to do them. It will help.”

Adam rubbed a hand across his forehead breathing slowly.

“You seem to know a lot about this. Am i that easy to see through?”

The man shook his head “I was a soldier during the panasian war, I know what PTSD looks like.”

“My father fought in the Panasian war.”

The man nodded, “Better get back inside while you still have some color, boy.”

He did as told. He didn’t know the man  but something about his calm demeanor and understanding was nice, and he stepped back inside patting waffles on the head as he walked back towards the courtroom.

He sat down before anyone else was there just yet and rested his head in his hands breathing slowly and evenly. The room slowly filled up again, and before he really knew it, things were back in session.

“The prosecution would like to present Experimental log 31” 

He closed his eyes and began to count slowly breathing in and out, in and out.” 

Experimental log #31

This test is the first among the replacement for servo motors for hydraulics The system was far slower and makes use of a combination of fast extension pistons and slower extension ones for combination. The test is the same as before a simple arm extension in the guise of  a punch. However the augmetic will also include the shoulder. We have increased the dosage of the painkiller as so to prevent the increased implantation volume from inducing a negative reaction in the subject. -Recording break-

The reaction from the hydraulics was stronger than expected, and the delay and stack up of orders has caused significant issues. A halt override taken directly from the nerve system needs to be implemented. 

He squeezed his eyes tight shut 

Audio-visual log transcript:

 The subject appears to be only semi responsive, appearing to function at a 12 on the GCS, Only held there by the active responsiveness of their motor function. This appears to fade somewhat when the subject is given physical stimuli by the scientist in the form of a light slap on the cheek. Bringing the subject back to consciousness. The subject is then encouraged to make the punching action as prior experiments. The subject does so, the fast reaction of the piston seems to achieve the scientist's goal, However the long extension piston appeared to continue extending. This continued, dragging the subjects arm outwards, dislocating the subjects shoulder, then elbow as well as wrist. The subject appeared to be distressed at this, however not unduly in pain. The scientist having stepped back to observe the outcome of events. The extension of the piston continued beyond tolerable human limits. The piston continues to extend despite the protests of the subject and attempts at removing it. The extension continued forcefully separating the subjects limbs at both the elbow and shoulder joint, ripping tendon and muscle as well as ligament structures, fully separating the limb in to two parts and away from the body. It is at this point the subject began to scream in terror and panic till the researcher sedated the subject. 

A door opened at the back of the courtroom as a few more people stepped out. Adam sat there on the bench, his head tilted back and staring at the ceiling breathing even and slowly as light and color swirled around them. He could what speaking, but didn’t really hear what was being said.

He just had to keep himself together.

“....Log 35 to the court.” 

Experimental log #35

Continued experimentation indicates that a combination of servo motors, torsion cables and hydraulics are likely to result in the desired effect. Since the previous experiments a stop override has been implemented in to the systems. This prevents the hydraulics from continuing to extend despite the users body having ceased movement. This should result in the desired movement structures. We are moving on from the single arm testing considering the current functionality and strength amplification satisfactory. The current test is simply to get the two lower limb implants to function in tandem with walking. We have had to once again increase the level of drugs in the users system to prevent the reaction to the pain induced by the interfacing devices. 

-Recording break- 

While the system is capable of walking, the addition of hydraulics have caused the system to be heavier and more cumbersome than intended. Additional servo motors and possible leaf springs for artificial support tendons will have to be added to prevent the augmetics from lagging behind their users.

“Objection your honor…. The court has seen enough….. This is simply…”

“Objection denied council. The evidence stands. If you must you may leave the room.”

“But members of the audience…”

“Can step out if they need to.”

Audio-visual Log transcript:

The subject once again appears to be somewhat unresponsive. This ceases when the scientist provides a physical interaction with the subject, tapping them on the shoulder. The subject appears to be somewhat disoriented. Upon being prompted to walk the subject beings to walk without much in the way of impediment, though seeming to tug at the augments as if they are holding the subject back. The subject is then prompted to move at a might higher speed. Running if possible. The subject manages this for two steps before the continued pulling against the augmetic and movement against the interface needles appears to pull the subject’s leg free, removing large sections of the subjects muscle tissues and nerves along with it. The subject seems to be disturbed, if not in pain. Likely due to the drug reservoir and input mounted on the subjects arm. The subject however seems to be announcing that they can no longer move their legs as the researcher requested. The subject is then sedated and recording ends. 

Adam is being held up again by Admiral kelly his body tilting widely sideways and he is having trouble finding the orientation of the room.” 

“.... experimental log 38 as a demonstration of the scientists moving development far too quickly.” 

Experimental Log #38

Increased response time in the legs combined with the introduction of support springs within the armour have reduced that movement restrictions of the armour and made it much harder for the user to ‘pull away’ from the armor, this combined with several additional straps and metal binding to keep the users legs attached directly to the augmetics have solved several of the most recent problems. The newest set of experiments are moving on to vertical movement, focusing on the subjects ability to jump and move around obstacle strewn environments. 

-Recording break- 

It appears the engineers did not calibrate the hydraulics and other systems to function as shock absorbers, but rather only as force amplification devices. Meaning that impact shock is taken fully by the users body, This would normally not be an issue, however with the additional force and weight provided by the augmetic seems to cause issues upon landing. 

Audio-visual Log transcript:

The subject is suffering the same symptoms as prior subjects, low levels of function and unresponsiveness. Once the subject is roused from the stupor via an open handed impact to the cheek, delivered by the researcher,  they are directed to attempt an obstacle course. The subject seems to have little trouble with the primary obstacles, clearing them with little effort, however their recovery from each obstacle appears to be ungainly and improper. The subject is then presented with a  three meter high wall and instructed to go over it. Rather than scaling it as expected the subject simply jumped over the wall, exhibiting far more mobility and control than prior subjects in experiments. However upon landing the subjects legs appear to buckle and collapse under them, folding at several points that do not have joints. Indicating shattering of the bones. The subject seems unphased by the injury, Pointing it out to the researcher and asking if that is normal. This indicates that the drugs being used are of a high enough dosage and strength to suppress not only extreme pain but the shock reaction of the body. 

He can feel another person holding him up from the other side, but mutters that he is ok when anyone asks. E just keeps counting and breathing counting and breathing knowing that it has to be over soon. He just needs to hold himself together 

Experimental log #42

The final tests regarding midriff functionality have been completed, with shockingly low failure or complications compared to prior testing phases, we are putting this down to our own excellent ongoing improvements of the system. This final text is a sequential system test where a single subject will be required to use each individual part in sequence to ensure that no errors are likely to occur during the whole body testing or further complications are likely to occur.

-break in recording-

The subject suffered no ill effects due to the armour itself. However the subject seemed to become agitated and seemed to be suffering ill effects until they were returned to the augmetics. So long as prolonged exposure to the augmetics is not an ongoing factor we do not see an issue with this. 

“These testings had immense costs and horrific side effects to those who participated. Many of these men and women seen here are not functional or alive to testify in court as to what happened, however, the prosecution would like to call Admiral Vir to the stand as a representative of those who could not be here today, and s a member of the steel eye operation himself to ive the court a little idea about what this experiment did to people even when fully operational.”

Adam was still feeling light headed but even then he still knew what this was. This is what he was here for. Thi was the moment he had come to be a part of, the moment that he was here to help all those soldiers and test subjects used by steel eye.

Admiral Kelly stood with him as he made it to his feet, but he brushed off her hand and walked towards the witness stand. The judge stopped him on his way up.

“Are you well enough to testify Admiral?”

“This is why I came, your honor. Even if I had to crawl through a field of glass to get here.”

The courtroom murmured as he was sworn in, and he sat down feeling the eyes of the entire room on him.

He was still sweating and light headed.

“State your name for the record.”

“Adam Allen Vir.”

“And what is your position in the UNSC.”

“I am Fleet admiral of the UNSC space armada on loan to the GA.”

“And what branch?”

“Originally the air division. I trained at the Aerial combat academy as a fighter and shuttle pilot before being a member of the crew on the enterprise.”

“And how did you end up on Anin.”

“The Enterprise was being decommissioned for some wok, so I offered to go to Anin and be part of the war effort against the Drev.”

“And as a fighter pilot, you didn’t see much time on the ground.”

“No ma’am, I was primarily air support at that time.”

His voice was strong and hard, and the longer he talked the straighter he sat. he had to do this for them. He would NOT fall apart now.

“How did you end up on the ground forces then, Admiral.”

“Volcanic activity, ma’am, they call it the dark season when ash chokes the ai miles into the sky. It isn’t safe to land a ship or fly a jet in such conditions, so my vehicle was grounded. By that time the war was going badly and they needed every man they could get.”

“Were you trained for ground combat, Admiral.”

“Yes at the academy we were trained in ground combat though not as extensively.”

“And you lost your leg to a Drev.”

He reached down hand to his leg remembering the screaming of a red sky above, “Yes, I did.”

“What happened after that?”

“I ended up in a triage tent in out forward operating base. There was no medicine because all our supplies had been used up.”

“Would you say that you were delirious during that time.”

The defence stood quickly “Objection your honor. Leading the witness.”

“Dismissed, council.” The judge said, waving a hand.

“There were no painkillers, ma’am, so maybe. If not delirious than I was at least not in a right state of mind. I remember floating halfway in between being conscious and unconscious. I was in so much pain its…. Had to describe.” His voice wavered before he had it back on track shoring it up and strengthening it with memories of the men and women waiting back at the rehabilitation center.

“And at this time you were approached by Admiral Ablemen about the steel eye project?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“And did he detail any specifics.”

He paused thought for a moment trying to remember back into memories that he really didn’t want to foster, “Not…. really. It's hard to remember but I…. I remember him saying that we could help him win the war. I remember him saying that when I woke up I would be a new man. He gave us the choice to go home or serve the UNSC one last time.”

“In your opinion, would you have said yes had you been more conscious.”

“Objection based on conjecture your honor.”

“Objection accepted.”

Adam paused and the mn let him continue, “Wat DO you remember about what happened to you.”

“I…. remember pain and….. Anger. I was never really all there during the steel eye project. I remember feeling invincible, like I could do anything but at the same time, hazy. I remember getting orders and going out, and then nothing after that.”

“Did they tell you there would be rugs involved.”

“No ma’am.”

“And after the war was over, what happened. How did all of this affect you?”

He paused and struggled to speak for a moment, opening his mouth and then closing, “I…. have never been so hopeless in my entire life. I tried to get help with the Veterans association but my claim was denied. I…. went through withdrawals…. Horrible horrible drug withdrawals where I. I was in so much pain, I just….”He paused then lifted his head to look up at th courtroom making eye contact with them. His voice was as strong as ever “I wanted to die, and I would have done it if I hadn’t had a good support system in my family. After a few months my brother got me in contact with a group of people who got ahold of my service dog, and I was able to heal.”

“Does what happened still affect you”

“Yes Ma’am.”

“In what ways.”

“I still have long term PTSD, and while it is controlled and I am no longer on medication, I still have bad days. Days where I can’t move or think, days where the quietest nosies send me into a panic.”

“Were you ever compensated for your injuries, Admiral.”

He paused again and shook his head, “No ma’am, I never received help.”

“Thank you admiral, you may be seated.”

He stood, his head was clear and his hands were dry. He stepped down from the podium with his chin raised and his back straight returning to his seat. He had done it. He had done what he needed to do and the only thing that was lft was to survive the rest of the trail.

He could do that.

He survived operation steel eye didn’t he?

So he could certainly survive this.

[spacetwiga]

leave c!phil out of bullshit 2k21 -- a not so tiny post by a new enthusiast

As someone who finds both common fanon and actual canon to be quite fun, I really think the general DSMP fandom would benefit greatly from a few things in general: the greatest, in my opinion, is learning to accept that popular fanon won’t usually be the canon you receive. Another, of course, is that POVs are golden, but with these two things being flimsy in being accepted, they are the major flaws that cause about 90% of the absolute messy takes that gain traction, oftentimes poisoning a canon character's ability to exist in the story.

My biggest beef regarding this comes from how y’all treat c!Phil, so here I am, being annoying on main side! 

TL;DR... Just because someone acted like like a guidance to others, doesn’t always mean that they'll want to be the father figure role for everyone that breathes. Similarly, pinning down a character on a single trope is wack, so don't be surprised if they grow away from it.

Baby’s first little dsmp rambling below!

(Warning: it's long as hell)

The Dream SMP plotline is not written out like most popular media. With so many moving parts in the form of daily streams and the wonderful tool of live improvisation, it makes perfect sense that such a giant cast would not always be on the same page. Adding onto that, it also makes more sense that a vast majority of the cast will be placed into supporting roles, as the story needs to have characters that serve as narrative anchors and others that function as the links in a chain, all weathering the storm that is the plot.

Screentime, of course, plays a major factor into canon exposure -- in terms of the Dream SMP, POV matters equally, if not more, too. 

It’s a pretty neat way of showing things, but in the end, the fanbase has a lovely (read: godawful /lh) way of analysing characters, particularly when it relates to how they interact with others from their fave character’s POV. The tendency to analyse things from a single character's POV is fine, but not when attempting to critique the greater whole of a conflict. Both sides, no matter how wrong they may seem to be, matter.

Adding onto the fact that everything is live, there are things that will spiral out of control, casual words being skewed and thus having the potential of a single line seemingly contradicting the entire ‘story’ that the fanbase has made. If it directly affects a fave's POV in particular, one is more likely to take offense, as bias immediately bars one from trying to see the other person's side of things.

POV is important. 

Which brings me to c!Phil, and how critics tend to ignore his perspective to prop up another character, or justify the tearing down of another.

Improvisation is both a blessing and a curse; the fanbase, however, loves to test out the latter. With it, the fanbase starts crafting tales to justify it...And so begins the mess that is c!Phil discourse.

Say it with me, folks: c!Phil is not supposed to be your fave’s fluffy father figure... unless you’re c!Wilbur!!!

😃☝🏾Dadza is good...👉🏾😎👉🏾 But fandom wants the excessive, idealized version.

-- birb 2k21

Family dynamics are generally loved for their potential for comfort, particularly those of a found family nature. Fandom in general tends to lean into them wholeheartedly, with most major bases having at least one prominent group present; SBI, of course, is no different. From fanart to popular fanfiction, it's arguably the biggest group dynamic alongside the Dream Team, and for that, a precedence was set. 

c!Phil, if he ever joined, would fix everything! All of the ‘kids’ would turn to their new mentor and everything would turn out fine! This all knowing, morally just character will chuckle at their antics and wacky hijinks will follow! Fun times, right? /s

The hope for it, however, has long since been shattered, and frankly, good for him!

To go a little ooc, cc!Phil has stated multiple times that, while he was friendly with a lot of the cast as c!Phil, his only paternal link (at least biologically) lies with c!Wilbur. Simple, right? It should be -- there are multiple clips of him saying this -- but fans choose to ignore it in their critiques, generally citing favouritism or downright neglect for the character’s flaws. From 'favoring' Techno (who, in canon, holds the highest link in friendship outside of c!Wilbur's familal link) to 'neglecting' to visit Tommy (who he barely knew, and also assumed, like many others, that he was fine), these critiques weigh heavily on the scale that judges Phil’s so called father figure trope. 

The story, however, has only leaned into (and persisted with) that for c!Wilbur alone, and adding onto it, there is an established acknowledgement from both ccs. That confirmation should hold the most weight, especially since both Phil and Wilbur seem alright with it. Even so, that familial has yet to be explored much for both characters, particularly regarding c!Phil, who has his debut (at least narratively) in a scene that feels opposite to the classic fatherly role.

c!Wilbur denounced accepting that helping hand to fall entirely into his explosive end, setting a precedence unlike most fatherly types arriving to save their kid. Usually, fandom narrative would love a close save, father and son uniting to heal and build up what was broken, but c!Phil’s entrance inks his story in failure. Angsty, right? We love angst!

And yet, as the story ticks on, the bad takes pile up.

Why? Well, I’l used to think that it is a “funny haha” type thing; a way to grieve for a character that was lost, as Alivebur was genuinely a great character. However, with the plot slowly progressing c!Phil’s story to evolve away from the ‘mentor the kids’ trope , I should have seen a storm on the horizon.

It should have been seen from the moment he stabbed c!Wilbur in the chest, but optimism is one hell of a smokescreen.

Built up fanon, however, is probably the greatest fog to ever exist.

There are lines before the button room confrontation that paint a picture of Wilbur seeking out the approval of his father (who seemed distant, at least from his POV), as well as hints to the SBI dynamic, but with the countless dismissals/retcons from CCs involved, as well as little to no consistent canon acknowledgement of this team dad role...Why base an entire hate piece of c!Phil just because popular fanon isn’t real? 

Why, for the sake of building up a well rounded character, would one place the title of a communal parental figure on a grieving father who has little attachment to the community involved, especially when most of them are too busy delving into their own issues?

Furthermore, why go for Mr. Philza Minecraft: Angel of Death, CEO of KEKW, Functioning Immortal????

It’s madness, luv, and frankly, antis cannot let c!Phil process any of his grief (or flesh out his character) without his contributions being fatherly. His role has been idealized to the point where he is not a character on his own, but an accessory to the happiness of other characters. That is not how the world works, and in a conflict riddled server like the dsmp, arguing that it should be like that is counterproductive.

c!Phil had his own shit to deal with, and as he slowly uncovers how fucked up the server actually was, he merely adapts to it. He learns to play the game by his own rules, and people become mad that he’s succeeding in his own way. It's as simple as that, particularly when referencing his initial exposure to the world he now inhabits.

c!Phil is a man who used to hear of his son’s success from the letters he received, words spinning tales of won revolutions and newfound friendships. To a father, those letters are more than enough to assume that all is well, and with it, he had no reason to check on his son, who was already old enough to be carving his path alone. For him to arrive and see just how broken his son actually was, and then, in front of faces he only vaguely knows, kill said son... There's a lot to take in.

He shouldn't have had to care about L'Manberg in those moments, not when he had his son in his arms, dead by his own goddamn weapon; his son who, to his knowledge, was doing pretty well up until he caught wind of his plot. Yet, he does.

He gives them the benefIt of the doubt, even ignoring the one person he has shown to have deep history with (c!Techno) to assist the nation in defeating the withers and rebuilding what was lost.

c!Phil stays in a nation that has seemingly brought his son right into his demise, holding in that grief to help people who he assumes have the chance to rebuild, to reform. For a moment, he trusts that the system can turn into something positive, offering to hunker down and do what he can to help. That’s the start of a fatherly type role for most -- with many expectations rising from fans to ‘fix’ all these traumatized characters.

In another plot, perhaps critics could have gotten the tropes they want from c!Phil, but to blame the character for reacting negatively to a world he barely knew, right after seeing it ruin his son and target a friend...Maybe the need for a "father figure" only stems from making their faves happy.

Characters that don't directly support your fave are not inherently awful characters. Critique based on that alone is...flimsy, really, but honestly, you can use to to show how they process things.

Which brings me to the events leading up to Doomsday, and with it, the steady rise of c!Phil’s defining traits.

Say it with me, folks: c!Phil is one of the most loyal members on the server, but loyalty doesn’t mean he's blindly following along!

😃☝🏾Butcher Army take this L👉🏾😎👉🏾 Found it in the L’Mancrater

-- birb 2k21

The butcher army arc, while nestled among the mainline story of Tommy’s exile (which I will not even mention, because those dadza takes about visiting may deserve a post on their own), allows for c!Phil to see into the minds of those who had once been with (or even against) his son’s plans. Sure, he may be witnessing them after the eve of their newfound traumas, but this is an important observation to make when comparing how easy it was to denounce his affiliation to them and side with c!Technoblade.

Unlike the new Administration, slowly dipping deeper and deeper into their own form of power hunger, c!Technoblade’s base desires had never wavered. His trust in others, however, had, still nursing the sting of a betrayal, but with no conflict in sight. He is reforming, finding comfort in his solitude, and still maintaining contact with those he trusts.

Techno's Compass, for one, is a major example of their mutual trust. Despite being on opposing territories, they are civil enough to trust each other, just like old friends.

Thus, when you take two old friends who are more than used to conflict -- one grieving and one betrayed, but both seeking neutrality -- it shouldn’t have surprised the antis that c!Phil would place c!Techno’s whereabouts (and life, mind you) over some government he barely knew. 

And yet, above all else, c!Phil starts off as a neutral party for everyone's sake, forgoing potential conquest for peace.

To c!Phil and c!Techno, it’s like fighting back to back, knowing that one can always trust the other to fend off those just waiting to take advantage of your blindspot, while also quelling the need to imagine your partner turning around and doing the same. That sort of friendship is forged through many, many hardships.

They betray what little trust he had built in them. That’s on them.

c!Phil is aware how untrusting c!Techno is, and while c!Techno feels safe enough to give his all for c!Phil, he never exploits it to get ahead, which is something L'Manbergians felt okay with doing.

They take a book out of the playbook used on c!Techno, for c!Techno.

They went after yet another person who was close to him, using their power and influence to hold an execution under the guise of seeking justice. If c!Wilbur, at least pre-corruption arc, sent letters to his father, one would at least expect some of his old ideals of freedom and fairness to leak through into his friends, right? To see those c!Phil assumed would hold similar ideals immediately skew towards a darker, brutal side, particularly in threatening others to get what they wanted...Well, shit hit the fan.

c!Phil does not have that strong relationship with any former L’Manbergians, and despite there being potential for such, it didn't work out that way; instead, however, those characters manage to mistake his kindness for weakness. They take his preferred neutrality as a way to exploit him, to gain in such a way that he lost agency...

No more Mister Nice Dadza, and honestly, he’s justified in that notion.

They’ve lost his trust, time too short to have gained that strong link like c!Techno’s or c!Wilbur’s, and with it, came the inevitable association with Doomsday.

c!Phil knew c!Techno’s intentions from the beginning -- which had only wavered into dormancy because he had grown tired of fighting, understanding that the cycle he wishes to break is not worth his efforts -- so the agreement in participating is effortless. 

c!Dream was there too, of course, but in their mutual quest for eradication, it’s made canon that c!Techno and c!Phil hid away most of their arsenal, despite seeming overprepared. They have no loyalty to c!Dream; they’re smart enough to play along, however. He was a means to an end.

There’s no lies present in their relationship; c!Phil needed someone who didn’t try and pull wool over his eyes, and c!Techno let him see.

c!Techno needed someone who wouldn't stab him in the back, and c!Phil stayed true as his hidden sword.

Which is why, as the two joined forces, ideals aligning and power synergized, they didn’t think twice about nuking the nation to bedrock. Mutually agreeing that the system needs to die, they did what they could, and they succeeded.

How cool of them, tbh LMAO.

New L’Manberg tugged too hard at the sleeping tiger’s tail; they shouldn’t have expected it to roll over.

Their openness to each other was known.

There was no need for underhanded plays, for hidden betrayals, for undisclosed words.

Their loyalties were strong.

They were in sync.

In conclusion (maybe, maybe not...this shit is long holy heck)

😃☝🏾 I may hate this analysis in 30 minutes👉🏾😎👉🏾 Or I may make a part 2. Fuck it!

-- birb 2k21

And that’s what makes c!Phil an interesting character: He tends to be critiqued in reference to chatacters who have very well wronged him, have no affiliation to him or get associated to him through popular fanon. There's a lot to cover that I haven't (from Ghostbur to the whole Tommy 'dilemna') but overall I'm digging what I have now and if I ever get more energy, I'll continue!

c!Phil enthusiasts, I hope I did you proud LMAO. It's my first forray into this side of tumblr 👉🏾👈🏾 I'm a lurker.

c!Phil antis, you can either act respectful or go argue with a wall. I got experience dealing with antis on Tumblr; I am immune to BS.

Anyway, I hope you all enjoyed. Signing off!

- BIRB.

[sanababes]

Requested by: anon

Saviour

pairings: fem!reader x Lee Gahyeon

warnings: a/b/o dynamics (alpha!reader and omega!gahyeon), brief sexual harassment, swearing

----------

"For fuck's sake… It reeks the scent of omegas in here."

You grumbled while scanning the packed rooftop. The cold breeze of the wind was not enough to hide the pheromones which resulted in you being annoyed as hell.

"Oh come on, Y/n," Siyeon chuckles while wrapping an arm around your shoulder. "Stop being such a party-pooper."

You just scoffed in disbelief and just let the latter drag you into a group of familiar girls. Their idle chatter fades away as they spot Siyeon with a pleasing look on her face, but laughters begin to erupt when they see you tailing behind her unwillingly.

"Yah! Y/n's not looking good, huh?" Sua claimed as she swirls the liquor on her hand. 

You just rolled your eyes and sat at the opposite side of the table. Siyeon lets you throw a 'tantrum' like how she describes it whilst making herself comfortable as she sat beside Sua. She immediately warms up into the older's body, cradling her cheek and giving it a light kiss. 

Meanwhile, you cringed at the sight which didn't go unnoticed by the other alpha sitting close to you.

"You can go and puke yourself out," Moonbyul teased. A wavering sigh comes out from you as the two betas across you continued to display their affection with each other.

"Thanks for the advice," You snickered at the woman's dry humor. 

Moonbyul suddenly emits her scent which made your eyebrows furrow. This made a few omegas nearby quiver weakly until a certain woman near in 30s walked by hastily and succumbed into the alpha's embrace. Then, the older's pheromones abruptly fades away, thanks to the help of the breeze of the cold wind. 

"A new mate?" You asked, still confused at the latter's previous actions. 

"Yeah, but with the tone of your voice, you're making it look like I had a lot of them before." Moonbyul remarked as she let the unknown omega crawl into her lap.

You just smirked and shrugged your shoulders, "I mean, who knows…"

The latter lets out a soft chuckle before burying her face into the crook of the omega's neck. You shook your head with a hint of amusement, it was rare for the older to be 'touchy' with her mates as you previously observed through the years you've been together. Moonbyul was always private and kept her affections behind closed doors, she also rarely becomes possessive until it's needed. That's why the sight in front of you is surely a new thing to see. Nevertheless, you just let her be.

The night is still young as you scanned your eyes through the open view of the city. The balcony began to be filled with people who were invited as well to the party, though you never knew who even ran the event in the first place since you were just forced to be here by Siyeon.

"Why don't you have a mate yet?"

You unconsciously winced at Moonbyul's unexpected question. The thought of having one just didn't sit right with you, Siyeon even calls you 'coward' because of it.

"I already told you guys that I'm capable of not having one," you deadpanned, rolling your eyes in the process. "And, their scent is… unpleasant."

The latter chuckled before replying, "Yeah, right. It's you and your prideful ass again."

You just sighed and averted your gaze from her, the smell of pheromones once again creeps into your nostrils.

'Ahh, I shouldn't have come here...'

Siyeon suddenly stood up from her seat with Sua clinging on one of her arms, she gave you a smile before asking, "Do you want us to grab some drinks for you?"

"Hmm, just a glass of wine is enough." 

The latter nodded then excused Sua and herself instantly. You smirked mentally then glanced at Moonbyul who was occupied by pampering her omega. It was a good opportunity for you to sneak out, in the spur of the moment, you stood up and immediately strutted towards the exit of the rooftop. A lingering smile was written on your lips as you successfully avoided making contact with anyone, the smell of pheromones were also getting weaker at each step that you make whilst heading to the elevator.

It was all going smoothly until you heard faint shouts coming from the restroom, which is approximately one corridor away from your location. You frowned at the sudden dilemma.

"You've got to be kidding me…" you mumbled under your breath while you hesitantly looked at the elevator then back to the sounds of intrusion at the restroom.

"You'll just uh… take a look, Y/n. Just a quick look."

After a minute of internal struggle, you decided to check on the place as you walked carefully towards the restroom. The shouts earlier became weak cries of help instead which worried you even more.

When you reached the door and pushed it open, you were greeted by a strong scent possibly coming from an alpha. You saw a man pinning a certain girl against the sink as tears flowed freely on her delicate face. With one look, you immediately knew that the girl was being forced by the bastard who's clearly enjoying himself.

Your blood boiled at the sight that you couldn't help but to shove the man away from the poor girl and land a harsh punch on his face. 

"Fuck! What the hell is your problem–" you cut him off by kicking him on his crotch which made the alpha drop on his knees while he groaned in pain.

"Serves you right," you scowled with no sympathy. "Are you that desperate that you can't even find an omega who you don't need to ravish against their will? You're fucking pathetic."

You gave the man a last punch before he instantly passed out. 

"Rot in hell, asshole…"

You accidentally released your vigorous scent due to the anger that you had felt. This made the trembling girl nearby whimper silently, her cheeks are painted with light red hues.

Your attention immediately turns to the omega who's in a fragile state, the latter was breathing heavily as tears continued to slip down her cheeks. You carefully approached the girl, "Hey, it's okay now. I promise he'll never bother you anymore."

"T-Thank you…" 

You couldn't help but purse your lips as you get a whiff of her mellow scent. It was strangely… soothing.

"Uhm, do you have any friends that I can call?" you asked, crouching down to meet her wary gaze.

The latter couldn't manage to form her words because of her hiccups and sniffles. You reached out your hand to wipe the tears on her cheeks, feeling her leaning slightly against it cutely. 

The two of you stayed in that position for a while, not until she looked up through her lashes with her lips formed into a tiny pout, "D-Don't leave me, p-please…"

"Uh, sure," you mumbled softly. "I, uhm, I won't leave until you say so."

The girl nodded, appreciating your given comfort. She was starting to feel lightheaded due to the amount of alpha pheromones that she had inhaled for the past few minutes. And before you could notice it, the latter leans into your embrace while speaking indistinctly.

"...I think I'm going to pass out soon–"

---

You sighed for the nth time while carrying the unconscious omega in your arms. After she passed out in the restroom, you didn't have a choice but to bring her in your own house. You even tried unlocking her phone to find her emergency contacts but to no avail.

The whole process of assisting her to your home was almost a mess. You called your butlers, maids, and even your own personal doctor. You honestly didn't know what to do, after laying the girl down in one of the guest rooms, you left her in the care of your servants before fleeing out of the room.

ring ring ring

You fished out your phone and Siyeon's name greeted you in a flash. You chuckled lightly before pressing the decline icon, "You'll have to wait, unnie…"

The feeling of guilt by leaving her in the party bugs you immediately. Nevertheless, you decided to just send the older a text.

"I already got home, sorry. Something urgent came up."

You groaned quietly before leading yourself to your bedroom, which is a few rooms away from the guest room that the certain omega was occupying. Kicking your shoes off, you instantly plopped yourself into the mattress and began rethinking your life decisions.

'How did I even get into this kind of situation… I hope she can rest well, getting taken advantage of can really cause some stress and even trauma…'

Suddenly, a few knocks interrupted you from your thoughts. You averted your gaze into your bedroom's door before speaking up, "Come in."

In walks your personal doctor, he had a gentle smile on his face as he opened the door and proceeded to sit on one of your armchairs nearby.

"The woman that you had brought just needs a little rest. I also think that she's nearing her first heat cycle," Chan stated.

"Wait, what? First?" you asked, confused at the unexpected information. 

"What do you mean by her first?"

Chan looks at you then vaguely answers, "Her first heat."

Your jaw slacked unknowingly, that explains why the girl looked too naive and how she couldn't control the intensity of her scent.

"I see… I'll just check on her, you can go now. Thank you for coming right away."

You sat up from your bed as Chan stood up on his feet. You guided the man outside and asked one of your chauffeur to drive him home. Bidding a final goodbye to the latter, you watched the car leave out of your residency. 

One of your servants, Jeongyeon, walks up to you to inform you that the omega in your guest room had woken up already. With a timid nod, you walked briskly towards the said room and knocked on the wooden surface. 

"Hey, how are you feeling?" you opened the door slowly, you glanced at the girl who's now sitting on the edge of the bed.

She was emitting her scent once again, but it didn't matter. You have enough self-control.

"Better… C-Can I atleast know y-your name?" she muttered subtly, avoiding to meet your gaze. 

"Y/n. You can call me Y/n. How about you? You've been under my care for a few hours now and I still don't know your name."

You sat beside her, but within a safe distance so the latter wouldn't feel uncomfortable if ever.

"Thank you, Y/n. And… my name is Gahyeon," she finally looked straight into your eyes, and that's when you realized how gorgeous the woman in front of you.

Her eyes reeked an aura of innocence, and the way the tip of her lips curve was really cute for you. Her hair was in a vivid color of purple which really suited her perfectly. 

It was the first time you admired someone other than your closest friends.

"...Gahyeon," her name swiftly rolls off your tongue.

The latter blushes as she realized that you were muttering her name for a while now. Your dazed look also makes her giggle slightly, snapping you out of your thoughts.

"Oh, sorry," you scratched your nape sheepishly. "But, are you sure that you're okay now? I can get you anything that you want right now, just tell me."

Gahyeon just chuckled at your sudden blabberings, she decided to thank you non-verbally before pressing a quick peck on your cheek.

"Thank you again, Y/n or should I call you my Saviour?"

You froze up and couldn't answer her question due to her previous gesture.

'Oh hell no, why am I getting flustered? Ah shit, shit, shit–'

"Then you're my saviour it is."

~~~

(a/n: i didn't put a 'the end' CUZ i want to make a part 2 of this but with a soft smut, maybe something about gahyeon's first heat, still not sure tho. VOTE 'saviour pt.2' in my asks and when it reaches 5-10 votes i'll do it hihi)

[reliciron]

Decided to write out the important bit of my jedi consular’s backstory. 

It should be noted that he doesn’t technically want to die, he’s just very scared of his master and doesn’t see any way to escape. 

That said, at the end of the day he does try (and fail) to die by throwing himself at some jedi, so please don’t read if you’re uncomfortable with that.

Go to the northern reaches of Brentaal IV. There you will find a small Jedi temple: the place where Grand Master Satele Shan first trained.

It has enjoyed relative anonymity since, but this must change.

Infiltrate the temple. Slaughter everyone within. Show the Jedi that nothing is safe from the Sith.

Do this, my clever acolyte, and I will raise you from the shadows.

You will be my apprentice.

Dust kicks up as he races across the northern plateaus on his stolen speeder bike. It will take hours to track properly, with the damage he left behind. But by then he’ll have either completed his mission…

Or he’d be dead.

He clenches his teeth.

She was mad. She HAD to be.

No.

He shakes his head.

No. His master is many things, but not mad.

Just calculating. And he may be a mere acolyte, but he hadn’t survived this long without learning some of the game.

If her words were true, the Sith would send a platoon, or at least a full squad. Make a show of the massacre to demoralize the Republic and Jedi Order both.

One lone acolyte would not be enough to guarantee victory. Indeed, it was very likely that he would not survive the attempt at all, even with 6 years of careful training from his master.

He’d been her faithful servant. Her knife in the dark. She’d liberated him from Rattatak and kindly taken him under her wing as a boy. He’d learned to wear the Force like a shroud. Hide himself from sight and strike from the shadows.

She gave the word, and he carried out the sentence. A name, a picture, a place, and they’d be dead in a matter of days.

He couldn’t be her apprentice. No matter his talent, he was Rattataki. And as far as the anyone else knew, he didn’t exist.

He KNEW this. She’d said it so many times. But now she was offering it to him.

It wasn’t real.

And the impossibility of the task only affirmed his suspicions.

He was not MEANT to succeed.

He did not exist, yet as more Sith and Imperials fell before him it became harder and harder to keep his existence secret. And she would never let him go, not when he knew so much of her secrets.

He was a liability now. One she hoped would take care of itself in a pointless attack on a temple.

He should run. He SHOULD, but he CAN’T.

His throat goes tight and he slows down a bit as the temple’s coordinates loom on the navigation computer.

He’d tried to run once, before he’d truly understood how much of a PRIVILEGE it was to have been chosen by his mistress. He couldn’t recall the ‘how’s and ‘why’s anymore, but he remembered the punishment had gone on for well over a week.

Run and I’ll find you, little one. And I will not be so merciful the next time.

If he tries to abandon his duty, he’d die all the same, but she’d make sure to make it hurt. At least the Jedi would make it quick.

Yes.

If its one thing the soft-hearted fools abhorred, it was making a being suffer.

There was no way out for him, but an end by their sabers would be better than by her hand.

–

It had been laughably easy to enter the temple. The roomy interior had given him plenty of space to cloak himself and slip through without being noticed by the guardians. He’d made it all the way into the empty training room, where he’d entered a vent near the ceiling and used it to gain access to the meeting room.

Inside there were a handful of masters and their attending padawans, likely a collection of the strongest jedi in the temple. An incredibly foolish target.

But that was the point, wasn’t it.

He could have killed a great many by now. Picked off padawans one by one has he slithered through the building. Had he actually believed the lie his master had told him, he would have.

But he didn’t. And now these Jedi were his best chance for a swift end.

As he grips his lightsaber, he wonders, not for the first time, what his mother would have thought of him. He didn’t remember her, or much of Rattatak for that matter. But he hoped he’d grown to be a strong son, one who might have made her proud, had things been different.

He muffles the sound of the grate being opened, curls his toes over the edge of the vent frame, and leaps.

–

The creature had seemed to come from thin air.

A calm discussion with his fellow masters about possible changes to the curriculum one minute, and a whirl of dark robes and red light the next.

By the time he and the others managed to pull their lightsabers, 3 padawans lay crumpled on the floor with the attacker ready to strike again.

The battle had been vicious.

Master Evren nearly had a leg taken off, and Knight Balrus fell in a burst of lightning before Ixal finally got in under its guard to slice up through it’s hood.

It screamed, bringing its saber up in mindless defense as it clutched its smoking face, but it was a futile effort. He followed through, ducking its arm and spinning around behind to carve his saber deep across it’s back.

It folded like a house of cards, crashing to the floor in a heap of dark robes.

Not dead, but also not getting up any time soon.

Healers and medical droids are called, and to everyone’s relief no one was killed. But it still left them with a host of very injured jedi, and a deeply wounded assailant who should have never made it this far.

–

Once the others have been seen to, he and the few other jedi of rank gather in the assassin’s room.

The scans the droids provided them with were both enlightening… and disturbing.

A juvenile rattataki male, approximately16 years of age. Signs of extensive, long-term electrical trauma, 18 healed fractures, and general malnutrition. And that was all underneath the damage he himself had caused in the battle. Evidently he’d blinded the man - no, boy - in one eye, and his final strike had severed his spine. He was now paralyzed from the waist down.

Stars above.

It’s about an hour more before the boy comes to, numbed heavily around his injuries but not sedated.

They needed to speak with him, and it absolutely could not wait.

Even so, none of them are prepared for the tsunami of terror that all but knocks them off their feet.

He chokes and tugs desperately at his restraints, every inch a panicked child despite the destruction he’d wrought only a few hours ago.

It makes his stomach roil to know he’d not fought a man, but a boy.

“Peace, young one,” he says softly. And the single remaining eye fixes upon him.

A muscle jumps in the rattataki’s jaw before his face goes eerily blank, at odds with the fear still saturating the Force around them.

“My name is Master Ixal. I’m afraid you’ve committed some rather serious crimes here today, but I would like to talk, if you wouldn’t mind.” When all the boy does is stare at him, he smiles, “May I ask your name?”

There’s a long stretch of silence before the answer.

“Acolyte.”

His accent is Kaas-ian, but given that he’s an alien, there’s a very good chance that he was a slave.

“Is that your name, or the one you were given?”

He blinks, as if trying to parse the meaning.

“Did you ever have a different name?”

Something small and fragile flickers across the part of his face that is still visible.

“…. Faun.”

He sighs. Good. Not so far gone that he won’t answer questions entirely, “Faun then. Can you tell me why you’re here?”

“My master sent me.”

A sith then. Were they truly so desperate as to use children?

“They sent you to attack us?”

His eye closes and he seems resigned.

“Yes.”

“Who sent you? Are there more coming? Why is the temple being targ-?”

“It doesn’t matter, kill me and be done with it.”

“What-?”

“I killed your people and infiltrated your temple, is that not enough?!”

He seems desperate then, like a frightened animal, and the fear redoubles in the Force.

“Easy now,” he assures, “You killed no one, all those who were injured survived.” He frowns, “And you will not die for it. We certainly won’t be letting you go, but you will live and be treated fairly. But I can promise you, the more you help us now, the easier things will go for you in the future.”

Instead of being assured, the young man barks a harsh, bitter laugh.

“What, future?! I failed to die! Now my master will come for me to correct my failure!” He positively whimpers and shrinks in on himself, “She’ll be so angry! She’ll make it hurt! Why can’t you just kill me!”

They’re all taken aback by the outburst, but as his words start to sink in a sick feeling begins to settle in to Ixal’s stomach.

“What do you mean you ‘failed to die’?”

“You think I am a fool?!” he spits. “What else am I to believe when she gives me such an impossible task and promises rewards I knew could never be!” He sags onto the hospital bed. “I do not exist. She cannot allow me to be tied to her, and I was no longer worth the risk.”

He truly feared this master of his so much that he would willingly undertake a suicide mission? Stars above, what had this woman done to him?!

He shakes his head. They knew the why now, but not the how.

“How did you manage to make it all the way into the meeting room? You would have had to pass several guardians.”

The boy huffs, voice still raw and wavering, but evening out as they entered more neutral territory. “Your security is poor and my master trained me well. I cloaked myself in the Force, muffled my presence, and walked right passed them.”

A hint of pride threads through the fear in the air, but already a few of their number have left, unable to take such overpowering emotions.

Cloaking is a rare gift. That this young man is capable of doing so, well enough to fool full fledged jedi, is both dangerous and intriguing. Between that, his combat ability, and the hyper-projection of his emotions, they were dealing with a powerful force user, no matter his age.

It only occurs to him now that the young rattataki could have likely killed dozens of padawans and younglings before being discovered.

But he didn’t.

An idea starts to form but he’d need to consult his fellow masters first.

“Thank you, Faun, you’ve been very helpful. Please rest for now. We will speak again later.”

The boy looks wary as they leave, but more than likely the sedatives are already being administered through his drip. He won’t be conscious for much longer.

–

The discussion is heated, with several knights and masters arguing against it, but after consulting the Jedi Council, they finally come to an agreement.

They would attempt to rehabilitate Faun.

Turning a sith was notoriously difficult, but his youth would work in their favor.

The skills of an assassin, Force-cloaking especially, where nearly impossible to teach to jedi. Too close to the dark side for many to want to risk learning. But as much as they may wish otherwise, sometimes those skills were needed, and if they could earn Faun’s loyalty they’d have an invaluable ally.

It would be a long and delicate process. Mind healers would be needed to try and break the chains his master had instilled in his mind, and the physical reconstruction and recovery would be just as taxing.

There was no guarantee that it would work at all, but he genuinely believed it was worth a try.

The poor boy had been through so much. With a bit of work they might give him a second chance at a fulfilling life.

Dark-side or no, the Force practically hummed around him in a way Ixal had not seen since young Satele. He didn’t know what part this young man might play, but he had a feeling he may yet prove essential in the future.

This would not be the end the young man had sought, but a new beginning.

======

From there it takes a long time to deprogram him, and they need to install several internal cybernetic bypasses in his spine to get around the damage. At the end of it, he’s got a pretty serious scar that runs from right shoulder to left hip, a few numb patches on his lower back, and his eye is still blinded. He learns to hide his accent, too. And he’s somewhere in his late 20s-early 30s by the time the game starts.

He was sent to Tython as a fresh start for his padawan training, since no one there would know who he was, aside from the Council.

His companions don’t find out until they’re fighting the First Son and Syo tells them to try and get them to leave or turn on Faun. Zenith almost does leave afterwards, but after a long discussion they all stick with him.

[swiss-mrs]

Let There Be War (4/?)

(Clyde Logan || Hunger Games: Catching Fire AU)

Word Count: 5.8k

Warnings: Death, Angst

Sleep. Sleep was simply not a necessity at the moment, not for you. You’ve gone plenty of sleepless nights, in the confines of your own home, your own room, even without murderous animals hunting you down. You all sat in a cave, a well hidden one you had to admit. It was so hidden that you wondered how they found it in the first placed, Threes. They were ridiculously intelligent, probably would’ve threatened you but their impeccable lack of physical strength and combat training worried you for a much different reason. You hated it. You hated worrying over their well being, hated feeling protective over them. They each had nearly twenty years on you, they’re to blame for their own demise here. Smart, but utterly stupid. You shook your head turning away from their sleeping figures to glance around at the others here. Six, the ‘morphlings’? Now they, they made you worry. Seemingly drugged out of their mind long ago, they held a certain innocence you could not help but feel sorry about. They didn’t speak much, vocally, not at all. They said a million things with their eyes like you’ve never seen before. They both simultaneously looked somewhere between 300 years and seven years old. Such pain and trauma of someone who had lived for ages but they held a quality you only wished to see in the children of your district. A strange pair they are. You assumed that grouping up would be the only way they could possibly last more than an hour here, even as a duo. The gaunt, grey toned couple laid facing each other, huddled up in a dark corner away from the small fire. They held each other so close you could barely distinguish their bodies from each other, shaking like scared puppies, from the cold? The fear? Withdraw? You were unsure but you determined that if these games weren’t rigged they could probably win from hiding alone.

You pan your head over to Twelve. Were they a team. The boy, he was kind of short, shorter than the girl. He wouldn’t stand much of a better chance than Three. He seemed too soft even after competing in his own games. The girl, She was one to look to. Weapon of choice, smart, Athletic, She knows what she needs to do to survive. Neither of them were asleep, dazed, tired looking, but not asleep. You recall constantly seeing them and their ‘romance’ blown up all over Panem. It made you roll your eyes. Six seemed to have a stronger connection and you weren’t even sure they were actually a couple if not brother and sister. Any single person could tell it wasn’t true. It was for the games. She, maybe, loved him, yes, but there was no doubt in your mind that she was not in love with him.You did not want to judge, because, like you said, it is all a game. Most liked, stays alive the longest. Do what you must to survive. But you know that if it was up to you, you would have left him behind, wouldn’t you? He’s dead weight, of course, but- You shook your head again, this time to rid yourself of your meaningless tangent. Seven.

District Seven. They were a really solid pair. Strong, ruthless, survivalist, they could make their way around these woods and break a man in half with their bare hands simultaneously with zero effort. The girl, she seemed like a winner, unphased by the game, headstrong. She could be a little annoying with her mouth, but, non the less, you could see how she’d win. She sat closest to the fire, seemingly utterly relaxed, watching every branch crackle under the flame. The male- Clyde. You wanted to tell yourself so badly that he’d make it through anything, so bad, but you knew better. He was big and strong, yes, undoubtedly smart, yes, but he was permanently disadvantaged. The only one of you physically bearing their past. And if it wasn’t for you, he would’ve drowned to death. Sure, he could hold his ground back at the platform, but if the girl from Twelve didn’t shoot him down, those overseeing the game would most likely have risen the water level or something like that. He was tending to the fire as you stared him down. He seemed to hold his concentrated pout indefinitely. You wondered how he hadn’t gotten his face stuck like that or gained any wrinkles in his brows. Your eyes softened in the slightest watching him tend to the fire. You could practically feel his nose brushing the sensitive skin of your neck, breathing down it, the weight of him leaned against your chest. It almost brought you comfort, but the thought of him having to die only saddened your eyes.

You got so deep in your own mind that you didn’t even see him climb up out of the hole everyone sat in, inside the back of the cave. You didn’t notice him taking a seat across from you and resting his back against the opposite cave wall as you. You didn’t even notice him reaching forward until you felt his fingers gently graze your cheekbone, jolting you out of your trance. Your eyes immediately trained themselves on the man, softening just a tad as they focused on his features, but your brows furrowed further. His hand wiping something wet on your face. “You’re cryin’.” His voice sounds ever so gently, so quietly you were sure only the two of you could hear. You blink a few times, feeling the wet lashes touch the tops of your cheeks. You take a deep breath in and sigh. a bit frustrated at your inability to feel your own uncontrollable tears. You shake your head, but Clyde only draws closer, scooting off the wall to sit directly in front of you, his hand ridding your face of the tears. “Why?” He breathes, tilting his chin up in the tiniest of movement as if chasing something with it, or nodding. His jaw tightens, eyes trained on your lips as he waits for your answer. You stay focused on his eyes, mapping out the irises in your mind. Your eyes flutter after a second too long and shake your head, almost fearing the answer yourself. He sighs, his thumb soothing the corner of your jaw as his hand now rests on the left side of your neck, the same side his submerged, dark strands once tickled. Your next breath was a bit more labored and shaky, your eyes losing their nonexistent battle with his. “Please,” He insists, still as gentle as ever. You start to feel your eyes burning a little, the first time in a long while since you felt the sting of building tears. Your jaw tightens this time and you’re trained on his clothed middle.

“I hate it.” you whisper with such venom, quickly sucking in a breath through your teeth as if you admitted a sin. Your head shakes from side to side, shaking so quickly yet so small. Clyde’s eyes met your teary ones with such sadness and understanding, he must’ve been boring into a traumatized bear cub. He stays silent, edging you to let it out, the voices in your head, your doubts. Your nose starts to sting, “I hate- I hate that I can’t look at a single person here without seeing their death. I hate that I know I might be the one to cause it.” You close your mouth, breathing so heavily yet so shallow, your cheeks puff up so slightly. You lick your lips nervously. “I fear that I won’t be able to. I don’t want to. I hate it.” Tears begin to resurface, Clyde wiping them as they fall. “I look around,” You turn your head just enough to see those in the cave underneath, “And-” Your breath begins to quicken, on the brink of hyperventilation, “I-” Clyde pulls your heaving body into his by your neck. Your head resting against his heart as you let out an open mouthed sigh, emptying the air from your lungs suddenly not feeling worthy of it.

Clyde shushes you, wrapping his arms around you, protectively holding your head in his chest, his forearm securing your mid back. His calm breaths leave his body in strings of, “Shh.” The gentle movement of his thumb just behind your ear eases your racing heart, his hand cradling your head like it’s the most precious thing in the world to his. “Please breathe.” You inhale deeply, almost forgetting to do so, the oxygen rushing to your head and making you feel light headed, like the first gasp of air after near drowning. Your eyes stay looking out over everyone in the pit of the cave. You notice the girl, Seven, staring up at you two from her seated position, keeping herself upright with her arms, legs leisurely crossed in front of her. Your eyes meet and there’s a hint of amusement playing in them, her face tainted with a smirk. Why? You couldn’t pinpoint but you would find out later.

Cold slowly consumed you as Clyde pulled away. He looked down at you as you slowly peeled your eyes away from the Seven girl to meet his eyes. His hand remains on the side of your head as his forearm rests at your waist, “You don’t need t’ worry about those things anymore, okay?” He says, awfully convincingly, but you know he’s just lying to comfort you. It somehow doesn’t stop his eyes from looking so genuine, like he knows it. “No more.” He looks so serious and you want nothing more to believe him. His eyes fluster down to where your heart lies in your chest, that pout puffing his lips up as it settles in his brow. He almost begrudgingly removes his hand from your head, it falling to hesitantly hold your hand instead. He looks down at your intertwined hands then back up to your eyes to search for any discomfort, not finding any. He sighs almost happily before scooting to turn his body to face the outside world beyond the cave, urging you to follow. You two are just out of view of the ones in the pit but far enough in the cave’s entrance to be out of view of anyone that might be lingering outside.

You hear the lightest throat clearing coming from the man on your left. You turn your head to look at the side of his, he staring out at the overview of the forest. “How was your life in District Four?” He offers a subject change. You were slightly taken aback by the question, never have been asked that before. “Everyone there a mermaid?” He grunted out the lame joke, cringing at himself the second it left his lips and met his own ears. Nonetheless, it brings the smallest of laughs from you. He thought he’d die for that laugh, to hear more of it, looking over to you once it reached his ears. You shook your head, looking out at the landscape in front of you with a small upward quirk of your mouth’s corners.

“No,” you sighed thinking back on your home. “It’s… nice.” you nod as if confirming your own words. “Everyone is always… prepared. It strengthens us, as a people. We are all very close. A tight knit community. A family. I love it, truly. It’s home, you know?” Your brows furrowed slightly, “But the constant preparations and education on survival in the games casts a cloud over everything.” Your head tilts up to gaze at the stars, something you used to love to do from the docks back home. “Like no matter how happy everyone seems, we’re all just waiting to hear our name called for tribute. Children, Elders, not one person ever has that glint leave their eyes, not for a second. It’s just… It’s hard to see my family like that.” You sigh, a pause settling between you two. You look over to him, his gaze having fallen to the rocky ground in front of your criss-crossed legs. “Do you have a family?” His eyes immediately finding yours, his brows raising a little. “Wife, Children?” His eyes cast over as he blinks a few times, leaving your eyes. You suddenly feel small. “I- I’m sorry. You just… seem like a family man.” You speak so softly, it’s almost hard to hear yourself. He shakes his head.

“No. No, it’s fine. I- uhh…” He starts, trying to find his wording, “I always wanted a family.” He admits. “Always wanted a wife. I jus’… I don’ think I could bare the pain of dealin’ with losin’ my family t’ this life. Couldn’t bare my family losin’ me t’ this life.” He sighs, “Then I got called in, los’ m’ hand, and thing got…” He breathes in and sighs out, “complicated.” His pout reappears. “Had t’ relearn life again, one less hand and a whole lot a… memories.” He sighs again. “It’s complicated, this here life. An’ it’s hard to go on, but we gotta try, movin’ forward, cause that’s all we got.” He looks over to you, losing his pout, his features softening and making him look younger. He sucks on his teeth, shifting his jaw and biting the inside corner of his bottom lip, a thinking habit, you assumed. He peers down to your lips, “I understand you, ya know?” He nods, “Things are hard, and I don’t know if they ever really go away.” He exhales, “But… they do get better, eventually. Get easier. It feels like it takes a time and a half, but things are gon’ start lookin’ up. I promise.” He looks back into your eyes, “Trust me, okay. I won’t let you down.” His eyes so sincere, all you can do is nod, fueling his fantasy. You look away from his eyes, overwhelmed, utterly bewildered at how such a man could contain so much hope and sincerity in times and a place like this; it amazed you.

“Okay.” You responded halfheartedly. His eyes turn stern, focused, determined.

“I mean it, ya hear.” His voice raises in the slightest, hard and structured, demanding your gaze. You look so deeply into his eyes you thought it might be possible to get lost. You just nod. He sighs and just lets you give him that answer. “It’s different this time.” he nods, assuring himself, “different.” He looks away from you to focus on looking out. You stay trained on the side of his face, confused at how he could be so sure. The hope of a determined toddler. You began to wonder if he was even in his right mind, but your heart didn’t care. It pulled to him and his childlike ambition. You squint your eyes at him, trying to figure him out. Failing, you huff out a humorless laugh, shaking your head lightly with a soft smile, turning your head to look up at the invisible dome.

~

A jarring noise awoke you out of your sleep. You look around you to find yourself still seated on the hard rock of the same cave. Your breath was erratic and your eyes wild, you looked to the right then to the left and found no other than Clyde’s worried, calming eyes. “Hey, hey, hey. It’s alright. You were only out for a few minutes.” He soothes, his hand squeezing yours reassuringly, tugging it a little to bring you back closer to him. You focused on slowing your breathing down as you scooted back over, Clyde resting your intertwined fingers on your knee, rubbing his thumb against the back of your hand. He took his gaze off you to look up to the ‘sky,’ you follow his eyes. Eight, the girl. Clyde sighs, his tight pout returning to his face. He shakes his head and bows it, letting it sit there for a few short seconds before looking back out to the surrounding land. You studied his actions skeptically. “I think she was a mother.” he says sorrowfully, he shakes his head again. Your eyes look down then back up to the ‘sky.’ Your heart aches at the thought of her children. They’re probably at home asleep right now, maybe being looked after by her husband, grandparents, no clue that they will never have another chance to see their mother, hear her voice, feel her kiss- You shake out your thoughts and look to the ground, catching Clyde’s attention. He squeezes your hand to gain your attention. “Hey,” you look up to him. “Stop thinking about it. It’ll be okay.” He assures. You furrow your brows and look behind you at the group, doing a mental count.

Six. Six down, as far as you are aware. You tried to recall hearing any other deaths from the past few hours. No, there had to be more than that. One wouldn’t just go off of the platform without killing anyone they sought their eyes on. Those two, District One’s tributes, you were sure that they’d both got at least two bodies each by now, but you couldn’t remember and you would not be taken down and off guard purely because you miscounted. So for now, you would assume twenty people left alive in this cursed dome. You look out to the horizon and see a glimpse of ‘sun’ peeking out. Clyde sighed, looking to you and then down to your hands longingly. “S’pose we get to packin’ up and movin’ out.” He said, still not moving from his spot, both of you wanting this moment of tranquility to last as long as it could, even if it was eerie and nerve wracking. You followed his sigh and nodded, scooting away a little.

“You wake everyone up. I’ll stay here.” You command softly, getting on higher alert and focusing on scanning outwards. He stays trained on you for a few seconds in the silence, savoring everything he can before giving a stiff nod and proceeding to do exactly what you said.

You waited, scanned, while everyone silently rustled behind you. You could hear the man from Three talking, something of a game plan. It was in very hushed tones so you could barely hear but it sounded like he was talking about splitting up, collecting things, explosions. You couldn’t quite tell but you could hear a pair of footsteps honing in from behind you. You peer over your shoulder into the cave to glance at who it is. Seven, the girl from Clyde’s district. She had such a dark look about her, like she hadn’t slept more than two hours in the past two years, but she held a sarcastic smirk on her lips 90% of the time, you’d yet to see her drop it when she isn’t in combat. She struts up to you, unafraid or uncaring of anything. “Hey.” She starts, her voice cutting through the wind like an arrow. You give her a curt nod as a greeting, but she wasn’t done talking, “You know,” her voice varying in tones, a stark contrast to Clyde’s ever deep, calm near monotone rasp, “I have never once seen that brick shithouse of a man so gentle and transparent in my life. It’s kinda weird, to be honest.” She reaches her hand down to you, you look down to her offer and decide to take, against your judgement. She pulls you up to your feet effortlessly. “I think he really thinks your somethin’ special.” She chuckles and shakes her head. “He’s a stupid boy to try and fins a girl in the arena, though.” She rolls her eyes, you bending down to retrieve your backpack and Triton as she goes on, “This isn’t a place to gain a weakness. It already sucks to have to come in here with one of your own.” Everyone down in the pit started to make their way up and out, and you two take this as an opportunity to start making your way out of the cave, she continues, “I envy that about you, ya know.” She glances over to you, you already preoccupied with scoping the land further. You hum in response. “You at least don’t have to worry about backstabbing someone from your own District.” You spare her a glance. She walks through the trees like she owns it, like no one would dare touch her. You paused to let the others catch up after determining there were no immediate threats lingering outside.

You see Clyde helping the girl from Six down from the rocks of the cave. You shook your head, examining this randomly put together team. A band of misfits. You get a surge run through your body, feeling protective over the man of the topic, violent, like you could kill her were she stood just at the thought of her laying a finger on Clyde. Your jaw tightens and your grip on the staff tightens along with it. You look over to her, finding her staring at you with her arms crossed and a smug look on her face. She raises an eyebrow and nods, huffing out a breathy laugh, like she’s mentally patting herself on the back for getting an answer to an unspoken question. She lets out a, “Hmph.” Clyde walks up to the two of you, splitting from the others as they head in another direction. You furrow your brows as you wait for him to reach you both with an explanation.

“Three, Six, and Twelve are gonna and see what things they can gather from the arsenal. We’re up to find ourselves some food and a good ground.” He says. He looks over to the Seven girl and seems to have a silent conversation, causing her to huff and roll her eyes, turning and leading the way for the three of you. You look over to Clyde as he walks past you, following her footsteps, ignoring your curiosity. You’re quick to trail him and drop it, and go back to looking out, determining you’re in charge of watching everyone’s backs.

Your stomach starts to ache at its emptiness but you ignore it and keep your stance strong. You guys find a large clearing, an amateur’s nightmare of an undoing. You all stop at the edge of the trees, just covered enough. “Perfect.” You hear slide from Clyde’s lips. This draws your attention to the two of them, now beside you in a line. You look at them, horrifyingly confused. The girl stood nonchalantly as ever with her arms crossed as she looked out to the field. Clyde is looking out just the same, but standing firm and tall, arms at his sides.

“What?” You speak up, hoping for an answer. Clyde looks over to you.

“It’s for an… ambush plan.” He seems to struggle to explain. You look at his oddly secretive form suspiciously. But your piercing eyes don’t bring the truth out of him, so you drop it and look out to the plane, scoping out the trees, high and low. It would be a good vantage point to have archers up in the trees if you could draw out the others to the field. The boy from Twelve could be good bait. Six and Three would be dead before they could lift a foot to run from any other district left. You sigh and nod. “Let’s go and meet up with the others-” Clyde was interrupted by ear shattering, distant screech and another one of those jarring noises coming from the ‘sky.’ All three of you look up, you silently hoping to find an only vaguely remembered face. The girl from Five. You sigh, unsure if you should be relieved or not. Clyde bows his head a little as the Seven girl starts walking back from where you all came. You wait for Clyde to lift his head again and start walking before you follow. You questioned his actions in your mind but determined to either keep quiet about it or, if you get the chance, ask him later.

The three of you just barely reach the cave from last night before you all hear yells and screams coming from the left, away from the beach the arsenal was located. All three heads whip in the direction, bodies coming to a halt, Clyde is quick to break out formation first, yanking his ax from the straps on the back of his backpack and taking off running in the direction of the screams. You’re hot on his heels before he can get too far, hearing a light scoff coming from the girl before she soon follows behind you. You see through the treeline that the source of the screams came from the Twelve girl. She’s running from a flurry of birds, towards the direction you three are coming from but to the Twelve boy and the duo from Three. All of a sudden, her screams are cut inaudible. The Twelve boy tries to meet her but is stopped by an invisible wall. You three reach the others just as the Twelve girl reaches the force field. She panics, screaming something you couldn’t read. The boy is yelling back at her, trying his best to comfort her cries. They both sink to the ground and the Threes tilt their heads down, sadly, trying to avoid witnessing an untimely end. You stare at the scene in front of you, standing the furthest back, letting the boy have his space. Clyde hits the ‘wall’ with his fist, testing its structure himself.

The scene plays out for a full 63 seconds, you counted, before the invisible field seems to tumble down, along with all the birds. The boy cradles a near passed out archer girl, startling her awake. Seven walks towards them, passing by the two to kick a few dead birds in anger. Clyde walks back to you and simply basks in your close company by standing next to you. Everyone watches the Seven girl as she exclaims, challenging The Capital’s leader. She looks back to the group before shrugging, “He can’t hurt me,” she says bitterly as everyone stays silent, “He’s already taken everything from me.” Her eyes go dark, vengeful. She mutters something towards the Twelve girl before walking off a short distance to regain her composure.

You look up to Clyde, then back to the pair on the ground as the boy tried lifting her up to stand. Clyde looked down to you for a lingering moment, mortality hitting him in a passing wave before he looks around and speaks up, “The Morphlings?” The man from Three looks up to Clyde, pushing his glasses further up his nose.

“They’re on a mission, spying.” He responds, eyes never fully meeting Clyde’s. You looked up to Clyde to find his face very stoic, intimidating. He stood tall and broad and tense. He looked frightening, genuinely, but something in you couldn’t buy it, not with the side you’ve seen of him. Seven’s voice rings out in your head. ‘He really does act differently around me.’ You squint up at him, trying to figure out his game. He accepts Three’s answer and looks down to you, instantaneously calming, all the tension leaving his body. He offers a gentle smile, before Three interrupts the silence again, “Johanna, Wiress, and I are going to continue on South and settle there for the night. Wiress and I are gonna start constructing some parts tonight.” He turns and faces the Twelves and points North, “There’s a stream up that way for you to collect some fresh water.” He finishes the sentence by looking to both you and Clyde, being the only two with backpacks and containers to hold the water. “You guys can head back this way once you’ve gotten everything.” Everyone nods and starts to break off.

~

The four of you sat at the edge of the passing water, resting your legs and just breathing in silence. You sat at the very edge of the water on a rock, examining how it streams over every pebble. “How ya doin’, water dweller?” a smooth accent rings out from behind you, soft as ever. You look up to find Clyde coming up to sit next to you on the ground, his backpack off to his side. Your shoulders were starting to itch and ache from the straps of yours but you were far too paranoid to take it off. You huff a small laugh and look back to the water.

“Surviving.” You respond bluntly, shrugging.

He hums, “Fair ‘nough.” He nods, pouting out his lips, though this time it wasn’t accompanied by a furrowed brow. He looks up to you from his spot on the ground, just staring like he was trying to burn your memory into his brain. Just as you both were about to speak up, a scream rang out, not too far away. You both spin around to face the source of the noise. Coming from the Southwest, you caught sight of the male Morphling. There didn’t seem to be anyone chasing him but he was closely followed by a sinister looking fog.

“Poison! Poison!” He calls out multiple times trying to warn everyone and get everyone up, which it did. Clyde gripped the backpack and threw it over his shoulders in one swift move, almost just as fast as it took you to stand. Everyone took off, The Morphling not too far behind.

Your heart bounded in your ears as you ran. Clyde yells out to you just as you skid to change directions, the fog coming from the right out of nowhere. It just barely grazes your ankle as you skid, causing you to scream out in pain. But before you could fully register it, Clyde is yanking you up from mid fall and dragging you along, practically throwing you ahead in the opposite way of the fog, his quick reflexes helping regain your footing before your mind catches up to your body. Clyde’s long legs keep up to your fast pace. You hear the Twelve girl and boy yell out in pain but you have no time to look back. You clear a fallen branch and just about jump into a cloud of fog that rushed out from behind a tree, but Clyde’s reaction time was quicker. He yanks you back by your waist tosses you into the other direction as he skid to the ground, his leg falling victim to the poison. His agonized scream rocks you to your core. He had strength enough to get back to his feet but stumbles just far enough away from the fog. You Race back to him and the Twelve boy reaches him just as you do. “I can’t lift him by myself.” You admit, panicking. He nods and takes Clyde’s injured arm, draping it over his shoulder, you mimicking the action with the right. Clyde is well enough to do his best to help carry himself but it’s failing.

You all get far enough to a small clearing, the fog consuming everything around you but the treeline in front of you. The Twelve boy’s foot gets caught on something sticking out of the ground causing him to topple over and twist his ankle, Clyde yelling out in pain as now he’s put more weight on that side, the injured leg. Clyde’s weight bearing too much for you, you fall to the ground with him. He groans out, rolling over in pain. “No! No, Come on!” The Twelve girl yells out frantically, helping the boy up.

“Come on, Clyde. I’m not leaving you.” You say to him, trying to hug his body to yours to lift him as best as you can. You look up, pleading with you eyes for help, and see The Morphling boy pass you all. He turns, skidding to a stop. He makes eye contact with you then down at Clyde. He sprints his way back to you and helps you grab Clyde. He was taller than the Twelve boy but not quite as strong. You both drag Clyde from under his arms, rushing as fast as you can backwards, away from the fog. Clyde yells out again as his leg brushes against the ground, irritating it. The Morphling boy quickly makes his way to Clyde’s feet and lifts them off the ground, making it a bit easier to carry him. You use all the strength you possibly can trying to keep Clyde off the ground, but it’s quickly failing. The Morphling boy screams out in agony as the fog nips at his back. You yank Clyde as much as you can as he’s in mid air, the Morphling boy falling to the ground and losing his hold on Clyde. You yelp in surprise at the sudden full weight of Clyde, but refuse to give up. The fog consumes the body of the Morphling as he takes his last agonizing breath. You try and hold your tears together and keep your grip on Clyde but you don’t make it more than four feet before your body gives in to the exhaustion. You fall to the ground and Clyde lands right on top of you.

You look down, pass his feet to the fog and hold his body closer in a vice grip of a hug. You clench your eyes shut and wait for your doom. But it never comes. You open your eyes just in time to see the fog hit another invisible wall like a wave. In that moment your body drains, all you feel is Clyde’s labored breathing and the weight of him in your arms. Your body goes limp and you lay back with a thud, trying to catch your breath. Your arms fall from around Clyde to lay on the ground beside you both. Your eyelids start to feel heavy and you’re tempted to close them until you hear Clyde rasping out your name repeatedly in a panic, worried since he felt your body relax. “Guys! Guys!” the Twelve girl yanks you out of your trance, interrupting Clyde’s chants. “The water! The water! Get in the water!” she calls out. You have no energy to see why but you just scoot your and Clyde’s body in the direction of her voice and the splashes.

You finally reach the water, feeling it graze your back. You use everything left in you to remove Clyde off of you and shove him in the shallow pond first, careful that his head remains above the surface. You crawl in after him and rest your forehead against his temple, exhausted. The last thing you remember, the feeling of his head turning to face you and the tip of his nose grazing yours as his hand reaches out for you. He calls your name one last time before darkness devours your senses.

--------------------------

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[notyetneedcoffee]

Wash It Away

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader (hint of Stucky x Reader)

Warning: NSFW, 18+ Smut, Aftermath of violence

o o o o o

You got the communication from Steve right after the mission.  

His voice was quiet, difficult to hear over the background noise. Still, the strain and worry were easily detectable. “Gonna need you at the Compound when we arrive. Things went bad, really bad. We’re going to have a lot of damage control to do. People died, ones that shouldn’t have.”

“Whatever I can to help.”

“Uh, sorry.” He sighed. “Not what I meant. It’s Buck. Sweetheart, he’s in a bad way. Worse than I’ve seen him since…. God, I don’t know. He’s barely responding to me. He needs you.”

“I’ll be there.”  You could hear him sigh heavily. “Steve, honey, how are you?”

“I’m...” He paused, not wanting to lie. “I’ll be okay.”

“Steve, promise me. As soon as you can get away, come here too. Please.”

You listened to the background noise for a long moment. He finally agreed. “When I can get away, I’ll be there.”

“Good.”

“We’ll be there in forty minutes.” Steve’s tone became little stronger. “See if F.R.I.D.A.Y. can clear the hallway from the bay to your quarters.”

“I will.”

“Listen, Sweetheart, I’ve got to go. I’ll meet you in the bays when we get there.”

“Okay.”  

It was a long forty-minute wait. When the quinjet touched down, you rushed forward. Natasha stood at the lowering ramp, Clint supporting her. A trauma bandage wrapped around her thigh, blood seeping through.  She moved to walk on it, but he picked her up and carried her down the ramp. The fact she didn’t fight said even more about her state than the blood.  

Steve and Bucky came next. They were both filthy, covered in blood and dirt. Steve favored his left foot. Bucky looked straight ahead, eye’s vacant. Taking slow measured steps, they reached the bottom of the ramp. Steve’s hand never left Buck’s shoulder.  

You stepped forward, careful not to rush, wrapping your arms around Steve’s waist. His arm pulled you tight, nose burying in your hair. He sighed your name.

Bucky never moved.  

You stepped in front of him. You took both of his hands in yours, looking up in his eyes. “Bucky, honey, come with me.”

He never looked at you, but when you pulled at his hand he followed. True to your plan, the way to your apartment remained vacant. You pulled him into your place, closing yourself off from everyone else. Leading him to the ensuite bathroom, before talking to him, you hoped cleaning up would help you get through.

“Bucky,” You spoke gently. “Let’s get you out of these things. Okay?”  

Beginning with his boots, your knelt down to remove them. He moved when you prompted him, like a puppet. A field of dirt littered the tiles around his feet. The smell of wet earth, gun powder and blood clung to him.

Standing, you reached for his shoulder holster. “I’m going to get you out of this. Okay?”

His metal hand snapped out grabbing your wrist, faster that you could react, his grip brutal. Cold blue eyes locked on yours. His lip curled up in a minute snarl.

“Bucky.” You tried not to raise your voice. “Bucky, it’s me. Baby. Please, you’re hurting me.”

A flicker of confusion touched his eyes, but they hardened almost instantly.  

“Bucky Barnes, let go of me right now.” You commanded evenly. “I’m not going to hurt you and you know it.” The confusion came back and before it could disappear you touched his face with your other hand. Speaking softly, “baby, please, your safe here.  Please let go.”

Blue eyes shifted to where he held your wrist, they grew wide. His finger opened immediately. He blindly backed away from you. It put him in the walk-in shower. You smiled sadly, fighting the urge to cradle your wrist.  

“Bucky, it’s okay. You with me?” He still looked terrified, but he nodded. “I’m going to get you cleaned up, get you out of your gear. Is that okay?” Again, a small nod. “It’s going to be okay. You’re home, baby.”

You spoke to him as you removed all the equipment and peeled the dirty clothing from him. Telling him as you went, what you were doing as to not startle him again. Finally, he stood in your shower, naked and apparently numb.  

Stripping down you turned the water on, and soaped up a wash cloth. “I’m going to clean you up, okay?”

Bucky just stood passively as you wiped away the grime with sure but gentle strokes. You cleaned his legs, his back, and neck. Taking you hand in his, you carefully scrubbed the blood from his fingers. Setting his right arm on your shoulder, you cleanse his arm and shoulder. His eyes drifted closed as you washed his chest clean.  

The hand on your shoulder move to cup your face, slide into your hair. You stepped closer, arms going around his waist. He inhaled a painful breath, deep, shaky. Bucky pulled you tight against him as he exhaled. Leaning on you, his weight almost too much until he leaned back against the tile. Bucky’s breathed raggedly, in and out, hanging on to you.

“Bucky.” Your hands rubbed his sides.  He just breathed, heavy, pained, grounded by you.  

After a time, you felt his lips press into your hair. “Doll.” He breathed. “Oh, god.”

“It’s okay. You’re home.” You pulled back enough to look into his eyes, thankful to see some life there again. “Let’s finish getting you clean up and we’ll go to bed.”

He nodded, allowing you to move him fully under the water. Rubbing mint and tea tree shampoo through his hair, your fingers rubbed into his scalp. A satisfied noise, close to purr, escaped his throat.  Rinsing the dirt and blood from his hair, you ran hot water down the rest of his body, making certain no more grime from the battle field remained.

Turning off the water and grabbing a fluffy towel, you took as much care drying him. Walking him to the bed, he sat on the edge as you toweled off his hair. 

He saw the deep purple bruise around your wrist in the shape of his hand. Something close to a whine escaped his throat. He took your hand with extremely gentle fingers. 

“It’s okay, Buck. Honestly. I’m fine. It’s okay.”

Bucky pulled you forward so you straddled his lap. His hands ran over your thighs, hips, while his head dropped to your shoulder. He just breathed your scent, anchored himself.

“We got in there and they’d,” He took a shaky breath. “They were hiding behind a group of kids. They put guns in the hands of these, god, little kids. Sent in a unit of armed children to take us on.”

He squeezed you so tight you could barely breathe. You wrapped your arms around him tighter. “Buck.”

“By the time we realized...”  

You ran your fingers through his hair, over his scalp, down his neck. His muscles felt like stone under this skin, but you rubbed at them, coaxing some release. The iron hold around your waist began to let up enough to allow you to breathe.

Pressing your lips to his temple, he sighed. You worked your fingers into the muscles of his neck, down his spine. His skin was hot, still damp from the shower.  None of the scent of gunpowder or smoke remained, he just smelled clean. Still, the way he inhaled your wet hair, your damp skin, it suck in his sinuses.  

Bucky’s fingers dug into your hips. His face nuzzled into your neck. “I just...” Bucky spoke against your skin. “I saw what I’d done.” He took a shaky breath. “Those monsters, hiding behind...I just lost it.” His grip tightened. “I...”

You thought about the amount of dried blood, the look on Steve’s face, and you knew. You understood. The softness of your voice did not negate the conviction of your words. “I would have torn those motherfuckers to pieces with my bare hands.”  

He released a long breath, some of the tension easing from his muscles. “In all my years...” Bucky growled. “Who would... why would you...” He practically shook, suddenly feeling the anger. “Fucking little kids!”

“Because they were sick bastards.” You took his face in your hands. “You stopped them.”

“I murdered them.” He whispered.

“You executed them, and gave those kids some measure of justice.” Pressing your lips to his. “Do not punish yourself for this.”

He drank down your kiss, but his head fell in shame. “They begged me to stop.”

“Who? The team? Or the ringleaders?”  

“Stark was ordering me to withdraw. But, no, the ones I killed. They gave up. They begged me to stop.”

“Of course they did.” You lifted his face to yours. “They’re cowards.” The corner of your mouth lifted to a sarcastic smile. “A who cares about Tony. It’s not like you’ve ever listened to him before anyway.”

Bucky actually smiled at that. You mouth covered his. The kiss began as a tender exploration, but soon he pulled at you with desperation. His need grew, pulling you along with him. Naked and fresh from the shower, he tasted the flesh of your neck and down to your breasts.  

“Need to feel you.” He mumbled against your taunt nipple before sucking it into his wet mouth. In answer you rocked against his hard cock. His fingers slid between you, feeling your wetness, teasing your clit.  

His kissed you, slow and wet. As his tongue delved into your mouth, circling and dancing with your own, he slid the head of his cock along your opening. You sunk yourself on him. Bucky moaned, wrapping his arms tightly around you and locking his mouth on to your neck.

With slow, small movements, you both rocked into one another, in perfect time. Hips. Breath. The pace picked up. Your hands buried in his hair, clung to his back. His fingers bit into your ass, lifting you and slamming you down on his cock.  

“Doll,” Bucky nipped your jaw. “Not gonna last long.”

You were already trembling, “So close.” You slid one hand down and rubbed your clit, it only took a moment and you were shaking, flooding over his cock.  

“Oh fuck!” He pulled you even closer. Your pulled at his hair, as he plunged into you keeping you almost painfully close. Hip snapping, cock buried deep. 

As his breath slowed and his grip lessened, he dusted kissed over your face. “Thank you, Doll.”

“Oh, Bucky.” You gentle kissed him. “No need to thank me.”

“Bed?”

“Yeah.”

You were woken by soft whispers.  

“Get over here, jerk.”

“No, just checking on you.” Steve whispered from somewhere across the room.

“Bullshit.”

“Shhh, you’ll wake her.”

“She is awake.” You mumbled, head still on the pillow. “And she said you should come here as soon as you could. So, get over here.”

“Jerk.” Bucky added.  

“Punk.” Steve threw back with a smile, but he did come over to sit on your side of the bed. He’d showered and was wearing just a tee shirt and boxers. He reached over and touched Bucky’s head. “It’s good to see you...responsive.”  

“Yeah.” He sighed. “Good call.”

“You look exhausted.”  

Steve looked down at you, nodding.  

“How much time before you have to get back?” You were already pulling him towards you.

“Four hours.” He sighed.

“Then get some rest while you can.” You waited until he tugged off his shirt and then snuggled into his chest. Bucky curled against your back. “You boys sleep. I’ll chase the nightmares away.”

They sighed, enfolding you in their warmth but hold you as if you were the one taking care of them. It only took a minute before they drifted off to sleep.

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[mikereads]

What S5 of Supergirl should have focused on.

I wanted to post this before the season finale, just because it may have a good finale that doesn’t make up for all the mistakes the show made along the way, especially the ones that could have been easily fixed with some proper storytelling that not only pleases the fans but better suits the story your trying to tell. 

1. Kara and Nias friendship/ mentor ship. This season preferably 5B is somewhat focusing on Kara trying to catch Lex. Get proof on him that proves he is not what he seems to be. One of the ways she is doing this is through journalism. Instead of having Kara work with William she should have worked with Nia and here’s why. Not only does it make sense but it would improve the plot the only thing William has is a bad feeling about Lex and as good as that can be think of Nia who not only has the same feeling but knows he’s bad because she has her memories from Earth 38 while to back that up while on the other hand William does not. It’s a wild goose chase with him he doesn’t know what he’s looking for but Nia does. I mean just think that through who would make more sense for Kara to work with Someone who simply has a biased gut feeling that he’s bad because of what happened to his friend vs someone who has all of her memories and knows he is bad so she simply knows what to look for and can investigate what Lex changed comparing her new vs old memories. Its logistically makes more sense to use Nia. As important as diversity is and as much as the show should value its woman more above all that it just makes sense. When they first introduced Nia they implied they wanted them to have a similar relationship to Supercat this time reversed having Kara be the mentor which is great. It can show how much Kara has grown since season 1. Last season they started to do that but that’s been mainly dropped since 4B and its a real shame. They could have a similar type relationship if the show focused on them more but if they don’t then they won’t be able to because it won’t have the same amount dept. They’re showing vs telling but then again the show has been having a big problem with that lately with many characters/aspects of the show. 

Also hes not even a good reporter/journalist Lex said he has been spoon feeding William all his info. It’s such a joke the show tried to amp him up as being such a good reporter yet he’s awful heck Winn could have done a better job at reporting. 

2. Karas past/ trauma 

Kara has been through so much this past season and it isn’t even finished yet. The fall out of her relationship with Lena. Lex rising to power once again and lastly LOSING HER ENTIRE PLANET AND FAMILY once again! The show really hasn’t discussed/ tackled Karas trauma/ past since s3 and even then it was only briefly and contained to one episode arcs vs in s1 when it was dispersed throughout the entire season. With everything that has happened this would have been a perfect season to do that and go back to its roots of S1 but in true Supergirl fashion they didn’t. So far has contained Kara only mentioning her past when it comes to Hope speeches which even those are rare now a days. Since crisis ended I think Kara has only mentioned it twice if at all and that’s when week of the villains forced her to (other Brainy bottling his earth). Kara has lost everyone once again in s1 it was Karas main mission to make sure that wouldn’t happen again she would save earth like she couldn’t save Krypton at whatever means necessary. Then in crisis she wasn’t able to do that and despite everything she did she wasn’t able to do so and lost everyone. Her sister her moms her friends everyone. She succeeded in getting everyone back but it shouldn’t be dismissed that she lost everyone yet it is. 5B should have heavily focused on this through the main of the week plotlines/ through her relationships with her friends and family. Like Melissa wants this finally should have been the season where Kara goes to therapy. Like I genuinely don’t get this show Kara lost everyone yet its barely mentioned Kara and Alex only share one scene discussing it and that was during the crossover in the legends episode it wasn’t even an episode of Supergirl that did it (big sigh) when another show does better things with your characters then you do that’s a problem. She lost her mom Eliza yet they have shared no scenes well none outside the funeral which had nothing to do with her and was another example of them not letting her grieve. Its so unrealistic that Kara wouldn’t have flown to Midvale the minute she was able to do to give Eliza the biggest hug it doesn’t matter if Eliza wouldn’t have her memories Kara would (the actress returned this season so she was clearly available to shoot more scenes yet didn’t because this is supergirl after all). Sidenote can they have Kara call Eliza mom more often like having her call her mom doesn’t make Alura her mom anyless she can have two moms because she actually does I know mind blowing. She lost her mom Alura twice yet they refuse to mention outside of a line or two that’s there more so to move along the plot. This has been a problem ever since they had her return in s3 but Kara has so many unresolved feelings and now she’s lost her twice and yet they still refuse so address it which is not only frustrating but sad for Kara as a character. She should be able to address these feelings about how she’s mad at her/ how she felt abandoned by her and still love her a the same time. Them showing Kara be mad at her doesn’t mean she loves her anyless and would be more healthy in the long run yet they won’t do it. 

3. Lenas past, ptsd, and her mother. 

They have been teasing for years whether not not Lena would turn truly evil but hinting at things over and over again and even though everything Lena has done proved the opposite it was still a lingering question. This was supposed to be the season that finally tackled this subject headon and show where Lena would land now knowing Kara/ Supergirl’s secret. I’m not upset Lena did questionable things going into this season I knew they would do so more then ever and from 5x01 that was adamant and I think it was very important to finally do for her character going forward to finally confirm that Lena was good/isn’t Lex. If they wanted to show and contrast how different Lena is from the Luthors there is so many others ways to do that, by just letting Lena be Lena is one of them. You’ve have been writing her that way for 4 YEARS, don’t change that by trying to make the show more interesting by adding “drama” you began to ruin it and an amazing character. That being said the way the show executed that was very poorly 5A was okay but 5B like it did with a lot of things was ultimately the down fall for this season. They’re first big mistake being Non-nocere. Now seeing 5x18 I get its overall idea and reason for being there but it still only should have been a side plot that was around for 4 to 5 episodes tops in the beginning of the season. It also really proves that it was never truly there for Lena it was a plotline made for Lex and to show just how manipulative he can be over which is so frustrating because once again they throw their main women characters to the side to help the men which are guest/minor. It was dragged on to long and stayed way past its prime to the point where it was unenjoyable even Katies amazing acting skills can only carry a bad plot line for so long. Non-nocere should have been there to help Lenas plot line not the other way around. It should have revolved around her story but not be her entire plot line for the season. I think them just going over Lenas trauma, abuse, neglect and abandonment issues would have been enough and a much more effective storyline then Non-nocere but if they wanted to use it then I think they should have atleast called back to Lenas past storylines. When Lena found about what Jack was doing with Biomax she was not only disgusted but terrified her feelings on that wouldn’t have changed so instead of it being nearly implied it should have been mentioned and it should have been one of the things that helped her realize how bad it was sooner. Her getting over the lo0se of Non-nocere and how she feels as though she failed once again would have been much better than the actual story of her using non-nocere itself. She was so afraid in season two that her feelings would get the best of her “I am very, very afraid of the person I might be”. This should have been explored way more and lastly instead of them only focusing on her mom for one episode for the plot (the medallion) it should have been a recurring storyline all season. Not only that she misses her but how her death affects her and how she puts her mom up on a pedestal because she never really knew her only what she remembers about her which isn’t a lot. The guilt she feels over her death etc. If they wanted to use it to move the plot forward they easily could have done that. There was a fan theory Lena’s mom was not only alive but behind Leviathan and that would have been so interesting. Here’s a woman she’s held up to such high standards all her life it would be interesting to see the effects of that. That maybe her mom wasn’t who she believed she was to be and that combined with Karas betrayal could have launched her going to the “dark side”. Also I love Katie and I love seeing more of her on my screen but they really couldn’t find another actress to play her mom or better yet not use a shitty wig. A wig isn’t gonna change anything we all know its Katie. It’s fine you used her many shows use there actors for multiple parts the wig was so unnecessary especially when it’s that bad (thank god Katie could pull off any look, ugly outfits and party city wigs included). Using her to play the mom wasn’t bad and would make a lot of sense as to why Lillian hates her so much she’s a spitting image of her mom. It doesn’t excuse the abuse Lena was a child but it makes sense. I mean she did say Lena looked so much like her etc. Then again shitty wigs are the least of their problems, fix your storylines above all else. 

Bonus: You know your fan favorite couple is Lena and Kara and since this is supposed to be a season about their relationship just lean all in don’t tease and then not have them interact for 5 episodes in a row it’s frustrating. 

This post is becoming a little too long so I may make a part 2 because I sure have a lot more to say. 

[keelywolfe]

FIC: Casting Its Shroud Over All We Have Known

Summary: It's daylight and Edge has no interest in dealing with the secrets of the night. He's got plenty enough on his mind.

Tags: Spicyhoney, Brotherly Relationships, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Pregnancy, More Angst

Warnings:  Implied underage pregnancy. Implied miscarriages. Past Trauma.

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Chapter List

What Will Be, Will Be

Something To Say, But Nothing Comes

Can’t Go On, Thinking Nothing’s Wrong

Seldom All They Seem

Voices Are Heard But Nothing Is Seen

Winter Makes You Laugh a Little Slower

That Place Where You Can’t Remember and You Can’t Forget

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~~*~~

It was getting harder for Edge to get up in the mornings. Perhaps it was something to do with the differences in the universes that the mattresses were more comfortable. Or perhaps it was that the Swap brothers had a better furnace in their house and better blankets on their beds, keeping the space beneath the covers so toasty warm that it was difficult to leave it behind and head out into the cold Snowdin air in two difference Universes.

Or perhaps it was the fact that Rus was beneath those blankets with him and Edge was finding it more difficult by the day to leave Rus behind.

With great reluctance, Edge forced himself to climb out of the embrace of covers and Rus’s arms, hissing at the chill against his bare bones as he skinned into his trousers. Still in the bed, Rus made a dissatisfied little sound as he rolled into the warm spot Edge left behind without even waking up. And no wonder, he’d been up far too late last night on his talk with Red, he needed his rest.

Edge refused to think too deeply about that particular conversation. Last night’s secrets were best left in the darkness they crept out in. That was a door his brother closed a very long time ago and Edge had no interest in forcing it open. Red was his brother, he would always be his brother, and soon, he would be an uncle. Edge could only hope that he was willing to step into that role when the time came.

By the time he was finished dressing, Rus managed to somehow swathe himself into a ball of blankets and sheets, the top of his skull barely visible above the tangle. Hopefully, he’d sleep for some time yet. The baby was growing in leaps and bounds, Blue had already let out Rus’s normal pants twice and now Rus stuck with a pair of pajama pants and a very oversized sweatshirt that still didn’t manage to hide his rounded belly. Carrying around that unaccustomed weight was visibly exhausting for him, along with the constant drain on his magic that no amount of rest or food seemed to fully replenish. Despite Blue and their Undyne’s assurances that Rus was healthy enough, seeing him so worn was disheartening, especially since there was little Edge could do to help.

Soon, Edge told himself, soon the baby would be here, and Rus would never need to endure this again.

As unlikely as it was that anything would wake Rus, Edge shut the door carefully and made his way downstairs. He stepped out into the bracing cold and started to walk around the house to the basement stairs, his mind on his patrol, his scheduled training with Undyne tomorrow, and not at all on the happenings of the night before. He did not want to think about crouching in the dark, listening as Red slurred out the answers to the rumors Edge heard whispered around New Home whenever he was forced to meet with Asgore, he didn’t, and—

Years of living on the streets in Underfell ingrained in him a sense of constant awareness and Edge turned instinctively towards the figure coming up behind him at the first crunch of a boot through the crust of snow.

“Hey!” He only caught a glimpse of hulking yellow shouting at him before it moved in a blur, hands lashing out as they hurled axes formed from magic at him. Edge knew a killing attack when one was coming and this one was not. He dodged the axes easily and they struck the house without so much as denting the siding, dissolving in a burst of lightning. Edge dove for cover behind a tall pine tree and crouched down in wait, his own burning magic pulled forth and ready to sally an attack of his own as he eyed his opponent warily.

Alphys.

But not any Alphys he’d ever known. Edge hadn’t met this world’s version, he’d only seen her picture in passing, but there was no mistaking her. The facial resemblance to his own was uncanny and that was where the similarities ended.

No thick-lensed glasses for this version of Alphys. She was taller, close to Edge’s height, but much broader, a massive, hulking size. The arms of the jacket she wore against the cold strained, bulging muscles concealed beneath the cloth and one of her eyes was scarred and unseeing, milky white in contrast the blue blaze of the other. The claws on her hands were longer, sharper, and so were her teeth, every inch the ferocious Monster of Human legends.

She drew closer and Edge watched calculatingly, noting that her size certainly did not inhibit her movements; she walked with the grace of a predator and had the intelligence to stay out of arm’s reach. This was a formidable foe and from the way she eyed him up and down, she did not return that sentiment, saying bluntly. “You must be the baby daddy. You look like someone Papyrus would hook up with.”

Well, then. Edge stood up and stepped out from behind the tree to glare at her, since the rule of the day seemed to be rudeness given and rudeness returned, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

She ignored the question, stamping in closer to loom in front of him. “I got something to say, so listen up, deadbeat. Papyrus can be a shitty brother and he’s a worse sentry. But if you hurt him, I’ll twist you around so hard you’ll be able to see your tailbone by looking up, you get me?”

He supposed she expected him to be irritated, angry, perhaps even to attack her. The thrumming static of magic was heavy in the air, she was braced and ready to absorb anything he sent her way. But Edge was already letting his formed magic drain away, he wasn’t angry in the slightest. On the contrary, it was comforting to know there was at least one person in Underswap who dealt properly in threats.

He lowered his head in a slight bow, allowing a small concession. “That’s good to know,” Edge said honestly. “Thank you for looking out for him.”

That must not have been the reaction Alphys was expecting. She blinked and every emotion she felt was on display as it ran across her face, confusion, irritation, a bare hint of cautious respect. It was so like his Undyne that Edge fought against a smile; her inability to keep her emotions properly under wraps was at least one of the reasons Undyne’s helmet had a face shield. Edge’s ability to school his features to bland unreadability was impeccable and he did, meeting Alphys’s scowling glare with calm sincerity.

“Guess you must not be too bad,” Alphys conceded grudgingly. She gave him a hard poke in the sternum with a finger that protruded from a fist nearly the size of a canned ham, “I’m watching you, deadbeat.”

“I’m sure you—"

Alphys didn’t wait for him to finish. She spun on her heel and tromped away, tail dragging in the snow as she headed in the direction of Underswap’s Waterfall.

The childish temptation to send an attack between her shoulders to knock her face-first into the snow was nigh on overwhelming. Edge resisted it; to begin with, Rus would likely not appreciate him going to war with the captain of the Underswap guard over a simple shovel speech. He also didn’t have the time to deal with the inevitable aftermath right now and regretfully, he turned towards the back of the house and headed to the basement stairs. Perhaps he could ask Blue to bring him along on one of his training sessions, a chance to spar with an unknown Monster was tantalizing, he might even learn a new move or two to use against his Undyne—

He spun around, magic surging to the fore again as words came out of nowhere around him.

“good thing you didn’t kill her, woulda pissed the blueberry off something awful.”

The speech was echoing, directionless, and Edge turned slowly, searching, until he caught sight of crimson eye lights peered slyly around the side of the house, Red’s serrated teeth curved in an irritating smile.

Edge shook away the attack and lifted his chin, stalking past his brother to the door. “You’ve hardly spoken to me for weeks and you think now is the time to interject your opinions?”

Red only shrugged and fell into step behind him through the door, their boots plodding heavily on the stairs. “what’s it matter? ain’t like you listen either way. you headed back home?”

“I am headed back to Underfell, yes.”

“uh huh.” Red shoved his hands into his pockets, watching as Edge turned on the machine. It hummed obediently to life and he keyed in the coordinates for their universe. “so this’s what you’re planning’ on doing, then? keep hopping back and forth, hoping one day you don’t zig instead of zag and get your ass dusted?”

“I don’t have an expansive selection of choices.” The moment the whine of the machine hit its highest pitch, Edge stabbed the button to open the portal. Shimmering, silent blackness formed in the gateway and Edge stepped through it and into his own universe. Perhaps it was the lingering chill of the void but somehow their basement always seemed colder than the Swap brothers’.

Red was still following him, stomping his feet as if trying to knock off any lingering void as he trailed behind Edge up the stairs. His voice rose over their echoing steps. “maybe not, but you got at least two, all nice and simple; stay here in the dust or stay there with rus and the kid.”

Edge stopped at the top of the stairs, his gloved hand resting on the doorknob. On the other side of the door was Underfell, with its promise of death and dust. And other children, other Monsters who were too weak to defend themselves against the LV hunters. People who needed the guard to protect them and the guard needed a Captain. “We can’t abandon the people of Snowdin.”

“you can’t abandon them,” Red grumbled out. Behind him, Edge could hear the rustle of clothing, the creak of the stairs as Red shifted his weight. He sighed heavily. “but i can’t abandon you. whatever you decide, boss, i’m with you.”

Edge closed his sockets and let his head drop, his forehead resting on the cold steel of the door. Not that he ever thought Red would abandon him, he hadn’t, but the last few weeks had been…unsettling. His brother had never been so cold to him before, his anger so unyielding towards Edge even as he kept watch over Rus and their child. His brother.

kid was a pain in the ass, but he was mine

“Thank you, brother,” Edge said, softly, and he meant every single word.

Then he firmly turned the doorknob and stepped out into his world. Only to be immediately grabbed and slammed back into the side of his house, and the only thing that spared Undyne’s good eye from a bone spearing through it was Edge aborting it so quickly that he felt the burn of backlash in his soul. He fought off the pain, hissing out, “What the fuck are you doing!”

“Me?” she snarled back. She was breathing too hard, agitated and angry, her teeth clenched around a sneer. Her clawed hand was icy around Edge’s cervical vertebra, she hadn’t even bothered to put on a jacket or gloves against the cold. “What the fuck did your brother do to Alphys?”

Ah. That explained the anger. Edge didn’t struggle in her grip, relaxing against the side of the house as he asked calmly. “Is she hurt?”

In her good eye, a tinge of red light suffused her pupil, her voice a near subsonic growl. “Guess that depends on your definition of hurt.”

“Then I suppose she should have considered Sans before she offered me her ‘congratulations’ on my child and asked after my significant other.” Acid fairly dripped from the words, as poisonous as Alphys’s offering of tea.

It took a moment for that to pierce Undyne’s temper but when it did, the manic redness in her gaze faded. Her grip loosened, then she let go entirely, her head dropping down between her shoulders as she hunched down, muttering out a string of curses, each more vile than the last.

Edge straightened his shirt, smoothing out the wrinkles from her grip even as he discreetly dissolved the thin stiletto of a bone that had been concealed in his palm. One of her nails must have torn through the fabric and he scowled, poking a finger through the hole irritably, “I take it she didn’t mention that.”

“Nah, she didn’t.” Undyne offered him a thin, toothy smile. “But she wasn’t talking much, anyway. Don’t think you need to worry about her pestering your skitten.”

For now, Edge did not say. “You might consider going back to her, it could be she’d appreciate your specific brand of comfort.”

A blotchy, ruddy blush infused her cheeks and she barked out a laugh, “I can get laid on my own, I sure as fuck don’t need any favors from your brother or advice from you, nerd.” A certain gleam rose in her eye, the very opposite of her earlier anger, “’course, it’d be stupid not to take advantage of a mood, wouldn’t it.”

“Do enjoy and do not tell me anything about it,” Edge said, dryly.

She laughed again, raucously loud, but it faded into an unexpectedly sober look. She glanced around, belatedly lowering her voice as she murmured, “Papyrus? For what it’s worth, I didn’t tell her about the kid.”

“I know.” He hadn’t, but it was good to hear her say it.

“See you tomorrow, nerd.” She turned on her heel and walked away before he could say another word and it was a moment of mirrored déjà vu, watching as she tromped off in the direction of the Riverperson; Undyne giving Edge her back was a deliberate show of her trust, as opposed to Swap Alphys’s insult.

“you believe her?”

This time his brother’s voice coming from nowhere was not a surprise. “I do, which means you may need to check over the audio distorters.” He finally turned to look up at his brother, who was lounging on the snowy rooftop, his sneakers braced against the gutters and a slender sharpened bone dangling idly between his fingers. Trust him to always be able to find the high ground. He glared at Red sourly. “Care to explain what you did to Alphys?”

Red only shrugged, tossing the bone to dissolve in the air and sending a miniature avalanche of snow to the ground. “heard about your tea party with her. been a while since i saw alphy, thought it might be time we had a chat, reminisce about old times and all.”

“And where did you hear about it?”

His grin widened mockingly, “always tell you, little brother, around here, the walls ain’t the only thing with ears.”

“Nor are they the only things without them, unless you’ve grown a pair. Can you at least assure me that it was worth antagonizing our allies?”

“doubt it. but she ain’t gonna hurt your kid.”

“Did she tell you that?” Edge asked. Red’s confidence was about as trustworthy as his rare promises, honest only to a point. “And do you believe her?”

Red’s grin was a sharpened knife, his eye lights glittering with blood-red sparks. “i do now. better get goin’ on patrol, little brother, those fancy traps of yours won’t check themselves.”

“You—” Red was gone before Edge could remind him that he needed to get to his own damned sentry station.

He blew out an impatient breath and stalked up the barely cleared path from their basement to the walkways of Snowdin proper. None of the citizens greeted him, instead scurrying out of his path and that was as it should be. His duty to the people here was to protect him from the XP Hunters and the LV-maddened Monsters that haunted the depths of the woods. He was not here for friendship or any companions past those he commanded. He was the Great and Terrible Papyrus and they would do well to remember it.

He did not spare a thought towards Rus, hopefully still sleeping in the cozy warmth of the bed they’d been sharing, their child still cradled safely in his belly.

His patrol went as perfect as was possible, considering the events of the morning. All the traps were clear, the Dogs were at their stations. Red’s post was empty but there were fresh footprints in the snow so he’d at least gone there earlier and then vacated before Edge could gripe at him for sleeping on the job. There were only a couple traps left on the very outskirts and he was headed to them when his phone began to ring, a distinct ringtone meant for emergencies only.

Edge took the moment to check his surroundings, scanning the woods. As anxious as he was to know why Rus was calling, he couldn’t afford to allow himself to get sloppy, especially not when he was alone. Only then did he press the answer call button, lifting the phone to his auditory canal, “Rus? Are you all right?”

The voice on the line was staticky this far away from Snowdin proper, “do you have any pillows?”

Edge nearly asked Rus to repeat it, half convinced that he couldn’t have possibly heard that right. “Pillows?” he echoed doubtfully, fully expecting to be corrected.

“yes!” Rus snapped back testily and that in itself was strange. Even at his most aggravated, Rus kept a firm hold on his temper, offering insults with lazily brutal precision instead of shouts. Anger was effort and he’d always kept his expenditures low. Until now. “pillows! do you have them or not!”

“I…yes?”

“good.” The relief fairly dripped from Rus’s voice. “i need them.”

“You need…pillows?” Edge repeated.

“did i stutter?” Through the static on the line, he heard Rus suddenly heave in a clotted breath, so wretched and teary that Edge’s soul clenched in sympathy. “i need pillows!”

“Shh, calm down,” Edge soothed. All right, so it wasn’t a traditional emergency, but Rus’s distress was real enough. He gave his surrounds another glance and turned back to town, his long strides eating up the distance. “Pillows, I hear you, I understand, you need pillows. Yes, we have some, several.”

“can you bring them with you tonight?” Again, that unhappy, hitched breath. “please. i need them.”

“Of course,” Edge said, trying for reassuring even through his confusion. “They’re yours, any we have.”

Rus let out a shuddery breath, whispering gratefully, “thank you.”

This was passing strange on an already strange day. “Rus? Are you all right?”

“yeah, i’m fine,” Now that he had secured a promise of pillows, he sounded distracted. “i gotta go. stay safe, okay?”

“I wi—” The line went dead before he could finish. Under his breath he muttered again. “Pillows?”

There was really only one way he was going to get an explanation. Edge headed back towards Snowdin, making mental plans. He could send the Dogi to check the last traps; if he phrased it as a show of trust rather than asking a favor, they would do it eagerly, always prepared to demonstrate their loyalty.

The pillows themselves might prove to be another problem. Despite his assurances, he only had a single pillow on his own bed and he wasn’t about to subject Rus to any of Red’s without a chance to sterilize them. They did have a couple of throw pillows, but that meager offering didn’t seem like enough for Rus’s level of upset and Edge could only picture his expression if he brought a mere three pillows as a contribution. No, he’d need to secure extras from somewhere else and there was only one place Edge could reasonably consider.

He could only hope to survive unscathed.

~~*~~

“heya, edgelord,” Sans yawned out. He looked up at Edge from where he was leaning against the doorjamb with as much interest as he could muster. From the vague sleepiness lingering over him like a miasma, it wasn’t much.

“Hello,” Edge said curtly. “I’m sorry, I don’t have time for niceties. Do you have any extra pillows I can borrow?”

Truthfully, he had no idea how much time there was, though the chances of Rus dying for a lack of pillows did seem unlikely. What he did know was that speaking with Sans was always simultaneously better and worse than talking to his brother, each tipping to the furthest end of their scale. There might be very little that could work Sans up enough to put the effort into making someone bleed, but his stare was like Red’s, direct and unflinching, always seeing far too much.

There was nothing in him that Edge wouldn’t allow Red to see, no secrets to keep hidden from him. Sans might resemble his brother, but he wasn’t and Edge was always deeply uncomfortable beneath the endless depths of his gaze.

That gaze was settled on him firmly now, sleepiness vanishing as Sans’s brow bones climbed up his forehead. Wonderful, now he was intrigued. “pillows?” he echoed.

Suddenly, Rus’s earlier frustrations made much more sense. “Yes, pillows! Soft square things that people lay their heads on. Pillows!”

“yeah, yeah, i get you, don’t get your panties twisted, it’ll ruin the leather.” Sans left the door open and wandered back into the house, leaving it for Edge to close behind him. He was wearing one slipper and trying to slide his foot into the other, socks sagging down his ankles. “lookin’ to cosplay as the stay-puff marshmallow man?”

“They aren’t for me, they’re for Rus.”

That got him a shrewd glance, Sans’s teeth parted in a silent ‘ah’. “gotcha. welp, anything for the upcoming mama.”

“I don’t know why you and Red insist on calling him that,” Edge said irritably, “he doesn’t like it.”

Sans frowned slightly, as much as he could around the constraints of his skull. “no? sorry ‘bout that, he never said. i’ll stop, but i’d guess for your bro that’s the main reason he does it.”

“I’m sure you’re right.”

“how’s things goin’ with rus, anyway, haven’t seen him lately.”

Hardly a surprise. Rus wasn’t supposed to use the machine any more than he should be teleporting, and Sans never seemed particularly fond of it himself. He’d always been perfectly content to allow visitors to come to him and whether that was simple laziness or something else entirely, Edge did not know.

“well?” Sans prompted. “you two doing all right?” His eye lights were pale white, nothing at all like Red’s crimson and yet, somehow, they sent a tremor down Edge’s spine.

Enough of this. Perhaps Rus’s need for pillows wasn’t a fatal issue, but that didn’t mean Edge wanted to hold off getting them to him. “If you’re warming up for a lecture of some sort, I’ve already spoken to a version of Alphys, my Undyne, and my own brother today. I’m full up, so I’d appreciate it if you could save it for a day when my self-esteem is particularly high and might need taken down a peg or two.”

Sans only looked at him in mild surprise. “no lectures. not really seeing a need for it, seems to me you’re doing okay by rus. ‘course, i’m not privy to all the details, but i don’t really need ‘em. none of my business, unless you’re planning on knocking up my bro, too.” The way his eye lights flickered out was nothing close to mild, and the darkness in his sockets only resembled blackness. “don’t recommend that, by the way.”

As if the same trick his brother often pulled was anything close to a threat. “I’ll keep it in mind if I get any sudden urges to impregnate anyone else,” Edge said dryly.

“’preciate it. pillows,” Sans said decisively. Between one step and the next he disappeared and then returned only moments later, announcing. “help yourself.”

The mass of fluffiness was worth a brief stare, if only for the shock that the Tale brothers seemed to have an unexpected collection of pillows stowed away somewhere in their home. Edge took Sans at his word, piling in as many into his inventory as would fit. Sans’s easy expression never changed, even as Edge tried to force in yet another. “Won’t your brother mind?”

“paps?” Sans only gave him a one-shouldered shrug. “nah, not if i tell him they’re for rus. he’s pretty excited to meet the kiddo.”

“So am I,” Edge murmured. “Thank you.”

“sure. do us a favor and give ‘em a wash before you bring ‘em back? it’s gonna get a little messy when the baby finally decides to make an appearance, yeah?”

There was something peculiar in Sans’s voice, something that didn’t match his normal lazy ease. It gave Edge a pause and he hesitated, giving Sans a scrutinizing look. Without his hoodie, Sans looked smaller and that too was reminiscent of Red. Even Edge usually only saw his brother without a hoodie when he was too unconscious to prevent it. Sans met that gaze evenly, his smile never faltering. But then, it really couldn’t, could it.

“I’ll wash them myself,” Edge told him slowly.

Sans snorted and shook his head. “you know what, don’t make it a priority, you’re gonna be busier than one-armed shit-shoveler pretty damn soon. guess you better head out, if rus’s asking for pillows, he’s getting close.”

“What do you--?”

It was fascinating really, to be steadily herded towards the door by someone who never bothered to take his hands out of his pockets. Edge was standing on the porch with a pillow in his arms before he even noticed he was through the front door and Sans was on the other side of the threshold, offering him an easy little wave. “see you around, edgelord.”

“Thank you agai—” The door closed with a firm click. Edge sighed and said to no one at all, “It would be nice if someone let me finish a single sentence today.”

But as strange as Sans’s pronouncement was, Edge took him at his word. Rus needed pillows for something and if that something was the birth of their child, then time might be at a more of constraint than he suspected.

Edge headed back to the Tale brothers’ basement at a jog, pillow in hand and Rus was the only thing on his mind.

~~*~~

tbc