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anika-ann · 6 months ago

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The (Un)Expected - S.R.

Type: one-shot, soulmate AU, good ol' meet-cute (soulmates meeting for the first time prompt)

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader Word Count: 8k

Summary:

A soulmark shows the first words your soulmate will speak to you. A soulmark tells you there is the person for you out there. A soulmark tells you what to expect.

For that, Steve’s is a source of comfort and anxiety to him. You always had a complicated relationship with yours.

But maybe they will teach you a lesson in the end – that the only thing one should really expect, is the unexpected.

Warnings: brief angst, mention of cancer (not reader), canon-typical violence, mention of death (no major character), blood and injuries, language, FLUFF so take it easy on sugar before reading

A/N: written for the Community Revival Extravaganza hosted by the wonderful @stargazingfangirl18 and @labella420 . Thank you both so much for hosting and stirring life in the fandom! I loved seeing the traffic and positivity on my dash - you're doing god's work 💕

A/N 2: DIVIDER by @firefly-graphics; enjoy y'all 🥰

Steve Rogers was a sickly child.

He spent too much time to his liking in his bed – and even more time outside of it despite feeling sick for he couldn’t bear resting anymore, craving to explore the world instead – and was sneaked into a doctor’s office by his mother quite often as well. She only got him in as a favour, courtesy of her own good name – a nurse working double shifts and lending a helping hand wherever she could, a single mother working herself to a bone to take care of and set example to her only son.

A single mother, a nurse, a good person – a beautiful soul. She left this world too soon, but she left an imprint on Steve’s heart larger than any other person, perhaps besides Bucky, ever could.

All that told him, even as indirectly, that his soulmate would be one special dame. She would be kind, she would be brilliant and for that alone, he knew she would be beautiful.

Steve knew that as soon as he could read, as soon as he could decipher the words on his skinny forearm.

In a world where first words your soulmate would tell you were laced into your skin for you and your soulmate’s eyes to see only, his words told him his soulmate was a little miracle.

'I’m not a doctor yet.'

Steve had spent a fair amount of time around nurses and doctors to know that all nurses were women and the overwhelming majority of doctors were men – by the time he was ten, barely a few women were allowed to attend medical schools, let alone graduate. But you, you would be on your way to reach that. Brilliant. Driven. Desiring to help people, to heal.

It was only when other children, other guys and girls alike, began laughing at him for being too little, too weak, too bony, when his heart began to ache for a different reason than illness. If you were to be all these amazing things he had dreamed of, what were you to do with a sickly fella like him? With your words to him being these, it was a fair assumption to make that you would meet due to his health issues, perhaps a smart dame taken under a more experienced doctor’s wing during your studies. How disappointed you would be when your soulmate, the one person meant for you and chosen by destiny itself, would be… that?

That upsetting idea haunted him, hurting more than the bruises that had formed under fists of bullies Steve kept trying to save those even weaker than him from, more than stick and stones and words alike.

Then again… there was a little silver of hope in his heart, a little shy voice in his head. If you were to be his true love, then certainly you’d accept him, yes? If he tried, if he tried hard enough to be a good man, the best possible version of himself, if he worked hard to protect and feed his future family, set a good example for your future children as his mother had, worked towards making a better world, you’d accept him? If he could live with not being as great as others but never stopped trying, you would respect him and perhaps even loved him for what he was?

Then, of course, war came and those thoughts were pushed aside.

Then, he grabbed at his chance to fight that war, to do his part, to help – and incidentally, he also earned his chance to literally grow. Healthy. Strong. More worthy; but remaining good, because that was the one part of him he wanted to hold on to no matter what, that one part he would wish his love, wherever she was, would love him for, even if he suddenly shrank back into the back of skin and bones he used to be.

Then, he lost his best friend Turned into a failure.

And then… then he died.

One of his last thoughts were of you, a beautiful woman with vague appearance but strikingly kind heart and sharp mind. He prayed you’d get a new soulmate somehow, even as those cases weren’t heard of. He prayed you’d live a happy healthy life without him, at least as good as he would have tried his best to give you, to build with you, even as his own heart was breaking to pieces, regret veiling his body as water and snow and icy wind would, regret for missing his chance to meet the most special person in his world.

When he closed his eyes and still saw the white of ice and the blue of the deep sea, he’d swear he saw your face, crystal clear, for the first time – and the last time – in his life.

Seeing you, a stunning mirage, his last thought was that you were an angel gently leading him into afterlife.

When he woke up to a new millennium, one of the first things he did was checking his forearm; he words still sat there, taunting, mocking and heartbreaking, another screaming reminder of him not belonging here.

As years passed by, the sense of alienation subdued. Steve Rogers learned to belong, even as a piece of his heart was missing, longing for the past life – and the life he had never got to have – always humming in his chest quietly.

The mark on his forearm remained, a sad memento to a soulmate he had never met, turning him into a martyr.

But many people had rejected the idea of soulmates in this time, rebelling against their so-called fate, taking off on a path of searching love on their own. Steve learned they did so for various reasons – a sense of adventure before they’d truly find their one true love, a quest to choose the fortune and love on their own terms, a fuck-you to the universe when their soulmate turned out to be less than they imagined and hoped.

His own reasons, as he reluctantly started to look for a person to share his life with, were rather unique, but no one looked at him through their fingers for that. If anything, those who cared about him encouraged him, wishing for his happiness.

It was only when he got Bucky back – one of his greatest regrets not erased, not lessened since Bucky had endured unimaginable pain, but transformed, a piece of Steve’s past brought back to life – that he began to wonder about the almost blasphemous thought he had forbid himself from entertaining when he had been first brought back to life from ice.

Were you still there somewhere?

And then, a shier thought:

Is there still a chance for me to find my true soulmate?

And then, the shiest one of them all:

Is there a chance for me to find happiness with you?

When he had thought of that before, he was certain that since you were still alive – he had read reports of people claiming their soulmark changed colours if their loved one died – he had thought of you as an old lady who had hopefully lived her life as he had genuinely wished for her.

But what if fate, that little minx who had taken his best friend for life from him only to give him back, had somehow blessed Steve with a soulmark decades before you were even born? What he hadn’t lost his chance, what if you were still young enough to build a life with him? Was that even possible? There were aliens, flying suits of armour, other realms, downright magical weapons… he had been given a second chance at life. There were things happening Steve would have never thought possible before. So was there a chance…?

The idea of you being a doctor became much more plausible too – in this century, female doctors were a much more common occurrence. That, naturally, did not diminish your brilliance whatsoever, the fundamental idea of who you’d be never changing in Steve’s mind. The image only became less surreal in one way and a whole lot more surreal in another.

For his own sake, he didn’t give in into that hope fully; at least he told himself that despite lying awake at night, a ghost of a woman he had never met lying next to him, radiating non-existent warmth he wished with his whole being he could touch.

He wasn’t chasing after the ghost, didn’t allow himself that – there was no way to do so to his knowledge anyway – for the chances of success were rather slim.

But there was always hope, wasn’t there?

And the longing for love, whether it was in the hands of fate or in his own to find it, remained, built into his very body; etched into his bones, flowing through his veins, laced into his skin beyond the words on his forearm, always humming quietly in his heart.

In the age of information and science, the concept of having your ideal partner for life chosen by some mysterious abstract entity called Fate was literally otherworldly. Alien. Absurd even.

And yet, it still ruled the lives of many.

Which, in all honesty, was almost even more fascinating than the existence of soulmarks itself – the belief people had for them despite being no logic to them at all.

Perhaps it was the little piece of human soul, an inner child people so desperately wanted to cling to for its own beauty and purity, a child who never wanted to stop believing in magic, fate, dragons, mighty knights and kind-hearted ladies, in all things of fairytales and happy-endings the most. Because to a point, that was what soulmarks were – and little fairytale-like book of destiny.

One that not even science seemed capable of beating.

And you should know; you were somewhat of a scientist yourself. And despite how unfathomable the nature of soulmates was, you could not say that you rejected the idea of them, of someone who was born to belong with you, someone you could share your life with, the right partner in the crime of life. Basic bodily needs aside, wasn’t that the most fundamental need of all? To love and be loved; to belong?

Who wouldn’t wish for that reassurance that they could have that, that some strange force of universe itself created a person like that for them? They were the god’s strongest soldiers you supposed; because you were certainly not immune to that tempting comfort.

But you weren’t obsessed – and you prided yourself in the fact. Mostly because the sheer fanaticism of the world over soulmarks, the one thing that kept defying science – besides alien portals, magical blue cubes, demigods walking the Earth and things alike – was dialled up ad absurdum.

There could be billions of dollars poured into research of curing cancer. Cure autoimmune diseases. Helping the homeless. Slowing down global warming. Erasing poverty and famine. Protecting nature, endangered species. Discovering new worlds, exploring space.

But no. Governments poured billions of dollars into researching soulmarks. How was it they existed? How was it you could cut through skin, you could cut off skin and the mark would reappear somewhere else? What was the grand scheme of them? Why was it that only two people who belonged together could see them and the person speaking the words could only see it on their soulmate’s skin after they spoke the words, almost like a fail-safe that couldn’t seem to be broken with any tricks?

It wasn’t a question of physics as far as people knew; they had tried to build sets-up of various optics, thermovision cameras and complex sets of lenses and mirrors, and none of the reports you had ever heard of claimed success. It wasn’t genetic markers either; no one had discovered a sequence of DNA responsible for soulmarks, let alone turned whatever discovery they would have made into a tool of reading anyone’s but their own and their soulmate’s mark. It didn’t seem to be chemistry either; no one had made a groundbreaking discovery or at least they hadn’t informed the scientific or any other community so far.

But by gods, forget the space race. Attempting to be the first one to somehow read everyone’s soulmark and then create an algorithm to monetize it as the one and only soulmate dating app, now that was a competition overflowing with cutthroat madmen. Not to mention the crowds looking to temper with soulmarks, to make another one appear on someone’s body; or worse, to erase the original soulmark and instead design one capable of manipulating the outcome of a soulmate match.

You found the force of that obsession insane – and frankly, all the attempts morally wrong. While dedicated to science and loyal to discovery, you found soulmarks to be something sacred, one of the things that should not be touched by filthy human hands; god knew humanity, while doing a lot of good, had mucked up about just as much.

You were not alone in that belief. There were, in fact, numerous demonstrations against scientists experimenting with soulmarks, people protesting against anyone creating such tool and using it to temper with natural course of things no one fully understood, not for the lack of trying. However – as expected everywhere where politics and money were involved – these protests were in vain.

They were as vain and futile as the research of the marks itself.

As for your own soulmark, you had a rather complicated relationship with it.

On one hand, it gave you a sense of peace – there was someone for you, even as sometimes it did not feel plausible at all. You had time too – because based on those words, you would not meet your soulmate until in your twenties at least. You had plenty of time to become who you were meant to be before a man could turn your life upside down, even as that was not supposed to be what soulmates did, at least not in a bad sense of the word.

On the other hand, it was a ball and chain. You would not find you soulmate sooner than in your twenties and sometimes, you missed them despite not having met yet. When imagining what your meeting could be like based on their first words etched into your skin, you feared they might be a little disappointed – even as you did not let that stop you from pursuing the life you wanted. And despite you wanting to choose the career either way, it felt like someone – be it god, fate or another cosmic entity humanity was yet to discover – had chosen the path for you the moment you had been born if not before.

'Doctor, are you alright?'

Four simple words that couldn’t be more ordinary and yet extraordinary for they represented one of the most meaningful encounters of your life. The source of as much comfort as anxiety.

You couldn’t stand hospitals ever since you were a child. The cold environment reminded you of the strange icy feeling that had settled in your chest over the months you had been visiting your dying father, your naïve eyes watching cancer bite off his energy and smiles first, before it swallowed his whole body and soul. He had been a ghost long before he passed; and in your mind, despite all rationality even years after, that ghost haunted any hospital you visited.

Learning what your soulmark was as a child, you had spent countless nights crying, soul torn into pieces, pushed and pulled between the visceral desire to live up to your soulmark and the crippling nausea at the mere thought of dealing with people drowned in misery caused by any illness in the cold institution they called a hospital.

However, the curious kid you had been, you had fallen in love with science itself.

And that one day at school, when a classmate of yours had brought their father to the class to talk about his job as a doctor, you had burst into tears. You began to sob in the middle of him explaining to third-graders that he was not a medical doctor, but a physicist with a doctorate earning him the degree of a doctor as well. You remembered your teacher leading you outside of class, concerned and absolutely baffled, trying to sooth you helplessly even as you were completely inconsolable – because you did not need consolation.

You were crying the happiest, most relieved tears of your life.

You could still be a ‘doctor’. And you genuinely wanted to be one, not just because of what your soulmark read. You had always wished to help people indirectly, even as you looked back at your life now. Sure, your soulmark could have been adding fuel to your drive when your motivation had been running low, but this was who you desired and was meant to become.

A molecular biologist. A doctor in making. Researching the effects of medicinal drugs with hopes to improve them.

A scientist not researching soulmarks, thank you very much.

And yes, there was the lingering feeling of missing a person you hadn’t even met yet – especially when Doctor Simmons’ face lit up like fluorodeoxyglucose in PET scans whenever she saw Doctor Fitz – but you had other things to focus on. And you had time. There was no pressure.

You were not a doctor yet, after all.

Naturally, just because you dodged the joys and sorrows of being a medical student and later on, a medical doctor, it did not mean that you had it easy. No one working on their doctorate did. But when you decided to pursue your degree and work in research, you signed up for that.

You signed up for a lot of things.

It was a little peculiar for you to be on the SHIELD campus in the science division without a doctorate. It was a known fact that SHIELD only recruited best of the best, this Science ad Technology in particular: you needed at least one doctorate to even walk through the door, which was something you were reminded a lot because you did not meet that requirement and here you were.

But SHELD owned the best equipment and you were fortunate enough to get in by the lovely game of fate, being good and driven enough and having met the right people at the right time. SHIELD Academy’s Science & Tech division had the unique equipment you often needed for your research. Your research was interesting enough for people who had perhaps more power over your little life than fate itself. Stars aligned.

It was no walk in a parc, but you were no fool; jumping after that opportunity after having one too many doors shut into your face was a no-brainer. Even though it meant signing up for a whole extra load of shit.

You signed up to be the weird girl. The privileged girl. Hell, even the stupider than local average girl, because you were only an engineer at this point.

You signed up for being the young girl, even as you had met a few people there who had started younger, having actually earned their first PhD at age 17 or less.

You signed up for mockery and misogyny, for as you were aware the level was blissfully low here compared to other workplaces, especially where science was concerned; in exact science, you observed, more than anywhere you ever heard of, it was customary to keep that one insufferable employee, because they were simply that good at their job, no matter that they had cost the department a few other employees.

You signed up for living on campus with other SHIELD recruits, which meant living in close quarters with other divisions; as a result, some days the whole area seemed to swim in testosterone emitted by the hulking special agents in making from Operations.

But that was okay. You could do it.

There were bright sides too, many of them. Like pursuing your dream career. Being among like-minded people whose brain, to a large point, ran on the same wavelength. Hooking up with a handsome but notbrainless recruit from Operations or Communication here and there, some flings, some relationships, because if you were to wait for the love of your life, you might as well not wither completely. You were only human and you had needs along with your lifegoals.

You more than willingly signed up for working with Agent slash Doctor Jemma Simmons. With her two PhDs and rich experience from the field, she had left the action behind in order to work on her third PhD and help humanity without having her life on the line every day. She was hard-working, with no-nonsense approach and lovely sense of humour with plenty of stories to back it up; she was overall pleasant person to work and be friends with and despite having been through amazing and terrifying experiences other people couldn’t even imagine, she remained surprisingly down-to-Earth.

Sure, she had her quirks like insisting on having a gun at hand at all times and stashing a few small vials of altered Molotov cocktail, a mixture of chemicals which would ignite upon the vial breaking, in one of the nearby cabinets – but you supposed there were worst things to get used to than that in a coworker or a friend. She used to be an active agent after all; in fact, unofficially, she remained one. Much like anyone, you knew that certain habits died hard and being through what she had been – she confessed to you that she once spent months on a nearly deserted ancient planet, among other things – left a mark. If this made her feel safer, you’d take it.

Another great thing about Jemma, Doctor Simmons, was that she was adorably English and was in dedicated relationship with Doctor Fitz who was a Scotsman, so that was the spice of long workdays at times; especially if you agreed to play Scrabble with them and a few friends in the evening.

But there were things you had not signed up for when following the alluring promise of a prestigious spot and unique equipment.

And one of them was a damn Nazi revival group in the form of fucking HYDRA attacking the lab while you were in the peaceful process of waiting for your PCR to finally be finished.

Influx of men in full tactical gear interrupting Jemma updating you the vacation plans, Fiji and all the rare species of fishes that could be observed there when scuba diving.

When you heard the first shouts, breaking of glass and dull echoes of gunshots from afar, your immediate thought was that you had been having a good day and that the experiment had been coming along nicely – and that whatever mess was happening was for sure about to ruin all your progress.

By the time panic settled in, Jemma was practically tackling you down, hand over your mouth to muffle your startled squeak at the sudden movement, her eyes alert and serious, screaming at you to keep quiet.

The sickening shouts of HAIL HYDRA, COOPERATE AND YOU’LL GET HURT LESS was what sent your brain crashing into reality; that and the distant agonized cries of people, coworkers and recruits you knew and met in the hallways every day, following the sounds of gunshots growing in volume and frequency.

You could hear Jemma shuffling next to you further.

You yourself were unable to move beyond stifling a cry behind your suddenly sweaty palm as another female voice wailed in pain.

Blood seemed to freeze in your veins despite your heart thundering in your ribcage and your temples and it helped you shit at all that you were aware that was such thing was literally impossible. By the time Jemma’s hand grabbed yours again and squeezed hard, you realized you were shaking – half in anger, half in paralyzing fear, half in utter shock. It didn’t matter it didn’t add up.

What mattered was the gun in Jemma’s hand. She was holding a gun, ready to shoot, because there were enemy agents, fucking HYDRA burst through the door, guns blazing. And killing people.

You were whispering with exasperation worth of a shout before you knew what you were doing.

“Why?! Why the fuck-“

“Probably the samples they brought in today, precious cargo,” Jemma whispered back frantically, loading the gun and reaching into another cabinet behind her. You only stared at her in utter confusion and mute horror, rapid heavy footsteps approaching and sending your already racing heart into a madness. “Gun or cocktails?”

“I can’t shoot a-!”

Before you could finish, the familiar sound of the sliding door opening and a horrifying echo of tactical boots reached your ears, a set of vials pressed into your palm.

You gulped, pulse thundering in your temples.

Those goddamn Simmons’ cocktails as you named them since she had insisted on keeping around.

You couldn’t believe the moment was here that you were actually grateful for them, even as they seemed to burn in your hand even with the vials themselves intact.

Your eyes snapped to Jemma’s face to question it wordlessly at least, but she wasn’t looking at you; she was listening intently, lying in wake as if she was the predator and not the prey you felt like.

Your own breathing seemed too loud as you allowed yourself to squeeze your eyes shut for but a moment, a desperate attempt to wake up from the nightmare; but the morning didn’t come.

Instead, a gunshot rang in the room, glass shattering somewhere above your head to your right, sending a waterfall of shards flying next to you.

And causing you to cry out in fright.

Which revealed your position to the agents flowing into the lab.

Without a thought you snapped your eyes opened, jumped to your feet and threw two vials in the direction of a black blur with a shockingly clear red patch of the mythical Hydra monster in the middle; peripherally, you saw Jemma attacking as well, deafening noise of gunshot nearly blowing your eardrum.

You crouched back behind the counter so fast you felt vertigo swing you to the left, sharp pain erupting from your palm. It was pure miracle your right hand didn’t clench in instinct and shatter the two remaining vials, setting yourself on fire as well.

As well.

Someone was screaming – a man, you realized – the acid smell of burned flesh and plastic and various chemicals punching your nose and your stomach hard. You had hit someone with the vial. They screamed because of what you had done. You had-

You had no time to feel sorry. You had no time to properly think fucking serves them right.

More steps, more gunshots, movements you weren’t sure how happened or came to you in the first place, flashes of light and crimson and noise and godawful smell--- and pain erupting in the back of your head and suddenly you were barely catching yourself on the counter with your slippery palm--- your fingers brushed metal, knees weak but hands grabbing with all your might, lifting and swinging, a sickening crack on your right before you were falling, landing on your wrist, back hitting the cabinet door and making even more noise as you sent equipment clattering around.

However, the loudest sound was another gunshot; but the strangest sound was unfamiliar whizzing and metal hitting metal and someone most definitely shouting “clear!” that sounded as distant as a whisper over the ringing in your ears.

Instinctively, your head snapped to the voice as you tried to prop up on your hands to see; the world swam in front of your eyes, dizziness forcing you to fall back on your ass and squeeze your eyes shut in hopes to stop the world from spinning, a sting in your palm drawing a hiss from your lips.

You could hear Jemma’s talking to someone, her words blurred into a mumble despite her voice sounding firm and methodical; footsteps, quick and heavy but somewhat soft, accompanied by a brush of air against your skin, making you open your eyes again just as navy blue with speckles of silvery grey glinting in a flickering light filled your vision.

Then, a face; an extremely handsome face even as a helmet made of blue similar to the rest of his suit covered the upper half of it, framing a pair of the dreamiest blue eyes you had ever seen, as beautiful as blurry as a dream indeed.

Somewhere in the back of your brain it started clicking into place – that the man in front of you looked a whole lot like Captain America and he was there to kick HYDRA’s ass; he was hunk and looked righteous and unfairly pretty, the cut of his jaw sharp enough to appear as if sculpted by ancient masters of art and it might be softened by the leather strap holding his helmet in place but that only brought out the sheer beauty of his lips even with a small bloody split on them.

And he was talking to you, his leather-clad hand gently grasping your arm as you involuntarily swayed to side when moving your head to take in the entirety of his large figure.

“Doctor, are you alright?” he asked slowly, velvety voice sweet and heavy with concern at once, the gentle but firm hold on your arm growing stronger when you blinked owlishly, the connection between the meaning of his words and his apparent intention to talk to you slow and fragile.

Your tongue felt as if made of lead even as it tasted of bitterness of adrenalin, but you willed yourself to answer, a knee-jerk reaction more than anything else.

“’mm… not a doctor yet.”

As you responded, you brain began to clear; and it occurred to you that it was a fair assumption for him to make.

You had grown used to clarifying, but hadn’t done so in months, because everyone already knew. However, he was an outsider to this lab and he couldn’t know you were the exception to the local rule. And you were wearing a lab coat, one that now had to be covered in mixture of chemicals you did not wish to identify, but perhaps you should try, because your forearm was beginning to burn.

The beautiful man kneeling in front of you silently observed you for what seemed like an eternity and half, surprise written all over his face. You couldn’t blame him; you were the weirdo of the lab. The fact the person who had purposely stacked explosives at hand was less of an anomaly than that was a thing to consider, but your head hurt too much to think about that and your heart was still beating unhealthily fast and his error seemed so insignificant in the grand scheme of things of HYDRA having attacked your lab and Captain America being right in front of you, holding onto your arm.

His soft baffled smile as he hung his head and shook it a bit with a breathless chuckle, and then lifted his downright shining gaze back to you, well that certainly made for a spectacular distraction from such unimportant thoughts.

Did his thumb just brush your arm as he still held you up a bit?

And had anyone ever told him he had a stunning smile that could melt hearts even if it was barely there and it was certainly melting yours?

“Apologies, miss. I’m going to help you get to medical, alright?” he suggested, those damn gorgeous eyes roaming your face with what almost seemed like wonder, even as his voice sounded all kinds of reassuring. “You’re safe now, I promise.”

Safe. You were safe. Because there had been HYDRA agents, but Captain America and actual SHIELD operatives had come to the rescue. And because Jemma was-

Jemma. Your straightened, dull ache pounding in your back as you did so, vision clearing a fraction with the sudden realization that you couldn’t hear your friend anymore. Your friend whom you owed your life very likely, but even if you didn’t, you would have-

You craned your neck over Captain America’s impressive frame, head snapping from left to right, nausea rising with the movement, but that didn’t matter, you had to-

You turned your alarmed gaze back to the man who was still holding you, an urgent question on your lips.

“Jemma? Is she--- Doctor Simmons, brunet, lab coat-“ you paused, realizing bitterly that you had just described half of the Science and Technology. “Female. She’s a doctor and an agent too, she was with me had a gu-“

A warm squeeze on your arm, the concern which had grown even more evident on Captain’s face melting away and giving way to a soothing smile.

“She’s alright. She’s already left to be checked up and to give her statement.”

Your shoulders sagged, your head dropping a bit; the violent vertigo that seized your body at that was not pleasant and you tried to blink it away, gaze catching the reflection of the still-blinking fluorescent lamp on the Captain’s shield.

Oh. That was probably what had made the whizzing sound before. As your brain conjured an image of that, a spinning shield flying through the air, you cursed yourself mentally for letting your mind even go there since you had already felt like you were the flying piece of metal and the thing you’d hit eventually would be the floor.

“My head is spinning,” you muttered absently as you attempted to refocus your gaze, praying to gods of religion and science alike you wouldn’t throw up on the poor caring man.

Why was he still sitting here with you? Surely there were much more important things to tend to than one little post-grad? How was he so kind and gentle? Wasn’t he known for inspiring speeches in a deep serious voice and for beating up villains with both his physical strength and brains?

So many questions and no answer in those pretty blue eyes.

In fact, the number of your questions grew exponentially when the hand on your arm released the pressure and gently rubbed your elbow instead; his free hand carefully cradled the back of your other hand, the contrast of leather and his warm skin surprisingly sensual, suddenly making you understand why so many regency era literature spoke of hand-holding as indecent even as it was barely Fifty Shades of Grey level of filth.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Captain Rogers said, snapping you from your thoughts. “Let me help you up and they’ll check you up too, including this nasty cut, okay?”

Huh?

Purposely slowly as not to make the vertigo worse, you glanced at your hand in his, feeling a fresh sting just by looking at your palm, your gaze instantly snapping away.

And falling straight onto two intact vials full of liquid of a distinct colour, lying carelessly about two feet away from Steve Rogers’ tactical boots. Your heart jumped in your chest, your hazy mind finally growing aware of your surroundings.

“Shoot! Careful around those, they’re highly flammable!” you warned him swiftly, his gaze snapping to the vials in question, while ours slowly trailed over the utter, utter messthe lab had become.

The sheer amount of broken glass, spilled chemicals, broken pipettes, torn papers and unidentifiable piles of junk was staggering and it was actually a miracle nothing had exploded yet – and as a cherry on top, a few feet away, a relatively small portable PCR machine, the very equipment you had been using, downright murdered along with your experiment and a smudge of blood around it. Jesus.

“Okay, that’s good to know. More the reason to get out,” Captain Rogers remarked, slight amusement lacing his voice, only growing stronger as he continued. “Keep a lot of these around?”

You could have scoffed, but you didn’t. You have no idea, pal.

“My friend is paranoid…” you explained, still staring at them, even as you mentally added ‘or not’, since those little things might have very well saved your life. As your gaze returned to Captain Rogers, your eyes caught on something else, having you sit up straighter in sheer horror. “Is that a stab wound?!”

You gulped at the sight, even as your uninjured hand instinctively reached out towards it – as if you could fix it. The already dark suit, a lovely navy blue, appeared downright black at left his side, right where it seemed to be singed by a flame.

Had that injury been there the whole damn time he had been sitting here with you, eternally patient with your slowed brain, Simmons’ cocktails lying around in one huge chemical dump in risk of exploding any damn minute?

You logically knew the answer had to be yes, but it made zero sense – and his answer made even less sense.

“Bullet, actually. Some sort of chemical damaged the Kevlar lining and they got a lucky hit. It’s just a graze.”

“A gra-“ you choked on the word, spit stuck in your throat causing you to cough and a groan escape past your lips as the sudden rapid movement sent your head pounding again.

“Hey, you-“

“You’ve been shot and you called my cut nasty?” you questioned through the tears, earning a smile worth giving up a career for – painfully warm, kind and… almost fond.

You truly must have hit your head hard.

…as if it hadn’t been evident before.

“I heal fast. You don’t need to worry about me. I’ll be alright, doc.”

A knee-jerk reaction – again. What was it with him? Had he hit his head, forgetting you had already explained – you had, you hadn’t imagined that, right? – and now he called you a doctor again, turned into a familiar nickname, no less.

“I’m not a doct---- holy shit.”

It slammed into you like a train, struck you like a lightning, even as neither of those things had ever happened to you – yet, you imagined it had to feel like this.

A massive force, a force of nature, realization as bright and as unexpected as a lightning from a clear sky.

Doctor, are you alright?

He had asked that. He had asked that. He had said your words. He had said your goddamn soulmate’s first words to you, what must have been minutes ago, and only now it hit you.

You were left staring at him with wide eyes, myriad of emotions written all over his face, including slight amusement and what you had earlier inexplicably identified as fondness, because the reason why he was still sitting here with you – though perhaps that was what he always did when rescuing, what did you know, you didn’t, this was your first meeting, that was why he had said the words – was that unlike you, he had realized you were his soulmate right away.

He kept watching you, silently letting you process the crucial revelation, a tight but no less kind smile on his lips.

“You said my words,” you said oh so intelligently. “You--- what… what did I—say?”

It was perhaps the stupidest question of all you could have come up on the spot, but you genuinely couldn’t remember – and wanted to know what words he had been looking at his whole life.

…this part of life? Or before the ice too? How did he feel about that? How did he feel about you? Was he disappointed? He didn’t look like he was, but didn’t even know what you had said—

What you did know and remember was that you were supposed to be smart and yet it had taken you an eternity to even notice you were facing your soulmate you had been probably spewing complete nonsense, you were now stammering like an idiot and for someone who had been worried, always, even if in the back of their mind, if their soulmate would find them good enough, you were generally making a bloody awful first impression.

But seriously, what had been your first words-

“You said you weren’t a doctor yet,” Captain Rogers reminded you, voice soft with affection of someone who had imagined hearing those words at least as many times as you had wondered about yours, hoping they would be pronounced by someone who’d respect you and cared about what kind of person you were, and would hopefully, eventually care for you. Loved you even. The tender way the syllables rolled of his tongue, spoken as if they tasted of honey, nearly chased fresh tears to your eyes. Alright, perhaps your first impression hadn’t been as bad as it appeared in your – albeit injured – head. “But if you really don’t remember saying that, that’s not a good sign. We need to get you medical attention. Come on. Hold on.”

Blinking slowly, still processing the light and yet suffocating feeling that found residence in your chest as it was starting to truly settle that this man, this painfully beautiful and criminally gentle man, was your soulmate, he was leaning closer to you, his hands guiding yours to wrap around his neck, a wordless order you had obediently followed, and then one of his arms was sliding under your knees and his other wrapping around the middle of your back.

And then your vertigo hit you anew because you were suddenly up in the air, hands gripping hard at anything you could reach – conveniently, the only thing was him, because he had lifted you upin his arms, some of your weight resting against his chest – despite the pain that shot up your left hand.

“Whoa-“ And then, because your memory did serve you at least a little: “You--- have been stabbed.”

“Shot,” he repeated patiently, fondly almost, and you did recall he had said that.

You recalled despite the scent of pleasant aftershave and peak man suddenly enveloping you as much as his arms and the firm armour – or perhaps that was the muscles underneath? And those pretty blue eyes were watching you with a glint of amusement and a surprising amount of affection for a guy saying he had been hit by a bullet, while effortlessly carrying the girl he had just met in his-- very, very strong, muscly arms and perhaps your head was not only spinning because of the sudden height you found yourself at.

…amusement? How was he amused? Was that-- was that a joke? Was he making fun of his bullet wound, playing it down?

“That’s… really not better.”

He grinned down at you as he made his way to the exit.

Walking. Watching you. Grinning and not even really looking where he was stepping.

Oh no.

Oh no, he was one of those people. You had met men like him at Operations, except for some reason – perhaps some sort of a soulmate telepathy – you had a feeling in him, that the peculiar recklessness many people from suffered, the disregard for their safety, because they could handle it, was dialled up to eleven in him. On a one to five scale. Because scaling mattered; you were a scientist. You’d know.

However, he did make it out of the laboratory without blowing anything up – perhaps at least that recklessness was balanced up by enhanced senses of a supersoldier and indeed, healing fast. And you hoped with your whole heart that walking out unscathed was a conscious effort, be it for him (somehow you doubted that) or for the cargo he was carrying (you had no doubt about that, not when he was looking at you like that). At least he had kept the helmet on; you were thankful for that, even as you’d love to see him without it.

See your soulmate.

You knew what he looked like everyone knew what he looked like. If they had missed the WW II. ed, they could barely miss the news about an alien invasion he had had a hand in stopping, the fall of majority of SHIELD, and other exciting horrifying news.

“I’ll be fine, doc. Now let’s get you away from exploding vials and lab equipment you could knock me out with. I’d rather be safe when I ask you out for dinner.”

You gulped, gripping him a bit tighter as a memory hit you – literally.

The PCR machine. You had done that. You had grabbed it and used it to smash into a HYDRA agent’s face, using the nearest improvised tool of defence. Jesus.

I really did that?

“You… saw that?” was what you asked instead, a few second ticking by as the rest of his words registered in your brain – and god, you really hoped your cognitive abilities would restore soon and the head injury had not caused permanent damage. “Oh.”

As much as your heart started pounding at that, a pleasant somersault in your stomach for a change, it was a little unfair to sort-of ask you when you were in your current predicament. Being carried like that, so close to him, so gentlemanly and tenderly handled despite your weight no doubt straining him, especially since he had been shot – grazed –, yoursenses wrapped in everything that was him and pulling you in, you were fairly certain you might say yes to just about anything he’d ask.

And not just because he was your soulmate.

Your soulmate carrying you in his arms, while wearing a very flattering suit of armour.

“If you’d like, of course,” he added with slight hesitance that only made your heart race further, because he was laying out his own heart for you already, expressive, genuine, and maybe sweetly handsy but not pushy despite his title and rank technically giving him every right to do whatever the hell he wanted. “But either way, I’ll save the real question for when I know you’re not suffering from a concussion. That sounds good?”

“Yes, Captain,” you replied dutifully. It did sound good, his consideration warming you from inside out. His voice sounded good too. “Sounds good to me.”

His smile was bright as the sun itself and basking in its light and warmth felt just as precious. Except he was to be your private sun forever shared with other to a point, but yours. Chosen by fate itself, defying all you had ever believed, beating time by decades, only so you could find each other.

“Looking forward to it, doc. Maybe I’ll get to know your name too while we’ll be at it,” he teased lightly, but without malice. “My name is Steve.”

Steve.

You knew that. You liked that.

Hand trembling a little, but not because you worried he’d drop you as you partly let go of his shoulders, you reached for the clasp on his helmet, a fluttery feeling in your chest eager to indeed see Steve rather than the Captain.

You felt your lips curl up and mirror his when he gave a tiny nod at your brief hesitation, your fingers finally undoing the strap and revealing his face with his help.

His hair was adorably ruffled, a slight shade of dust on his cheeks whispering of where the protective gear had been; but scientifically speaking, as well as speaking directly from heart, he was absolutely beautiful, his tender smile telling you he thought the very same about you.

He was meant to be yours; as you were meant to be his.

And you couldn’t wait to get to know him.

You could tell there were people around you and they were probably staring; but for the moment, you didn’t care at all. You had just met your soulmate.

And you weren’t even a doctor yet.

“It’s really nice to meet you, Steve. But I have to admit…” you said, teasing him with a pause, rewarded by his eyes earning a curious glint, “that the Doc nickname is kinda growing on me.”

Complete masterlist

Steve Rogers masterlist

Oh this feels like coming back to my roots 🤭 but hey, this challenge is a revival of all thigs good of the past, so why not go with the good old-fashioned soulmate meet-cute with a little angst beforehand, right?

AND BEHOLD I WROTE SOMETHING SHORTER THAN 10K. SHORTER THAN 8K ACTUALLY! It’s an extravaganza miracle 😂

Also. There might be some unrelated smut in the works, but I will not finish that today so... won't be part of the cum together extravaganza... ah well 🤭

Thank you for reading and potential feedback 💕

May the Fourth be with you and the rest of May be kind ✨

#CT 2024 raffle entry #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers x you #steve rogers #captain america #captain america x reader #captain america x you #captain america imagine #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers fluff #soulmate au #soulmate steve rogers #the unexpected #anika ann

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rockpaperimpala · 9 months ago

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So about Netflix's the Last Airbender....

I am literally so confused you guys. You made me think I would HATE this show. And I LOVED it. Me. Known perfectionist and hater.

Katara was lovely. Yes, she started as a more soft spoken character than her cartoon version, but she was still passionate and hopeful throughout, just visibly unsure of herself. I think people were thrown off by this actress' natural way of expressing herself, which is Different from animated katara for sure, but not bad. Then she spends the whole season growing in Confidence and Fire. I Adored her fight with Paku, it really did feel like a payout of the whole season's development, and the bending kicked ass!

The Bending Kicked ass!!! The martial arts was fun and fast and creative and exciting! It looked SO good. That alone would be enough reason for me to watch and enjoy any show.

Zuko's actor was fantastic. He really captured the rage and confusion of this 16 year old banished prince. And there were so many Added moments between him and Iroh wich to me enriched their relationship. Like YES! This is why I'm watching, to see more of them, to see things done a little differently.

Iroh facing the consequences of his actions at Ba Sing Se!! That's what I'm here for!

Zuko's relationship with the men on his ship! That's what I'm here for!

The Extra layers we get to Ozai manipulating his children!

Also no one is talking about Admiral Zhao, who I had SO much fun with. I feel like they slightly fleshed out his character in a really dramatic way, really developing the hubris and frankly insane grasping ambition of someone who would kill the moon. I completely enjoyed this wilder, less controlled version of him, who comes up through the season from basically nothing and no one!

I am OBSESSED with King BUMI and his anger and disillusionment with the world! Like this was SO real. Living a hundred years of futile war would do that!!!! It is one of my favorite changes to the whole series. This new layer of emotion and character depth is what I'm here for!

Sokka was SO funny. He literally had me laughing out loud so often. That actor GETs Sokka, and GETS the way his humor is delivered. And is also able to tap into the more vulnerable side of him. People said he was "obsessed" with leadership. WHAT? That is a young person trying desperately to do his best and to try and find his place in the world, to figure what he has to offer. I loved his pride at hearing the Mechanist say that he would make a good engineer, and the sweetness of the moment that Yue's father says that he can be a hero without being a warrior. Sokka does so much growth in this series, in understanding himself and life.

And his chemistry with Suki was adorable!! I even like him and Yue (who was a totally unexpected sweetheart, despite her terrible wig)!! Like he has that same ability that Sokka has in the original to Connect with people.

Aang was great! He WAS fun loving and sweet and funny. I don't know what you guys wanted. Cartoons are always bigger and more exaggerated than live action. People's eyes swell up an, birds fly around their heads, and there are funny sound effects. That larger than life quality is the strength of animation! You have to look for different strength in live action. Like the SUBTLETIES of the acting choices. This little actor brought so much kindness, innocence, and strength to Aang.

And I FELT his frustration at being asked to do this at 12, his fresh hope anytime it looked like someone more experienced would be able to help him and no one did, and that's why he didn't learn waterbending this season, because he kept waiting for an freaking ADULT to show him the way, to help him carry this immense burden, but every adult he meets asks him for help instead, asks him to carry it himself, and then the finale hits and he realizes that there won't be any adults helping, he does have figure this out himself, and he makes the hard choice, takes on responsibility more than his years and offers himself to the ocean spirit, and he might have been lost entirely if not for Katara!

And that counter running theme to the show pays off: that he doesn't have to do it alone. He may not have more experienced guidance, because the adults have let him down again and again, but his friends will be with him, and they will figure it out together!

This is there throughout the series! Katara tells him this about learning waterbending, when he says he still wants to wait. Bumi tells him this in the palace at Omashu, and Aang sees the faith he has in his friends repaid!

I like these changes! And the show still found time for silly fun adventures and character building moments.

The show was never going to be the animated original. That is already a Masterpiece, and it frankly did NOT need to be adapted at all. I did not WANT a live action adaptation. I was adamantly convinced I would hate it. But the changes that they netflix show gave are what I Iike most about it. If I want to see Zuko say "you rise with the moon, I rise with the sun," I will go watch the animated original, because that version is perfect. And now, if i want to see Zuko say "Lu ten would have been proud to have you as a father," and see iroh pull him into a tight hug, I can watch this live action version, which is very good too. I'm going to disagree with most of the people on here and say that the Netflix's Avatar: The Last Airbender, DOES capture the heart of what we liked about the original show. It's spirit, fun, excitement, and characters. And the changes made are the reason we should be watching.

#avatar the last airbender #natla

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fictionalmenxyn · 2 months ago

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•✧𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐲 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐰✧•

Pairing: Drew x singer/actress!reader

(The parts that are Itallic are what you would see in the video rather than in person)

Warnings: language, slightly emotional reader (for good reason)

Face claim: Billie Eilish (what a cutie 😊)

•✧•✧•

Once again, your time has come. Your yearly interview.

This time, Drew was sat behind the camera. You sat in the directors chair. You smiled at the camera and spoke “Hi, I’m Y/n Y/l/n.. it’s currently October eighteenth, twenty-twenty-four” you smile.

Other versions of you repeat those words, only difference is the year… oh! And also your appearance, obviously.

Drew was sat on a chair opposite you and behind the camera. A big smile on his face. He loved these interviews of you.

First question ‘biggest thing that happened in your career?’ You smiled and scrunched your nose. You then lean forward in your chair and whispered the camera “I got two oscars.” You balled your fists in excitement and scrunched your face. “Two! Not one, but two… still feels like a dream”

You watch your year-younger self, “I got six Grammys! Ah!” You chuckle at your past self. You looked to the camera “two oscars and six Grammys… damn..” you and Drew laugh.

‘What’s the most important things to you right now?’ You smiled at the question. You tilt your head to look around the camera and to Drew. You answered “my love, my everything… Drew mother fucking Starkey…” he chuckled. You wave him over “c’mere, babe…” he got the green light from the director and walked over to you.

You opened your arms, he leaned down and hugged you as you sat in the chair. As he pulls away slightly, he kissed your forehead. You smiled “this is whats important to me… my Drew…” you both knew the fans were gonna make edits and comments about this. You were honestly excited to see the edits. You loved how cute your fans were when it came to you and Drew.

You and Drew watched your younger self “uh probably my boyfriend… he’s the best-” younger you looked to the camera “I love ya, Drew!” You both laughed.

Drew kissed your forehead once more, then went back behind the camera; sitting in his chair once again.

‘Craziest fan moment?’ You answered “it was at New York, my latest tour. I noticed a girl in the crowd. She looked like she had something in her hand. So when we did our usual ten minute break. I walked over to her, cause she didn’t leave her spot. She held a box, saying it was a gift for me and she couldn’t get vip tickets to meet backstage. So I opened it, and i literally broke down crying, happy tears of course. What was in the box, was a handmade painting of Drew and I. In a frame, it was our photo I said was my favourite of us. On the set of outer banks, still dressed in our characters clothes. On our characters dirt bikes, our heads against each others. She said it took her eighteen hours. It’s not a crazy moment, but definitely sentimental…”

You watched younger you, ‘dude, everyone kept throwing T-shirts with Drew’s face on stage!” You laughed. Still having them shirts. You never got rid of them. Never crossed you mind to get rid of them.

‘Do you have a boyfriend?’ You smiled and shook your head “no I don’t…” your grin grew bigger as you lifted your left hand up “I got a fiancé!!” Drew’s smile only grew bigger. God you were so cute in his mind. Always have, always will.

You look at last year’s clip “yes I do, Drew, my childhood bestie, and lover, love his soul… miss my baby, haven’t saw him in a few hours… gonna see him later though excited.” You laughed at your younger you.

‘Describe your style in three words’ you smiled and tilted your head “open to opportunity.”

Your 2023 self said “live laugh Drew” you bursted out laughing and replied “I said that?!” You laughed.

‘Favourite movie?’ You smiled “ooo probably Beetlejuice… the original, although the new one is really good.. you know I love a good Tim Burton movie…”

You answered “Batman The Dark Knight, Cillian and Heath are soooo good in that movie, so was Christian Bale… but Cillian and Heath…” you playfully roll your eyes at younger you. You remarked “god I was practically drooling over that movie” you laugh.

‘What are you working on currently?’ You smiled “well, as you recently found out, I’m working on an album… which is half done… and I’m starring in the newest Outer Banks season, once again…”

2023 you spoke “a movie and Outer Banks… oh! And a single…”

‘One thing you’d like to do with your career this year?’ You smiled “as usual, to star in a Tim Burton movie…” you wink at the camera.

Younger you answered “obviously star in a Tim Burton movie, pretty sure I said that since like the third year, right??” You chuckle.

You look to the camera, “thanks for checking in on me, Vanity Fair… once again a great yearly catch up! I love you guys!” You waved Drew to come back over. Which he did. He leaned down to get into frame. You both smile, you spoke “we love you all! See you soon!”

•✧•✧•

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nobodyfamousposts · 1 year ago

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Scarlet Lady Essay: Frightningale

Yet another essay for @zoe-oneesama. Because you deserve it.

I’m not going to bother with a compare/contrast of canon vs Scarlet Lady Frightningale because Frightningale in canon was a pretty forgettable episode. Akuma was lame. Setup was wasted. And it’s removal from the series would lose nothing of value.

So instead, I'm going to focus primarily on the Scarlet Lady version of Frightningale and what it does that makes it memorable.

I guess to start with, I should make it clear that I’m not a fan of shows being lazy, especially when they display a lack of planning or consideration of their story and characters. And perhaps one of the greater indicators of this issue is when a series suddenly realizes they they neglected multiple plot points until it’s too late to give them all the focus they warrant so they end up shoving all of those points into one episode and try to present it like it’s supposed to be an adequate resolution of all that buildup or in any way intentional.

Penalteam was that episode for Miraculous. They had the “temporary heroes” setup going for them but then wasted so much time on filler like Frightningale that it seems like they honestly forgot about it until they were reaching a designated end point and they realized they still had four more heroes they were supposed to introduce. Whoops? Ah well, just introduce them all at once. Not like anyone will care!

And when you treat most of the cast like they’re all as shallow as a puddle, I guess that’s true.

The thing is, when you have a setup where there is a running theme of every person in a specific group getting their own episode/chapter to detail their issues and how they get a power up, it’s going to stand out whenever one of them doesn’t. Especially when that one or more are forced to share their limelight episode.

That’s not to say you can’t do it, but it’s bound to get attention if you do. It reflects poorly on the writing. It shows whom the “favored” and “unfavored” characters are. And it displays the issue with pacing—namely that it’s next to nonexistent until it hits you with the force of a freight train.

But can it be done and be done well? Is it possible to pull off such a thing and have it make sense and fit in lines with the characters?

Well, yes. Off the top of my head, I can think of two different ways to do it to make it work.

And Zoe did both of them.

If you look at Scarlet Lady as a whole, you’ll see a conglomeration of characters—each with stories and arcs attached. They have personalities. They have goals and problems and their own highs and lows. One sign of good writing is that some focus is given to highlight these other characters as people. Individuals in their own right with lives outside of the main characters or situation.

Miraculous doesn't really do this.

Scarlet Lady, however, does. Because contrary to the title, Scarlet Lady isn’t just about Chloe.

It isn’t even just about the heroes.

It isn’t just about Chloe being horrible. Or Marinette being in love. Or Adrien being in desperate need of a hug and a nap. Because while the story is centered around them, it isn’t solely about them. Other characters get focus and growth and their own arcs throughout the comics.

But the big two—the BIGGEST two with arguably the most depth and most growth and quite frankly the best storylines out of everyone in the entire series?

It’s Sabrina and Lila. And their individual stories have led up to this.

As such, this episode—which was mostly filler and all around forgettable in canon, matters here.

It’s where Sabrina and Lila reach the culmination of their respective character arcs.

Yes, it’s when they both get to become Miraculous Heroes and meet their own kwamis, but it’s more than just that! They both hang out with the girls group as full members of the crew, getting to take part in a music video together. It’s also where they both get to stand up for themselves and the city at large while calling out Chloe and Scarlet Lady. This is what their storylines have been building up to and where their growth really shows.

Sabrina started out as Chloe’s minion same as canon—albeit with more attention to her feelings and her responses, no matter how seemingly small, allowing her to feel more like her own person. And through this focus, we got to see her open up more, pull and eventually break away from Chloe and her influence, and over time stand up for herself and try to establish herself both with the class and as an individual.

Lila started off as a liar and manipulator, selfish and self centered, much like canon. Unlike canon, her lies are tied to her issues, noted to be poorly thought through, and give her more introspection as a person. After the lies are revealed, she’s not “redeemed” so much as she is “accountable”, and it doesn’t change who she is. She remains selfish and certainly far from being considered “good”, but she’s letting people in past her walls and masks in a way she hadn’t been able to before.

Both of these things? Figuring out who you are and letting people know you for who you are? They’re incredibly hard. And a lot of time was devoted to both of their journeys along the course of the comic.

Sabrina’s arc was about her figuring out who she is on her own. Outside of Chloe and her previous role of being a follower and lackey. And sometimes it feels less scary to stay with someone toxic than to be alone and facing the unknown. We see it in the way she tries to put herself out there afterwards, reaching out and risking rejection and just figuring herself out. Even or perhaps especially with those she already knows and has a less than positive history with.

And we still see the struggle of her view of herself in this episode. It was in the way she was upset that she legitimately tried to help and it still resulted in bad things happening. And it was also clear when she calls herself a “sidekick” to Marigold after the day was saved, as if it’s a role she still sees herself as and one she struggles not to fall in to. Over time, we’re seeing Sabrina learning that she doesn’t have to be attached or subservient to someone else to have an identity or be accepted.

Lila’s arc involved her figuring out who she is with people. Outside of the lies and manipulations she creates, the masks she wears, and the identities she crafts to make people like her. The “real Lila” is far from the best person and arguably not even a good person, but she also doesn’t have to be for the others to accept her as the still somewhat bad influence she is. She’s still very much selfish and flawed, but she’s less inclined to hide it or treat it like something that needs to be hidden. And isn’t that a common lesson? That it’s better to be liked for who you are than to force yourself to be someone else to be liked?

And at the same time, even with being less than a fully good person, she’s showing that she can still find better ways of acting that allow her to help others rather than hurt them or serve herself. She still hates Scar, but rather than working with Hawk Moth to kill her and risk dooming Paris and the world, she’s instead working with Alya through more legitimate (and legal) means…and hitting Scar where it hurts most. She and Adrien may not be friends, but rather than try to punish him for not going along with her, she’s instead rescued him, putting herself on the line—something that the former Lila wouldn’t have considered doing and one that canon Lila wouldn’t be capable of. Even if she’s motivated by pettiness or self-interest, what would have been straight up revenge on someone who upset her has grown to be something that is working in everyone’s better interests.

Both Lila and Sabrina hid themselves in different ways and for different reasons. So having them both assert themselves and call out both Chloe and Scarlet Lady is a show of their growth and overall a huge deal. It’s not something either of them would have done at the start of the series. Sabrina, because she was a “yes man” who wouldn’t dare to argue with Chloe and Lila because she wouldn’t risk openly doing something to make herself a target.

And now boom! Look at them both! Lila stepped up to openly and publicly denounce Scarlet Lady as not being a hero for real reasons that aren’t just about herself or her feelings—complete with receipts! The girl did her research, noting incidents from before she even came into the picture. Then follow up with Sabrina standing up against Chloe’s machinations and dismantling Chloe’s main source of power: her father. Even better, she’s using logic and knowledge she would have as a former ally of Chloe’s who would know her tricks, taking her former friendship with Chloe and using it against her.

And on top of that, each of them are given the Miraculous by the person they wronged in the past. Marinette to Sabrina and Adrien to Lila. Especially in Lila’s case, it says a lot that they’re trusted. That shows narratively that even with their mistakes and bad choices and continued struggles, they still can move forward—not necessarily to find redemption, but to find themselves and be their best selves.

This is why it makes sense for them to share this episode. It’s also why both of them speaking up matters. They are both publicly confronting their greatest foe, and the fact that their foes are really two faces of the same person further highlights this.

So they both have issues with the same person, are dealing with forming their identities without catering to others, are working out how to have/be friends, were formerly not the best of people, and have a fear of rejection. As such, this isn’t just their obligatory hero episode, this is what their individual stories have been leading up to. Almost like they’re two sides of the same coin. And the comparison between the two helps them both shine.

And speaking of shining, does anyone remember how the all girls team up didn’t get a chance to shine in canon? Zoe sure did.

I have a whole list of problems I have regarding Party Crasher, but perhaps number seven on that list is that the boys got to have an all male temp hero team up episode while the girls didn’t.

In fact, by this episode in canon, only Alya, Chloe, and Kagami actually got to be temp heroes.

To be fair, only four of the guys out of seven in canon got to be part of their particular event in Party Crasher, leaving out Ivan (who often tends to get overlooked) and Nathaniel (who has had a precedent of just literally disappearing from the episode). But originally, part of the appeal of Party Crasher was that the focus was supposed to be on the male classmates and getting to see at least some of them being part of a team against the akuma.

Why then didn’t we get an episode like this with the girls? Or at least something LIKE this?

Frightningale became that episode. And if any of the episodes were to do it, it makes the most sense for Frightningale to be the one.

All of the girls were together to take part in this event. So Zag would have had the perfect excuse to include them all in the fight or just have the girls do something to help even as civilians. I mean, we’ve had episodes do this before. Max in Robustus. Nathaniel and Alix in Reverser. Luka in Captain Hardrock. Let the civilians show their heroic traits even before they become heroes. It’s not a Miraculous, but it’s still giving them focus and expanding on them as individuals.

Instead, canon Frightningale was a filler episode. And not even a good one. For an akuma who forces people to sing or dance, it’s a waste that they just had the heroes spend the whole time rhyming. A waste of writing and talent. I mean, have you heard Christina Vee sing? If there needed to be a musical episode, I would think that the akuma who forces people to sing would certainly warrant it! At least more than it’s Christmas and they sing just cuz.

So this is yet another thing that Zoe improves with the Scarlet Lady version of this episode. Giving us the all girl team up episode so many of us have long wanted and getting to see all the female heroes together at last.

And with this, we get the full roster of friends-turned heroes.

Except for Alix. Poor, poor Alix. ;_;

Your day will come.

In this way, the end where Clara goes a different direction with her music video feels less like a half-assed fix to a half-forgotten plot point and more like something that was built by everyone involved. I don’t know about the rest of you, but given Clara’s excitement over the all girl band playing and Pigella’s gift showing Clara an idea for her video, it highlights the focus on EVERYONE being part of this—both the video and the episode itself. It kind of comes off as a lesson of its own about teamwork and giving everyone a shot rather than focusing specifically only on one or two specific individuals.

And isn’t that what separates the heroes from Scarlet Lady?

But there’s a third important aspect of this episode.

This is the episode where Chloe is smacked in the face with Scarlet Lady’s falling popularity.

Let’s remember that at the start of the comic, Scarlet Lady was fully and widely considered THE Hero of Paris. She was beloved for doing nothing and it was a point of frustration for Chat, who actually was having to pick up her slack. Initially, there was nothing he could do because him being the only real hero among the duo meant he often couldn't stick around after akuma fights to prevent Scar from telling "our story". In addition, he didn’t know who she was or who chose her and why. Then even when it was clear her getting the Earrings was a mistake, for a lot of the first couple seasons, she was so popular that they couldn’t just take the Earrings away from her lest they risk backlash from the rest of the city. It’s a backlash that seems increasingly unlikely as more and more people get to see her behavior and callousness firsthand.

We’ve seen hints of it in other episodes, but none of them were so blatant to Chloe that she couldn’t ignore it or shrug it off or otherwise make excuses to protect her ego.

Prime Queen wanted to focus on Marigold and Chat Noir for their “romance” to try and boost ratings. Alya and Lila made some snarky comments, but Chloe could easily dismiss them both. Nadja also made a comment that nobody cared about Scarlet’s love life, but a lack of interest in her love life isn’t a lack of interest in herself and Chloe despises both of her “sidekicks” and wouldn’t want anyone trying to pair her with them anyway. And Nadja reassures her that they’ll focus on her after they’re done with Chat and Marigold. So yes, she can dismiss that as well.

Reverser has Chloe faced with both of her identities are made as villains in art and a story. However, she clearly looks down on Nathaniel and Marc barely registers to her. So she can dismiss them.

Look at Despair Bear, the Intermission, the interactions with the various other heroes, and the fact that only Chat Noir and Marigold are privy to the Guardian’s secret existence and allowed to pass out other Miraculous. Much has been shown of the other characters being less than impressed with her, snarky towards her, or showing the process of how they discover the truth about her and how she actually handles akuma attacks…namely in that she doesn’t. And Chloe can dismiss all of that because to her, none of them really matter to her.

But Chloe can’t dismiss the fact that a renown celebrity dedicating a music video to the “Heroes of Paris” isn’t including her. Bad enough her sidekicks are taking center stage but she’s not even in the music video at all?

And when someone she despises calls out the reasons why she’s not a hero in an openly public setting surrounded by a multitude of people who all agree with her? You could say it’s insult to injury. But some would say it was a long time coming.

Some Rando: Scarlet Lady sucks! Alya: Marigold and Chat Noir do all the work, not her! Kagami: She’s barely even necessary at this point. Clara: This video and song are to celebrate hope and love. And Scarlet Lady lacks both when push comes to shove. Chloe: ARGHHH! WHATEVER!

It further shows the turning tide of public opinion against Scar. What was once a trickle has grown into a wave, and now Chloe is forced to acknowledge her image and status aren’t as ironclad as she thought. Sure, she could denounce Lila as a liar like she’s done before, but Lila is bringing up instances that Chloe can’t deny: being late (as she’s just plain been a no show to several fights), endangering civilians, and being caught live on camera being willing to let someone die in a particularly horrible way because it’s easier.

This is the episode where it’s not just people seeing Scar is horrible, but acting on it and letting Chloe know they know she’s horrible. It’s reached the point where Chloe can’t just disregard the claims or discount and ignore her critics. And we’re seeing Chloe starting to lose control as a result. To the point she has to force her dad to ruin a previously sanctioned event in what has to be one of his most flagrant displays of abuse of power to date just to shut down her detractors.

And even that would come with more consequences for Chloe if it had been allowed to continue. Sabrina herself points it out that Clara is very popular with a lot of fans—people who would be aware she’s making a music video and whom would be very disappointed if word got out that it was cancelled due to an issue with the Mayor. And given all the very unhappy people we see in the comic in question where she points that out, it stands to reason that the word would get out. Heck, I’d be surprised if someone wasn’t recording it.

Then there’s the love square/hero shenanigans.

Remember how in canon, the whole “playing themselves/risking identities” bit kinda just dropped out halfway in? The kwamis were the only authority figures involved to call out on the risk and of the two, Plagg didn’t care and Tikki gave one knowing stare at Marinette before turning around to gush about the suit. Even though Marinette offers the alternative idea to the music video by the end, there’s no further comment or notice of how she and Adrien nearly blew their identities….or alternatively a comedic take where nobody recognizes them regardless and they worried for nothing. Honestly, I would have taken either setup.

Having Fu present to call them both out shows there is a responsible authority figure watching, makes it clear there are rules they are expected to follow, and reinforces that this was, in fact, a horrible idea. Sure, Marinette and Adrien worried enough to hide their masks, but it should have been obvious that wouldn’t work long term. They are risking their identities, not just to Paris but to each other. And he calls them out for doing it on purpose.

Then there’s the beautiful crescendo of the love square dance in that the two both pretty much have figured out the other’s identity and just want an identity reveal to make it official—which Fu won’t allow. We see it in their playful banter that gets mistaken for “getting into character” and in Adrien in particular pushing Marinette to take part.

This is a point where we are seeing them be teenagers. Foolish of them? Yes. Should they have known better and not done it? Yes. But is it in character and the sort of teenage shenanigans we would expect of teenage superheroes? Definitely. And that’s part of the point. Because they are teenagers. Teenagers in love, no less. Teenagers in love with secret identities to dance around. Which is half the fun of secret identities!

It’s just another aspect to this episode that makes it enjoyable.

So overall, the episode matters in ways that the canon version didn’t and was fun in ways that the canon version wasn’t, making it stand out not just as an episode or a remake of the canon episode, but as its own standalone episode AND a noteworthy point in the overall story.

#scarlet lady au #scarlet lady essay #scarlet lady is better than canon #for zoe

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goingbuggy · 1 year ago

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Miscellaneous Notes About OPLA Buggy Because I Adored Episode 2:

The "knows-nose" homophone joke?? So good (not really important i just loved it ok)

I love how OPLA played into Buggy's crew being more circus than crew; the manga has them just.... hanging out on a rooftop LOL. The new theming added so much immersion!!!

Jeff Ward has the standout performance of this season imo. It feels different than Buggy from the source material, but in very good ways; Buggy usually gets upstaged in a very goofy manner, but here, it's clear that Buggy's failure stems from insecurity leading to incorrect assumptions.

Buggy never believed Zoro and Nami would come back to help Luffy because of his own trust/abandonment issues. (His logic reads borderline delusional: "Shanks abandoned me, and he was my friend.. so why would they come back for you?")

Buggy offering Luffy a place on his crew?? YES. Yet again, Jeff Ward really sells this version of the character -- he is so incredibly frustrated by rejection. Why would a "freak" like him choose to be hurt by others who let them down? (As viewers, we know Nami and Zoro are fighting to get back, but Buggy truly believes they'll leave Luffy behind.)

"You can't make people love you." AAHHHHH!!! Luffy's emotional intelligence strikes again!!!!!!!! It hits the nail on the head. Buggy so desperately craves acceptance/love that it makes him illogical and causes him to have a short fuse.

AND LOOK. OH MY GOD HIS SUBTLE REACTION...... my heart breaks for him

tldr; Buggy's big mistake in Orange Town is his overwhelming greed, which causes him to underestimate and undervalue others. In OPLA, it is his paranoia and insecurity getting in the way of logic. Both are major aspects of his character, but I love that the live action went a different route, while still staying true to his nature!

#i am still going to do a full breakdown #but seriously. this is sooooo good #like i never expected THIS #chapter 1082: the gift that keeps on giving #one piece #buggy the clown #opla spoilers #one piece live action #opla #op buggy #buggy #buggy one piece

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hotwaterandmilk · 3 months ago

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Grabbed the latest issue of Sho-Comi because Mahou Shoujo Dandelion has been making waves on Twitter in advance of its release and I had to see how it actually turned out.

Mizuho Kaeru seemed a tad overwhelmed on socials about just how much anticipation the series was receiving based on concept and characters alone, but Mizuho should honestly be proud of how well they've lined up trending tropes in Dandelion.

You've got the nasty-cute monster dude (Shade) who would do anything for his bright ray of sunshine (Tanpopo). Throw in the nostalgic magical girl element and it's not hard to see why both Japanese and English-speaking fans have been anticipating this first chapter. So, does it live up to the hype?

I'd veture that yes, Dandelion is worthy of the excitement that has been building around it. It was good as a lunchtime read on my phone and while I'll probably have to re-read it to get everything I want from it, my initial impression is a positive one.

I'm not a fan of grumpy/sunshine type stuff but Tanpopo's strengths as a character really helped me enjoy what was on offer here. You can see why the Special Magic Warrior Management Organisation was interested in her, she's got a good heart and she's got gumption, even if Shade is the one who continually helps break her fall.

The complication here is of course that Shade, while obliging of Tanpopo in his own way, is also monstrous. He plays into this when he wants to, menacing Tanpopo herself at one point because he's A VILLAIN OK?? (Sure buddy.) With Tanpopo becoming Dandelion, how will their dynamic change? Can this uneasy relationship develop further when our leads are technically on opposite sides of a battle with life-altering stakes, despite a potential unspoken desire to present a united front?

What I like about Mizuho's approach in this first chapter is that the world these characters live in is already tinted with grey and what should be a black & white / good vs. evil situation is far more complex than this right out of the gate. The "monster of the week" that shows up here is grotesque and violent, hardly the sanitised version you'd see in childhood cartoons. However, the magic warrior org is quite willing to lop heads (literally) when they have to, showing that they are not all sparkles and rainbows either. Tanpopo and Shade are very much walking into unknown territory here and I'm interested to see how Mizuho handles things in chapter two.

I just have to add that I absolutely loved this moment where Dandelion, newly transformed, performs her first magical action -- restoring the umbrella she'd used defensively as Tanpopo. So much about her character expressed in this simple yet powerful action. LOVED ITTTTTT.

If the hype remains then I can see this one turning out to be a solid little series. There's definite potential here in both the characters and scenario. I highly recommend grabbing the magazine issue and supporting any other official releases that become available if you can. Mizuho is also happy for people to produce fan art, so maybe draw pic or share a tweet/post/etc. about it if you don't have the money to invest and help keep that hype train moving this way instead!

#mahou shoujo dandelion #magical girl dandelion #魔法少女ダンデライオン #mahou shoujo dandelion spoilers #magical girl dandelion spoilers #spoilers #manga spoilers #mizuho kaeru #kaeru mizuho #magical girl #magical girl manga #sho-comi #ramblings #random manga i recommend #sorry can't word good #writing for a huge work project today and my brain is fried #but yes check this series out!

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paperclipninja · 1 year ago

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Middle of the night GO thoughts after reflecting on a couple of comments that the 'you're being silly' scene is actually not just the adorable soft exchange I have been caught up in. I mean it is, but it also isn't.

And it got me thinking that the whole of season 2 is like this, almost the entire time we have two truths in play. The whole season is one of duality.

A few examples (there are many more woven throughout but just to illustrate the point):

Right off the bat, the opening scene, it's both ominous and hopeful. Aziraphale is restrained while angel Crowley full of abandon; one angel is aware of the danger of questioning, the other is naïve. Both are experiencing the same moment in rather different ways. It sets the tone of the season immediately and puts in motion this layered truth within the story.

The minisode with wee Morag and Elspeth, the entire graverobbing premise presents us with the dual truth that digging up the dead is bad but the selling of the bodies to the surgeon, thus contributing to saving lives, is good.

Aziraphale grapples with the duality here, justifying the actions of Elspeth by convincing himself that one truth is greater than the other. We also see that Crowley is far more able to recognise the complexity of multiple truths being valid depending on circumstance. This whole minisode feels like Neil showing his hand a little bit, the duality is so explicitly addressed, meanwhile we, the audience, are engaged in a larger unfolding story in which we are observing similar layered truths playing out in different ways.

Now the scene that made this whole thought process unravel, still one of my favourite scenes and will remain so, is the "smitten, I believe...you're being silly" exchange. It is both tender and awful.

Here we have Crowley, expressing his very real fear of JimGabriel, opening up to Aziraphale that he doesn't feel safe in the bookshop because of the constant fear he will wake up, and Aziraphale just looks at him with heart eyes and tells him he's being silly. This flags so loudly that we're watching two characters who are experiencing very different versions of their current reality, due to past experience, yes, but also, Aziraphale and Crowley each have their own idea about the right way to react to the current situation.

It's been pointed out by many before me, but the ball is another example of incredible juxtaposition and an extraordinary display of two truths existing at once. It is both incredibly romantic and an actual nightmare.

It is reflected, once again, in the way Aziraphale and Crowley are experiencing it, we know one character is caught up in the romance, the other in the horror show, but as a viewer, we are being tasked with holding both truths in our mind simultaneously. And both are true.

Aziraphale the entire season is both giddy in love and completely dismissive of Crowley. It is adorable and infuriating at the same time.

And yes, it is a reflection of the very duality the entire premise of Good Omens presents us with - that something can be good and bad at the same time, pure and corrupt, that the entire binary of Heaven and Hell/good and evil is flawed because those concepts can and do co-exist.

But the way it is seen in the interactions on a personal level this season is what has leapt out at me. It's why I think we see people falling into different interpretations of a lot of the scenes and moments, because they are more than that, they are observations. We are often observing two sides of the same coin, and both are true. The sheer genius of it and the way it is a mirror to the characters and the entire concept of the show we are observing is, quite frankly, mind boggling.

And it all comes to a head in the final fifteen™. There is so much duality in play here that it is no wonder there are hundreds of posts untangling bits of it and trying to extract the meaning from within the many layers. It's because we are given two truths in this final scene that are both heartbreaking.

Crowley loves Aziraphale and wants them to be together, free at last. Aziraphale loves Crowley and wants them to be together, free at last.

BUT

Aziraphale wants to use the system to keep them both safe. Crowley wants to escape the system to keep them both safe.

And then all the moments of duality between them throughout the season reach a critical juncture: Aziraphale in love but dismissive, Crowley understanding that Heaven = good is too simplistic and trying to compel Aziraphale to remember the lesson from Edinburgh ("when Heaven ends life here on Earth, it'll be just as dead as if Hell ended it"), Crowley trying to use the notion of romance to counter the nightmare with a desperate kiss.

It's a complete inversion of those two truths in the opening scene of the season, the entire scene is at the same time ominous and hopeful, but it is Aziraphale who largely being naïve and Crowley who is aware of the danger.

I mean, it was all spelled out for us really, this duality and the fact that those multiple truths in play were always going to come to a head. It was all there, wrapped up in this quote:

"What does your exactly mean, exactly? I feel like your exactly and my exactly are different exactlies".

#good omens #good omens meta #aziraphale #crowley #aziracrow #honestly don't know if this even makes sense #middle of the night thoughts and all that #good omens thoughts

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ponderingmoonlight · 6 months ago

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Hello Carina! I absolutely ADORE your works I'm hooked Was wondering if you could do Geto/Nanami/Gojo/Sukuna x fem reader who grew up in a toxic household that encouraged bad eating habits like eating extremely small amounts and tried to always make her a good and docile wife. But she left them and is now pretty successful but her eating habits are still pretty bad Please stay hydrated this summer!

A lot of you guys request stuff like bad heating habits from me and I'm actually a little scared that I receive a shit storm for writing these sensitive topics, but there you go! I decided on Geto since he is the sweetest boy ever but if this goes well and some of you guys show interest, I might write something similar for the other characters as well - enjoy <3

Geto encouraging his girlfriend to eat more after growing up in a toxic household

Pairing: Geto x fem!reader

Word Count: 1,6k

Synopsis: After your toxic parents tried to force you into their picture of a thin and docile wife, you left them as soon as possible and became the best version of yourself - if it wasn't for your bad eating habits still haunting you down when you're out with your boyfriend. Until he decides to have a talk with you...

Warnings: Just let me tell you right from the start that there's nothing wrong with being thin and I hope it's obvious that we're talking about an unhealthy connotation in this fic, if you get triggered when it comes to toxic parents and hurtful phrases regarding weight please don't read this. In general, this contains sensitive content and a few pieces of ED and harsh language, but our boy Geto telling us how much he loves us the way we are

„You know you are totally able to eat more than that, right? We’ve been out without any food for hours now, you need to care for yourself, love.”

Suguru’s hand gently caresses your back while you stare at the salad you just ordered.

“You’re gonna look like a pig soon if you don’t stop eating like one, (y/n). Didn’t I teach you a lady needs to watch her diet?”

“No man wants a fat woman, trust me.”

“Thank you so much for looking out for me. I’m good”, you mutter after shaking their cruel words off your mind.

You can’t bring yourself to catch a glimpse at his comforting brown eyes, not when your guilty conscience almost eats you up alive. The stinging words of your mother and father haunt you until this day. Even though you left years ago and started your very own life away from their toxic household, even though your precious boyfriend Geto Suguru is the living proof for them being wrong.

Just one look at the salad in front of you paired with your memory is enough to feel like in your childhood all over again.

“Hey, look at me honey.”

Gently, his hand caresses your cheek and lifts your head into his direction. There they are, his oh so loving orbs, his tender smile that warms your stinging heart in an instant.

“We’ve been together for a year now and you still seem to be upset when you have to eat around me. I can’t help but wonder why you torture yourself. Is it because of me, did I give you the feeling you aren’t good the way you are? Because I love you with all my heart.”

You never allowed yourself to cry in front of someone else. To be exact, you stopped when you were greeted by nothing but harsh words from your parents with every tear that ran down your cheek. You are supposed to be a good and hostile woman, the perfect little wife for some wealthy man your parents already decided on when you were still 10. A woman that doesn’t speak as much as you do, a woman who doesn’t eat as much as you do. A feminine angel walking on earth with the only purpose to say yes and amen to her beloved husband.

When you were finally old enough to leave them behind, you packed your things and joined jujutsu high. Life is easier around here with so many beloved friends by your side who support and truly love you. Yes, they showed you how good you are, that you are independent and are allowed to have your own opinion, that it’s okay to say no. Yes, you even started to eat a little more and gained a healthy amount of weight and well-formed muscles.

They were wrong. Your parents were so wrong with everything they taught you. But this…

You bite your lip when a sub escapes from deep down your throat, hot tears now stinging in your eyes so violently that you can’t catch your breath. Eating has always been your weakness, the one and only thing you can’t fully control until this day. Their words still crush you every time you order something to eat.

What if Suguru doesn’t find you attractive when you gain even more weight?

What if he thinks it’s disgusting to see you eat like a pig?

What if he’ll fall out of love when you show him that you aren’t as perfect as a doll?

“I’m so sorry. The last thing I want is to see you cry”, he instantly speaks out, wrapping his much-needed arms around you so tightly that you sink into his broad chest.

“It’s just…I’m afraid to eat more…”, you finally blurt out.

A part of your heart flutters in relief when those words finally leave your mouth. For more than a year, you simply forced yourself through the aching of your stomach, the hunger that kept you awake when Suguru laid next to you fast asleep. All because of their cruel words. All because they made you believe your whole life you aren’t good enough if you eat “too much”.

“You don’t feel comfortable eating around me, don’t you?”

You simply nod against his chest, too ashamed to lift your head. How embarrassing to hear those words leaving his lips, that he already knows why you’re acting this way.

“May I ask why? Did I say or do something that makes you feel this way, love?”

Your head starts spinning. The sheer thought that he might think your strange behaviour is his fault, that he did something wrong is ridiculous in your eyes.

“Absolutely not. It’s…It’s…”

Why is it so damn hard to find the right words? You stutter like an idiot for what feels like ages while listening to Suguru’s steady heartbeat. He knows how rough your childhood was, that your parents treated you like the dirt underneath their feet. You were never good enough, never pretty enough, never smart enough. Until you became a well-known and rich jujutsu sorcerer with a charismatic man like Geto Suguru by your side.

“See? I told you you will find a wealthy man if you keep up with our education, daughter.”

“All because we taught you everything you know and kept you in shape!”

“No”, you replied immediately, straightening your shoulders while facing the people who made your life living hell for more than enough years.

“I did all of this by myself. Because I chose to be the person I am instead of the person you wanted me to be.”

“They always told me I’m too much, that eating in front of my man is strictly forbidden. I was supposed to be a thin and docile wife.”

Your voice is nothing but a far away whisper. All those nights your father scolded you when you weighted more than you did before. How your mother screamed at you when your curves start to develop through puberty, how disgusted they looked at you when you wore shorts or ate next to them. Deep within, you know how toxic your eating habits are despite the positive changes you’ve been through. But still…Just the thought of eating a cheeseburger in front of Suguru fills you with so much disgust that your guts turn immediately.

“You aren’t docile but strong and stubborn. You aren’t only thin but strong and athletic. Your body is capable of so much more than simply being thin, (y/n). You are perfect in every single way, your body allows you to fight so well that even Satoru admires your skills. You are so breathtakingly beautiful that I could stare at you all day…I am glad you didn’t follow their rules, that you didn’t turn into the good and docile wife they wanted you to be. Because you became so much more. Because you can do so much more. But for that, you need to fuel your body the way it deserves it even when I’m around. I love to see you eat, I love to see you happy and healthy. And I know how hard it can be to overcome things you were taught from a young age. Would you promise me something?”

Now you can’t help but lift up your head, staring at him through your wet lashes. His words, his oh so sweet words still linger through your mind and force your cheeks to turn bright pink. Is this really how Suguru feels about you, are you really enough for him just the way you are?

Why wouldn’t you? After all, he was the one choosing you.

“What?”, you mumble.

“Promise me that we will work this out. If you can’t bring yourself to open up to me, please consider checking up with Shoko or another professional. I admire you for all the things you’ve already did, that you were actually able to turn into a wonderful woman with that horrible family. I’d love to hang out with you while eating chips, I’d love to eat a whole lot of unhealthy junk food and sweets with you without you worrying about my thought. Because the only thing I care about is that you’re happy. And you being healthy and eating properly means happiness.”

That smile. That oh so bright smile that reaches his brown eyes and lifts up your mood immediately. Oh, you truly don’t deserve him. A new wave of fresh tears threatens to spill over your eyes and begins to take your sight.

But those aren’t tears of sorrow. No, those are tears of pure joy and love.

You throw yourself around his neck before he’s able to catch you properly, causing both of you to almost fall off his chair.

“I will”, you mutter against his ear.

“I promise I will work on it.”

“I’m more than glad to hear that”, he replies softly while caressing your hair.

“Would you like to order something else in addition to your salad, then?”

You let go of Suguru with a small smile, holding his hands tightly as your heart overflows with love. The man who showed you what you’re capable of, who supports you through anything. Sooner or later, you will be able to share food dates with him and enjoy them. But until then…

“I’m fine for today. But next time, I might order something else.”

“Fine. Just let me know when you’re ready, (y/n).”

Tags This takes me ages, so please if you decided to be part of the tag list show some love lol):

@arehzhera @ploylulla @tzubaki @beatrexworld @kenstarsworld

@hellkaiserinphoenix @lauv4chuuya @sindela @kayleegomez @sunshine7queen

@magalimachete @gatitam @idontknow1123 @creative1writings @sanicsmut

@mynahx3 @sad-darksoul @chilichopsticks @hellkaiserinphoenix @chuyasthighs0

@ynackerman9499 @keepghostly @froufrousnowman @tomiokathedepresso @gojosrealwife

@coffeeluvr96 @mahi-tamashi @weebotaku21 @chaoticwinnercupcake @lees-chaotic-brain

@risuola @sugurulefttesticle @wordskeeper @baku2345 @polarbvnny

@ruixrei @bam-bam-bam-bame-blog @lavenderdrxp @localhehecat @alicerhr

@kayleegomez @belovedvamp @wifenanami @chilichopsticks @dlwlrmas-world

@oikawarz @darkstarlight82 @satoreo @kentocalls @cheesemachine44

@ryva @kenjakusconcubine @baku2345 @komelrebi-san @deezy12299

@okay-it-is-ivy

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nevadancitizen · 7 months ago

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-> TO LIVE ANOTHER DAY (I KNOW I NEVER WILL)

synopsis: you've always known that you're a throwaway -- another friendly kill. but when you're brought to ghost's world, you discover that there's so much more to life than defending democracy.

word count: 5.1k

characters: player! simon "ghost" riley, self-aware helldiver! reader

trigger warnings: mentions of canon-typical violence, reader is obsessed with and idolizes ghost, nudity (but not in a sexual/suggestive context)

notes: wanted to try my hand at a reverse version of the self-aware cod au. also if you're not aquantinced with helldivers 2, it's okay! it has easy-to-understand lore but i recommend watching this lore video (it's just under twelve minutes and gives a pretty good run-down on what's going on). also inspired by "to liberty and beyond" by jt music, which is inspired by helldivers 2 in turn (✿˵•́ ૩•̀˵)৴♡*

You always knew something was… off.

Numerous ads and training modules state that every Helldiver is valuable to the continued reign of Managed Democracy and Super Earth. And yes, you’ve seen more than enough shock soldiers die for the cause – mostly freshly eighteen-year-olds that didn’t read the fine print that states that the minimum enlistment for a Helldiver is ten years.

But that’s the thing. They died. You watched their bodies be ripped apart by bullets or torn to shreds by terminids.

You never… died. Not really, anyway.

It was always a split second of hot-white, searing pain, then a moment of darkness, then you were strapped into a hellpod, being sent down for another wave. Mentions of gods or other types of divine beings weren’t really heard of or taught about, so you didn’t know who to thank – or to blame – for this phenomenon.

(You tried to mention this to your assigned Democracy Officer, but she just dismissed it with a threat of being sent to a Reeducation Camp.)

So you kept it to yourself. You have a habit of taking your helmet off and bowing your head (In prayer? You’re not so sure) and just breathing, taking in the cool thrum of your heart. You never thought you’d relate to the fascism-fueled automatons, but you only feel the warmth of… your God? your savior? when in the heat of battle.

You always think like this in between being sent down – wandering thoughts while wandering the halls of the ship. There’s not a lot of this type of time, so you make sure to savor it.

You’re in this position right now, looking down at your helmet and thumbing over the imperfections picked up from battle. The void-black visor shows a reflection of you, warped and stretched-out. Above the visor is a skull etched into the titanium – the lines are all jagged edges and uneven depths. You don’t remember doing this, but it’s there anyway. You don’t remember a lot, actually, but you’re, once again, told by your Democracy Officer not to worry about that.

You pick yourself up from that train of thought before you go too far. Instead, you put your helmet back on and start to walk the halls of the ship.

Once you’re past the armory and terminal, you start down the steps to the sleeping quarters. (Because yes, despite being supersoldiers, Helldivers need their rest, too.)

But then, you snipe something out of the corner of your eye. There’s… a door. A door you don’t remember being there. Light seeps through the small gap where the bottom of the door and the floor don’t meet. The sight causes the ashes in your belly that have gone cold to stir once more.

Your boots clunk on the ground as you walk over to it. It creaks open, as if inviting you. Again, you never remember having wooden doors that creak on the ship – they’re all automatic sliding metal doors, and open with faint hisses.

You push it open the rest of the way and die.

It’s that all-consuming pain that feels worse than any other time you’ve died – like your skin is being torn off the same time you’re being tarred and feathered. The black isn’t just a flash this time, but a few seconds you can actually count – twelve seconds. Twelve whole seconds.

Twelve seconds doesn’t sound like a lot, but for you, it was fucking terrifying.

You thought you actually died. It was almost laughable – you’ve survived automatons and terminids and being in cryo, but you couldn’t survive some mystery door? And all that effort without meeting your… you don’t even know what to call it. Guardian angel? Tormentor?

You wake up and, for the first time, aren’t in a hellpod – instead, you’re in a bed. You can move your arms and legs freely, but they feel… numb. Disconnected.

When you start to look around, you notice everything is white and sterile. There’s a distinct sharp scent of disinfectant in the air, contrasting the musky gun oil and sweat that you know well.

(You haven’t ever been in a real hospital – the closest is a small supply closet on-ship that was converted into a first aid station – but you’re pretty sure this is an actual hospital, like the ones back home on Super Earth.)

Your uniform is set on a chair nearby, your black-and-yellow cape draped over the back of it. Your helmet is on the cushion of the seat, facing you. Every piece is… oddly clean. There’s no dark brown dried bloodstains or sickly green bug oil.

With shaky hands (which have never trembled before – at least, not to this degree) you rip out the IV and brace yourself on the railing of the bed before standing. Your legs wobble a bit, but straighten themselves out after a moment.

You take off the paper hospital gown and dress yourself in proper clothing. All the metal parts of your uniform click into place, and your under-armor fits like it always does – perfectly flush to your skin.

Just as you’re about to push open the door, a man opens it. You’re stunned for a second before taking him in. He’s tall with a beard that looks like walrus tusks, and is wearing military fatigues you’ve seen in history modules.

Looking at him causes a dull thrum in your chest, like your heart is picking up again. But it’s not him – he’s not your savior.

“Civilian,” you greet before pushing past him. You wave over your shoulder politely. “Praise be Democracy.”

The man makes a stunned noise before grabbing your shoulder and spinning you to face him. He opens his mouth to talk, but you interrupt him by holding a hand up.

“Please, no touching the armor, civilian,” you say. “This is the property of the Ministry of Defense, as am I. If you wish to enlist, don’t talk to me, but the nearest Democracy Officer available.”

The man pauses for a moment before barking, “What in the bloody fuck are you on about, muppet?”

You huff out a laugh and lean closer to him. He’s tall, but with your armor, you’re taller.

“Okay, civilian.” You smile underneath your helmet and speak in a lower tone. “I understand that you don’t see a lot of us, so if you want a signature, just ask, okay? I can make it out to your kid who wants to be a Helldiver, or whatever. Tell them to put that M2016 Constitution bolt-action rifle to good use.”

The man stares at you as if you’ve just admitted to secretly being an automaton and are planning to undermine Democracy to institute socialism. He slowly brings his hand away from your shoulder and walks past you.

“Come with me,” he says simply.

You follow him after a moment of contemplation. He causes a faint mimic of the warmth, so that’s good, right? And he can’t be dangerous. Maybe a danger to others, but not to you – not with all the armor you’ve got. You keep your hands clasped behind your back to keep from fidgeting as you walk.

“Firstly.” The man holds up a hand, his index finger raised. He doesn’t glance over his shoulder to look at you. “I am not a civilian. I’m a captain – Captain John Price of the SAS.”

“Nonsense,” you scoff. “A captain should always be wearing their armor. A Helldiver is always ready to fight for Democracy.”

You walk a little faster so that you’re not walking behind him, but next to him instead. “And besides, what is the SAS? I’ve never heard of that division, or that ship – whatever it is. I reside on the Dawn of Destruction.”

Price looks at you out of the corner of his eye, his thick brows furrowing. “It’s the Special Air Service. And I’ve never heard of these… Helldivers you’ve been going on about.”

“Good Liberty, that’s nonsense again!” You look over at Price, your eyes trained on him instead of in front of you. “Helldivers are all over the news, the radio sets, the televisions… surely you’re not that shut off? Every colony has some way to communicate with Super Earth.”

“Super Earth?” Price repeats back to you. He then holds up his hand and stops walking. “Nevermind. I don’t want to hear it.”

He gestures to the door he’s stopped in front of. “Go on.”

You glance at Price before opening the door. It’s an interrogation room, like the ones you’ve seen in old-timey movies.

“Oh, I get it.” You look over your shoulder at Price. “This is like one of those war reenactments, right? You’ve recreated a military base from the original Earth�� very impressive!”

Price shoves you into the room (with a surprising amount of strength), leaving you stumbling. You quickly correct yourself and spin around to confront him, but by the time you’re able to do that, he’s closed and locked the door.

“Ah…” you sigh as you look around the room. It’s all concrete grey with a steel table and two steel chairs in the middle. There’s a mirror taking up the majority of one wall, one which you know is double-sided.

You walk up to it and try to talk to the people on the other side – you know there’s got to be someone there. “This is fun! Which training module is this? I thought I completed every one… is it new? Because I’ve never heard of something like this.”

After half a minute, there’s no response. You wander over to one of the chairs at the table and sit in it. You laugh a little as you rest your hands in the handcuffs chained to the steel.

“I am ready for interrogation!” you announce. “I sure hope no filthy fascist comes in and tries to cleanse me of the beauty of freedom! Because I surely won’t give them a cup of Liber-tea, and I of course won’t deliver it with my fist…!”

You tap your fingers on the table for a minute before slumping back in the chair. This is boring. Most training modules are the type where you’re run-and-gun-ing throughout the whole thing, but interrogation is boring.

You’re sat like that for a good half hour before you hear the lock click. Your eyes dart to the door as it opens, revealing a man.

He’s dressed in all black, with a balaclava covering his face. His russet-brown eyes meet yours through your helmet and it’s like you’ve died all over again.

Heat explodes your chest like you’ve just got a shotgun slug blasted through your belly. The ashes have been blown away, and in its place, a raging bonfire! It roars like a dragon, and it reeks of reverence and prayer.

The man closes the door behind him and someone locks it from the outside. He barely makes it two steps before you stand from the chair, the legs shrieking against the floor.

“My God,” you say softly.

“Helldiver,” the man greets.

“No, I…” You make your way around the table and stand as close as you can be without feeling like you’re about to catch fire. “Are you…?”

The man nods. “Ghost.”

“That’s it, that’s what you are!” you exclaim. You take a step forward and feel sweat drip down your back. “You’re the… the Ghost. The…”

The one who kept you from experiencing a permanent death? The one who kept you alive just to torment you? The guardian angel who watches your every move? The devil who prods at your ass with a pitchfork? You’re not sure what to say.

You settle on reaching out to him and saying, “You’re my savior.”

Ghost takes a step back. “Savior? I’m not so sure about that.”

“No, but – you are!” You breathe out a laugh and step forward, mirroring his actions. You bend at the knee and the back to make yourself shorter, as if trying to be smaller than him. “I am… I’m a throwaway. Another friendly kill. But you kept me alive! You brought me back after death, I remember dying so many times – y-you don’t get it, you’re my God!”

You strike, quick as a viper, and take his hand. Even though both your gloves and his act as barriers, it feels like your entire arm is engulfed in flame. Still, you keep holding on.

“You chose me, right? You chose me to fight!” You clutch his hand tighter. “You chose me to spread Democracy, to smite the fascists and… I – I was taught that we are Democracy, not individuals, but you proved me wrong, because you chose me.

“God chose me.”

A silence engulfs the interrogation room. You’re both frozen in time, living, breathing statues. It’s too hot. Every bone in your hand, wrist, and arm are turning to charcoal. It’s burning. It’s euphoric.

Ghost starts to pull his hand away, but you bring your free hand to hold it in place, holding yours. “No, please.”

Ghost forcefully yanks his hand away. He drags you forward with the force, and you fall to your knees. The metal kneepads on your legs clang loudly against the concrete floor.

You can do nothing but look up at Ghost from where you’re kneeling. There’s nothing sexual about it – it’s more like a believer kneeling at the feet of a statue of Christ. Ghost is your God, after all.

There’s another minute of silence before you bow your head and reach up with shaky hands to remove your helmet. It clanks loudly against the floor as you drop it.

You can feel Ghost staring at you. The fire burns hotter – the bonfire caught wind and is reaching up into the trees. The branches above are catching, aching to burn.

Tears rim your eyes as you bring your head up to look at him. His stare hardens.

It’s a sight you’ve seen in the mirror many times before. Your face is a mess of unloaded textures, a checkerboard of black and bright purple, with the exception of your eyes and the surrounding skin. But seeing yourself through Ghost’s eyes…

It’s Rapture. It’s only you and him. A God and his only believer.

“Ghost, please.” A tear slips down your cheek. You don’t think you’ve ever cried before. It’s cool against your too-hot, burning skin. “Let me stay. I want to stay in Heaven, stay with you.”

“This isn’t Heaven,” Ghost says coldly. “And I’m not God.”

“But you are!” you snap. “This is peace and this is comfort and this is you. Don’t send me back to Malevelon Creek, don’t send me back to those godforsaken ion storms and automatons.”

Your voice grows quieter as tears run down your face and drip off your chin. “Don’t send me back to Hell.”

Ghost sighs and casts his gaze to the side. He’s thinking, and it’s plain on the parts of his face you can see.

You bow your head and wipe your tears away to give him some semblance of privacy.

“Fine,” he finally decides. “But stop calling me God. You’re starting to seriously piss me off.”

Your head snaps up and you fight back a fresh wave of tears as you nod. “Yes! I’ll – I’ll call you Ghost. No more God-talk, I promise.”

You huff out a wet laugh as you pick up your helmet and fasten it back on your head. “I mean, I’ll try. I promise I’ll try.”

And so it’s like that for a month. Ghost explains the concept of video games (and how you’re from one – but you figured out that much already), introduces you to his team (and forces you to apologize to Price for calling him a civvy), and gives you his blessing to be his guard (even though he doesn’t need one).

He allows you to tail him around when he’s in a good mood. When he’s not up for it, you sit outside his door like the good soldier you are.

You’re not allowed to have weapons, on account of being… well. Your entire being. The flying spark that could cause a wildfire. The free radical that could split an atom. It’s just better to give you the bare minimum and keep you there.

And you’re more than happy with the bare minimum. You survive on scraps from the mess hall and the moments when Ghost can tolerate you being a little too close.

But the week-long missions are nothing but pain for you. And yet, every time you meet him on the tarmac, he greets you with a pat on the side of your bicep and asks how you were while he was gone. Maybe he’s doing it to be polite, maybe he actually cares – you don’t know, and you’re willing to keep it that way.

(In this instance, you’re blissful with your ignorance. Revel in it, actually.)

There’s a faint part of you that thinks that he views you as an abandoned puppy he found on the side of the road that just followed him home. You’re okay with that if it means you can keep being close to him and keep getting away with everything you’ve done so far.

So you wait, ever so patient, outside his door. You don’t lean against the wall next to it – you’re always standing at attention, even when your back starts to ache from standing so rigid. You don’t know what to do with your hands (on account of having no rifle to hold) so you let them idly hang at your sides, fighting the reflex to fidget.

There’s a knock from the other side of the door. A sign from Ghost, telling you that you’re welcome to come in.

You knock back with a soft, “Ghost?”

After a few seconds, there’s no response, but you can hear the lock click and unlock.

You wait for a minute before you open the door and make sure to duck as you enter. (These doors are shorter than the ones back on your ship – they’re not built to accommodate someone wearing Helldiver armor.)

You shut the door behind you and take in Ghost’s room. It’s bare, like yours. Just a desk with a chair, a bed with military-issued bedding, and a closet with a dresser and clothes rod.

As if on instinct, you take your helmet off, leaving yourself vulnerable yet safe. As your time passed here, your skin has become less black-and-purple and more like a normal skin tone – like the color around your eyes has started to seep into the surrounding area. So far, it’s taken over your face and the column of your throat, just barely brushing past your collarbone.

Ghost moves away from where he’s facing his desk in his swivel chair. He takes you in. Takes your new skin in.

You’ve kept your armor clean, just how you both like it. But the upkeep of yourself, as a person, your new hair and new skin, your new nose and lips and beauty marks and imperfections…

Ghost points at you. “Your hair is greasy as hell.”

You comb a hand through your hair and your glove comes away with a bit of grease, just like he mentioned.

“It is.” You look up from your glove to meet his gaze. “What should I do about it?”

“Fucking hell.” Ghost rolls his eyes. “You’re asking me what you should do about it? Take a shower, knobhead.”

“Ah.” You look down at your boots.

“Have you seriously not been bathing?” Ghost asks.

“It, um…” You glance up at him, then back down at the floor. “It never occurred to me. Usually I don’t have to.”

“You’ve been here for a bloody month and you haven’t showered once?” he scoffs.

You shrink into yourself, an embarrassed blush creeping across your face.

“Christ…” Ghost mumbles. He stands from his chair and points you up-and-down. “Get out of your armor.”

“Excuse me?” A hand flies to the middle of your breastplate, as if cradling it to you like it’s the only thing keeping you decent.

“You heard me.” Ghost moves over to the door to his bathroom and opens it, then glances over his shoulder at you. “I’m drawing a bath. And you’re going in it.”

You look down at your glove, at the thin sheen of grease covering it. “I… okay.”

Ghost goes into the bathroom to give you some semblance of privacy. You take a breath to calm yourself and exhale with a soft “Sweet Liberty…”

You carefully lay out your metal armor on Ghost’s bed, leaving yourself in just your under-armor. It’s durable but thin, causing you to shiver as the air conditioning kicks on.

With light steps, you make your way over to the bathroom. Ghost is hunched over the side of the tub, his hands ungloved and sleeves bunched up to his elbows. One of his hands is under the running water, checking the temperature.

You lean into the doorway and call his name softly. You only lean in a bit, trying to be as unobtrusive as possible.

Ghost glances over his shoulder at you, then nods at the tub. “Come on. Haven’t got all day.”

You slowly make your way in the bathroom and close the door behind you. It’s a small space, and it just makes everything all the more awkward.

“Well?” Ghost prompts. “Will you be good by yourself?”

“I mean…” You look down at the tile. “I guess.”

Ghost shuts off the faucet, then stands and wipes his hand off on a towel hanging by the bathtub. “I’m off, then.”

“But – wait,” you say softly. “How am I supposed to bathe? It’s not full yet.”

“It’s not meant to be full up,” Ghost says. “You’re acting like you’ve never taken a bath before.”

You shift on your feet, your almost-bare soles making a soft sound against the tile. Your silence tells Ghost all he needs to know.

“Come on then.” He sighs and leans back against the counter, his hands on the lip of the sink. “Strip.”

You shuffle out of your under-armor, fold it neatly, and put it on the counter. You’re nearly shaking from embarrassment, but at least it isn’t as awkward as it would be if your body wasn’t just unloaded textures. Your body below your collarbone is built well, but it’s more like a jacked doll that a kid scribbled a black and purple checkerboard on than an actual human soldier.

Your eyes meet Ghost’s before you duck your head away in shame.

“Come on,” he repeats. “Let’s get you washed up, yeah?”

You keep your gaze low as you tentatively dip a few fingers in the water. It’s warm, but not too hot. You slowly hook a leg over the edge of the tub and step in. It feels good – not that you have any prior bathing experiences to compare it to.

Your knees practically buckle as you lower yourself into the water. You sit with your knees pressed up against your chest, not wanting to take up too much space even though the tub isn’t all that small.

“Good?” Ghost asks.

“Good,” you parrot back.

Ghost kneels by the side of the tub. “How’s it feel? Too hot?”

“Okay.” You raise your eyes to meet his. “Feels like… when I’m near you.”

He just hums, monotone, in response. He shifts to sit more comfortably, then pats the surface of the water, sending ripples. “Lean forward.”

You do as he asks, bowing your head so that your face is close to the water. “This good?”

“Yes. I’m gonna get some water on you now.”

You nod. Ghost cups his hand and dips it in the water before running it down your back. You gasp softly at the feeling – it’s unlike anything you’ve experienced before. It’s like Ghost’s molten touch is seeping into your skin, but instead of fire, it’s a pleasant version of sunburn.

Maybe it feels duller and better because you’ve been so exposed to Ghost over the past month that you’ve gotten used to it, like exposure therapy? And the feeling when you first touched him was just too much, too fast…

You quickly divert your thoughts away from the theoretical and into the now. Because right now, Ghost is doting on you unlike any other.

Water runs through your hair, and Ghost threads his fingers through the strands to make sure it gets properly wet. Droplets run down your forehead and drip off your nose.

You turn your head just a little and look up at Ghost sideways. “Is this it?”

“No.” He huffs out a laugh. “There’s shampoo, then conditioner. Then you gotta wash your actual body.”

“Oh.”

There’s a moment where the only sound is Ghost gathering a bit of shampoo in his hands and rubbing them together to create a lather. He scrubs it into your hair for about a half minute before washing it out.

You break the silence as he starts to work the conditioner into your hair. “I never got to ask – the engraving on my helmet… what’s that about? I don’t remember doing it.”

“Hm?” Ghost hums. “The skull? Dead daft, ain’t you?”

“I’m… I could only parse parts of that sentence,” you say softly. “But I can tell you’re calling me an idiot.”

“Yes. I am. You’re learning.” Ghost huffs out another laugh. “Go on, guess.”

“If I have to…” You close your eyes and lean into Ghost’s touch. “It’s a representation of your control over me? As a player, I mean. Not in… anything else.”

You let out a nervous laugh and hope Ghost doesn’t pick up on your double meaning. But of course he does – you can tell in the way his hands pause for a fraction of a second before continuing their work. He’s too observant for his own good.

With an awkward ahem, you continue. “But that’s the same reason my callsign is Deathshead, right? Because you’re Ghost. You – you gave me your insignia.”

(You had to stop yourself from saying ‘Blessed me with your insignia’, because you promised you’d stop with the God-talk.)

“Dead on.” Ghost turns and rubs a bar of soap on a sponge, then hands it to you. “Scrub yourself. I’m not doing it for you.”

“Where?” you ask. “Like, all over?”

Ghost washes the conditioner from his hands in the bathwater and nods. “Mhm.”

You carefully scrub yourself from top to bottom. The sponge is a bit abrasive, but nice.

(You’d much rather have Ghost wash you up, to cause the fire you’ve contained in a little wooden stove to flare out of the firebox and through the grill… but you keep that to yourself.)

Once you’re done, you wring the sponge out under the bathwater, then above water. You set it on the side of the tub and look up at Ghost, waiting for instructions.

He meets your gaze and shifts where he’s sitting on the toilet lid. “Just relax, Helldiver.”

“Not used to this.” You pull your knees up to your chest. “Not used to having… downtime. I was always being sent down, or preparing to be sent down. Democracy was always my guide, but…”

You tilt your head towards Ghost, and he understands.

“You are, now,” you voice the unsaid thought.

“That’s concerning.” Ghost rests his hands on his knees and leans back against the tank.

“I know.” You look down at the bathwater and the bubbles floating on the surface. “It’s just… I’ve never felt the peace that we preach. I’ve only known fighting, only violence and blood.”

You look up and meet his eyes. “Have you ever had your legs blown apart by an Eagle Cluster Bomb? Ever been burned alive by friendly napalm? Because I have. I’ve felt my spine split because of an Orbital Railcannon Strike. I’ve been mowed down by friendly Gatling Sentries.

“But the worst thing I’ve experienced here is name-calling and weird looks,” you say. “I’ve been sick to my stomach with worry once or twice, but then I remember you’re a soldier, just like me. You’re trained, and you’re okay, and you’ll return fine.

“I am…” You lean your head back against the tile wall and close your eyes. “I’m at peace here.”

“I get that,” Ghost says. His voice is the softest you’ve ever heard it. “How long were you deployed?”

“As long as I can remember,” you say.

“Bloody long time, then, yeah?” Ghost says.

“Yes.” You bring your hand up and rub your collarbone, where skin meets undefined polygons. “But you’re making me human. Less Helldiver, less of an expendable piece of resurrected meat. You’re making me softer. More civilian.”

You open your eyes and look up at Ghost. The expression on his face is… conflicted. Like he didn’t know he could bring this out in someone.

“They always said that when united under the beautiful Liberty flag of Super Earth, nothing will be able to stop or split its glorious peoples,” you say. “But you showed me that it’s better out here. That it’s… fascism, is what it is. But that’s a secret we keep from ourselves.”

You reach your hand out and lay it over where his lays on his knee. You just barely brush your fingertips over the back of his hand before grabbing it.

(Another log has been added to the fire, and it’s covered in lichen and dried mosses. It crackles and pops, but you make sure to keep it still contained.)

“Would you believe me if I said that I hate Managed Democracy?” You laugh breathlessly. Even saying it causes a sick feeling in your stomach, like you’ll be found out and promptly dismissed. (Read: put up against a wall and executed via firing squad.)

“Yes.” Ghost glances down at where your hand lays on top of his. “A lot of people hate the government, all ‘cross the world. Don’t you know that?”

“And they’re… allowed to?” You bite the inside of your bottom lip to subdue a smile. “Like, openly?”

Ghost laughs. “Yes.”

“This really is Heaven.” You sigh out the words, an unbelieving smile crossing your face.

“Not Heaven,” Ghost says. “Just Earth.”

He moves his hand slightly, and you take it as a cue to move away. You bring your hand back, dipping it back in the bathwater.

“Well,” you say softly. “I think I like just Earth.”

“On just Earth, we bathe regularly.” Ghost dips a hand in the water and splashes your knees. “Now, come on. Let’s get you rinsed off.”

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