#( will I ever write it ? ... she is too fickle it takes so long )

[lausticzt]

she is very pretty to me .

#( slowly coming back ! ) #( now that things are settling ) #( need to also start drawing with all these references I have now for HER ) #ai art / #( she is a mess but she deserves care ) #( will I ever write it ? ... she is too fickle it takes so long )

[netherfeildren]

How to Endure Ardor:

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader

Summary: Joel teaches you how to love him.

Rating: Explicit 18+

Content Warnings: Post outbreak; QZ Joel Miller; I'm saying this, but the setting is sort of ambiguous anyways, Stream of consciousness, Character Study, Alternating POVs; PIV sex; The troubles and toils of breaking up and then making up with a fucked up old man; Uncaring Joel; Mentions of painful sex; Toxic relationships or situationships or whatever you want to call it; I think I'm addicted to the idea of a Joel who'll never love you and I should probably see a doctor about it

A/N: she remembers how to write, who'd of thought!

Word Count: 1.3K

Read on AO3

This is a lesson:

“Tell me again,” she says, and it’s a begging.

A begging like what? Something that carries shame and smallness in the shape of it. Stay a little longer. It humiliates him for the wretchedness it pulls from him. Joel, please. Seeping blood the color of her supplication. Please, she says, please. And who else says please to him anymore? Who asks him for anything anymore but her? The only ones who ever had are long past and gone, and he can’t even barely remember they were ever really there to ask anything of him to begin with—can’t remember what it feels like to owe someone something and want to give it to them in a way that will actually make him. 

Tell me what again? That I want you? That I’ll stay? That I love you? I’ll come back, he says instead, the only thing he can promise and keep. And he wonders if it humiliates her too, the way he lies, the way he runs, the way he swears, the way he always comes back and comes back but never returns with the things she needs. A humiliation just like it is a begging. 

The thing they have: it’s strange, fickle, honest in its lies, very, very ugly. An ugliness that is shocking in a world gone to rot already. The sky doesn’t shine anymore and they bask in it. 

But also, and, the thing they have: it’s physical, saving.

This is obvious too, even if only to them.

He slides inside and you’re what? Hot and wet and slick, and—yes, a thing like a dream, but still only a thing. Something to have, something close to desire, but not quite, more like biological want. Woman turned possession. In his mind this is an excuse, a reason, a begetting. Like, what—like what? Like when you want a thing very badly but it is very bad for you, and you need to make up any excuse to have it, lie and lie and lie—to your mother, your best friend, the mirror—a begetting like that. Easy to understand only if you’ve been there. 

It started simple, it started like nothing, it started like the first time you meet someone and you know they’ll matter, you know they’ll mean something. So it started like what? Like a lie. 

Shifts at the QZ, long and toiling and reminders of the sort of life that died in an outbreak of monsters, only if for how unlike that past it was. Humans or fungus or—

—men who hurt—you, men who refuse your love, Joel Miller.

The crutch of your age, of you being weaker or smaller or in need, him being easily felled, wooed, easily conquered by something young and given without a try because there was never the opportunity for trying before. 

Now, it is like this: you take my cock and you take my come and you take my nothing, and I give so little and yet you still find a way to take and take and take, leech of a girl, dream of a girl, hungry. And with the excuse that it’s only in a way you contrive for your own self. But in the end, what does that make you? What do I make you into? 

These are the things he asks himself. 

Perhaps she goes away for a time, tries the route of escape, of variety. But when she inevitably comes back because addiction is riddled always in the same sorts of ways: did you try different bodies? Did you try different flavors and sounds? Did you look for me in all of them? 

The answer is usually yes.

At reunion’s turn: he rolls her over to face her, Joel, damp and panting and trying to be something—perhaps better, more honest—after a season of variety and honest attempts and shut eyes. He’s so hard for her, always is. 

Again: he slides inside and you’re what? His, undeniably. Not yours. Something to want but not desire because it’s too romantic a notion, and yes, there’s a difference even if he can’t put into words what that difference specifically is. Body and heart, perhaps, definitions that differ between disparate anatomical parts or levels of deniability. 

Nothing either of you have ever been able to put into words when lust and love aren’t things you can even say out loud for the shame of them, even if they exist within said same anatomy. 

You come together, the season passed, the separation passed but still kept at hand for the next time the closeness becomes too much. 

“Tell me again,” she says, and this time he remembers what she’s asking for.

“I fucking missed you, baby. Missed this pussy.” Because he can’t say it’s her heart he missed. Because Joel Miller does not have honesty in his arsenal. 

He spreads you wide, knee to shoulder so it hurts and pulls, so it’ll be sore and reminding tomorrow. The slap of his pelvis against the back of your thighs is obscene, wet and lewd, a string of girl cum keeping you connected, such togetherness, curve of your ass to the root of his cock—the two of you are together again. 

You know what I thought, when I tried to go away, you say. He doesn’t want to know, but he doesn't tell you so either, only slides in again, the mouth of your womb right there, threatening. I’m never going to feel like this again, and I hate how certainly I know that. He wonders if the unsaid part is that he’s the recipient of that feeling, the hate. 

He wonders if the pinch inside him is hurt. He wonders if the throb is love. 

All he says because he can’t say the rest is, I missed you, I missed you, and if he could look himself in the mirror—something that’s twenty years past lost—he’d ask: are you alright? Just tell me you’re okay. And it sounds in your own voice and with your own care and the feel of your own warmth. Is there anything I can do?

Other times, he sees himself through your own eyes, and then he knows for certain that the throb is love 

So he makes up for lost time, hard—and if it was a thing he knew how to be— loving. Mouth to cunt first, primed and soft and begging, making you come again and then another once more, then inside of you. Slow, splitting you open, red cunt like a wound, balls slapping wet, pulling out to watch the gape of the space he’s carved for himself. His cock is so hard and missing you something desperate. And he’s reminded of what it is to really miss something in a way he hadn’t been in twenty years of apocalypse, he’s forced to realized that it’s been so long since he’d had something to love that he’d not realized the feeling of missing that long past someone had gone away, only faint memory remained. 

Violent, is what this makes him after that realization—thrusts turning hard and punishing. How dare you give yourself to me? How dare you then take yourself away? You come around him again, the gift of your orgasm. How dare you not be able to accept the little I’m able to give when I’m trying so desperately fucking hard to give you even just this? 

He fucks you mean, he fucks you in the way of a man who doesnt know how to say the things he needs to say, in a way that’s confusing, that could make a less discerning woman feel only the hurt. 

But then again, you know him.

Fucks you in a way that is a little bit like love.

And so, amidst all of it, there is an honesty amongst the lies. A truth unspoken that they both know—I’ll come back because I need you, because you’re the only one who can give me the things I'm not strong enough to ask for out loud. 

You’re not sure which of the two of you is the one saying it.

Netherfeildren's Masterlist

Updates Blog

#vic fic #joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader

[euphoricfilter]

Devil That I Know: The Prologue

Pairing: Demon! Jungkook x Human! F. Reader

Genre: Fluff || Smut || Angst || Demon au || Non-Idol au || Yandere au || Reincarnation || Strangers to Lovers

Summary: It's a shame how refuge will become your downfall.

Word Count: 3.3k

Tags/ warnings: mentioned death/ murder, sacrifice, sexy demon jungkook who has 4 arms, jimin is just mean (for now), the start of the yandere and just taehyung being a cutie

Notes: she’s back! and better than ever, new and improved, my baby <3 even if you’ve read the old version of dtik, i recommend reading again!! there has been a few added elements + way better writing!

devil that i know masterlist || my other stuff

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

[a little death]

[1859]

Death seemed to have found solace in your shadow. Slithering around your ankles and chewing up any unfortunate living being you came across; acting as a parasite, touch of your fingers sticky poison. The rawest form of hatred radiating off your skin into the world, a curse. 

A simple wish for the price of a life, and maybe this was the universe’s sick joke, that you’ll live to suffer while the rest of the world carries the burden of a small selfish wish.

Maybe death has found home in your sorrows, wretched sadness, anguish, ugly ugly emotions cradling you like a mother would her child. Truly pitiful comfort where anger is useless.

It must have been almost a year ago your misfortune had truly started, foolishly leaving a life you never wanted. Though you suppose you never really had a choice, this day was inevitable when you were the odd one out, a leech, a pitiful child– not that that mattered at all to the man who was the starting point of your resentment. 

A wish for a life that was solely your own. A wish you never thought had been too big of an ask, leaving fragile hope in the hands of fate, praying that the world would take pity on your wilted soul. 

Now, freedom was a day’s journey away. Coastline so close yet so far away, a new life, one you’d been dreaming of since young, slipping through your fingers like dry sand– every step forward, the sea pulling away until you’re chasing after sodden dreams, leaving you stranded at the shore. 

Life looked like a damp cell in a run-down village, barely holding on; dependent on trade, though only one other village thrives in this area, hours away– over the mountain. Trips far and few with the horses they have, produce barely worth a piece of gold. 

The true situation of the village should have become apparent at their panic of unexpected visitors. Accusations spat your way, your own life flashing before your eyes, only for your friend to bear the brunt of their temper. No one of them had thought to hear you out, their words like venom, because in their eyes you’d come to spy on their village, a lie that would ruin you. 

You weren’t like them; and so you’d become an easy target. 

Secrets locked behind closed doors, lies fed to those clueless of what really happened when the sun falls over the horizon and the world is shrouded in darkness. 

Corruption was everywhere, the world so unfair, where fickle human emotions consume those greedy enough to sell their souls for power, for something more, anything to get out of their awful little lives. 

If you told a lie long enough, if you yourself believed in it, then surely it must be true. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

You’d never expected your first encounter with death, you suppose no one really does. And in your months of solitude, locked up against your will, you’ve learnt you can’t change the past. No matter how many tears wet the dry ground, how much you scream, how much you pray to anyone listening, the past will forever be how it is and you can’t change that. 

Regret is an awful emotion, a million ‘what ifs’ consuming your mind. What if you and your friend had chosen the village over the mountain? What if you had never decided to leave? What if you had traveled alone?

If things had been different, minute details that could have changed the whole course of your life, then maybe your friend would still be alive. Maybe you’d have found the coast, hair windswept as you stand on the deck of the boat, life that of a bird; free. 

You could never see much out of the small window of your cell, rare that the sun would dare poke its head in to say hello, never there to kiss your cheeks red, or warm frozen toes.

The nights had started to get colder, the few seconds you got to see the outside world through the open door is enough for you to know the leaves had begun falling off the trees. Dusty path blanketed with reds and oranges, footsteps harder to hear on the few days you’re fed– never more than what’s left over from the village men. 

The second time death had chosen to lurk was when a crisis had become of the village. Their crops rotting, black mold greedy in the way it had chewed through their livestock. Animals sent from the gods, lay dead on the ground, useless when their harvest season was right around the corner. 

“An evil spirit has cursed the lands” 

You’d wondered how you’d escaped the clutches of death a second time. But your purpose had become apparent when you’d heard whispers of the demon that lived in the mountains. A ruler of this very land.

Rumors carried by the wind had told you that he’d become restless, that the townspeople needed a sacrifice to sate his growing rage. They couldn’t go a season without crops, and none of the men dared push their wives forward as the gift. 

And so you, had been the sacrifice. The true purpose of them keeping you locked up and alive, was to act as their gift for the one that lived in the mountains.

Human fear is often the scariest, compassion absolutely destroyed, empathy non-existent. 

That’s why you don’t find yourself begging when you’re woken up one morning, cold water a shock to the system. Adrenaline useless as it pumps through your veins. It doesn’t take long for you to grasp the reason one of the village boys had come to see you so early, the sun barely having woken herself. 

You cough, wiping your wet face with the backs of your hand. Eyebrows creased into a frown as your eyes flit over to the entrance of your cell. 

“Get up” 

He mustn't be much older than you, pretty lips turned down into a prominent frown that you have to will yourself not to scoff at. Because really if anyone should frown as though the world were against them, it should be you. 

You don’t move, a dangerous game you’d been playing since you’d first arrived in the village. Because if you acted as though you didn’t understand them, language not your own, then you’d keep a little bit of your freedom. Ignorance covered as misunderstandings; actions out of spite, simply accidents. 

The boy tuts, door to the cell creaking, almost yanked off it hinges as he strides towards you. He’s rough as he grabs onto your arms, pulling you up from the sorry excuse of a bed. You pull your arms from his grip, skin prickly with pure hatred. 

“Change into these” he shoves a pile of clothes into your arms, tattered underwear falling to the floor.

If you had any shame, maybe you’d be a little embarrassed as he turns around, arms crossed over his chest. Though it seemed that any lick of shame that dared plague your mind, was consumed by anger as you yank your clothes off—Wringing your wet hair out, rolling the bottoms of the pants up. 

You flinch at the sound of another voice, “Jimin, are you almost done?”

The village boy turns around, eyes raking over your body, “Almost” he calls back. 

You eye the open door as Jimin steps out of your cell, “Don’t even think about it” 

It’s uncomfortable how tight he ties the ropes, hands bound behind your back where one mean tug from Jimin could send you tumbling face first into the floor. 

And it’s infinitely more uncomfortable how the whole village seems to gather, the chief parading you down the split path of people like a prize as Jimin watches your back.

A gift sent from the heavens to save their village, to save their people. Ironic when months ago everyone had been cursing your existence, asking why they should keep you locked up, why you hadn’t died beside your friend. 

It takes almost a day to hike up the mountain on foot, they may have thought of you as their sacrificial savior, that didn’t mean they were willing to waste their resources on you. 

Sweat tickles the back of your neck, hair clinging to your skin uncomfortably. You’re tired. Moments away from your legs giving way, willing to let the sun melt your skin and bones until you become one with the earth. Summer sun still clinging onto the sky before the seasons truly change.

The world takes pity on you as you stumble over your own feet, almost headbutting Jimin’s back as he stops. Your heart is in your throat as reality sets in, the rumors of a demon true. It didn’t look like anyone lived here; picket fence damp, old in a way that bugs had chewed through the wood.

Your eyes settle on the sign that hangs from a tree branch– “Jeon”. 

Jimin grabs the thick rope of the bell, muscles in his arms flexing as he announces your arrival. 

The shred of hope that you held in your heart shatters when you hear the crunch of footsteps. Silhouette of a man wandering through the archway of trees behind the fence.

You think he looks more like an angel than a demon, hair a fluffy mess, almost cute in the way he almost trips over his sandals. He catches himself before he can fall, stopping in front of Jimin on the other side of the gate. 

He places a hand over his heart, taking his time in catching his breath– and you can see Jimin’s patience wearing thin, heel of his boot tapping against the grass. Face etched into a permanent scowl that you can only assume is your doing.

You wet your lips at the sound of the boy’s voice, deeper than you’d expected, “Hello, how may I help you?” 

Your eyes fixate on the mole sat at the tip of his nose. 

“Are you the demon that resides here?” Jimin tugs you forward, heavy hand falling on the back of your neck. 

“Oh–” the man’s eyes widen, running a hand through his hair, “No, he’s inside” 

You peek over his shoulder, path veiled by trees, dark abyss waiting beyond the rotted gate. A world that looked so far from your own, a little secret hidden between the trees.

Jimin hums, “Here” he pats your back, “A delivery from the village” 

You dig your heels further into the ground as Jimin’s fingertips trail over your back, silent warning to do whatever you’re told. Maybe a cruel little goodbye, because the both of you knew that you might not ever make it out of there alive.

He waves at you as he starts his descent down the mountain, sadistic little smile of his face.  

Now would be a good time to run, though you wouldn’t know where to go. You suppose anything would be better than this. Maybe if you begged nicely the demon would kill you painlessly; maybe listening to your cries of mercy. Granting you an easy death so you could finally rest. 

The demon’s friend slips through the fence, “Do you understand me? Are you okay?” 

You nod. So many words hanging on the tip of your tongue, though you don’t seem to know what to say first. 

“I’m Taehyung” he tells you, smile fragile as he moves to take a look at your bound wrists. “May I?” he asks, and you turn to give him better access to your back. 

“What’s your name?” 

You swallow, wetting your dry throat, “Y/n” 

“Jungkook is really nice, I’m sure he’ll let you stay for a while” 

It’s weird how even as the ropes make a dull thump against the damp ground, you don’t feel any more free than you had when you’d been bound. 

Opening the gate, Taehyung motions for you to step inside, letting you follow him down the path and into the open area. Your eyes wander over the courtyard, freshly fallen leaves the color of a sunset scattered across the grass. Stood through the archway of trees stands the heart of the house. 

Without knocking, Taehyung pulls the door open. Intricately crafted table sat in the middle of the room.

He sits at the table like royalty, posture that of a king– clothes that of a nobleman. He looked younger than Taehyung, book held by one hand ever so elegantly, really he could be mistaken for a royal if it weren’t for the inky black snake that peeks out of the sleeve of his shirt. 

You try not to linger on his extra pair of arms. Breath catching in your throat when they fold over his stomach. Entirely unhuman, something you’d never seen before.

His eyes flicker over your face, turning to Taehyung with his eyebrow raised. You flinch as he shuts his book, full attention now on you and his friend. 

“Who’s this?” 

You feel the embarrassment lick up your spine as he takes in the way you’re dressed, warm blush surely flushing your cheeks pink. Both of your lives so dramatically different. 

Taehyung clears his throat when you don’t say anything, “This is Y/n” 

“Does she understand us?” Jungkook asks, curious eyes meeting your own. Taehyung turns to you, nudging your shoulder with his elbow. 

“I do” and Jungkook hums, a little taken aback with how formal you’d come off. 

“Why are you here?” there’s no malice in his voice, simple curiosity. Something you hadn’t been expecting. And you wish he had just shouted, unexpected understanding strange when you had prepared for the worst. 

Taehyung grabs a pillow from under the table, fingertips barely grazing your back as he helps you sit opposite Jungkook. 

“I’ll make us some tea” Taehyung smiles. A whisper for him to stay stuck on the tip of your tongue as he wanders further into the back room leaving you alone with Jungkook. 

Your eyes stay trained in your lap, picking at your nails, fiddling with the hem of your shirt; really anything to keep you from having to look into Jungkook’s eyes. 

“I asked a question” he reminds you, “why are you here?” 

“I’m a sacrifice. A gift from the people in the village of the east” 

“A gift?” he urges, utterly enraptured by the mind of humans. 

“Their land had been cursed, or so they say” you meet his eyes, “this is an offering for you to save the land, to sate your anger. That’s all I know, no one ever spoke much around the cell they kept me in” 

“Cell?” his eyebrows raise, curious.

You hum, “It is nothing but rumors, but they say the king wanted people like myself dead, the chief had told his people I’d come to spy on them. That my life would be of use, so they let me live” 

“Is that so?” Jungkook falls back, holding himself up by his arms, “Taehyung hadn’t told me such rumors were going around” 

You open your mouth, a question that’s been playing on your mind since a child put to an abrupt stop when Taehyung wanders back into the room. Teacup and delicate little porcelain plates balanced on a wooden tray. 

“Thank you” your voice is barely above a whisper as your fingers delicatly take hold of the cup. 

“So–” Taehyung starts, taking a seat beside you, “are you staying with us?”

Your hand flies to your mouth, a lame attempt in covering a cough as your eyes meet Jungkook’s. 

“Please? I could always use the extra help” Taehyung continues, arm slung over your shoulder, “What do you think?” 

Jungkook raises an eyebrow, head tilting in question. It’s strange how far you can get lost in someone’s eyes, how for some it’s ever so easy to nitpick seemingly insignificant changes in expression. Maybe it had been a self-defense mechanism, a means to survive, but you’d always felt you’d been good at knowing how people felt, knowing where to build a wall, draw a line, anything.

Jungkook was a strange being, how what lies beneath his gaze is unattable no matter how long you search.

Jungkook’s eyes gave no indication as to how he felt about you. Expression eerily neutral that even if you were to ask him how he felt, his tone would be of no help. Someone so in control of their body and mind, someone above that of natural human nature; and you suppose thats only fair considering he weren’t a mortal like you or Taehyung. 

“You guys do whatever you want” Jungkook picks up his book, touch gentle as he flips back to the page he’d left. 

You turn to Taehyung, “If it’s okay, then I don’t mind staying” because living a life secluded from the world, protected by the rotting gate at the end of the path, was a safer way to live than travelling alone with no place to call home.

And as long as Jungkook held no resentment towards you, letting you live a life of peace, even if only for a fleeting moment—then maybe you’d hold onto that last selfish little sliver of hope. 

Taehyung takes ahold of your hands, the prettiest smile gracing his face, “You must be exhausted. How about a bath? You’ll have to wear some of my clothes until I can make you some–” 

“Tae” Jungkook laughs, “Slow down, you’ll overwhelm her” 

Taehyung’s fingers intertwine with your own, tugging you to stand.

You turn back to Jungkook before Taehyung can drag you out of the room, “Thank you” you call out to him.

He waves you off, thumb running over his bottom lip, “It’s nothing” and really it wasn't, he already housed one human, what was one more? Not when like Taehyung, you’d been betrayed by your own kind.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

“Have you heard of any rumors circulating the village?” Jungkook asks his friend, Taehyung running a hand through his hair. Having left you to wash up and change before he would show you your new bedroom.

“Rumours?” Taehyung’s head tilts a little.

Jungkook hums, “About the king” 

“None” he shakes his head, “Only whispers about bandits raiding the outskirts of the capital” 

“Nothing about any spies?” 

Taehyung’s tongue runs over his bottom lip, back straightening slightly as he gazes down at Jungkook. “Is this about Y/n?” 

Jungkook sighs, “Something’s happening in the east, don’t go there from now on” 

Taehyung nods, “I’ll keep an eye on her, just in case” 

“I doubt there’s a need. The two of you are quite similar” Jungkook hums, “Just make sure she’s comfortable, that’s all I ask” 

“And you?” 

Jungkook pushes himself to stand, “Nothing much will change around here” 

Taehyung’s role in Jungkook’s life hadn’t been a coincidence. And as much as it felt like Jungkook was the one helping Taehyung, demons were a little more selfish than that. Sure, Jungkook gave Tae a second chance at life, but that was only because he wanted something from him. It all worked out in the end, Jungkook made his first friend and Taehyung lived comfortable. 

You, however, Jungkook hadn’t seeked you out. You were handed to him by the graces of hell, destiny walking you up this mountain. Adorably strong-willed, though perhaps too trusting of the very being that could bring you to your downfall.

Jungkook was anything but a saviour, everything he ever did was only to with his own wellbeing in mind. But you, you were the one thing that he hadn’t planned. An anomaly thrusted in his face, how could he turn away his gift from the world?

Your desire for freedom was endearing, the human will to live something Jungkook found utterly intriguing when all the world seemed to do was fuck you over. Naïve hope disguised by a hard exterior, pitiful in the way the world had rejected your mere existence. Something Jungkook was more willing to use, arms curling around your fragile existence.

Because as much as you thought of him as your refuge, he knew that he would become your downfall.

#bts fanfic #bts fluff #bts smut #jungkook #bts x reader #jungkook fanfic #jungkook x reader #jungkook smut #jungkook fic #jungkook imagine #jungkook x you #bts demon au #bts non idol au #bts

[dem-obscure-imagines]

You're So Timeless | Vol. 1

Steve Rogers x Reader

Fandom: MCU

Summary: In 1943, Steve Rogers was visited by his soulmate. He fell hard. Problem is, she was from the future and didn’t stick around for long. Now, in the twenty-first century, he finally found her again, except this version of her hasn’t met him yet and won’t know he’s her soulmate for another year. 

Note: So this is a combination of my other two Steve Rogers soulmate AU fics, but lengthened and fleshed out into a full fic. I was literally possessed to write this. I have no other explanation. I really like how it came out. I gave this one chapter headings (I am also going to post it to Ao3) and yes some are Taylor Swift titles. Sorry about that. It takes place roughly around the time Civil War would, but we have managed to avoid the war this time around. I also moved some other characters up the timeline because I think they’re neat and I said so. Without further ado, please enjoy my new Magnum Opus.

Also Tumblr made me split it into two parts. Part 2 linked HERE and also at the end of the post.

Warnings: Canon-typical violence/injuries, soulmate au, tons of mutual pining, kind of a slowburn but in reverse. Light angst, but a happy ending.

Word Count: 38.7k total (I am not sorry)

Reader Is: Enhanced (forcefields), 24 years old, female 

The End

Time.

It was a fickle thing. In the blink of an eye, a year had passed. A mere twelve months earlier, you had been living a different life. The only life you had been responsible for was your own. And your plants, but…they never seemed to last that long under your care. Now, everything was different.

It was the day before your birthday. Your twenty-fifth birthday, which, in the world you lived in, meant that tomorrow, a name would appear on your wrist, the name of your soulmate. It had been stressing you out all day, the weight of tomorrow and everything it meant.

It was late, and you were exhausted from a day of overthinking. The longer you stayed up, the longer you delayed the inevitable reveal, and thinking about it too much made you nervous, so you just decided to get to sleep sooner than later.

It was once you were just about to climb into bed that there was a knock at your door.

“It’s open!” You called. The door opened slowly, revealing Steve, who was leaning in your doorway, arms crossed, that pensive look in his blue eyes. “Oh, hey.”

“Hi.” He chuckled. He seemed nervous, although you weren’t sure why.

“Everything alright, Steve?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. I actually came in here to check on you. Wanda said you were…quiet.”

“Yeah, you could say that.” You hugged your arms around your frame and bit your lip, looking up at the super soldier standing in front of you. “Just…I don’t know. I’ve been looking forward to tomorrow for my entire life, but…now that it’s here, I’m so scared.”

“Hey, come here.” He said, pulling you to him, strong arms wrapped around you, as if he could protect you from the future itself.

“I don’t know what to do…”

“(Y/N), whoever they are, they are incredibly, incredibly lucky. You don’t need to worry about anything. It’ll all work out. It always does.” He said it like he was certain. Like somehow he knew what would happen in the morning when suddenly your life was turned on its head and you had to venture out to find your other half.

Since you’d met him, Steve wore a leather band around his wrist, covering his soulmate’s name. You’d figured he must have met them in the forties and…maybe they hadn’t made it long enough to see him come out of the ice. But you didn’t ask about it. You never dared to put that question into words. He’d been through enough heartbreak already.

“What if they don’t like me…?”

He scoffed, holding you tighter. “That’s impossible. They’re going to love you. So much. I promise.”

“And…and we’ll still be f-friends?”

Steve pulled away, looking down at you, a hand very carefully touching your cheek. “Of course we will still be friends. Nothing is ever going to change that. I promise.”

You nodded, a tear slipping down your cheek. “Good. Thank you, Steve. For everything.”

He gently wiped the tear away, the pad of his thumb warm. Once he was sure you were okay, he let go, looking at you with that knowing sparkle in his eye once more. He took a little extra time to look at the shirt you were wearing, the Star Wars tee you’d had since high school. “See you tomorrow.”

“See you tomorrow.” You agreed.

“And happy birthday, (Y/N).”

We’ll Meet Again

“Ma’am? Are you alright? Ma’am?” The voice sounded far away. You were pretty sure you were still dreaming. You opened your eyes slowly and immediately became aware of the pounding pain in your head.

“Ow, oh my God.” You reached up and felt there, but it didn’t feel like you were bleeding or anything.

“Ma’am?”

You froze for a second, slowly looking up at the figure standing above you, confusion written all over his familiar features. It took you a long moment to put the pieces together. You were on a porch somewhere in what appeared to be New York, but it was…different. A lot different than the parts of the city you knew. Alright, it had to be a dream.

You looked up at the man standing above you and did a double-take. But no, it was him. It was a tiny, frail version of Steve. Your eyebrows furrowed and you sat up slowly, staring at him for a long moment before whispering, “Steve?”

His mouth opened and then shut again and he made a face of confusion, like he was trying to place where he knew you from, but he didn’t know you yet, and wouldn’t know you for several more years, to say the least. “Do I know you?”

“It’s complicated.” You exhaled. “Can we go inside? You’re going to need to sit down for this.”

Dumbfounded, Steve nodded and you stood up from the porch, only to find that he was at your eye level when you did. Weird. He led you into the small apartment and you looked around. It was quaint. There was an easel in the corner of the room and…Bucky Barnes sitting on the couch? You stared at him for a good, long moment, a shiver running down your spine.

“Who’s the dame?” He read your shirt. “What is Star…Wars…?”

“About to find that out myself.” He chuckled, leading you into the living room. “Buck, could you give us a minute?”

“I’ll be in the kitchen.” Bucky got up and walked to the other half of their tiny two-bedroom.

You sat down on the couch and so did he. The silence was thick. You thought for several moments. You weren’t quite sure how you had ended up in the 1940s. You looked down at your hands and it was then that your gaze finally landed on the writing on your wrist. And then everything made sense.

“What’s the date today?”

“It’s July 4th, why?”

“July 4th…” You whispered. “What, 1943?”

You could see the wheels turning behind his eyes before he replied, “Yes ma’am.”

“Well, happy birthday, first of all. And second of all…” You held up your wrist so he could read it. Steve’s eyes went wide and he stared at the three words written neatly on your skin in his own handwriting.

Steven Grant Rogers.

“You’re my…” He looked at you for a long time, his eyes wide. He hastily undid the cuff around his wrist and held it out to you, your own name written there. He ran a finger across the letters, as if to prove they were really there.

“I’m your soulmate.” You said certainly.

It hit you like a truck, then. The weird look on your Steve’s face, the way he was so certain that everything would work out. It was because he had already lived through this. And that meant that in all the time he’d known you, he’d been hiding his mark not because his soulmate had died, but instead because you were his soulmate and you didn’t know it yet.

Your entire year of friendship, of memories, of roadtrips and missions and movie marathons…he had known the whole time. And that look in his eyes wasn’t just his protective side coming out. It was love. It had been love the whole time.

Oh.

Steve exhaled a long, shaking breath, really taking you in. Once again, he had a million stars in his eyes. He let out a whispered, “Wow,” as tears began to form.

You came back down to earth. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” He chuckled, sniffling as a tear ran down his cheek. “I’ve just, I’ve got a lot of…health problems, so I wasn’t sure if I’d ever…meet you. And you’re here and you’re great and I just…I’m sorry.”

That brought tears to your eyes. “Oh, Steve…” You pulled him into your arms and he didn’t hesitate to surrender to your embrace, his arms wrapping tight around you and holding you close, head nestled into the crook of your neck. “Just breathe. It’s okay. I’m right here. I’ve got you.”

Always.

He took your advice, doing his best to avoid an asthma attack on what was shaping up to be the best day of his life. Once he finally caught his breath, he pulled away to look at your face again. “I have to ask…How did you know?”

“I don’t know if you can tell from these clothes,” you motioned down to the t-shirt and sweatpants you were wearing, “but I’m not from around here, exactly.”

“I kind of thought so, but I didn’t want to be rude.” He smiled softly. “Um, where are you from, then?”

“I’m from the future. Like…a while from now. It’s hard to explain why or how, and I’m not really sure how I got here, to be honest, but I’m glad I am.” You sighed, thumb grazing his cheek, wiping away his tears. He crooned at your touch. “I don’t know how long we have before I have to go back.”

“Am I there? Where you’re from?”

“You are. It’s complicated. We’re really good friends and…when I get back, I’m sure we’ll probably be even more than that.” You smiled, shaking your head. “I can’t believe I didn’t put the pieces together sooner.”

“(Y/N)?” Steve asked, trying out your name for the first time.

“Yeah?”

“Let me take you out today, show you a good time here before you have to go back.” He took your hand and carefully laced his fingers through your own, testing the weight of it, the feel of it.

You smiled. “I’d like that.”

“Not to eavesdrop, lovebirds — congratulations, by the way — but if you’re going to take her out, we’re going to need to find her some clothes that aren’t so…‘not from around here.’” Bucky leaned in the doorway.

“Yeah, I thought the same thing.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll call one of my girls and we’ll get her squared away. Sit tight.”

“Thanks, Bucky.” You said, chuckling when his eyes widened after you addressed him by name. “I know you, too. From the, uh, future.”

“Weird…” Bucky decided.

“Long story?” Steve asked, studying the look on your face.

“Very.” You agreed. After staring at him for another long moment, you pulled him back into your arms again, exhaling a long breath before whispering, “Steve, I’m so glad it’s you…”

***

“Wow.” You stared at yourself in the mirror, studying the way Bucky’s, ahem, lady friend, had curled your hair, done your makeup. You did a little twirl and relished in the way the skirt of your dress twirled. It was navy blue, short ruffled sleeves with a flared skirt and buttons down the front. “I think it suits me.”

“I agree. Blue is a good color on you.” Steve was sitting in a chair at the edge of the room, absolutely enamored as he watched you. “Although, I’m sure they’re all good colors on you, doll.”

You felt the heat rise to your cheeks. “Thanks.”

“I mean it.” He stood up and walked to you, slipping one of his hands into each of yours and staring into your eyes, looking at the way you looked standing next to him in his reflection. His soulmate. The kind of girl people write poems about. “You look great.”

“I don’t look out of place?”

“No one is gonna think you’re a time traveler. Well, unless you tell them.” Bucky said. “Maybe don’t do that anymore.”

“Yeah, I wasn’t planning on it.” You chuckled and gave Steve’s hands a squeeze. “Where to first, soulmate?”

His cheeks reddened as soon as you said the word. “Well, I was thinking we could go to my favorite little diner down the street to grab something for lunch, and then maybe we could take a walk through the park, catch a movie, and then go out for drinks tonight?”

“What, you aren’t gonna take her dancing?” Bucky teased, ruffling Steve’s hair under a large hand. “Show the girl a good time?”

“I would if I didn’t have two left feet.” Steve chuckled, a sheepish smile on his face. He looked at you, waiting for some kind of response. “How does that sound?”

“It sounds like a great time, Steve.”

He smiled. “Good.”

The two of you left the apartment not long after that, and walked side by side towards the diner. Your hands were swinging in the space between you and your hand brushed Steve’s once, twice, a third time, and then you slipped your hand into his, intertwining your fingers.

You caught him smile out of the corner of your eye. “Is this okay?”

“Yeah, of course it’s okay.” He grinned and chuckled to himself. “You can hold my hand as much as you want, doll.”

When the two of you finally got to the diner, a little bell rang over your heads and you got seated at a booth by the window. The two of you ordered drinks and you skimmed the menu while you waited.

“So, tell me about yourself.” You said, resting your chin against your fist and looking over at Steve. You studied the way his blue, blue eyes flicked up to your own and the blush that covered his cheeks shortly thereafter.

“You probably know a lot of it already.” He chuckled. “Unless we don’t talk a lot?”

“We talk quite a bit, but I still want to know about this you. Here and now.”

“I like art. Drawing and painting and stuff.” He said. “I haven’t had time to do much lately, but I’d like to get back into it.”

“See, that I didn’t know.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I didn’t know you were into art.”

“I could, uh, show you sometime.” He offered.

“I’d like that.” You smiled. “What else?”

“I like to read. I like going to Dodgers games with Bucky. One time he took me to Coney Island. I don’t like rollercoasters, but I liked playing the games. He wasted three whole dollars trying to win a teddy bear for a redhead named Dot.”

“Three whole dollars…” You chuckled. “Well you don’t have to worry about the rollercoasters too much, I can’t go upside down without throwing up.”

“That makes two of us. Enough about me, tell me about you.” Steve nudged, his hand slowly moving towards yours. “How do we know each other? When did we meet?”

“We’re…coworkers, I guess you could say. We met about a year back and now we live in the same building? I’m sorry for being so vague, I just—”

“Don’t want to give it away, yeah, I get it.” He nodded, understandingly.

“You took me under your wing as soon as I moved in and really made me feel welcome. You’re the one that brought me onto the team, actually.” You took a sip of your drink. “We’ve been through a lot together already, and I’m sure it’s just the tip of the iceberg.”

“Mmm…” Steve nodded. “I know I just met you, but I’m really glad you and I are close. Well, will be close.” He paused before chuckling and shaking his head. “There’s still some little voice in the back of my head telling me all of this is just some amazing dream.”

“That doesn’t even begin to cover it.” You chuckled, tucking a piece of curled hair back behind your ear. “I’ve…I’ve had a crush on you forever, Steve. I can’t believe this is happening.”

He stared at you, almost dumbfounded. “O-on me?”

“Yeah.” You agreed. You’d forgotten, you supposed, that Steve had had this phase, the self-depreciation, the insecurity. Your Steve, when complimented, was shy, sure, but you knew he understood what people were talking about. This Steve didn’t see it that way. Not yet. But it would be your job to use your one day with him to change that, to make your soulmate see that he was worthy of love, even self-love. “Yeah, of course on you, Steve. I can’t believe I get to have you.”

His cheeks reddened and he finally took the leap, taking your hand across the table, thumb grazing your knuckles with care. His blue eyes sparkled. “Funny. I was gonna say the same thing about you.”

***

Once the two of you were finished up at the diner, you took a walk through the park. It was gorgeous out, a bright, sunny, warm summer afternoon. Several couples were strolling down the paths, hand in hand, and you were one of them, your hand held tight in Steve’s, his thumb gently stroking the back of yours.

You went to the theater and caught a movie together. Luckily enough, they were showing the Wizard of Oz. Your current situation had you feeling like Dorothy in more ways than one. The movie had only come out four years earlier, which was definitely strange. Not to mention the fact that the tickets were only twenty-five cents, the popcorn a mere ten cents.

And then, once the movie was over and the sun was setting, you went to a bar, where Steve ordered each of you a drink. You took a sip of yours, something sweet, and smiled at him across the table.

“So, how’s your day been, birthday boy?” You asked coyly.

“The best I’ve had so far,” he replied, his eyes sparkling. The sparkle faded, however, when his expression grew somber. He hesitated, but then asked, “Okay, I have to know…How long do I have to wait to see you again?”

You exhaled a long sigh, biting your lip. If you told him the truth, he might ask questions you couldn’t tell him the answers to. And besides, the real answer would require some math. You didn’t know the specifics.

“I’ll be honest, Steve, it’s…it’s a pretty long time.” You thought for a long moment before continuing, “I…I can’t really tell you why. It’s all really complicated, and if I tell you too much, it might not happen the way it’s supposed to.”

“Oh…” Steve nodded and took a sip of his drink. Once he set down the glass, he reached across the table and took your hand. “Well, however long it is,” he looked straight into your eyes and a chill ran down your spine, “It’ll be worth it. Every second. I promise.”

You could have cried. “I hope so.”

“There you two are! I was wondering which bar you’d wandered into!” Bucky was, apparently, already slightly intoxicated as he approached you and Steve with a date of his own. “How was your day on the town, lovebirds?”

“Spectacular.” You replied. “I wish there was more time to soak it in.”

“New York sure is something, huh?” Bucky’s date asked, giggling innocently. If only she knew the half of it.

“Yeah, you could say that.” You laughed and tucked a piece of hair behind your ear.

“You guys wanna sit with us?” Steve asked.

“If you don’t mind too much, punk.” Bucky grinned.

Steve got up and switched sides of the booth so he was sitting next to you instead of across from you. You slid your hand into his, intertwining your fingers. He smiled, chuckling softly to himself as he gave your hand a squeeze.

“Did you give the lady her dance, Rogers?” Bucky asked, smirking.

“Not yet.” Steve chuckled. “We’ll see. The asthma makes it a bit difficult sometimes.”

“Never seems to stop you from getting into fights.” Bucky muttered, causing Steve’s cheeks to flush.

“Just wait until the band plays something slow,” Bucky’s date pointed out.

“There you go!” Bucky raised his glass to his lips. “Great idea, Maggie.”

“Glad to be of service.”

And so, the four of you chatted until the band started to play something sweet and slow. Steve looked at you for approval and you nodded. He led you out onto the floor with the other couples.

Steve blushed, flustered, and he looked at you before saying, “I don’t know how to do this.”

“It’s easy.” You promised, guiding one of his hands to your waist and holding the other. “That’s it. And then we just move to the music. You can twirl me around if you feel so inclined.”

“Alright.” He chuckled, swaying in time with you. “Hey, uh, (Y/N), I need you to know…I had a really, really great time today. You’re everything I’ve ever wanted in a soulmate and I’m so excited to spend the rest of my life with you someday, however far away that someday is.”

“I’m glad I met your expectations.” You smiled, tugging him a bit closer.

“No, you exceeded them. You’re better than anything I could have imagined. I’m so lucky.” He paused, and his expression fell a little. “I know I’m a lot. I have a lot of problems and they might complicate things sometimes, but…”

“Steve, you’re perfect.” You shook your head and leaned forward, resting your forehead against his. “The universe gave you to me for a reason and I’m so, so glad it did. You’re amazing. I can’t think of anyone better to spend the rest of my life with.”

He was quiet for a moment before whispering, “Can I please kiss you, doll?”

You leaned forward, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips, the music swelling around you as you guided his hands to your waist, cupping his cheeks to hold him close to you. When the moment had passed, you rested your nose against his, meeting his eyes and inhaling his scent, committing this version of him to memory before he was reduced to just that, a memory.

“Steve Rogers, I am so sorry you will not hear me say these words until after I go back tomorrow, but I love you. I have loved you for a very long time. And I know I will love you for the rest of my life.”

You spent the rest of the night together. Twirling across the dancefloor, talking, soaking each other in. But when you reached the front porch of the townhouse, Steve looked back down the steps to find you’d disappeared, leaving him with nothing but the memory of your lips, your laugh, your smile.

“You gonna be alright?” Bucky asked, a hand on his shoulder.

“I don’t know.” He replied, words swallowed up by the sounds of the night. “Just give me a minute, pal.”

Bucky nodded, solemn. “Take all the time you need.”

The Beginning

Steve remembered the day you’d met—for the second time, though he didn’t realize it right away—like it was tattooed on his brain. It was a few years after he’d come out of the ice and he had taken Tony’s advice to get out more, which had led him to the local mall.

It had been an uneventful day. He strolled around the perimeter, taking in the storefronts, studying the fashion, browsing the menu of a pretzel place, reading the posters on the exterior of the movie theater, the things that were coming out in the coming months. Nothing interested him in particular. He didn’t really care for war movies.

After a few quiet hours, his peaceful walk was interrupted by screams, people running away at top speed, which, of course, caused him to spring into action, assessing the situation. He ran towards the source of the chaos, scanning, scanning, until his eyes landed on the attacker, a guy with a flamethrower, aimed at a teenage theater employee. Steve hurdled over a trash can, moving people out of the way, directing them to safety and trying to put himself between himself and the mallgoers, but before he could, you did, hands out in front of you and what seemed to be an invisible shield poised there, redirecting the flames and protecting the movie theater employee that had nearly been caught in the crossfire.

A quick flick of your wrist knocked the attacker’s gun out of his hands and it slid across the floor to Steve’s feet. He chucked it into the fountain without a second thought, where it fizzled pathetically. The guy lunged at you with heavy metal gauntlets, and you dodged the first swing but caught the second in the face, falling backwards. When you landed, however ungracefully, you sent a blast of energy at the guy, knocking him over a plant and sprawling onto the tile floor.

While the guy was on the ground, Steve tackled him, wrenching the gauntlets off of his hands and chucking them away, too. Soon, the police arrived, apprehending the guy while mall security comforted the distressed mall patrons, ushering them to safety and medical attention.

You sat on a bench after, breathing heavy, a cut on your forehead. Steve walked over, interested in this superpowered rescuer, someone who wasn’t yet on the Avengers’ radar, but would most definitely be on the news the next day if the sheer amount of phone footage recorded was any indication.

“Are you alright, ma’am?” He asked.

“Yeah, I’m fine. I’m just glad everyone is okay.” You told him, meeting his eyes.

He finally got a good look at you and froze, looking bewildered. A deer in headlights. “You’re…”

There you are, doll. I’ve been looking everywhere for you.

It was you. Of course it was you. Since the moment he’d been unfrozen, he’d been looking for you. His soulmate. The girl from the future that popped in on his twenty-fifth birthday, turned his whole life on its head, and then left without warning, hours after their first kiss. Back when he was five-foot-nothing with asthma and more medical conditions than he could even remember.

Back before he was anything.

And you’d loved him anyway. You’d given him the day of a lifetime and hope for not only a future, but for love. That someone could love him for him despite it all.

“I know.” You knew? “I…I don’t know what it is or…why I can do it. I’ve been like this since college.”

Your powers, you meant. You thought he was talking about your powers and not your name, which was burning a hole into his wrist beneath the thick leather band keeping it hidden.

“Right. Well, it’s…” He sighed, gathering his words, hiding the elation and pain behind a warm smile. “It’s a good thing you were here. I don’t have my shield on me.”

“Mine is built in.” You chuckled.

“You, uh…have a cut. On your forehead.”

“Oh, do I?” You reached up and found it with your fingers and they came away a bit bloody. “Shit.”

“Come on.” He offered you his hand and you took it, letting him lead you over to the counter of the theater. “Hi, do you have a first aid kit we could borrow?”

“Yeah, of course.” The girl at the counter said, rushing to grab it.

Steve patched you up with gentle hands, off in a corner on your own, in the room the theater used for birthday parties. Staring up at him, you finally realized the obvious. This was Captain America. And he was using a careful finger to spread a triple antibiotic ointment on your cut.

Play it cool, (Y/N).

“Do you do this often? The hero thing?” Steve asked, trying to sound somewhat indifferent. He couldn’t be, though. Not entirely. Not when it came to you.

“No.” You shrugged. “Haven’t had much opportunity, thankfully. I mean…I’d like to, I just didn’t know how to…get into it, I guess. Any email I sent to Stark or S.H.I.E.L.D. or whatever would end up on a slush pile.”

“Well, I’ve got some connections. If you’re seriously considering it. I can’t say I recommend it, but…Obviously you’ve got that protective instinct and you seem to work well under pressure.”

“I don’t know about that. My heart is about to leap out of my chest.” You admitted, laughing as he carefully laid a Bandaid over the cut, closing the kit.

“That makes two of us.”

“Well, if you think I’m really cut out for it…I’d love to help.”

***

It was three days later that Nick Fury got in touch with you. You thought it was a scam call at first, but no one else would possibly have the info about you that he did. That was S.H.I.E.L.D. for you, you supposed.

You packed up your apartment, your boxes of books, your old journals, your clothes and makeup, your life, and hopped in the jet that was waiting for you at the meeting place. Inside was a pilot with flaming red hair, Natasha Romanoff. The Black Widow. It was hard not to get a little starstruck.

She helped you load your things into the jet, let you settle into the copilot seat, and then you took off, soaring away from your old life and towards your new one, the mysterious, magnificent facility tucked into upstate New York, that iconic A emblazoned on the front of the building.

“Steve said you’re telekinetic. That’s cool.” She complimented with a smirk.

“Yeah, I’ve got force-field stuff. I don’t know what else, exactly.”

“Oh, we’ll figure all that out. Banner already has a list of tests he wants to run. Nothing too intense. I made him promise not to give you the lab rat treatment too soon.”

“Reassuring.” You chuckled.

“Wanda’s been decorating your room all day. It’s not often we get new blood.”

“I appreciate it. I can’t wait to meet everyone.”

“They can’t wait to meet you.”

The jet landed a little under an hour later and Natasha helped you haul boxes towards the front door, where Steve was waiting. It was like time slowed, that look in his eyes, glistening little stars.

“Come on, Rogers, these boxes aren’t going to move themselves.” Nat waved him over, snapping both of you out of your trance.

“Right, right.” He jogged over. “Is there anything heavy?”

“That one.” You pointed. “It’s got my candles in it.”

“On it.”

You grabbed a few tote bags, slinging your computer bag over your shoulder. A few others came out to help, Clint and Wanda namely, the latter of whom used her shimmering red powers to speed the process along. Were you any more confident in your own powers, you would do the same, but you hadn’t had much opportunity to use them yet, and you didn’t want to drop anything fragile on your first day.

You started unpacking the essentials, your smart speaker, your laptop, some books and your favorite candle. You put some clothes in the dresser, hung some up in the large sliding closet in the wall. Upon further examination, you had your own bathroom, too, which was nice. There was a wall tapestry with sunflowers on it, and several little knickknacks. Wanda’s loving touch.

Someone cleared their throat and you turned to find Steve there, arms crossed, leaning in the doorway.

“Hi there, um, just checking in. Figured you might want a tour when you got settled in. No rush, of course.”

“I would love a tour. I can already tell I’m gonna get lost in this place.”

He grinned. “Not on my watch. Come on. I’ll show you around.”

Steve walked with you through the office spaces, the computer labs, Bruce’s lab, Tony’s. Tony was in the city, but Bruce was home and introduced himself with a dad joke about the Hulk and a warm handshake. You saw the training facility, a giant room with floor to ceiling windows, a wall of mirrors, practice dummies, landing mats, and plenty of sparring weapons. There was, separately, a fully furnished gym, and then the basics, a large, modern kitchen, living areas and lounges, study spaces, a library, a party room with a bar, and a very fancy coffee machine.

You could see yourself making a home here.

Steve walked you back to the hallway where all the bedrooms were. “If you need anything or have any questions, my room is just down the hall on the left. Wanda is next door. Dinner is at six.”

“Six o’clock it is. Thank you, Cap.”

“You can call me Steve.”

“Steve.” You nodded, slowly accepting the fact that you were now on a first name basis with Captain America. “And you can call me (Y/N).”

“Nice to meet you, (Y/N).” He said, some twinge of nostalgia at the end of his words. You turned back into your room to get some more unpacking done and Steve walked back down the hall, taking a deep breath and looking up at the ceiling, doing his best to hold in his tears.

…Ready For It?

You spent the first few days in your room for the most part, unpacking but also hiding, if you were honest. You met Vision. He seemed nice. He also had the ability to phase through walls, apparently. Still no sign of Thor, but you weren’t holding your breath. You were sure he was a busy guy.

Sam Wilson introduced himself with the same offer everyone else had so far, to let them know if you needed anything. You appreciated it.

And then, finally, there was Tony, whose dry humor came across immediately. He sized you up, drilling questions about where you went to college, what you majored in, what your top three movies from the 1980s were. You were pretty sure he liked you, but you didn’t think he trusted you. And that was okay. You knew that was something you’d have to earn around there.

“No soulmark yet, kid?” He asked, eyeing up your bare wrist.

“Not yet.” You confirmed.

“That makes you what, twenty-three? Twenty-four?”

“Twenty-four. As of last month, actually.”

“Okay.” He nodded. “Well that’s exciting. I’m sure you’re counting down the days.”

“More or less.” You chuckled, catching Steve watching you out of the corner of your eye. He did that a lot, you noticed.

Before Tony could come up with some witty comeback, the lights flashed red, accompanied by a loud siren.

“Vis? What’s going on?” Tony asked as Vision walked into the room, his sophisticated sweater melting into the uniform you’d seen on the news, red and green with a golden cape.

“There seems to be a stir at the local fairgrounds. Tremors and gunshots. Hostages.”

“Alright, let’s go pay them a visit then.” Tony pressed a button on his watch and transformed into Iron Man in front of your very eyes. “You can stay here or come with us. Up to you. But suit up fast. We’re out in five.”

You stood there for a moment, waiting for the shock to wear off, but the sirens definitely weren’t helping.

“Stick with me.” Steve instructed, voice calm, confident.

“Okay.” You nodded, following after him, towards the hangar where they kept the jets.

Natasha was standing at a locker, pulling her catsuit on with impressive speed, Clint beside her, loading a quiver with arrows, checking his bow.

“Nat, can you get her ready?”

“Baby’s first mission?” She asked, impressed.

You nodded, waiting for orders.

“Well, it should be an easy one, from the sound of it. Here, put this on. We’ll get you your own gear in the next few weeks.”

She chucked you an extra suit and you did your best to shimmy into it. Surprisingly, you could actually move in it. There were holsters, but you weren’t gun trained, so you figured it was best to leave that to the professionals. Instead, you followed the others onto the jet, hoping your forcefields and blossoming battle instincts would be enough to protect you out there.

***

The fair had devolved quickly into madness. There was fire, screaming, running, and gunshots. You flinched at the onslaught of it, but followed the others out anyway, listening to the voice in your earpiece, Steve’s voice, as he issued orders. You were put on civilian evacuation with Sam while the others engaged with the attackers. Six of them.

You did your job diligently, ushering people to a safe distance while law enforcement arrived. Until one of the attackers engaged with you, however, mistaking you for a civilian. Something snapped. In an instant your flight instinct vanished, replaced with the need to fight. He punched at you and you countered, sweeping a leg under him and then using a forcefield to knock him into the cornfield.

One of them launched a bazooka at Tony while he wasn’t looking, and without a thought, you trapped the explosive in a bubble, forcing it into the air where it exploded harmlessly, away from everyone.

And when the dust settled, the rest of the team turned to look at you, sharing looks with each other.

“Thanks for the save, kid. I owe you one.” Tony complimented, clapping you on the back on his way into the jet. “Let’s get something to eat. I’m starving.”

Your heart raced with the adrenaline of battle, the feeling of a job well done. Steve gave you a thumbs-up, a proud grin. His risk had paid off. You weren’t a total failure.

“You doin’ okay?” He asked, slinging his shield onto his back.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” You replied, letting the energy fizzle back into your palms.

He watched with interest at the faint crackles of blue that made up your powers. “You did good out there.”

You felt your cheeks flush. “Thanks, I—"

“Alright new girl, were are we stopping for food?” Natasha asked, slinging an arm around your shoulders.

“I get to pick?” You asked with a laugh.

“And don’t be afraid to pick something fancy. It’s Tony’s treat.” Clint added, walking with the rest of you onto the jet. You strapped in while the others tried their darndest to influence your pick, bickering like siblings. Like your family.

Yeah, you could get used to this.

Waypoint

Your training started shortly after that first mission. Bruce took all your vitals, measured them before, during, and after use of your powers. He recorded said powers with every device known to man until he had your ability down to a science. He had a hunch they were of cosmic origin, but you had no idea when you could have possible come in contact with something like that.

Next came a uniform. At the moment, it was a dark indigo color, something similar to navy blue, but leaning a bit more purple. The chest area was left blank, Tony claiming he’d add a symbol once his graphic design team came up with something. He did add some accents up the arms and down the legs, thin, light blue lines that matched the color of your powers.

Natasha and Clint gave you a few crash courses on weapons and your aim left a bit to be desired, but your hand-eye coordination wasn’t bad. Sam put you on a modified military workout regimen to get in shape, get your stamina up with the rest of the team.

You practiced making forcefields, seeing how big you could make them, how small, how much force they could endure before they broke. Natasha shot some bullets at them, and your fields caught them, allowing you to kill their momentum and drop them harmlessly to the ground. They could withstand some electricity, but not Wanda’s powers. And they held against Steve’s superstrength, but not for long. Still, a few hits from a supersoldier was more than most could endure, so it would buy you some time in the field.

Eventually, you moved on from just forcefields and started learning to move objects. It turned out, you were not limited to bubbles. You could create platforms underneath things. This evolved into creating platforms underneath people, that they could jump on, or ride on top of while you moved them.

You practiced using them for transport too, but it was harder standing on them while controlling them, especially if you tried to jump from platform to platform. It was a bit like patting your head and rubbing your tummy, and it would take a lot of practice.

There weren’t many missions, and the ones that popped up, you didn’t get sent on. They were high level things, and while your powers were improving, and very quickly, Bruce was always quick to reassure you, you weren’t ready for covert ops yet, especially ones that had been months in the making.

Every time Steve got sent off, he left with that sad little half-smile of his, the one where he pressed his lips together, eyes glittering like a lake under moonlight. He’d give you some words of comfort, usually dealing with how short the mission was supposed to be. It didn’t often make you feel better.

Bruce stayed behind with you, most times. More like all of the times. Code Greens, as they were called, were seldom necessary, and besides, as they had learned with Wanda back during the Ultron days, Bruce could be a liability if someone else got in his head. But it was nice not being completely alone in the big empty facility.

“He always looks so sad when he leaves.” You noted, sipping from a mug of warm tea. Steve had left only moments before, the last member of the team that was shipping out.

Bruce thought about it for a moment. “Does he?”

“Oh. I don’t know. Maybe I don’t know him that well.” You shrugged, the sounds of Animal Crossing resonating from the TV.

“You know, he has, lately. He didn’t used to.” Bruce noted.

“Weird.”

“Uh-huh.” He replied absentmindedly. “So explain to me this game?”

“Okay, so you move to this island and have to spend all your money paying off debt to this raccoon…”

It was in another training session that there was a malfunction. A shock grenade went off dangerously close to Sam. Before you could even process what you were doing, your hand shot out, a bright, pulsating star crackling in front of him, another, second star on the other side of the room. Steve assessed the situation and used the shield to knock Sam into the star, neutralizing the grenade right after. There was a bright flash and Sam appeared on the other side of the room, tumbling out of the second star.

You froze, curling your fingers and closing both of them. There was a slight pinch in your shoulder, near the base of your neck. The others all stared.

“Wait, what was that?” Bruce asked over the intercom.

“You did that?” Steve asked, motioning to Sam as he walked over.

“I think so.”

“What was that?”

Natasha asked, looking you up and down. Sam stared at you like you’d sprouted a third eye.

“I don’t know.”

“Do it again.” Bruce insisted. “Hang on, I’m coming in there.”

The door from the observation room opened and Bruce joined the rest of you in the circle that was steadily forming, all of them watching you, waiting.

“I don’t know, it was just like…” You focused on that feeling again, the desperation to get Sam the hell away from that grenade, and as though you were punching a hole through reality, it opened in the center of the circle, an eight-pointed star, bobbing and ebbing and flowing, made of the light blue energy you were so familiar with.

Carefully, you opened another one, ten feet in the air above the first. Clint shrugged and chucked a tennis ball into it. Sure enough, it popped up to the second one, before falling down through the first one again. This continued until eventually you closed the bottom one, letting the tennis ball bounce harmlessly across the floor.

“Well shit.”

“Waypoints.” Bruce said, deep in thought. “Teleportation. This…this opens up a lot of doors.”

“Yeah, no kidding.” Steve murmured.

“Hey, that’s kind of cool. Waypoint.” Clint said, drawing attention to it. “What do you think?”

“What, like as a codename?” You asked, weighing it as an option.

“I like it.” Sam grinned. “Waypoint.”

“Waypoint.” You repeated, trying it out. Hi, I’m Waypoint. I’m an Avenger.

It sounded silly, but it was getting more official by the day. There was, of course, only one way to make it official official, and that was with one of Tony Stark’s famed parties…

Wonderstruck

You let out a sigh, staring at your reflection in the mirror. It was the night of the big party. Your first, as an Avenger, and the official induction of what Tony was deeming the second class of Earth’s Mightiest Heroes, Sam: the Falcon, Wanda: the Scarlet Witch, Vision, and You: Waypoint.

He’d gotten you a dress to wear, one that matched your uniform. It was long, sleek, that navy blue/indigo color. It glittered like stars and moved like a dream. And in the middle of it, poised at the base of the sweetheart neckline, was the eight-pointed star that Tony had turned into your symbol.

Your hair and makeup were done, and all that was left was the zipper.

Someone knocked on the door.

“It’s open!” You called, expecting Natasha or Wanda. Instead, it was Steve, who, when he saw you were unzipped, pulled the door almost all the way closed and shielded his eyes with his hand.

“Sorry! I’ll leave—”

“Wait, actually, could you help me zip this up? I can’t reach.”

Steve nodded, slowly lowering his hand and entering the room. He closed the door behind him to give you some privacy. He was dressed in a sharp black suit with a blue tie. His lapel pin looked like a tiny version of his shield.

“Wow…” He murmured, taking you in. “You look great, (Y/N).”

“You think so? I’m not sure blue is really my color…”

He scoffed. “It most certainly is.” He swept the hair off of your shoulder, meeting your eyes in the reflection in the mirror as he gently pulled the zipper higher until it was secure in place. “In more ways than one.”

“Yeah, guess so.” You agreed, nervous energy crackling around your fingers, blue as ever. You dispelled it, snapping out of it.

Steve looked at the two of you in the mirror for a long time before turning towards the door again. Halfway there, though, he turned back around, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a flat velvet box. “This is, um…for you.”

“Oh! Thank you.” You reached for it, heart racing. Inside was a necklace, its pendant a silver star with eight points. In the center, an aquamarine gem. You gasped, looking at it. It was beautiful, delicate. “Steve, this is beautiful. Thank you so much.”

“It’s the least I could do.” He said, offering his hand. “May I?”

“Please.” You said, handing him the necklace and moving your hair out of the way. He did the clasp behind your neck. It settled between your collarbones.

“There. Now it’s official.” He whispered.

“Almost.”

“Almost.” Steve agreed, offering you his elbow. “Right this way.”

You looped your arm through his, letting him lead you out into the initial murmurs of the party. What Natasha dubbed the “extended family” had shown up. Rhodey, Maria Hill, Nick Fury, Happy Hogan, Pepper Potts, and, of course, Thor.

He was a sight, that was for sure. He towered over everyone else at 6’5”, arms the size of tree trunks. It was a bit intimidating to say the very least.

“Rogers!” Thor bellowed.

“Thor! I didn’t think you were coming.”

He grinned. “I never miss a feast.” His eyes fell on you. “And you must be this new team member Banner spoke of.”

“I’m (Y/N). It’s nice to finally meet you.”

“The honor is mine.”

“Here.” Natasha handed you a champagne flute. She eyed up your necklace. “That’s cute.”

“Steve gave it to me.”

She quirked an eyebrow and looked up at the supersoldier, who still had your arm. “Steve has good taste.”

“Steve had help.” He admitted, smiling sheepishly.

“I’d get you one too, Rogers, but Thor has the strong stuff.” Natasha said, patting his other arm while you took a sip of the champagne. It was sweet, tangy. “God’s favorite boy scout has trouble getting drunk.”

“My tolerance is too good.”

“I think we just need to get you a Four Loko. Or two.”

“A what?” Steve asked.

“It’s like four drinks in one can. They’re insane. I tried in college, but tapped out halfway through.”

He considered it for a moment, letting out a laugh. “See, that just might work.”

Tony wandered around the lounge, greeting everyone. He looked you up and down. “You look beautiful, Portal Girl.”

You internally chuckled. The others had advised you not to feed his ego when he used his nicknames. “Thank you, Tony.”

“And you’re also here, Rogers.”

“Tony.” Steve nodded.

“You her date tonight?” He asked, motioning to your joint arms.

“Oh. Yeah, I suppose I am.” Steve agreed, not budging. Neither were you.

“Well, I hope you’ve taken some dance lessons since last time, Rogers. I’m sure (Y/N) wouldn’t want to have her feet walked all over.”

Steve chuckled and rolled his eyes as Tony moved onto his next targets. Sam emerged, looking very sharp in a red suit. Even Vision had dressed up for the occasion, Wanda beside him wearing an elegant red dress. The two of them talked and laughed on the other side of the room and you smiled. You could tell when you moved in that he cared about her.

You wondered if robots could have soulmates, too. If any android had a soul, surely it was Vision. Maybe you’d ask him about it sometime.

Once all of the expected guests were accounted for, Tony did the briefest ceremony in the history of ceremonies, introducing you all to the few members of the press he had allowed to come. You spent the beginning of the evening shaking hands, networking, and then once the strangers left, the real party started.

Nat switched you to something a lot stronger to champagne, and she was running the bar, so it was easy to get refills. Clint and Thor were arm wrestling on one of the tables which was…hilarious, admittedly.

Steve found you after a few hours apart. “Hey, will you be my partner?”

“Sure, for what?”

He laughed, loosening up quite a bit with Thor’s Asgardian mead in his system. “Sam and Bruce are trying to teach me how to play Beer Ball or something.”

“Beer Pong?”

“That one, yeah.” He nodded. “Winners play Clint and Nat.”

“That checks out.” You chuckled. “Yeah, I’m game. I haven’t played since college, though.”

“I haven’t played ever so I’m sure you’re a step ahead of me anyway.”

“We’ll see about that. Your physics skills are pretty good, what with the shield and all.” You complimented, earning that charming smile of his. “We might just give them a run for their money.”

“Enough flirting, kids, get over here.” Bruce grinned as he finished lining up the cups.

“You know how to play Beer Pong?” You asked, plucking a ping pong ball off of the table and fiddling with it.

“Kid, I have seven PhDs. I have played my share of Beer Pong.” Bruce admitted.

You couldn’t help but smile at that. It was nice to see the Avengers loosen up like this, have a good time together, really truly bond.

You gave Steve the basic rundown of the rules: no elbows past the edge of the table, balls back, stoplight, island, and that if you let Sam and Bruce get too many cups, you and Steve would get “schwaisted” as the kids said, or, at the very least, you would. Steve would probably be fine.

“Ladies first.” Sam said, giving you the second ping pong ball, one of which, you handed to Steve.

“You’re gonna regret that.” You said, rubbing the ball between your hands before perfectly bouncing it into the cup at the front of the pyramid. “Your turn, Steve.”

“Don’t mind if I do.” He said, sinking the ball into the same cup. “I believe that’s three cups, gentlemen.”

Sam’s jaw dropped. He shared a look with Bruce. “Maybe this was a bad idea.”

“You’re telling me.” Bruce chuckled, retrieving the ping pong ball and rolling it back. He started drinking the contents of the first cup, leaving the other two to Sam. “Alright, do your worst.”

Needless to say, you wiped the floor with the other two. Barely even gave them a chance. Which is why it was only fair that Clint and Natasha kicked the absolute shit out of the two of you.

You struggled to down your third cup, which is why when you reached for the fourth, Steve shook his head and took it from you, only offering a wink when you opened your mouth to protest.

“Hey! Steve, it’s supposed to be five each.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, she already finished hers.” Steve shrugged, chugging another like it was water. “Right, (Y/N)?���

“Yeah absolutely. What he said.” You shrugged.

You helped clean up the mess a bit after the game was over, rounding up empty cups, wiping down the table, and then washing your hands as Tony switched the music to something upbeat, dancing music.

“Come on, let’s dance.” Steve urged, clearly toeing the line between tipsy and drunk. He reached out for your hand and you couldn’t resist. You didn’t even try.

You let him lead you out to the middle of the room, where Wanda and Vision were already dancing together and looking adorable doing it.

“I thought you couldn’t dance.” You laughed as he spun you around to the music.

“I’m a quick learner.” He whispered, mouth against your ear.

You swore your entire body flushed red, but you let your feet lead you through the dance. Steve took both of your hands, swinging you out and then back in, spinning you around. You blamed the alcohol on what happened next. Your heel caught on the fabric of your dress and you fell over the back of one of the couches, tugging Steve down with you.

He laughed, using an arm to push himself off of you, hovering, eyes soft. “Sorry.”

“It’s my fault. You’ve got me falling for you, Rogers.” You murmured, gazing up at him through your eyelashes.

You said it as a joke, a quip, but there was some truth in it. More than some. It had been a magical, magical night. And if it weren’t for the leather cuff on his wrist, you could see yourself spending the rest of your life with him.

Steve closed his eyes, smiling and sitting up, helping you upright again. “I’ll go get us some water.”

You sighed and sat back against the couch, heart hammering in your chest.

Natasha perched on the armrest, looking down at you. “What was that?”

“Not sure. I think I fumbled the bag. If…if there even was a bag I guess.” You chuckled, shrugging.

“No, there is something there. I can see it.” Natasha said, thinking as she nursed a glass of wine. “Hmmm…”

Steve stood in the kitchen, getting two glasses of filtered water from the fridge. He exhaled a deep sigh, leaning against it. He replayed the moment in his head over and over. The look in your eyes, the way your necklace glimmered in the light, the sound of your voice, the flush of your cheeks. You were catching feelings for him, that much was clear. He wasn’t sure if it was a good thing or a bad thing.

Steve Rogers, I am so sorry you will not hear me say these words until after I go back tomorrow, but I love you. I have loved you for a very long time. And I know I will love you for the rest of my life.

Maybe it was a good thing, he reasoned, thinking back on his first night with you all those years ago. But you still couldn’t know why. Not yet.

It was going to kill him to keep it a secret for ten more months.

Timeless

Sherbert rays of the sunrise lit the training room, filling it with a warm orange glow. You were sitting on the floor, stretching your legs while you listened to music. That was another thing on the growing list of skills that had improved during your stint as an Avenger: your flexibility.

Suddenly, Steve was standing over you, saying something you couldn’t hear due to the noise cancelling headphones over your ears.

You slid one off, looking up at him. “Good morning.”

“Morning. You’re here early.”

“Couldn’t sleep.” You shrugged, reaching for your other leg.

“Sorry to hear that. Wanna talk about it?”

“Oh, it’s nothing. I think I drank too much caffeine before bed last night. Learned my lesson. No caffeine after six.”

“That’s a good rule. Mind if I stretch with you?” He asked.

“I don’t mind.” You tossed your headphones onto your workout bag and connected your phone to the Bluetooth speakers, putting on some music you could both listen to.

“I recognize her. This girl’s voice.”

“Taylor Swift.”

“Ah. Yes, her. I keep hearing about her.”

“That doesn’t surprise me.” You laughed. “Have you liked any of her songs so far?”

“I don’t know if I could name one for you, to be honest.” He listened to the song that was playing. “This one’s not bad, though.”

“I’ll send you some recommendations. There are some I think you’d really vibe with.”

He smiled. “I’d really like that.”

The others came in not long after, did their warm-ups, and then Steve briefed everyone on the plan for their training session, one in which everyone would swap weapons, practice using each other’s things in case they ever had to in battle if one of their teammates got disarmed.

You started with Clint. He showed you the absolute basics of archery, how to pull back the bow, how to notch an arrow, how to aim, taking into account distance. You fired a few arrows into a target and did okay, you supposed, but you would need some practice if you wanted to actually get good at it. Years of it, realistically.

Natasha showed you how to use her electric batons, which were fun, but did intimidate you a little. You definitely did not want to end up on the wrong end of those things.

And then, inevitably, you were standing in front of Steve. He offered you his shield, which on its own seemed daunting. You held it for a second, assessing the weight of it. It was noticeably lighter than you thought it would be.

“Woah.”

“Yeah. People always expect it to be heavier.” He said, a hand resting on his hip as he watched you hold it. It looked so right in your hands, he decided. “It’s good for a lot of things, but first…” Carefully, he helped you put your arm through the straps on the back of it, holding it in front of your body in its primary and most famous purpose.

You let out a sigh, shaking your head. “This is so crazy.”

“Is it?”

“Yeah, you have no idea.” You chuckled, waving it around a bit.

“You keep looking at it like it’s Thor’s hammer or something.” He teased.

“Feels like it.”

“Well the good news is, this thing is not password protected by some Asgardian magic words. The bad news is, that means the bad guys can pick it up, too.” Steve said, gently positioning your body in an offensive stance, nudging a foot with his own, switching your arms around. “You can use it to bash somebody head on, or you can angle it a bit to get a more direct blow. It will take the force of most things. I…I actually kind of don’t know the limits. Hasn’t failed me yet. The paint does come off from time to time, though, so don’t worry about that.”

“Okay, wow.” You nodded. “Good to know.”

“I trust you with it.” He said, eyes meeting yours.

You smiled, heart racing. “I’m honored.”

He showed you a few other tricks, and then training wrapped up for the day, everyone grabbing some water, taking a shower, or making plans for lunch. Once you walked off with Wanda, Nat cornered Steve.

“What was that?” She asked, that catlike grin on her face.

“What was what?”

“I saw it, you know, the way you looked at her. I think you’ve got a soft spot.”

“Yeah, well, I did rope her into all this. Can’t say I don’t feel responsible for her.” He dodged expertly, weaving through Natasha’s mental gymnastics with skill and precision, or so he thought.

“Uh-huh sure. Well, she, Wanda, and I are going antiquing this afternoon. You should come. After all, you know quite a bit about vintage valuables.”

He laughed. “Hey!”

She walked off, smiling to herself. Steve thought about it for all of four seconds before he decided he would tag along. He hadn’t been to an antique shop in this century, so he couldn’t imagine the kinds of things they had there now. He might even learn a thing or two.

***

After a quick lunch, Steve did decide to tag along. It wound up being him, Vision, and the girls, which he certainly didn’t mind.

You and Wanda were buzzing with excitement, Natasha looking on and following behind with Steve. Vision lingered, studying everything, picking things up to get a closer look. He had projected a human disguise over himself, something Steve didn’t know he could even do, but it seemed to work. No one had batted an eye at him since they stepped foot in the shop.

“This place is…huge.” Steve said, glancing down the hall of the seemingly endless store.

“Biggest one in the state.” You chimed. “It’s the whole city block.”

“There’s a basement, too. And a second floor.” Natasha informed him, patting his arm. “This is gonna be an all day kinda thing.”

“Oh undoubtedly.” He said, setting down the teacup in his hands, a petite, floral thing.

You sifted through a box of records, picking up the soundtrack of the Muppets Movie.

“Is that a frog?”

“This is Kermit thee Frog, show some respect.” You laughed, putting the record in your basket.

“Kermit?” Steve asked again, seeming genuine.

“Oh I forgot you missed the Muppets, oh my god.”

“Yeah, that doesn’t sound familiar.”

“We need to fix that as soon as possible.” You told him. “Can’t have you missing out on cultural icons like Gonzo and Miss Piggy.”

“Okay now you’re making things up.” He chuckled, shuffling through the records as well. You showed him a few good ones and he added them to his basket, saying something about how he’s been meaning to use his new record player.

Wanda browsed some vintage rings, picking out a few, and Natasha rifled through a rack of vintage dresses, most of them from the forties and fifties from the look of it. Nat held up a navy blue one, silky, with short ruffled sleeves and buttons down the front. Steve froze, looking at it. For a moment, it looked just a little too familiar. Like the dress you had worn that night.

Eventually Nat put the dress back. You hadn’t seen it. You were distracted by a shelf of VHS tapes, looking for the old Barbie movies, whatever those were. Wanda was with you, on the next shelf over, calling out movie names when she found something cool.

Steve wandered off on his own, looking around at the different trinkets and toys, old letterman jackets and jewelry, dishes that may or may not contain lead. Finally, he came upon a little room full of art, paintings and photographs, handmade pottery.

Time stood still.

He stared at the large painting on the wall, oil on canvas. Two star-crossed lovers dancing in a bar in Brooklyn, a little guy with a dream, dancing with the most beautiful girl in the world, twirling in her dark blue dress. His heart raced. He never thought he’d see this painting again.

It had been his last painting before leaving for Camp Lehigh, the last painting he did before his life and body changed forever. He’d used the last of his paints to make it, every color mixed with care to get the exact color of your hair, your eyes, your lips, all from memory.

And it was here in front of him. When he had been presumed dead, it must have been sold off. He didn’t really have anyone left it could go to.

In that moment, he wasn’t Captain America. Standing in his shoes was that little guy from Brooklyn.

“Woah.” You murmured, suddenly right next to him. “It’s beautiful.”

“Yeah, it…it is.” He agreed, looking away from it. He didn’t want you to get too close of a look at it. However, that didn’t stop you from walking forward to inspect it closer.

“‘Soulmates.’ Artist unknown.” You read from the plaque. “Oh, it’s from the 40s. 1943. Does it look familiar?”

“Yeah, actually. Bucky liked that bar.” Steve said, pointing to the details of the interior. “It’s a little place in Brooklyn, called Val’s. Well, it was I guess. I don’t know if it’s still open anymore.”

Your eyes lingered on the woman’s face, on the man’s. You didn’t say anything about how they looked, about the uncanny resemblance to yourself and Steve. Instead, you sighed. “Someday, I want to be that in love with someone.”

He just about cried. But instead, he gathered his words, put a hand on your shoulder, and told you with confidence, “You will be.”

***

Hours later, when you were all shopped out and you’d checked out with your things, Steve stayed at the counter while the rest of you went to the car.

“Hey, um, that painting in the art room. The soulmates in the bar. I’m interested in buying it. Would it be possible to have it held here for a while, though?”

“Oh I’m sure we could arrange something,” said the old man at the counter with a smile and a nod. He started writing out the purchase form.

Steve glanced back towards where it was, that fragment of his soul he didn’t think he’d ever see again. He knew the fact that he’d stumbled upon it was nothing short of fate.

Wildest Dreams

It had been Tony’s idea. Of course it had. It always was, wasn’t it? He’d insisted that all the members of the team who hadn’t yet been exposed to Wanda’s mind manipulation should be, just in case there was a misfire during combat and one of you got caught in the crossfire. It would be important to see how each of you reacted, the kinds of things you saw so you’d be able to snap out of it.

Theoretically, of course.

This left Natasha, Steve, Thor, Bruce, and Tony out, as they’d already had their fun with Wanda’s magic. The rest of you, however, were waiting for your turn.

Wanda felt conflicted about it. She didn’t want to hurt her friends on accident, let alone on purpose, but Tony was insistent, and he had some of the others on his side. Namely, Rhodey, who had been hanging out more and more, and Clint, who’d had his experience with a different kind of mind control shortly before the Battle of New York.

It was part of why he’d volunteered to go first. Once he came to, he gave you a thumbs-up, shaking it off and walking over to Natasha.

“You sure you’re good?” She checked.

“Yeah, I’m fine. No big deal. Who’s next?”

Sam looked at you and the despondent look on your face before volunteering himself to go next. Rhodey went in solidarity, despite being too busy with his government responsibilities to be a full-time member of the team. And then it was your turn. You stood next to Wanda. She offered an apologetic smile before red crackled around her fingertips and it hit you.

For the first few seconds, you were fine. You felt tingly. You blinked a few times and your eyes felt weird. No doubt, your eyes were red, like the others’ turned when they were under the influence of Wanda’s powers.

“Hey, (Y/N), you okay?” Steve asked, voice urgent.

“Think so.” You replied, mouth full of cotton. It felt like that time in college someone had given you an edible that was too strong. The first and last time you’d ever gotten high. Like you were sinking and melting. Your legs buckled and Steve surged forward, catching you before you hit the floor, gently lowering you into a comfortable position. “Hey, you’re pretty strong…” You murmured, head lolling onto his shoulder.

The others all looked at each other. Clint dragged over a bean bag and Steve gently lowered you onto it, adjusting it so you’d be comfortable.

“She’ll be okay, Steve.” Natasha reassured him, the guilt in his eyes palpable, yet still not explained. Not entirely. She had a sneaking suspicion whatever it was had something to do with the name written on his wrist, the name he wouldn’t show anyone. Not her, not Nick Fury, not even Sam.

“Yeah, I know.” He nodded, slowly taking a step back. His eyes didn’t leave you. He had to force himself to look away. “I, um…I have to go…There’s a…” Steve motioned towards the door before leaving the room, while you sat there, catatonic, off in your own little world.

***

“Hey, (Y/N), you okay?” Steve asked, his voice close. “That was a long nap. Forget to set your alarm?”

You opened your eyes and you were laying down on the couch. Steve was standing at the island in the kitchen, cooking something. It smelled good. Really good. He was wearing a button-up, sleeves rolled to his elbows, still wearing his slacks from work. He had music playing from the record player, your vast collection of hits from decades of music, and he was still hooked on 40s jazz. You supposed you couldn’t blame him.

“You cooking?”

“Mmhmm.” He nodded. “Come over here and get a taste.”

You followed, out to the kitchen. He set down his wooden spoon and swiftly intercepted you, pulling you up onto the countertop, kissing you deeply, a hand running through your hair. Your hand came up to frame his cheek. He was growing a bit of a beard these days. You liked it, thought it suited him.

You sighed against his lips and then pulled away to look at him. He grabbed your wrist, pressing a long kiss to your soulmark. Three simple words. Steven Grant Rogers.

“I love you, doll.” His words cut through you, eyes tender and sincere. “Always have.”

But this wasn’t your Steve. And it wasn’t your reality, given away by the slightest tinge of red in his irises.

It wasn’t real. And neither was the glimmering wedding ring around your finger.

***

You blinked awake, the power dispersing from your head, leaving you shockingly sober. And hungry. That familiar sting was back, right between your neck and shoulder. You wondered how long it’d been.

Clint was in the room with you. So was Sam. Natasha was gone. Wanda too, surprisingly. As was Steve.

You got chills even thinking about him, the phantom of the wedding ring still clinging to your finger.

“You alright?” Sam asked, making eye contact with you first.

“Yeah, I’m good. How long…?”

“Three minutes. New record.” Clint said with a grin.

“Oh.” No wonder it had felt so short. Part of you wanted it to last longer.

“We’re sending Rhodey to get some food, if you’re hungry.” Sam said.

“Where from?”

“The golden arches.”

“I could go for some nuggies.” You admitted. “A McFlurry, perchance.”

Clint laughed. “How did I know you would say that?”

In the kitchen, Steve stood, hands on the counter, mug of coffee steaming in front of him, untouched. He stared at the cupboard door.

“That must be one interesting cupboard. You’ve been standing there for like five whole minutes.”

“It’s only been three.” Steve said, glancing at the clock.

“And the fact that you know down to the exact minute is why I’m so intrigued.” Natasha chimed, tilting her head. “What is going on with her? I have never seen you look at anyone like that in the entire time I’ve known you. Is she…what, the kid of an old friend? Grandkid?”

“It’s nothing, Natasha. She’s the newest member of the team, I’m just worried—”

“Steve.” She said, cutting him off, that look in her eye. “If you want to get all defensive about it, fine. Keep your secrets.” She sighed. “But if you need someone, I’m here. Whatever it is, you don’t have to carry it alone.”

Steve let out a long sigh, weighing his options. It was something to the tune of eight months until your birthday. That was still a long time. A lot of time for that secret to slip through the cracks and, potentially, break the timeline. The Butterfly Effect was something he had researched extensively. Your future together was something he wasn’t willing to risk.

No, it was too important that you stay in the dark, even if that meant keeping his friends in the dark, too.

“Thanks. I appreciate it. But I’m fine, really. It’s nothing.”

“Uh-huh.” She nodded unconvinced. “Well, she’s out of it. Clint just texted. She wants twenty chicken nuggets and an Oreo McFlurry.”

The relief was immediate. You were okay. He could only wonder what you had seen in there, and why it had been so quick. The others had been under for upwards of ten minutes. You’d only been down three. “Well good. I’ll let Rhodey know.”

Invisible String

It was late. A few weeks after your tussle with the Scarlet Witch, if you could even call it that. You could tell Wanda felt guilty about the whole thing, but it wasn’t her fault. If anything it was Tony’s. Sure, the exercise had prepared you for a worst case scenario, but it had also dug a very awkward gap between you and Steve. You could barely even look at him without wanting to burst into tears.

He had his soulmate, whoever they were. You really needed to let it go.

You walked down to the kitchen to get a cold drink, but there was already someone sitting at the table. Steve, sitting there, hand resting on his chin, papers spread out in front of him. There was a picture you recognized as Bucky Barnes.

You’d heard whispers of him around the Compound from time to time. Steve’s best friend turned Hydra assassin, brainwashed for decades and now, rogue, out there somewhere. Sam always seemed to be looking for the guy. Natasha and Clint, too. And there had never been any sign of him. Well, until now, it seemed.

On the TV, Star Wars was playing. Empire Strikes Back. Steve looked up at it every so often.

“Star Wars?” You asked.

He chuckled and nodded. “Yeah.”

“Your first time?”

“No. They were the first things I watched when I was out of the ice. I like them a lot. The hope, the Force, the Jedi stuff, the music.” He shrugged. “They’re good.”

“Who’s your favorite?”

Steve smiled, sheepish. “Han Solo.”

“And here I thought you’d say Luke Skywalker.”

“He’s great, too. You like Star Wars?”

“Yeah, I used to be obsessed with them in high school. Haven’t seen them in a while, though. I’m something of a Leia girl myself.”

“That makes a lot of sense.”

“Does it?”

“Oh yeah.” He nodded. “You’ve got that spark.”

“What order did you watch them in?”

“Nat made me watch the originals first.” He confessed. “I like the prequels, though. Well, two of the prequels. Phantom Menace is…”

“Oh yeah. You’re not alone in that.” You laughed softly. “You know, I never really pegged you as a sci-fi nerd.”

“Yeah, well, someone I really care about seemed to like them a whole lot, so I knew I had to check them out.” He shrugged. “What are you doing up so late?”

“Getting a drink. What are you doing up so late?”

He looked down at the papers and then back up at you. “Oh. Yeah, this is just…Trying to get some stuff figured out.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” You offered.

He thought about it for a long moment, letting out a little sigh before nodding. That was the only reassurance you needed before grabbing a can of soda from the fridge and plopping down into the seat next to him.

“They found him. Clint and Natasha. They think he’s hiding out in Kentucky somewhere.” Steve said. He shook his head. “He saved my life a few years ago. After all the brainwashing, he still pulled me out of the water. I don’t know how much of him is still him, but…”

“But it’s worth a try.” You reasoned. “Obviously he’s been through a lot, but he must be pretty strong to have made it through everything.”

“I don’t know when I’m going. They haven’t narrowed it down all the way. And Tony doesn’t want me to even go at all.”

“Tony is full of shit.”

He laughed. “Yeah…”

“If you want to go, you should go. And if you need me, I’m there. You shouldn’t have to do it alone.”

He met your eyes with a sobering gaze. “You mean it?”

“Yeah, of course.” You agreed. “When, uh, when I was in the eighth grade, my class took a trip down to DC. There’s a Captain America exhibit in the Air and Space Museum, it had just opened. We learned about you and Bucky. How close you were, what happened. There are videos of me just crying uncontrollably there, learning about it. They had to take me outside, get me some water. I couldn’t go back in. I don’t even know why. Something about it…”

“About me?” Steve whispered.

“That’s embarrassing. I shouldn’t have told you that.” You chuckled, shaking your head.

“It’s not embarrassing. It’s sweet.” Steve said, reaching for your hand on the table. You let him take it, fingers curling.

“So when you found me that day, I guess I always knew it would lead to something like this. A stroke of fate, or something.” You admitted. “Some part of me knew that you would mean something to me someday. I guess I never thought we would be friends.”

“How old were you?”

“God, this would have been like ten years ago at this point. I was like fourteen or something. I was twenty-one when they found you in the ice. It was all over the news my sophomore year of college, kind of right when I was figuring my powers out, actually. And then everything was all over the news and I…went into hiding more or less, hoping it wouldn’t be me on the TV next.”

“Until the mall?”

“Yeah. But I couldn’t just…let it happen, you know? It was like some part of me knew that I had these powers for a reason, and that if I didn’t stop it, who would? I didn’t know you were there, obviously, but, I think even if I had, I still would have jumped in.”

He smiled softly, eyes earnest. He gave your hand a squeeze. “Well I’m really glad you did, for the record. I think we’re all a little better off because of it.”

There was a moment of quiet. “Steve?”

“Yeah?”

“How old are you?”

“Oh, um…I’m ninety-eight.”

You chuckled. “No, like how old are you really?”

Steve took a breath. No one ever asked him that. No one really cared about that. No one except you, it seemed. “I’m not sure. I’d have to do some math. I think I’m twenty-eight maybe. Twenty-nine.”

“Thought so.” You smiled. “Well, Steve, whenever you get it figured out, say the word and I’ll suit up. We’ll bring him home.”

Out of the Woods

The next mission you were sent on wasn’t to bring back Bucky. Not yet. Instead, you were on the team that got deployed into a rainforest to break up a rogue Hydra base. It was warm, almost too warm for your uniform, but you were grateful for the coverage, especially when they started shooting.

You ran down the makeshift path, evading enemies and throwing up forcefields to stop them in their tracks. Thor was in town, so he was zipping around through the trees with his hammer, the force of it bringing some down every once in a while.

“On your six.” Steve reported through the comms. You dodged out of the way and sure enough, a Hydra agent tumbled ahead, tripped by a small field you cast at his feet. A few of Natasha’s bullets took care of that.

“Thanks.” You replied.

“Don’t mention it. I could actually use some backup. I’m in the building. There’s more of them than I thought there would be.”

“I’m on my way.” You reported, changing directions and sprinting towards the building housing the Hydra base. What they were doing here, you had no clue, but Bruce theorized it had something to do with a meteor that had landed out that way a few months prior. They were probably harvesting whatever materials had been inside it.

You kicked down the door. Steve had six guys on him, two of which he disposed of quickly. You made a portal beneath one guy, sending him falling down a flight of stairs with the second portal you opened.

The other three guys went down quickly enough, only for a guy in a giant mech armor to come crashing through the interior wall. He shot and Steve jumped in front of you, taking a hit to the neck. A tiny syringe filled with shimmering purple liquid.

“Fuck! Steve!” You ran to him, but that didn’t take care of the large problem looming behind you. Seeing red, you made another portal at the feet of the robot, opened it in the ceiling, and cut it off as it was halfway through, destroying it in a flash of sparks and shredded metal. It shut down, giving you time to get to Steve.

He was sitting against the wall, head slumped to the side. You took the syringe out of his neck, tucking it into a pouch on your belt for testing. If this thing was poison, you’d need Bruce to start whipping up an antidote as soon as possible.

“Steve, hey, stay with me.” You touched his face, trying to wake him.

At your touch, he blinked a few times, drowsy. He gave you a crooked smile. “Heyyy, there you are.”

“Come on, we’ve gotta get you back to the jet.” You told him, pulling him to his feet, but he slumped in your arms like dead weight. You had been working out since you’d been recruited, but he was still heavy. “You’ve gotta work with me, big guy.”

“They used to call me little guy.” He murmured, sounding drunk. “Back in Brooklyn.”

“I’m sure they did.” You slung his arm around your shoulders and started hauling ass out of the building. A few agents shot at you, trying to hit you while you were distracted with carrying Steve to safety, but they forgot you were the one Avenger whose specialty was defense.

You lit a forcefield in your left hand, using its faint blue light to guide the two of you through the dim hallways. It slowed all the bullets to a stop, causing them to drop to the floor harmlessly. There was something kind of poetic about it, you supposed. Steve was so famous for that shield of his, but now you were the shield, protecting him.

“Did you guys find anything in there?” Clint asked.

“The good news is, we cleared most of it out. Bad news is, Steve got shot with something. I’m bringing him back to the ship now. I don’t know what it was but he’s acting really drunk.”

“Tranq darts seem to have that effect on him, yeah.” Bruce explained. “Bring him back here and I’ll make sure it wasn’t laced with something else.”

“On it.”

You lugged Steve along, stopping to rest and readjust against a wall for a second.

“Thank you for takin’ care of me even when I don’t feel so good.” He said, leaning his full weight against you.

“Of course, Steve. I’ve got ya.” You pulled his arm around your shoulders again. “You would do the same for any of us.”

He smiled, face impossibly close to yours. “Oh, I’d do anything for you, (Y/N).”

You knew it was probably just the drugs talking but you’d be lying if you said it didn’t do something to you when he said it anyway.

Once you were outside, you opened a waypoint in front of the two of you, the second portal in front of the jet, and then stepped through, closing it behind you. Bruce opened the door and helped you haul Steve inside, onto the cot of the makeshift mobile infirmary.

You handed Bruce the empty vial.

“Thank you for remembering. Thor always breaks these and then I have to do bloodwork to figure out what was in them.” He chuckled.

“He’s very smash first, ask questions later.”

“No wonder he and Hulk get along so well.” Bruce joked. “Alright, get back out there. I’ll make sure he’s alright.”

“Thank you.”

“Be careful out there.” Steve advised, eyes half-lidded. “They have guns.”

“I’ll be extra careful, alright? I promise.” You met his eyes and he smiled immediately. Once you were sure he was okay, you stepped out of the jet again, getting back to help the others.

***

When you got back, you were nursing a bullet wound. They’d gotten you in the arm. It wasn’t too bad, though, the bleeding had almost stopped. Natasha went straight for the med kit when you two stepped foot on the jet, motioning you over to the stool.

Steve was there, still on the cot. He stared as Nat started cleaning your wound. “Wait, you got hurt?”

“I’m okay. It’s not that bad.”

He nodded and reached for your hand. “I’m really glad you’re alright, doll. Had me worried sick.”

Doll. You replayed the word in your mind. Steve had called you a lot of things in the past few months, but never once had he used that somewhat outdated term of endearment. You liked it, though.

You met Natasha’s eyes and she smirked while the supersoldier held your hand.

Sam walked in next, eyeing up the scene unfolding in front of him. “Woah, what’d I miss? Feels like I missed several chapters.”

“Steve is drunk.” Clint explained, counting his remaining arrows.

“Tranq dart. He’s fine. Just needs to ride it out for a few hours. He should be back to normal by the time we get home.” Bruce explained as he put away his tablet.

“You feeling alright, buddy?” Sam walked over and put a hand on Steve’s other arm. “You’re holding (Y/N)’s hand kinda tight there.”

“Huh?” Steve asked, directing his eyes to your joint hands. He let go. “Oh. Sorry.”

“It’s okay, Steve.” You reassured him.

The others trickled in slowly until everyone was accounted for, the base destroyed, the Hydra operatives in SHIELD custody for questioning. Fury and his team would handle it from there. You couldn’t help but play the mission over and over in your head.

Never had you used a waypoint to split something in half. But something had clicked in you when Steve was hurt. You’d never felt like that before, like part of your soul itself was being ripped out. He meant more to you than you cared to admit, especially when your fate was tied elsewhere.

Still, your new ability needed training. It was a dangerous skill to have, and if you didn’t hone it properly, you could end up doing some serious damage on accident.

Come Find Me in the Future

It was the night before you and a select group of the team were heading out to find and recover Bucky. Clint had finally gotten a hit on him. But if he had, that meant others could be after him, too. People that wanted him back. Badly.

You were nervous about it for that reason. You weren’t sure why the rest of you hadn’t already left, to be honest. You didn’t want to race with Hydra. It wasn’t one you were sure you’d win.

To stave off the feeling of dread, you had commandeered the living room TV and popped in Howl’s Moving Castle. You were nursing a mug of chamomile tea in your hands, playing games on your Switch.

You were near the end of the movie, at the part where Sophie was whisked to the past, when Steve walked into the room, in his pajamas, a tank top and a pair of plaid pants.

“Hey, Steve.”

“Hey. You’re up late. Big mission tomorrow.”

“Yeah, it’s almost over.” You told him. “Drinking my sleepy tea as we speak.”

“Sleepy tea?”

“Chamomile mint. It’s good. There’s some over by the Keurig if you want any.”

“Thanks.” He smiled, walking over. “What’s this?”

“Howl’s Moving Castle. One of my favorites.” You told him.

“What’s it about?”

“That is a complicated question.” You laughed. “I’d have to start it over, I think.”

“Another time, maybe.” He chuckled, crossing his arms.

Steve watched as Sophie got sucked back through the wormhole to the present.

She called out “I know how to help you now! Find me in the future!”

He perked up. “Wait, she…there’s time travel?”

“Yeah, she gets pulled into the past for a bit and tells him to find her and then years later, the first words he says to her are ‘There you are, sweetheart. I’ve been looking everywhere for you.’ It’s really sweet.”

“They’re soulmates?”

“They are.” You nodded.

“Does that happen? Often?” Steve asked, hung up on it. “In real life?”

“I don’t think so. I’ve never heard of that happening before.” You shook your head. “I don’t think anyone would believe it, even if it did. Happens a lot in fiction, though.”

“Oh. Cool.” Steve nodded. He met your eyes and then looked down at his lap, tongue flitting across his pink lips. “I, uh, wanted to apologize.”

You furrowed your eyebrows. “For what?”

“The mission last week. I, uh…I said some things and, uh…I just, I’d hate to make you uncomfortable. I’m sorry if I did.”

“You didn’t.” You assured him. “No apology necessary. You were drugged. I probably would have said worse, to be honest.”

He smiled. “Okay. Cool. Thanks. And thank you for agreeing to come tomorrow. We could really use the help.”

“Of course. I’ve got your back, always.” You told him, earning another one of those earnest, lovesick smiles. “Anywho, I finished that playlist for you. The Taylor Swift one. I can make you a more general one with different songs, but…figured that was a decent starting place.”

“Great, yeah, thank you.” He nodded, looking at his phone as it pinged with the notification you had sent it to him. “I’ll give it a listen.”

“Let me know what you think.”

“Oh I will.” He chuckled to himself. “Really, thank you. I appreciate it. And um, have a good night. See you tomorrow.”

“Bright and early.” You saluted.

He nodded before repeating, “Bright and early.”

Bygones

Bright and early was an understatement. The sun was barely peeking over the horizon when your alarm went off. You groaned, rolled over and silenced your screaming phone, forcing yourself to sit up so you didn’t drift back off.

Today was too important for that.

Instead, you got up, brushed your hair, and went out to the kitchen, where Vision had whipped up a full breakfast for everyone going out. It was you, Steve, Nat, Wanda, and Sam. A small team, but enough firepower to bring him back without overwhelming and/or scaring him off.

“Morning.” Steve said, eyes landing on you the moment you walked into the room.

“Morning.”

“Coffee?” He offered, pushing a cup of your favorite iced coffee over to you. You couldn’t lie, you were impressed.

“Thanks.” You grinned, taking a long sip to kickstart your morning. You loaded a plate up with eggs, sausage, bacon, and toast, plus a little side of hashbrowns, thanking Vision thoroughly.

“It is my pleasure, (Y/N). As someone who does not require sleep, it would be rude of me to let you all starve so early in the day.”

“(Y/N), you got him listening to Taylor Swift?” Sam asked, eyes drilling into you.

You laughed. “Uh, yeah. What about it? She’s a cultural icon, do you want him left out of the loop?”

“Hey, I’m not complaining.” Steve shrugged, sipping on his coffee.

“Of course you’re not.” Natasha chuckled, words warbled by her own cup. You noticed the way her lips pursed. If you weren’t mistaken, you’d say she was nervous. About what, you couldn’t tell. She seldom got nervous. Or at least, she seldom let it show. But it was definitely there.

Wanda was the last into the kitchen, already fully put together. She gave the chef her thanks with a warm smile and sparkling eyes. You couldn’t help but smile. Those two, beyond a shadow of a doubt, were absolutely made for each other. You wondered what her wrist would have to say about it when the time came.

Once everyone had eaten, those who weren’t suited up got ready, locked and loaded for a tense mission. You’d have Clint on the coms here, doing recon from a drone. The rest of you loaded up onto the jet, strapping in.

Nat and Sam hopped into the cockpit. Wanda sat next to you, Steve across the aisle, his eyes meeting yours every so often.

“It’ll be alright.” You said, trying to dispel his nerves.

He nodded, but didn’t reply, just giving a short nod and staring at the holographic map on the wall as you approached closer and closer. You could see that little guy from Brooklyn peeking through the eyes of the supersoldier sitting across from you, nervous about his best friend.

You unbuckled just before you landed, walking across the jet to strap on your weapons. The others did the same, arming themselves. Nat was going to keep the jet warm for a speedy exit, the look in her eyes still unreadable. The rest of you got ready for war.

It was an abandoned warehouse, large garage door, broken windows, slanted roof with a hole in it. Definitely not the most secure of places. According to Clint’s drone, Bucky was in the back room.

“Waypoint, I need you out here ready to get us a quick escape.”

“Got it.” You nodded, positioning yourself within eyeshot of the warehouse and the jet so you could make a portal either way.

“Wanda, Sam, you’re with me.” Steve instructed, taking a minute to breathe, to think. “He’s gonna be ready to run. We have to talk him out of it.”

“Uh, Cap. Might wanna work a little faster. There’s another plane incoming. About three minutes out.”

“Alright.” Steve nodded, taking off his helmet and slinging his shield onto his back. He led the other two into the building.

For a heartwrenching two minutes, you didn’t hear anything. And then you heard a plane. And then gunshots.

“(Y/N), now!” Steve instructed.

You did as you were told, opening the waypoint in the warehouse, another just outside. Nat had picked the jet up off of the ground, firing at the one Hydra had brought. She took another shot, damaging the wing and causing it to go down.

“Shit, wait—!”

There was a flash of light and you expected it to be Steve that came through first. Maybe Bucky, even. Instead, it was a grenade. And a split second later, it exploded, knocking you unconscious.

***

Steve stood over you, horrified. Thanks to your suit, the damage didn’t seem too bad. But you had blood and soot caked on your face, the ends of your hair singed.

It was his fault. He had told you to open the Waypoint, only for a Hydra agent to toss a grenade right through it.

He all but collapsed to his knees, collecting you in his arms. Bucky was on the jet already, Sam, too. Only he and Wanda were outside with you.

“(Y/N), come on. Open those eyes for me.” He pleaded, voice soft, eyes aching with tears. “Hey, come on. Please…”

“We should get her back to the jet.” Wanda goaded softly, a hand on Steve’s arm.

“Yeah.” Steve nodded, a tear slipping down his cheek. He scooped you off of the ground, an arm beneath your legs, the other around your back. Your arms hung down, limp. Your head rested heavily against his shoulder, eyes closed.

By the time Steve walked up the ramp, Nat already had the infirmary cot down, ready to go. Bucky watched, eyes intense. He looked up when Steve approached, eyes falling on you. They widened when he got a look at you.

“Woah, is that…?”

“Yeah.” Steve nodded. “It is.”

Natasha helped him get you situated in the cot, wrapping the cuff around your arm that would measure your vitals. With everyone accounted for, Sam closed the door, lifting the jet into the air.

“I’ve got Banner on the line.” Natasha told him.

“Good.” Steve’s eyes didn’t leave you for a second, watching as the breaths entered and left your lungs. “Tell him to get the infirmary ready for her.”

“Already on it, Cap. She’ll be okay. Her vitals look…well they look good, all things considered.” Bruce relayed. “Just get back here as fast as you can.”

***

As soon as the jet landed, Steve unhooked you from the vitals monitor and collected you in his arms, carrying you to the gurney Bruce had ready, walking with him as he wheeled you towards the infirmary. Bruce insisted he needed some time and sent Steve away, taking a piece of his heart with him.

Vision checked over Bucky, giving him the okay almost immediately before going to help Bruce in the infirmary.

Steve sat at the table, Bucky sitting down to join him. The others gave them a minute alone.

“Hey, pal.” Steve exhaled, trying to force a smile. “Glad you’re here.”

“Me too.” He agreed. “Thanks for coming to get me.”

“Of course.” Steve nodded. “I’m with you—”

“Til the end of the line.” Bucky smiled, eyes soft. His irises flicked towards the infirmary and back. “You wanna talk about it?”

Steve let out a sigh, the wall finally coming down and more tears slipping down his cheeks. “It’s my fault, it’s all my fault. She’s—”

“She’s gonna be fine. I promise you.” Bucky’s hand grabbed onto Steve’s wrist, the covered one. The one with her name etched onto it. “She has to be. Has she…does she know yet?”

“No one does. Just me. And you.” Steve confessed. He wiped his thumb under his eye. “So you’re right. She has to pull through.”

Steve held onto that spark of hope for the coming hours. He showed Bucky to the room that had been prepared for him, but Sam offered to give him a tour of the place, knowing their friend was in a fragile mental state.

Eventually, Vision found him and told him he could enter the infirmary. Bruce had finished treating you. When Steve walked in and saw you, still unconscious, laying on that bed, he choked on more sobs. The bruising on your face was pretty severe. You were hooked up to several monitors, an IV. Supposedly, your injuries were not too extreme, but you had a cracked rib and would need time to heal before you could do any missions or training.

Hours later, Nat found Steve in there, wringing his hands, tears in his eyes. He fiddled with the cuff around his wrist. The playlist you’d made for him played softly from a speaker in the corner of the room. Timeless. As if he wasn’t already crying enough.

“She’s gonna be okay, Steve. Bruce thinks she might wake up soon.” Nat comforted, sitting in the chair next to him. She put a hand on his shoulder, confused by her friend’s sudden mood. Members of the team had been injured before and sure, he checked on them, but he never reacted like this.

“I know, I just…” He shook his head. “I’m worried about her is all. It’s…kinda my fault this happened.”

Nat pressed her lips together, tilting her head. “This seems like a little more than that. You wanna tell me what’s really going on?”

He wanted to hold onto his secret. He did. But he was feeling fragile, vulnerable. It couldn’t hurt to have just one more person on his side. “I can, just…not here.” Steve nodded, leading her out of the room, out of your earshot, if you could even hear him while you were out, but still in sight thanks to the soundproof windows.

Nat’s hands settled on her hips, waiting for an answer. Instead, Steve took the cuff off of his wrist and held it out to her, letting her read the letters that had been etched there for the better part of a century.

Her jaw dropped. She stammered, arms crossing. She met his eyes and when she saw the sadness there, the guilt and longing, her expression softened.

“I should have told her. A long time ago, I should have told her but I can’t. In six months, on her twenty-fifth, she’s going back in time to 1943 to meet me on mine. And it…didn’t seem like she knew until she was already there.”

“So you’ve just been holding it in this whole time?” Natasha asked. “You’ve been in love with her…”

“Since the forties, yeah.” Steve nodded. “My great lost love, as Tony likes to call her when he rags on the band I wear.”

“Does he know?”

“No. Just you. And Bucky.” Steve amended. “He was there when she…”

“Right. Weird.” Natasha let out a long sigh, looking through the window. Her fingers reached for her own cuff. She hesitated, but pulled it off, holding her soulmark out to him. “Fair is fair.”

Steve stared at the letters for a long time, realization slowly filling his eyes. The name on her wrist was none other than James Buchannan Barnes. “Oh my God.”

“I didn’t know how to tell you until all the dust settled, but it just settled, so…” She shrugged, putting the cuff back on. “I’ll figure out how to tell him, too, if he doesn’t know already.”

“Buck’s mark was grayed out back then. We thought…well, we didn’t know what it meant.” Steve said, shaking his head. It was the reason Bucky had dated around so much back then. He’d figured if he just found someone else, his mark would change and he wouldn’t have to be alone. Never could he have guessed what it actually meant, that his soulmate wouldn’t be born for another forty or so years. “And then he lost his arm…”

“Yeah, that part I did know.” She smirked. “Well, I’ll keep an eye on her. Let you know if she says anything you need to hear.”

“She probably thinks my soulmate is dead, too. Everyone else does.”

“Ironic.”

“No kidding.” Steve sighed, gazing longingly through the window.

“We’ll get you through it, Steve. You’ve waited seventy years. Six months is nothing.”

“Yeah. I’m gonna sit with her for a while. I don’t want her to wake up alone.”

He slinked back into the infirmary and sat in the chair beside your bed, watching your steady breaths and listening to the beeping of the heart monitor. Natasha watched him through the window, feeling lighter and heavier at the same time. Nevertheless, she was glad they had talked. At least now, they could be there for each other.

Vol. 2 Here

Tags: @cap-lu20

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers soulmate au #steve rogers imagine #captain america x reader #captain america imagine #marvel #mcu #avengers

[undreaming-fanfiction]

Steddie Corpse Groom AU (1)

I'm sorry if there are any typos, I'm hardly able to focus because I'm in a fuckton of pain, but I wanted to share because hey, it's the spooky season! I'm also writing most of my stuff in hospital waiting rooms, so that's great. My brain is already planning this as a fanfic, but I'm too distracted to do any proper writing these days, so have a Burton-esque Steddie AU.

Hawkins, a small town in Indiana, undefined time. Steve Harrington and Nancy Wheeler are childhood friends of two well-established families. There is an expectation that they are going to get married - only the best for the Harringtons, the family line needs to continue and so on and so forth. Steve's parents are lawyers and, frankly, tyrants. Nancy's mother is a wonderful lady, but her father has no spine and Mr. Harrington basically announced that it would be beneficial for their families to merge via marriage. Both are respected, Mr. Wheeler works for the government, the Harringtons deal with law, their kids know each other...it's perfect.

It's not. 

Steve and Nancy are friends, they used to be together, much to their parents' happiness, but they broke up a few years back. They just wanted different things in life and while it hurt, Steve has to admit they actually work better as friends. He still pretends to be with Nancy to help her conceal the fact that she's head over heels for the local librarian, Robin. Robin doesn't come from a prestigious family and she's a girl, so Steve takes Nancy on "dates", drops her off at Robin's and spends the rest of the "date" sitting by the piano, his restless fingers traveling over the keys and producing melancholic melodies. He wishes all the happiness for Nancy, he just hopes that one day he'd find companionship too. He's lonely, no one wants to talk to a Harrington. He sometimes thinks about a boy with wild hair and a wolfish grin he used to know, who taught him to play in secret because Steve's parents considered the instrument too soft for their only son. "I didn't raise some artsy weakling," scoffs Mr. Harrington when Steve mentions he'd like to take lessons, maybe even teach in the future. Hunting and sports, that is appropriate. Music? Useless in the world of the Harringtons.

The fragile balance continues for a while, but not long enough. One day, the parents sit Steve and Nancy down and tell them it's time, the wedding will happen soon. It doesn't matter when Steve and Nancy tell them they've broken up, marriage is a union of families, it cannot be based on something as fickle as feelings, Mr. Harrington says. Mrs. Wheeler looks like her heart is breaking for Nancy and Steve wonders if she maybe knows. But her marriage isn't about love too and her protests fall on deaf ears. The wedding is on.

Steve, Nancy and Robin, who also became Steve's close friend, try to come up with a plan. Maybe if they botch the wedding rehearsal badly enough, the Harringtons will back off, the threat of public embarrassment too severe to go through with their plan no matter what. 

They give it all they've got. Nancy spills the ceremonial wine on Mrs. Harrington's white blouse and when "panicking" (Steve finds it hard to keep a straight face, the only time Nancy's nerves of steel ever experienced panic was when Robin confessed she loved her and Nancy blurted out "thank you" as a response), she sets her father's trousers on fire with a candle. Steve trips on the carpet and falls into the priest, ripping off his robe. Then he messes up his vows beautifully ("with this candle, I will...burn your sorrows?" he tries and very pointedly looks at Mr. Wheeler), but it's all for nothing. The fire is put out, the blouse is changed, the robe is put back on and Steve is sent away to practice his vows because "your lack of intellect isn't a sufficient excuse for your unwillingness to commit to the right thing", his father says.

And so Steve leaves. He walks around the woods around Hawkins and mumbles more and more ridiculous vows to himself ("with this hand I will punch my father’s perfectly shaved face. Your cup will never empty because we'll become alcoholics together if this stupid wedding ever happens"), tossing the ring into the air and kicking random branches and moss. Of course, he could just marry Nancy and continue the ruse, being the eternal third wheel to the girls' romance. They've talked about it at length, but it just wouldn't be fair, not to Nancy, not to Robin and definitely not to himself. Steve dreams of meeting that one right person, someone who'd make him feel truly alive, make him discover who he really is, although Hawkins probably isn't the place for that...if anywhere is. 

He sits down by an old oak tree, the trunk and its roots long destroyed by lightning, and he starts humming a song. It takes him a while to remember the melody, but he does eventually, his voice gaining confidence and strength. It's the song the long-haired boy taught him, his own creation. Eddie, Steve remembers, his name was Eddie and he loved spending time together, until his father found out about them and forbade them ever meeting again, threatening the livelihood of Eddie's uncle. Steve often watched the boy walk past the Harrington residence, waving at his window, but he never dared to wave back, he couldn't bear to be another Harrington to destroy people's lives. The best he could do for Eddie was to pretend he didn’t exist, no matter how painful that was. Eventually, Eddie stopped coming around and Steve didn’t see him in their fancy part of the town anymore. Perhaps he moved away, away from the town’s bigotry, the threat of Harrington influence...away from him. 

He's so caught up in the song he doesn't notice the slight movement of the ground. He just hums the song and wonders if Eddie ever published it, if he ever became famous, enchanted crowds with his dark eyes and wild personality. The boy he knew was ready to take on the world, no matter what life threw at him. 

As the last note fades into the silence of the forest, Steve finally notices that something is shifting underneath his feet. He jumps up and tries to take a step to safety, he's so sure he just stepped on loose soil or something, but then a dirty claw grabs his ankle and tugs. No, not a claw - a hand. Steve screams, scrambling back, but the grip is strong and as he retreats, he doesn't just drag the hand with him, but a whole body. A corpse. Its clothes might have been black once, but they're dirty now, its long hair matted and tangled. He doesn't even know if it used to be a man or a woman. He can't see the face, but the skin is pale, with a blue tint (surprisingly intact, his brain supplies and he can't believe this is what it decided to focus on). 

And when he thinks it couldn't get much worse, he’ll just run to Chief Hopper and report the weirdest discovery of a body possible, the corpse coughs, spits out a mouthful of soil and clambers to its feet, tossing its mane back. Steve probably forgets to breathe at this point and he drops the ring to the ground. He watches in horror as it rolls quietly towards the reanimated figure. 

Eddie wipes his face and picks the ring up. "That for me, Harrington?" he grins through his dirt-covered teeth. "I expected at least one date, perhaps a dinner first, but beggars can't be choosers. I do."

#steddie #steddie au #steddie drabble #steddie ficlet #stranger things au #strangerthingsau #strangerthingsdrabble #corpse bride au #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve x eddie #robin buckley #nancy wheeler #stranger things drabble #ronance

[dropsofletters]

flowers willingly die [yjh]

summary: each morning for their anniversary, jeonghan saw his dad give his mom a bouquet of roses. she never paid much attention to them, but he did. knowing fairly well that they died while bathing in the sun, packed in a half-full water glass. to him, that is what flowers meant. timely beauties that he adores from afar.

so, while travelling the world, he compared a lot of things to that vacant feeling, but he had never given a bouquet of flowers to someone.

not until he had seventy-two hours to spent with someone he liked.

title: flowers willingly die pairing: yoon jeonghan x reader genre: pilot!au ; guitarist!au ; small town!au ; strangers to hook-ups!au ; slice of life!au  type: angst ; fluff ; drama  word count: 7k approx. note: this is a request from my ko-fi! if you want to support me and write something for your fave, please do request over there!

Laughable are the tips of his fingers, freezing red, holding onto a ‘margarita’ that no one dares order in Dorothy street. Men here are booming voices, bumping fists on tables filled with whiskey glasses that half-empty themselves before they are off to another one. Quite like their wives, waiting at home with children that will grow to be just as bored of the sinking ships and the freezing summers that never meet the light of the day. It’s surprising that a man like him arrives at such a place, and she can’t say that she’s not a little bit intrigued. 

With a suit that fits his slim legs like a second skin and a pair of shoulders that beg to be held on, she lets her calloused fingers trail on her guitar, plucking a few strings, imagining the soundtrack of him. Roaring screams and mermaid lullabies is what she is used to imagining in her songs, but that face is one of a man that has never done half of the work that people in her town do. Word has it that he’s a pilot; high nose, long strands of black hair, and a pout on his lips that, frankly, is quite kissable if she does say so herself.

He’s the booze after a break-up. The decision that no one wants to make, and when he sends a smile that is worth a million diamonds to the woman by the counter serving him another stupid drink that will probably be too expensive for the matters that he wants to partake in, she knows that he’s trouble. 

She plays for the little pennies that she earns, trying to play it off as if she’ll be something bigger. It’s her and her guitar, and a few men that have only broken her heart. Her ex-boyfriend is still on her contact list, fresh off a new start as she revises every once in a while to check if he has texted again. The big surprise that isn’t really so is that he hasn’t, so the fickle heart of a musician stares at that pilot a little too long, basking on the face of another person. Someone much different from the men here and their small brains, their big muscles, their terrible idealization of a woman to be that. Pretty little skirts, flirty smiles and then, a goddamned wife.

He must be freezing, but he doesn’t show it that night. She’s wrapped up to the core, with a beanie covering the tip of her ears and her fingertips rubbing on the guitar every once in a while to stop the cold from seeping through. His black suit is thin enough to let her imagine the worst when he approaches her, sipping on his drink and lulling his head to the side when he takes a seat next to her on the stage that no one looks at.

She’s played in this bar for the past three years and no one has ever sat beside her. Not unless it was her ex-boyfriend, pretending that he was interested in what she was trying to make her life out to be.

“It’s been a while since I’ve actually heard live music, you know?” The pilot encounters, spreading his legs and letting the glass lull in between his thighs. “I don’t think I even remember what a guitar sounds like in person.”

“You’re missing out on life, then.” She responds, though she quirks an eyebrow in the process. “Though that’s detectable on the fact that you’re drinking whatever New York housewives drink in a place that seethes sweat and whiskey.”

He chuckles, the tips of his ears growing red, the few strands of his hair that still hold onto the gel that he had applied probably earlier on the day moved by the action of his hands. “You’re calling me a weak drinker?”

“Rather different, I’d say.”

“Is that bad?”

“Not really. Tired of seeing the same things around here.” She comments, biting on that side of her lip that had been scalded by the coffee that she had earlier this morning and perhaps, it’s a bit swollen, because he looks down at her mouth and smiles wider. Trouble, she says. “Though a pilot like you has probably seen plenty of things. Had the greatest of drinks, too.”

“I’ve seen enough of the world to know that it’s both pretty and so…dark, too.” He shrugs, wetting his lips with his margarita. “The nature that I see will die someday, and the skies are so tall that I can’t reach them even when I’m close. That’s deep, now that I say it, but it must be the alcohol getting to the little brain cells I have left.”

She laughs at his antics, licking her lips and thinking a bit about it. If life was so ugly, and so short at the same time, why did we pursue it as if it lasted forever? Why did pain haunt us so badly, starting with heartbreak, if it was only…a matter of time before we disappeared with it? 

“I like that. As dark as it is, it’s real.” She continues plucking on the strings, jutting her chin forward. “I imagine you’ve heard better musicians, but I can play any song you can think of.”

“No way.” He counterparts, only to have her sighing. 

“Never doubt a woman from this side of town. What I tell you is the absolute truth.” And yet, no one has ever taken her seriously. Those four walls that consist of the cramped town at the seashore of the beach are starting to get too cramped, and this new addition may be just what she needed. 

“Photograph by Ed Sheeran?”

“Too easy.”

“I may be a little of a cliché.”

“Unimaginable.” She rolls her eyes, letting a small giggle out. “Who am I dedicating it to? Any wife back home that you miss?”

He shakes his head, pressing a hand to his cheek and looking at her with a lulled look in his eyes, as if extremely in peace with the place he finds himself in. “To Jeonghan.”

“Oh, a husband?”

“Damn no.” The pilot excuses. “It’s my name. I’ve never had a song dedicated to me.”

“Pure lies.” Though she starts playing the tune of the song, only for the two of them to be heard, as if those two connected pair of eyes create an island that only them can visit and travel through. 

“I’m not a liar.”

“What man isn’t?”

“You’d be surprised.” Jeonghan licks his lips, painted in the sweetest red shape, chapped because of the cold, and she lets herself be taken by the music, seeing him take small sips of his drink and hum along to the tune.

He asks for one more song.

Then another one.

Finally, another.

Hours spent singing in between the two, sharing drinks, smiles, eyesights that could be confused with anything and everything. It feels nice to be looked at, cherished in a way, treated as though she is special. How easy it is to forget in these positions that at a first instance, we show the best of us. Attraction makes us act in such a way as human beings, but Jeonghan, for that night, seems truthful.

A flower begins to bloom then.

Brown. So brown she could drown, with speckles of stars that gleam and mirror the sight of her, with her hair a mess and scattered on the hotel pillow on the second day of his stance. She’s not naked, god forbid that she is, but she could very-well be by the way he looks at her, with pupils dilated and his smiles mixing with little kisses shared in between sighs and calls of her name. 

She had only fallen for brown eyes. The significance of them is rather interesting, if she remembers what Grandma Lore used to say back when she worked at a little music shop. The old woman had passed away four years ago, but her stories had stayed with the town. She said that eyes, in ancient times, were the meaning of a person’s soul in their past life. Those who got their heart broken plenty of times had darker eyes, while lighter eyes were saved for first-love owners and heartbreakers themselves. Quite believable, granted that Grandma Lore’s ex-husband had light blue eyes and had left her and their four daughters alone for a one-night stand. 

Brown eyes meant trouble when they were accompanied by a rough voice, but she can’t think. Not when she feels herself being kissed this way. She’s used to the impatience, the short kisses, the ‘it’s better not to leave this behind’ kiss that promises that everything will be alright, but there’s no excitement within them. She knows how she got here, with a little booze on their system and the rays of sunshine that slip through the cracks of the window of his hotel room giving them another day to fuck things up with feelings. Feelings that come with touch.

Jeonghan is exciting to look at, but even when she looks at him, bruises his lips in little kisses and intakes of breaths when she feels him trail down to her neck before going up to her cheeks again, never getting too far, she knows that he’s not him. He’s not that ex that she looks forward to meeting every single day, the man that is so close, somewhere in these dull streets and yet, somehow so far away. 

It feels like cheating, but then she looks at the phone that she laid on the bedside table, she hears Jeonghan calling her name and then, it feels like loneliness. This man doesn’t know her, and the man who does isn’t interested enough to call her again, so she presses a hand to his chest, her other palm resting on his nape and turning them around until her thighs look for leverage on his slim waist, undoing two buttons of his shirt and splaying her freezing fingertips on the warm skin.

“Tell me you think I’m beautiful.” The plea sounds pathetic, but it’s been a while since she has heard it. She can only imagine that his eyes mirror his own, vacant of feelings, thrilled and excited by a new face, but not feeling anything else. Though, it is gorgeous when he rests a hand on her back and replies in a lingering breath:

“I’d be blind if I didn’t think you’re absolutely gorgeous.” Jeonghan says those words like he means it and she relishes on them. On being gorgeous, accepted, craved for and thirsted after. She feels like a ray of sunshine, not the lukewarm moonlight that she had been painted as the past few years. 

With more fervor, she clings onto the collar of his shirt. “I’m sorry.”

“We don’t have to keep doing anything if you don’t want to.” Jeonghan retorts. “We can go anywhere you want. A few more kisses, or no kisses at all. I’m okay with anything.”

She blinks back possible tears, masking it with a tender kiss to his lips. How nice it would be to have someone that looked for her, that seeked that delicate touch in the middle of the night when nightmares of losing her were taking over his sleep. But Jeonghan is not that, just a nice card to play pretend with, and she feels bad for even thinking that way. 

Picking the bottle of wine up, stolen from the bar in Dorothy street, she takes a sip of it before chuckling softly. At herself, really. “I’m okay with kissing, is that okay with you?”

“More than perfect for me.” Though, Jeonghan licks his lips, tracing her own with his thumb and then, opening her mouth slightly. “When was the last time someone called you beautiful?”

“Huh?”

“You seemed relieved to hear it when I told you just a few minutes ago.”

She can’t hide it from him and perhaps, that’s why Jeonghan flies planes. He’s so ahead and above every other man that it’s surprising. “It’s been a few months.”

“I understand.” Jeonghan grabs the back of her neck, pulling her closer to tug at her bottom lip before marking it with a chaste kiss. “I’ve seen the stars from up close and they can’t compare to you.”

It’s a lie. Of course, she knows it’s a goddamned lie, but it sounds so good. Jeonghan is a midnight getaway, the reason why she feels at ease in his arms, letting herself be embraced, touched, caressed. He doesn’t know that her pupils darken not because of him, but because she wants him to look through them and know that her heart is begging not to be broken again. 

Brown eyes, maybe Jeonghan had been broken, too.

Haven’t we all? 

Jeonghan knows he only has forty-eight more hours in this place and yet, he wakes up a little earlier than expected today just to go buy fucking flowers. Yes, he’s surprised himself. He hasn’t ever bought flowers, not even for his place back at home because he rarely stays there, but it seems like the right thing to do today.

The whispers of the wind touch his ears and remind him that he should’ve gotten a thicker coat to go outside, but after he dropped her off at her place yesterday when it was a little too late in the morning, and yet not foreseeable with how dark these skies are in this town, he knew precisely where to get her. Seated in her front porch, on a rusty chair that shrieks whenever she pulls herself forwards and backwards, with her guitar in her lap, a coffee cup on the side that has lost its steam and a notebook that she barely touches.

Her hair is a mess, but he waits for the moment when she has to refill her cup to get out of the old car that he rented just because he wanted to feel like he had some control while staying where the Devil forgot to visit. She gets up, extending her arms and giving a glimpse of the waist he dared touch yesterday, curves of sin that would never be his, covered in a plaid shirt soon after when she slips back home.

He places the bouquet on top of her guitar, ripping a paper from the notebook and grabbing her a-little-too-short pencil before jotting down a few words that he barely thinks about. Jeonghan knows that they are an impossibility, that even if he stayed in this town, the rooted insecurity that grows from within her speaks of a heart that has been tainted by too much hope and too little results, but he still writes it. Because that’s what cowards don’t do; try even when there are no outcomes to be expected.

He rushes back to his car, though he’s certain he hears her calling out his name in a shout while rushing to the automobile. He sits there, smiling at her through the dirty mirror only to see her quirk a hand up that accompanies a wave of her eyebrows. Then, he juts his chin forward, pointing to the obvious until she sees it. The bouquet, which she seems too scared to hold as her hands hover into nothingness.

Maybe, this town was too small to see how big her smile could get, or she had never been one to make the right choices. Perhaps, that’s why a talent like hers goes undiscovered. Because she never took the time to listen to anything more than the deafening silence that welcomes a place that doesn’t know about talent. She grabs the flowers in between her hold, looking at them with what he thinks is a lonesome tear grabbing onto her bottom eyelashes not to drop. Soon after, she’s grabbing the note and looking at him with a crooked smile on her face. 

It reads, “A shooting star told me they were envious of how pretty you look today. XOXO, Han.”

She grabs her notebook soon after, scribbling onto a page and then, turning the image towards him. He reads quickly, after pressing his face to the steering wheel to hide the blossoming cheeks from both embarrassment and a little bit of cold. 

In enormous letters that are not as pretty as her smile, she responds: “Watch them with me tonight, then.”

He raises both thumbs in the air, though she crooks her arm to call him towards her. The car suddenly becomes less interesting as he moves over to where she is, every step falling on crumbling leaves that try to stop him but he can’t. He wraps his arms around her waist, just like how he learned that drives her crazy, and he kisses her. Because not knowing each other is what makes this easier. Knowing that there won’t be a fight that will ruin it all or a ceiling that unites them both with the strings of their hearts, makes a kiss so much easier. Lighter. Better than anything he has ever had.

“You like coffee, I imagine.” She prompts, only to have him nodding. 

“I prefer breakfast with it, though.”

“You’re not pretty enough to start ordering me around, you know that Jeonghan, right?”

“A man can always try.” He prompts, though he presses a lonesome index finger to her ribcage before tickling there. That smile could heal hearts and stop wars if she damn so wanted to. “I will help you make breakfast, because judging by your face I imagine that you haven’t eaten much.”

“You’re not wrong.”

She plucks a rose away from the bouquet, twirling it in her fingers before placing it on top of his ear. She moves his black hair away from a moment, fixing it until it stayed still before smiling softly at him. 

“Would you believe me if I told you I’ve never gotten flowers?”

Yes, he wants to tell her. The bleeding parts of her soul tell him so. “It’s a shame you haven’t.”

“Well, there’s always a first time.”

And a last with him, too.

A woman in love has such a recognizable face. It’s one of those features that Jeonghan will never forget. Not when seated on a picnic cloth under the moonlight, near the beach-shore that he had avoided at all costs. Not a lot of people are around, but a bonfire nearby had been enough to take her attention away from him and pull away from the hold he had around her shoulder. 

Vacant, but he felt the paddering of her chest. He could have heard it, too, but her void glance still looked toward the man sitting by the bonfire, with a beer in his hand and a palm through his hair. He’s seated in between two women, not too close, not too far away, but he watches her mouth tense when she sees them. At first, she brings her knees up to her chest, then she unravels them and spreads them behind her. She does this various times, not finding comfort. Not in him, not in the man she’s clearly in love with, not in herself. 

He looks fickle. Small, skinny, with a wide smile and somehow, that easy-going personality that he knows is eating her alive. He turns her back to her, this stranger, that is, and that kills her. She’s not up her feet, but watching far away instead, blinking softly before looking down and smiling at herself. A smile so big and beautiful that Jeonghan knows it’s an absolute lie. 

“I’ll tell you something,” Jeonghan professes, rubbing the tip of his nose and then, blowing a sigh into the dense air. “I’ve loved kissing you from the moment you granted me permission the first time. It’s nice, you know, we both know that we can’t promise each other much…but every time you get closer to me, it feels like you are feverish to get rid of her thoughts. Like you are a second away from moaning someone else’s name against my mouth.”

Those idle eyes widen like the moon in its fullest form, and he really looks at her for longer than he should. Such a beautiful woman should not be suffering from a man that is too busy ignoring her. “I’m sorry. Gosh, Jeonghan, that must feel awful.”

It does, but also: “It doesn’t.”

“I…We broke up a few days before you came here. I…It’s difficult, you know?” She questions herself, licking her lips and then, looking up at those stars in which she belongs. “This town is so small that I expect to see him at every second and a small portion of me wishes that when his gaze lays on me, Jeonghan, he just…thinks about what he missed out on. That he remembers how small he made me feel and suddenly compares the woman he made me to whom I used to be and just weeps on wanting me back.”

She stops then, looking at him with a foreseeable shame before she whispers.

“And it’s awful. God, I feel pathetic just telling you how I want him to crave for me, but I spent months just wanting him to look at me. Getting ready. Applying that lipstick shade I know he likes. Spreading a perfume that gave me a headache just ‘cause I wanted to be remembered.”

“Men don’t work like that.” Jeonghan responds. “I don’t think anyone does, really. The more you crave for someone, the less the universe gives them to you. Because humans are polar opposites, not manifestation tactics.”

She scoffs. “Oh, trust me, I know. It’s just the stupid part of me that wants a reaction, because he couldn’t even give me that.”

His hand spreads on her waist, kissing her temple and at that moment, he feels her shake. Because that’s what had been done to her. Tainted, broken, left behind, scared of being touched in a way that feels utterly romantic or safe. “I’d give you everything in the few hours we have left.”

She chuckles. “I hate lies, Jeonghan. I’ve been told too many of those.”

“I’m not lying to you. We can be everything in so little and then, be nothing at all for each other. It’s the feelings you hold, even if it’s just for a second.”

“It’s easier for you to let go,” She assumes, as he has learned she does often. “You’re on a plane, away from this stupid town, looking ahead of everybody. Making stops, just living…”

“Living, leaving, sounds about the same but it hurts just as much. Do you think I enjoy knowing that at the end of the day I have nobody? Because everywhere I go there are hundreds of people I meet, but they are just hundreds of more people that don’t give a shit about who I am, who I will be or else.”

“That’s a way to put it.” Her hand spreads across his cheek, sighing. “These hours we have left may feel like a lifetime if we let it.”

“Not really. I feel like they’ve passed by rather quickly, if you ask me.” 

“The best moments pass like that.”

But he’ll never be him, and for some reason, he’s okay with it. His lips spread across her own, hearing a few voices from afar, but he doesn’t care when he pulls away and he sees her with her eyes closed yet, as if relishing on it. Trying her hardest to forget. Only a few more hours left and he won’t see this face again.

Another kiss will do to remember her taste.

Four years later.

Moving around should feel like a task. It is, actually. She crosses and uncrosses her legs, looking at the notebook in her lap and questioning the lyrics she wrote for the demo that the agent had been interested in. Her flight to New York feels a little eternal, if she’s certain, and it gives space to her mind to start thinking about how horrid the lyrics were. Talking about drunk goodbyes and an ex-boyfriend that is sadly most of the meaning behind her songs. 

The plane-ride feels eternal, as well, and so much different from the gray skies that she is used to seeing. She moves her feet, swinging them as if she’s a child waiting for lunch, licking at the inside of her cheek and closing her notebook. Alright, it should be good enough. Now, the only thing she can think about is going to the bathroom. 

The stripes of her gray and white sweater twirl with every heavy step she gives, as if she doesn’t really want to move forward in life. The future is as scary as a movie can get, and she’s not ready for her to notice that it’s an inherent reality. She ignores the people around her; the snores and the soft music, pushing the curtains away and coming face to face with the bathroom, only for her to get a glimpse of the pilot. 

Through the numerous buttons and mirrors on the board, she can see the reflection of a man she knows a little, not well enough, but a reminder nonetheless. The strands of black hair she had held onto when kissing him are much shorter, covered by the hat from his uniform. His coat lays on the backrest of his chair, speaking softly with the older man by his side.

Yoon Jeonghan.

Or how he liked to have her calling him: Han.

The first thing she does is open the door to the bathroom and lock herself up as if she just saw a monster itself. Truth be told, coming face to face with glimpses of her past is a little embarrassing, no matter how long or short the stories were. It’s something that most people should feel. How does one react when a person has caressed every crevice of your mouth with their tongue? It’s a little personal, if she does say so herself.

But then comes the warmth that came with him. She wouldn’t want to say that she has healed completely, lacking trust in herself and others, but Jeonghan holds that kind of power with him. He feels like the world has stopped and she has no need to run away. He’s a bird in the air, flying aimlessly, just holding onto the thread of knowing everything will be alright at the end. Not letting sadness or loneliness stop him. 

Hence, after peeing she starts thinking of the million ways she could make a fool of herself. She could greet him once the plane arrived with a kiss, and he could move away. She could say ‘hello’ and he would be unable to recognize her. God, does he even remember her? Does he know that she keeps the flowers that he gave her trapped in between the pages of the lyric notebook she completed years ago and she sees it every December 16th to remember when she met him? 

The flight comes to an end and she rushes out of it as purpose overflows her. Perhaps, her perseverance is both her greatest and worst personality trait. She goes to the airport with her hair done a mess, hunting for flowers until she finds some faux ones, returning to the plane at the same time that the captains were getting off board. 

Then, he comes face to face with her. High cheekbones, rosy lips, and cheeks that are not as red as how they were in the cold December nights they spent together. It would have been great if Jeonghan was the one to break her heart, because something tells her that he wouldn’t have. Perhaps, the matinee of their relationship would have ended in the two of them just growing apart, but great friends nonetheless. He wouldn’t make her feel as if she was unworthy of love.

“Han.” She breathes out the nickname and Jeonghan raises his eyebrows. He’s surprised to see the bouquet of roses in her hold, and how she gives it to him with her eyes half-closed. “Long time no see.”

“Indeed.” Though he does smile like he did at those times, as if he had never changed, even four years later. He looks different in a better lighting, even more beautiful than she remembers, but when she looks at how his long digits wrap around the bouquet of flowers, something catches her attention.

Diamonds are promises, she had once heard someone say, and while Jeonghan’s band doesn’t have pearls or diamonds, it’s such a pretty gold that it steals her breath away. He’s engaged. Yoon Jeonghan has found love even when high in the air. 

“I’m surprised you’re here in New York. Wouldn’t take you for much a traveller.”

He had moved on, and somehow, she’s not bitter about it. She’s angered that she hadn’t been brave enough to get on a plane and say ‘fuck it’, perhaps being the one that moved on herself. She nods. 

“I have this small opportunity of recording an album after sending some demos out. Gotta sing for an agent in a record label and see where that leads.”

“Damn!” Jeonghan expresses, laying the bouquet of flowers on one of his arms like a baby before wrapping his arm around her shoulders and smiling against her hair. “I can’t wait for the moment I hear your songs on the radio.”

“Yes.” She answers, pulling away from him and grabbing his hand to trace the ring. “I could write something for your wedding when it happens. Doesn’t look much like a wedding ring just yet.”

Jeonghan cackles, looking down at his hand and smiling gleefully. A fool in love, he had turned out to be, and what a beauty it is to see that he had found someone that was willing to fly oceans and skies just to see him. 

“That’d be awesome. I’d dance the shit out of that song.”

But not with her.

It’s never with her, isn’t it?

So with a curt nod and a smile, she lets go of his hand. As it should. “I’ll keep it in mind. I’ll go grab my luggage before someone steals it, okay? It was nice seeing you, Han.”

“Nice seeing you, too.”

Two years later.

With a bottle of champagne propped to her lips and a crowd of cheering fans waiting for her outside at the avenue she will be playing in, she feels a lot lonelier than she should. There is still a man that doesn’t look her way seated a few feet away, trapped in his phone and taking pictures of the enormous gifts she had received from people all around the globe that can’t stop listening to her songs and falling in love with whom they think she is.

She’s ready to get on stage, her guitar oiled up and her gears still turning after boozing herself up the slightest, but even with so much love around her, she knows her wounds still haven’t healed. No one looks her in the eyes, neither do they touch the portions of her heart that feel the loneliest. She’s gorgeous to the people around her, cladded in dresses much too expensive and makeup that makes her look like anyone but herself. Everyone wants to be her friend, her lover, they are discreetly envious of the relationship she has had in the past two months and how the newest it model is in love with her now.

And yet, every bouquet of flower that she receives just withers. Dies willingly, as if to express just that detail is timely, and there is nothing that she hates more than how short ‘forever’ truly is. She will lose all of this someday, and the fear of that thought alone has her standing up and grabbing her guitar, foregoing the bottle of champagne and moving away from backstage to get to talk through her songs.

Though, she stops by the door, turning around and pressing a hand to her waist. It’s Valentine’s Day and Hyuk, her boyfriend, hasn’t looked her way for more minutes than the ones they spent doing it in the bathroom. That’s what she is, just another body for people to look at.

“Did you get me anything?”

The question is a bit superficial, she knows it, but maybe the answer would be something more than empty kisses and posed pictures. It could be a letter from the bottom of his heart or a comparison to the stars. 

Hyuk lifts his squared chin, shaking his heart as a laugh racks his body. “We have more than enough for us to celebrate with thanks to your fans.”

“But what about you?”

“Sorry baby.” Though the apology is as empty as it can get. “Maybe, some other time I can think of something to give you?”

Maybe, it’s a pattern in her. It could be her fault, for all she knows, that she always picks the wrong men. Or it could be the universe that never gave her the chance to meet a good man for more than a few days. People passing by, faces to be forgotten, and a heart that will never be mended all partake in the same voice as she gets on stage and sings her heart out. 

The crowd goes crazy. She smiles. And it’s all a fucking lie.

Seven months later.

Jess looks gorgeous in the morning, and Jeonghan doesn’t get to see that sight often, with his back pressed to the counter as he sees her wear that same summer dress that she had thrown over her body on their first date. Her recently dyed red hair falls over her shoulders in messy waves, lips dry and barely painted in a bit of pink as she cuts off the old flowers that had grown in their garden.

“I don’t like that you cut the flowers.”

“They’re already dying, babe, and they will only stay as weeds.” She replies, dirtying her knees with sweat pooling at her forehead. Though, the pair of garden scissors she is using glides on the root of the rose she had been cutting, smiling at him with her plump lips. “You’re a little too fond of flowers.”

Jeonghan shrugs. “Dad always gave them to my mom on their anniversaries and she never paid much attention. I liked taking care of them before they rotted.”

Jess stands up at that moment, getting closer to him with a bouquet of dead flowers in between her fingers. She gets closer to him, looking straight into his eyes, for she’s a bit taller than him, before she takes one of the flowers from the bouquet. 

“Reason as to why you always give me flowers.”

“Indeed. You wear them in your dresses often enough for me to know that you love them.”

His wife chuckles at those words, slipping a flower over his ear and giving him shivers all around his arms and back. It’s like he is thrown back to that haunted town near the beach, when a woman that deserved more love than she got slipped a flower into his hair and looked at him as if he was the most gorgeous person in this world. Perhaps, for that moment alone, he was.

“And yet, you’ve never gotten a bouquet of flowers yourself. I may start to think about giving them to you as a gift.”

He doesn’t tell her that he has, wrapping an arm around her waist and hiding his face on her neck. He smells her scent, just like flowers, and yet, his mind goes back to the bouquet he had gotten. To this day, he brings one of those fake flowers with him on the plane, just to know that flowers willingly die each day.

But some are memories that never leave us.

She never leaves him. Not in her songs, and not in the flowers. 

playlist: prickled - mino ft taehyun.  ojos marrones - lasso. august - taylor swift. older - 5sos ft sierra deaton. can i be him? - james arthur.  back to december - taylor swift. hello tutorial - zion.t ft seulgi. the one - taylor swift. boyfriends - harry styles. love of my life - queen.  glimpse of us - joji.

#jeonghan scenarios #jeonghan x reader #jeonghan #seventeen scenarios #seventeen x reader #seventeen #kpop scenarios #writing #seventeen au #jeonghan au #jeonghan angst #seventeen angst #pilot!au #slice of life #guitarist!au

[heyiwrotesomethings]

First time requesting- because it always freaking closes when I even try lol.

Anyway I don't know if you had a prompt/request yet witha girl with the hanahaki Disease, and yes I've read your recent post. I'd also like it too have a good ending sooo.

I was going to ask you, when you can create either an Asa Mitaka (yoru?) x Female Reader. where Asa has the Disease right but listen she's jealous before she want's too confess to the reader but sees that reader has been hanging around with yoshida lately and you know that how she develops the Disease.. and get's really sick, so that Yoru has too take over too get asa to confess to the reader who's currently hanging with Yoshida..

The reason being is that the reader is Yoshida's co-worker also as a private devil hunter..So Yoru understanding the new information then tells the reader that (Asa) likes her and then disappears (go back?), so that Asa can properly confess.

That's it I really want it to be an happy ending. But if you're not comfortable with the character who can change it :)))

Petals

Asa Mitaka (and Yoru too kinda) x She/Her Reader

A/N: Writing for these two was so fun. Probably too fun because Yn doesn’t get very much time to shine, whoops. I’m not sure if the scars and eye pattern that show up when Yoru is in charge is just for the reader’s tracking benefit or if it’s a physical thing that all the other characters can also notice, but I decided it was the former because if the other characters can see the change, it would be weird for no one to bring it up. Thanks for the request, hope you like it! Word Count: 1,736

“Pathetic, I couldn’t have possessed someone more pitiful.”

“Shut up.”

“How long do you think we can survive like this? Why are you so stubborn?”

“I told you to shut up. I don’t know.”

Asa spat another petal into the toilet, wiping the blood from her lips with the back of her quivering hand. She flushed the toilet and shuffled out of the stall to the nearest sink, washing the blood from her hands and lips.

Feeling a little faint, she gripped the edges of the sink and closed her eyes, breathing in deeply. After taking a few breaths, she opened her eyes, finding her sickly pale reflection staring back at her. Asa blinked sluggishly. In that brief time, her unblemished reflection had morphed into a scarred, visibly annoyed version of herself.

“Go to her. Tell her now, or I will.” Yoru warned.

“You will do no such thing!” Asa spat, her fingers curled tightly over the rim of the sink.

“You know how this disease works. Will you really allow yourself to die without even trying? Is your sense of self-preservation really so weak?” Yoru snarled.

“It doesn’t matter.” Asa swallowed thickly, “She’s already with that private devil hunter guy. They hangout all the time now,” her grip on the sink caused it to crack beneath her finger tips but she paid it no mind, too busy recalling where it all went wrong.

“I was going to tell her… I was, but then that whole thing with Bucky happened and then the Class President and you invading my body. And then there was what happened with Yuko too. All while my life was becoming fucked, Yoshida Hirofumi used that time to steal my chance with (Y/n) away.”

“Spare me,” Yoru rolled her spiraled irises, “Humans are fickle. Even if she is with him, that doesn’t really mean anything. And if she doesn’t want to leave him, who cares. We just kill this Yoshida guy and she will be single again. She could be yours by the end of the day.”

“Why do you even care anyway?” Asa grumbled. She was in no mood to try to explain to a devil why everything she had just said was not only stupid, but also laughably insane.

“Because this is my body now too. I rather not go back to hell in such a depressingly dull manner. Besides, if she grew to love you, she’d make a very powerful weapon.”

“Yoru!” Asa hissed through gritted teeth.

“Not saying it has to be her,” Yoru groaned, crossing her arms, “but if you ever found yourself getting bored of her…”

“I’m done talking to you. I have to get back to class. I’ve been gone long enough as is.”

Asa pushed away from the sink on wobbly legs and exited the bathroom just as the clock tower chimed, signaling the end of classes. Damn it, had she really been in the bathroom all hour? She slunk against the wall as she walked through the sea of bodies making their way to their extracurricular activities and cleaning duties. Though she was sure it was pretty evident to her teacher that she appeared ill, she still didn’t want to run into him and suffer through an interrogation about her deteriorating health.

Asa was tired. Her throat burned and her chest was unbearably sore so she was going to head straight home to mope in her bed. Yoru would no doubt be pissed that she was going another day without looking for a suitable weapon, but she quite frankly didn’t care at the moment.

She froze at the top of the stairs before descending, having heard a familiar laugh that caused something to tighten around her lungs. She saw (Y/n) coming up from the opposite direction, Yoshida smiling by her side. Of course.

Asa clenched her jaw, ready to stare daggers into the boy, but then she had been spotted.

“Hey Asa, always good to see you,” (Y/n) called with a friendly smile as she continued to ascend the stairs, “How have you been?”

“F-fine.” Asa could hear Yoru scoff. “How are you?”

“Pretty good. It’s a shame we aren’t in the same class this year. I‘ve missed you.”

Asa’s vocal chords might as well have been ripped out of her throat, but before the silence could last too long, Yoru yanked her into the metaphorical backseat.

“I’ve missed you too,” Yoru spoke with as much fondness as she could muster, “we should do something together soon. Maybe this weekend?”

“Yoru— don’t embarrass me I swear to god—!”

“I’d love to. I really would, but I’m busy this weekend.” Asa took at least a little comfort in seeing that (Y/n) looked genuinely disappointed. “Can I take a rain check?”

“Of course,” Yoru nodded, “It doesn’t have to be on the weekend either. Any day of the week, I’ll be there.”

“Yoruuuu,” Asa blushed, “You are being weird!”

Fortunately (Y/n) seemed to take the words in stride and her smile brightened, she opened her mouth to say something else, but then Yoshida put a hand on her shoulder.

“I don’t want to rush you, but we should keep moving if we’re going to make it to the meeting on time.” He said, the kind way he looked down at (Y/n) was enough to make both Asa and Yoru want to bare their teeth.

“Oh, right! Talk to you later Asa!”

“Later…” Yoru smiled tightly as the pair passed them by and continued on to the next set of stairs to take them to the next floor above.

“We need a plan.” Yoru said as she picked up Asa’s previous task of walking down the stairs. “I can already feel those damn flowers crawling up again.”

“I hate this. I hate him.” Asa fumed.

“I want to cut his hands off.” Yoru agreed.

“I’m not cutting off anyone’s hands.” Asa groaned.

“If you don’t confess soon, there will be hand cutting and so much more whether you like it or not.”

***

Another week of suffering had gone by, leaving Asa and Yoru feeling so much weaker. They didn’t even go to school on Monday, or the next couple days to follow. Asa seemed pretty content to wallow in her apartment, leaving bloody flower petals in her wake, but Yoru had had enough. On Friday morning, after it became apparent that Asa wasn’t going to leave her bed, Yoru commandeered the body and got ready to go to school despite all of Asa’s protests.

They arrived bright and early, Asa pleading with Yoru to just let it go before she made a fool out of them both and then inevitably died with a mouthful of flowers. Yoru paid her no mind, instead scanning the campus.

She caught sight of (Y/n) near the bike racks, scowling when she saw that Yoshida was still glued to her side. She could feel Asa’s negative emotions bubbling as well, quite possibly responsible for her own growing discontent.

“Yoru, turn around right now!” Asa demanded.

“Unless you have the strength to take back control, which I know you don’t, I will do as I please. Be grateful I’m going through the trouble of helping you with your insipid little teenage romance at all instead of simply killing you and taking your body as my own. It would make my life so much easier.”

It really made Asa wonder why Yoru hadn’t done just that and killed her when the disease began, or even before that since she hadn’t made any progress on finding out who Chainsaw Man was or making a powerful weapon to kill him. She didn’t dare ask, but it was something to think on.

Yoru walked over to where (Y/n) and Yoshida stood, nearly inserting herself between them before finally coming to a stop.

“Asa! Hi!” (Y/n) perked up, not at all put out by the interruption. “I heard you’ve been out sick most of the week, are you feeling any better?” She reached out to rest her had against their forehead, the gentle touch causing their collective heart to skip a beat.

“Mostly.” Yoru answered almost impatiently. “Hey (Y/n), I want to talk to you alone. Please.”

“Sure!” (Y/n) looked back to Yoshida, “See you in class, Calamari.”

Yoshida chuckled, a sound that grated against Asa and Yoru’s ears.

“Yeah, see you in a bit.” He confirmed with a smile before walking towards the school doors.

“So what did you want to—?”

“Come with me.”

Yoru took (Y/n)’s hand pulling her to the trees, further away from the students slowly taking over the campus.

“Why are you with that guy so much lately?” Yoru asked without preamble.

“You mean Hirofumi?”

“Yeah, are you dating him or something?” You won’t be for long if that’s the case.

“No,” (Y/n) laughed abruptly, “no, no, no. We’re coworkers. We both work in the private sector for devil hunting. We get along pretty well, but that’s the extent of it. Why? Do… do you like him?”

Was that unease Yoru sensed from (Y/n)’s tone, perhaps even a hint of jealousy?

Asa blinked, finding herself back in control.

“I’ll leave the rest to you. Don’t mess it up.” Yoru hissed against her ear.

“I- No, I don’t like him. I only asked because I,” she swallowed thickly, pressing her palms together, “I like you.”

“Really?”

The way (Y/n) seemed to brighten up at the confession gave Asa a boost of confidence.

“Yes, really. Would you like to go out on a date with me?”

“Yes, I would! I really, really would!” (Y/n) grinned, enveloping Asa in a tight hug.

“Really?”

“Really!”

“There are too many reallys flying around. You idiots deserve each other.” Yoru scoffed.

Yoru would never admit it, but she was feeling quite pleased about this development and not just because it would rid them of choking on scratchy flower stems in the middle of the night anymore. Yoru hummed thoughtfully,

“This whole ‘private devil hunter’ thing might pose a problem if she finds out about me… A problem for another day, I suppose. After she becomes too infatuated to care, perhaps. Again, if it doesn’t work out, very promising weapon potential.”

Asa gave Yoru a warning glare over (Y/n)’s shoulder before pressing her face flat against her, feeling the best she had in several weeks as the constricted feeling in her chest slowly began to ease.

#chainsaw man oneshots #csm oneshots #chainsaw man x reader #csm x reader #asa mitaka x reader #csm asa x reader #asa x reader #csm yoru x reader #yoru x reader #requests #t-wylia

[ashes-writing-corner]

I know, I know, I said I wasn't gonna write fanfiction in the month of November. I kinda lied.

Look season 2 of Moon Knight has been announced and I am a sucker for any and all things Oscar Isaac and the moon boys. That all being said, please enjoy this Jake Lockley and Steven Grant angst fest! If it gets enough likes/reblogs/comments, I'll do a part 2 with Marc. He was supposed to be in it but I ran out if time to write more.

TW: mention of the thought of self harm, somewhat accidental self harm, possible oocness, and probably very badly translated Spanish (yes, I used Google translate sue me....seriously don't I have nothing XD)

Perfect Little Punching Bag

Love.

Hate. 

There was always such a fine line between them. Was love always so fickle? Was hate always so non linear? Not helping matters was that all too often, the two emotions blended in a painful mix for him. 

It used to hurt. It used to hurt a lot…

At least Steven had been sold some kind of illusion that someone gave a rat's ass about him. Happiness based on a lie was no way to live, sure, but he had it. He believed someone cared about him, the person who was supposed to care for them the most. 

The same person he was created to protect their body from: their own mother. 

The two had their roles, and while they were close, they never actually met. Steven protected Marc Spector's heart, as in the center of the innermost feeling. Jake was created with no such blissful delusion. No. There was no comfort, no care for Jake Lockley. He was created to protect the physical body from all means of harm. 

When Wendy screamed, he would hear without truly listening. When she whipped or beat him, he'd feel it without reacting. No. He could not, and would not, let her win. Although his young throat would burn with the urge to roar and fight back, at the time he knew he stood no chance. He would lay there in the aftermath, wide eyed, his back and everywhere else burning and welted. But she did not win. 

She never won when it came to Jake. She did not see his tears. She wouldn't ever see them. And if she didn't, no one else surely would.

Where had he found his first blade again? Oh yes, he had taken it out of one of Marc's old pencil sharpeners. Jake had snagged the smallest screwdriver he could find so he could take it out. After every beating, every screaming session, when Jake felt strong enough again, he'd lift the rug in his alter's bedroom and carve another tally into the floor. Jake didn't know why he had kept track, there wasn't a point, but even now, he kept track of the many times he won, the times he cracked but never shattered. He had thought of using the blade several times on himself, but knew that would go against his purpose. Why cause more damage to a body he was supposed to defend? No, no…the floor was covered under that rug with evidence of his wrath.

Hate was an easy emotion. He was born in and from it, molded by it. If he felt it most of the time could he really call it hate? Hate at his abusive mother and enabling father. Hate at his alters for their closeness from which he was excluded. Hate at the world for molding him into this…this monster. He understood this was his lot in life, to be this hated and hateful monster, and for the longest time Jake never objected. It was his job in life and in the system. He knew his place. 

But overtime, it began to slowly take its toll. 

Jake was all too aware of the hole in his heart, if he could even call it that anymore. It was more than that now. A gaping, bloody maw that roared to be fed or else it would consume him. It was why he did what he did as brutally as he did it. Feed the maw, kill the pain inside. That was the deal. But no matter how much he did, or what he tried, it would come back with a vengeance eventually, angry at its suppression and hungry all over again. Longing consumed him, and icy loneliness gripped at his heart. It was bearable, but only to a certain extent. Again, it was his lot in life. 

But then Marc met Layla, falling in love. Oh Jake hated him for that. Marc had the nerve, the gall, the AUDACITY to attempt to be happy while Jake rotted in the excess of HIS despair?! He could stand it when one of his alters was happy. He was okay with either Steven or Marc being happy but not both of them at the same time! How was that fair?!  Even if Steven's happiness was built on illusion, he still HAD it. He felt a semblance of it, a taste of it. 

But there was no such thing as that for Jake Lockley. Never. He wasn't created to be loved. He was never meant to BE happy. He was the monster Marc created for his own darker tendencies, a way for him to subdue his conscience to do his mercenary work. 

Sometimes, Jake would think about trying to approach one of or maybe both of them. Jake would imagine it, talking himself up a bit, trying to think of what he would tell them, and hope that the two alters would find something in him worth accepting.  But oh no Khonshu couldn't let that happen. The moon god poured poison in Jake's ear, which dripped slowly to the maw in his heart…

“Do you really think those two idiots care about you? If they did, wouldn't they have freed you in the Duat? Wouldn't they have added your heart to the scales to be weighed? Wouldn't they have gone back for you? You know exactly how they would react” Khonshu pointed out and would fill Jake's head with horrid illusions of their reactions. 

Steven was always afraid of him, no matter what he tried. Marc was disgusted most of the time, and unsympathetic, like a cold and uncaring master kicking his dog. Well, a kicked dog could only take so much before lashing out, seeing enemies everywhere. The moon god had succeeded in turning Jake against the other two…

Or so he thought. 

It was in a deep state of meditation that he was found. In the darkest corner of Marc Spector's mind was Jake Lockley's own personal hell, his domain. No longer in that damn sarcophagus, it was replaced with a dark room, a small closet more like, with tally marks all over the walls. Countless numbers of them. Jake couldn't keep track of them anymore. 

Some ‘victories’ they were indeed.

Of the alters, it was Steven who found him first. Sweet Steven Grant with his damn heart of gold…why did it have to be him?! Sitting in that corner, wallowing in his despair, with the maw begging to be fed again. It was always so damn hungry now…

Steven looked at the wretched place, concern etched into his features. But he knew they both needed answers. Who the hell was this and what did they want? There was blood all over the floor and tally marks carved in all four walls from floor to ceiling. A shadow sat facing a corner, uncaring about the horror around him. A single light bulb on a string was the only light in that room and it was dull, fading. It looked like something out of a horror movie. Steven trembled as he approached the shadow in the corner. 

“Hey…hey there, you okay?” He managed to speak out despite what he was looking at. 

Jake let out something that sounded like a growl. “Salir…”. (Go away)

“I'm sorry wha-”. 

“Get out…¡ahora!”. (Now!)

“Whoa! Whoa…whoa….okay! Someone is very protective of their space-”. 

“Salir! No volveré a preguntar!” Jake found the small pencil sharpeners blade close by. (Get out, I won't ask again!)

Steven squinted trying to figure out what it was he was holding. “Okay first of all, English please, and second, I have no idea what that is but I'd appreciate it if you put it back. I didn't come here looking for a fight” he said, trying to keep his voice stable and somewhat gentle. 

“Go away, Steven. This isn't where you belong…”. 

“If I dare say it, you don't belong here either”. 

Jake scoffed. “I'm a part of this too”. 

“What do you-no! I meant you don't belong in here you big doofus!”. 

He hardly gave any mind as he walked along the bloody floor to approach Jake, still facing the corner with the small blade in his hand. Steven felt this oddly familiar feeling with this shadow, this thing. He looked at all the tally marks, and gently brushed his hand against them. 

“What are these?” Steven asked. 

“Victories…” Jake answered, though he didn't dare look at him, not directly. 

From his peripheral vision, however, he could see the man with a softer version of his own hardened face frown, his eyes soft with sadness, not fear. Why wasn't he afraid? Khonshu said he'd be afraid! 

“Victories over what?” He asked, “cause from where I'm standing this doesn't look like victory”. 

“Would you prefer if I said they were kills?” He asked  in kind, keeping his tone dark, even if inside he was trembling. 

The maw was quiet. Deathly so. 

“No…no i think we can stick with victories for now” Steven answered and looked around nervously, unsure of what to say. He decided that skipping the limbo would probably be the best way to go. 

“Are you a third one? Are you like me?” He asked. 

“Podrías decirlo…” Jake replied bitterly, his hand clenching around the blade, not caring about its sharp sting. (You could say that)

Steven frowned. “I don't like the sound of that but I'm assuming that's a yes…and a very angry one. Hey…you don't have to stay here, you know that right?”. 

Jake scoffed, attempting to ignore the pain in his palm. He wanted to turn the blade on Steven, to at least give him a taste of his pain. Maybe it would even piss Marc off enough to get his attention! Oh…wouldn't that be fun? Because as much as he despised and envied Steven, he absolutely hated Marc for his wretched existence. And hurting them both would feel amazing in the moment... 

“This is where I belong” he answered simply. 

“Who says?” Steven asked, “you don't deserve this. What's your name?”. 

“It doesn't matter”. 

“It matters to me, and it definitely matters to Marc-”. 

Jake scoffed louder at that. “He doesn't care about me. He doesn't give a damn about me. Nadie hace…”. (No one does) 

“That's not true! He just doesn't know about you! Look, if I can get us all here at the same time-”. 

“Not on our life! It's bad enough you're here!”. 

Steven frowned deeply at that, looking quite hurt. “You didn't want us to find you, didn't you? Why?”. 

The look on the alter's face was bitter and angry. His eyes, one brown and the other a deep red, were sharp and could cut deeper than any knife. He looked so much like them and yet was so distinctively different. Something in him looked…tired. Tired and sad. Like all he wanted to do was rest. 

Despite everything, deep down Jake didn't want to hurt either of them. Looking at Steven now, it made that long suppressed longing come back in small waves at first. Years of telling himself he didn't care about their approval, their “love”, came back to bite Jake in the face in the most vicious way. 

He didn't hate his alters.

No, in fact, something in him loved them, which was why he still did what he was meant to do. 

So no, hate wasn't what he felt. 

To his surprise, Jake realized that he didn't hate them. What he felt was envy, a deep seated, rooted jealousy aimed at them. Sure there was some resentment there as well, but envy was definitely the stronger of the two. Since their excursion to the Duat, this envy had only grown, the roots taking a stronger deeper hold of Jake's heart. He was jealous of the bond they shared, even if it seemed out of whack in the beginning. When they all took down Harrow together, despite having done most of the work, he wasn't included in that victory. Since then, Jake had been a shadow on the outskirts of their peaceful life…

“A stress ball…”. 

Steven looked confused. “What?”. 

“You asked Marc if you were some kind of stress ball or something not too long ago…”. 

Steven looked at him and squinted. “Wait…the Duat? You were there? Hold on a minute! Was that you in the other sarcophagus?! The one trying to get out?!”. 

His nod hit Steven like a freight train. They had left him there. They abandoned him. 

“I'm so sorry. If I'd known-”. 

“Be lucky you were that. An emotional fucking stress ball. At least you were fed an illusion she cared about you”. 

Steven's hurt turned right away to offense. “Excuse me?! You think I liked learning about that?! I feel like the truth-”. 

“If you knew the truth you would've never survived-”. 

“I survived just fine thanks! If there's something you wanna say then say-”. 

With the utmost viciousness he could muster, Jake hissed back: “Te odio!”. (I hate you!)

Steven almost flinched back. He barely understood a lick of Spanish, but judging from the harshness of his tone and the anger on his face, it didn't take a genius to know what he meant. Not helping matters was the sadness in Jake's eyes. More than anger, more than bitterness or envy, he was just sad.

“I don't hate you” Steven told him, “even if you hate me” he put a gentle hand on Jake's shoulder. 

Jake brushed it off, trying to keep his angry and hateful glare. Steven wasn't falling for it, as he again put a hand on his shoulder.

“I don't hate you” Steven repeated, “a little wigged out but…no, I don't hate you. I want to help you, and I know Marc does too-”. 

“He. Doesn't. Care. He used me as his shield! I'm nothing to him! I'm just a…a punching bag. That's all I've ever been!” his voice broke, as his sadness took a hold, “just a perfect little stoic punching bag!”

It wasn't fair. It wasn't! He deserved to be loved, at least just a little. He deserved to have a life outside this hell his alter condemned him to. He'd do anything for it, to be more than just…well…this! He dropped the blade from his hand, hissing in pain as the cut was deeper than he thought it would be. It fell to the bloody floor with a soft clink and Steven was quick to kick it away before Jake could grab for it again. The softer alter hugged him tightly, the same one the moon god told Jake would be afraid of him, catching him entirely off guard.

“No more…none of that. It's gonna be okay. I'm here for you…I'm here” Steven hugged him tightly, a hand going through the others hair. 

Jake clung to him like a man drowning, like Steven was his only support. Then it got worse: the tears came. Tears of anger, sadness, envy, and frustration, it was a horrid mess of emotions. Ones he didn't like feeling, ones the maw threatened to swallow him in. His body wracked with sobs as Steven hugged and comforted him. 

“I'm so sorry…we never should've left you. We didn't-”. 

“You didn't know, I know. I was…I was s-scared”. 

Steven looked confused. “Scared? You?”. 

“Something-something like that” he managed to say, “I just wanted…something. I-I don't know-”. 

“It's alright. You don't need to tell us yet if you don't want to. I'm glad I found you” Steven parted from him briefly, “never did tell me your name”. 

“Jake…my name's Jake”. 

“Jake” Steven smiled warmly, “well…we gotta see about getting you and Marc in the same close headspace”. 

Jake shook his head. “I can't. He won't…he'd never accept-”. 

“None of that now. Look at me. I'm not a stress ball. You're not a punching bag. It's gonna be okay. We're a part of each other”. 

The softness of his tone and his reassuring words tore down what was left of the wall around Jake Lockley's heart. A wall he'd been building since he formed in Marc Spector's mind, many were the times he wished he could take it down without fear of rejection. 

“Don't be afraid. We'll talk to him” Steven assured him, “he's gotten a lot better at listening”. 

His nerves were a bit fried but Jake nodded. “Alright…I trust you”. 

He could only dare hope his trust wasn't misplaced…

#moon knight #jake lockley #steven grant #marc spector #moon knight fanfic #marvel mcu #mcu fanfiction #angst #hurt/comfort

[flydotnet]

Bad Things Happen Bingo! The event where I give myself stupidly niche requests according to this marvelous card... or something. It's been three years dawg. (Red cross is the completed prompt, character headshots are prompts I’ve already filled).

You dislike me, Princess Ivy? We each have our tastes, I suppose, but…this makes me sad.

It's a bit of an unorthodox take on "Take Me Instead" that's tailored to my tastes, but what is fanfiction if not an expression of a thing you like? Yeah, exactly.

I may have lost myself during the making of this fanfic. Got lost in the sauce, you could say. It's very verbose and static, and I lost sight of what this fic was originally going to be about. Or was it ever about anything that wasn't writing an interaction vaguely based on a bond conversation that amused me? I'm not sure of either.

This is probably super OOC because I already don't write Camilla in a canon-compliant way, so… watch out for that! It was fun to write anyway. God I love Kagetsu so much, he truly is babygirl-coded.

The title is a bit random. I honestly didn't have better that wasn't a title I saw used elsewhere, so… oops.

-----------

Rice Vinegar

Summary: Camilla has a discussion with Kagetsu after a very rough battle against the Corrupted - out of concern and misunderstanding. Self-sacrifice is a truly ugly thing.

Fandom: Fire Emblem Engage

Word Count: 2.8K words

AO3 version available here.

Event hosted by @badthingshappenbingo.

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

Camilla has never been a stranger to death and bodily harm – quite the opposite, really. When she was alive, she often was the one inflicting this harm onto others, either in self-defence or in a genuine attempt to take down her enemies. It was her father’s overly ambitious mistresses, it was a mindless shell of a soldier threatening harm on her brother, it was – they all died, or died again, to her hand, her axe, her wyvern. And she had no regret about it whatsoever.

Nothing and nobody was ever sacred, when she was alive. Even alliances could fickle and she’d draw blood again. She had grown up in an environment where it made it all too easy to justify violence for all sorts of reasons, selfish or selfless, with or without consequences. It never came to pass, thanks to her dear Corrin, but the fear was here until the end of her days.

Camilla has, however, never been a stranger to self-sacrifices – mostly from other people.

She gets it, in essence. She, too, felt unconditional love for her siblings and her children, knew when to risk in a hit to save a friend, heard all of the speeches – a brother sacrificing his health for his country, a sister always ready to help anyone out of the kindness of her heart, a neighbour country’s values of honour and solidarity at times trampling a need for self-preservation. Duties and passion, abnegation, causes worth losing a life for.

It’s a noble feeling, even if noble isn’t exactly… what she’s been known for. But she gets it, she truly does – the urge to sacrifice something, that is. Her own life, though? That’s another thing. How could she protect her siblings and fight for her kingdom if she was dead? Sacrificing someone else was fine, as long as it wasn’t someone she had to protect, including herself.

Evidently, the person to who she’s been assigned doesn’t see it the way she does.

She came to learn that when in the heat of battle. They were all surrounded by flows of the Corrupted, unrelenting, the distant cackle of Griss coming to her hears. Kagetsu himself was flanked by Prince Diamant and Princess Ivy, his own liege, sword drawn and ready to strike, while flames burned in the distance and smoke stung his eyes. Despite the fact he had just exhausted his power to engage with her, she could still feel the way his legs cramped, the twitch in his sword arm after using it for so long and, most of all, the pain of the one injury he had sustained.

She couldn’t communicate with him much in this context, so she could only worry about him and the way he wouldn’t ask Princess Ivy for a quick heal with the staff she carried on her back – while she was busy blasting away with Bolganone in hands, Diamant could keep the Corrupted away for long enough so Ivy could patch her retainer.

He then froze. An archer had his eyes set on Ivy. She had her eyes somewhere else. A bleeding wound adorned her right thigh.

She couldn’t quite see Kagetsu’s face with the smoke and the way she had to hover without obscuring his vision, but what she felt spoke more than enough for him. Adrenaline pulsed in his body, so did an urge to protect his friends, and no thought was spared to his own safety. Like a good retainer, he’d throw it all away for the sake of his liege, exchanging his life for hers.

No, don’t take Princess Ivy! She heard his heart cry. Take me instead!

He rushed ahead, what was left of his ponytail dangling in the wind, blood already flowing from his left leg yet leaving no limp behind.

Diamant’s voice acted before his body ever did.

“Kagetsu, wait—”

But it was too late. His blade had already struck the archer, and an arrow had already lodged itself in his abdomen.

It’s since then all crashed down on poor, poor Kagetsu, who got sternly recommended to keep the bed by a child maybe half his size. Unable to protest in his state, he was no match for the youthful resilience of Jean, doctor in becoming, with assistance from stubborn Steward Framme. It’d have been cute, if she didn’t feel concern and so much of Kagetsu’s shame through the bracelet he was still holding on to.

Even now, watching over him in bed, she feels the shame, watches him try to toss and turn, only for his teeth to grit together. It’s an upsetting thing, even with her experience; they’re friends, and friends don’t ever like seeing their friend suffer in any way.

“I don’t understand it,” he tells her, even if it comes off as thinking out loud.

“What don’t you understand?”

Through their bond, she can tell he is upset – anxious, even, which comes off as a foreign concept to someone like Kagetsu. Moral pain like this is something that clashes with his usual personality. Perhaps there are more layers to him than she’d have thought?

“I don’t understand why Princess Ivy and Prince Diamant were so… upset. It’s like I did something wrong and it’s hurt them!”

Ah, figures.

Camilla did easily read the anguish on Ivy’s face, yes. She could tell with one insisting gaze that she was going through a lot of emotions, and while she isn’t able to tell with perfect accuracy due to not being linked to her at the moment, she can hazard a very solid guess as to what she was thinking – if just because their experiences haven’t been so different and because Kagetsu, ever the social butterfly, sees his liege a lot of the time and chats her up into unveiling some information about herself.

Although, there may be very little guessing on her part required to begin with, when she had the aftermath of the seemingly senseless sacrifice play out before her very eyes.

As soon as Ivy had finished defeating the Corrupted obscuring her view and flanking her, she had glanced back at her retainer, who now had an arrow in his side – a feat rare enough to be cited, both for the very fact it wasn’t in an easier area to reach, and for it to have lodged itself between two ribs.

She was about to scream his name, from what Camilla could see near the bracelet; but her voice was caught in her throat before she could, right as Kagetsu folded like paper onto himself.

The staff she was clutching in her hands was on the verge of rupturing, Diamant was bleeding from what Camilla could guess to be a deep gash in his side, but he insisted on her using it on Kagetsu, by virtue of him still standing and the swordman not, spotting the arrival of Framme.

So Ivy used the remaining energy left in the staff on her retainer, the tool breaking into dust as his eyes fluttered back open, an extraordinary weight to his eyelids preventing them from opening fully. His leg wound was now doing better, but the arrow remained in his chest. Right as she asked him, almost without a breath, how he was doing, his sole answer was smiling.

“I’m glad you are fine, Princess Ivy,” he said before falling back asleep.

Ivy wasn’t handling it as well as one whose father and concubines led a life of debauchery and deadly power games should’ve, in Camilla’s eyes, but she understood it. Beruka and Selena were far more important to her than political games, at the end of the day. Associate a name, a voice and a personality to a body, and then you’re suddenly much more affected by their blood flowing from their wounds. Figures.

Still, she carried on nonetheless: she brought Kagetsu on top of her wyvern to safety, watched the battle end by Diamant’s side, asked about the way he limped, scrutinized his denial, asked Framme to look at it. Kept an eye on Kagetsu. Almost refused treatment to be bedside vigil. Discussed his stillness with Zelkov, who didn’t even bother hiding all sorts of concerns. Let Jean take a look at her wound, in silence. Remained there once it was bandaged. Still watched over Kagetsu, stoic anguish never vanishing.

“Why did he do such a thing?” She asked, thinking out loud, at long last. “Putting himself in harm’s way on purpose… How reckless of him.”

There was no surprise in her voice.

“I suppose he did so to protect you,”

There was also no surprise in Zelkov’s as he replied.

“I can defend myself just fine.”

Diamant stared at the scene in silence from where he sat, nearby, face distorted.

“As any retainer would do,” he commented, eyes squinted, nailed into the form of his colleague.

“Then may he never do that again,” she immediately retorted, clutching her arms even closer to the rest of her body. “I’d have survived that without issue. He didn’t need to kill himself over me.”

The protest wasn’t a matter of pride, or else, Zelkov might’ve commented on it.

“I’m afraid it might happen again in any upcoming battle,” he told her instead. “Kagetsu and I have the mission to serve and protect you.”

“Even at the cost of your life?”

“Yes, even if it might cost us our lives.”

“Absolutely repulsive.” She was on the verge of crying. “Is he going to be fine…?”

“He should be,” Framme chimed in, now that she was done with Diamant’s leg.

“Should be?”

Framme’s shoulders shot up, stiff.

“It’s, uh… never certain. But he really should be okay! Jean’s just gonna check him over once he can and he’ll be able to go on his merry way! After some rest, of course.”

“He better be fine after this is all said and done. I won’t let him throw his life away for… such pointless reasons! I can’t… lose anyone again. Not after Hortensia and I had to…”

She didn’t finish her sentence, but judging by Zelkov and Diamant’s reactions, she didn’t need to.

Grief may’ve been the one thing linking the three of them together.

Once more, this doesn’t seem to be how Kagetsu views it – or perhaps he lacks knowledge of it. Losing blood and going through intense pain does tend to tinge someone’s memory or even bleach them away. Let her see how he conceives it, then.

“You didn’t do something wrong per say,” she starts explaining, for a second picturing a sister’s confusion at their brother’s upset. “But you did something that would bring pain to those who’re closest to you, dear.”

“In what way?” He sounds so genuinely confused, and in that moment, Camilla can only understand Ivy’s pain even further. “All I did was defend my friends. Princess Ivy could have been severely hurt.”

“What about Prince Diamant? I recall you being injured as well even before the arrow struck, Kagetsu.”

“He could have gotten hurt too.”

He ignores the second part entirely, then.

“But he was just as qualified as you were to take the enemy down before they could struck Princess Ivy.”

“I’m Princess Ivy’s retainer,” he chews back, even if it lacks strength (very much because his body has all sorts of protests against the exertion). “It’s my mission to keep her safe. It is not Prince Diamant’s mission.”

Camilla wants to ask if this could apply to Zelkov as well, only to bite back on it because asking seems to be a bit of pointless endeavour.”

“Then I suppose I can only hope to make you understand why they both were so upset, Kagetsu.”

His face lightens up.

“Oh, pray and tell! It sounds like very useful information to know.”

She shifts, crossing her arms and float-sitting on the empty chair next to the bed. Framme left a little while ago, but not without a promise to come back soon. It was something about a potion and reinforcement, if she recalls correctly, but this isn’t the focus of her thoughts.

“I too had retainers in my lifetime. They were both very dear to me, to a point where it pained me when they’d get hurt, especially on my behalf.” She sighs. “Of course, protecting one’s liege is the most important mission of a retainer, and both Princess Ivy and I understand that. Still, it didn’t mean I didn’t feel guilt for letting them get hurt on my behalf – or getting hurt at all, come to think of it.”

“You would feel… guilt?”

“Among all sorts of negative emotions, yes.”

“But then, why feel upset?”

“Because they were people who I cared deeply about, and like you, I didn’t like seeing my loved ones hurt in any way. I’ve killed for them, and I’d do it again even today.” He looks slightly horrified, which prompts her to let go a little of the bloodied details of a life long past gone. “Princess Ivy cares about you in a similar way, so even if you think you did good protecting her, she’s been upset to see you hurt – just like you’d have been would your positions have been inverted.”

“So, I caused Princess Ivy pain because she cares for me?”

“Indeed.”

He remains silent for a moment, leaning back into the pillow. He looks defeated.

“Then, if I had avoided that arrow… She would not have been hurt.”

This really isn’t what Camilla wanted him to conclude. What a stubborn soul.

Unfortunately, before she can disprove his flimsy theory, he continues.

“I wish my strange powers would not be so useless. If they were not, then perhaps… perhaps I could have seen it coming, and I could have protected Princess Ivy without upsetting her by getting hurt.”

“This isn’t what I wanted you to understand,” she replies. “Your powers may’ve stopped it from happening this time, but it wouldn’t fix the issue.”

His eyes, which are still slightly glazed over, grow wider, before his face hardens again.

“What would fix the problem, then, Camilla?”

He asks that with a flame in his eyes and no chill going down his spine – a far cry from a moment ago. The bright smile has always hidden a sharp blade underneath, and now, it’s pointed towards her, light lining its edge.

“Sometimes, you can’t avoid getting hurt, especially in combat. Ivy understands that as much as you do. However, what hurt wasn’t that you were in pain.” She marks a pause. “What hurt her was that you got hurt in her stead, when you were already hurt and actively hiding it from her. She blames herself for what happened, and combined with the concern it caused her, it was painful to go through. I’d even go as far as to say she’s wondering if you trust her.”

“Oh…”

The lack of bite tells her this is finally dawning on him.

“I know you tried to do good, and deep down, I know Ivy understands that as well. She only got concerned, but that’s why you can’t always jump in front of danger and take hits for other people. What if you had been more grievously injured than you thought? Or worse, what if the blow had been fatal?”

“I see… how that would cause a lot of bad things.”

“Ivy cares about you as a person, and by doing that, you hurt her by accident, just like she would if she got injured in front of you. It’s a fine line to walk, because while you had good intentions, most of the consequences were the complete opposite of what you wanted. You also need to think of your self-preservation, when you think of taking a hit for someone else.”

“I am starting to see…”

“I don’t expect you to learn all of this in one go. If your culture is anything like Hoshido’s, it promotes sacrifice for the sake of the greater good. At least, this is what I got from fighting alongside Hoshidians.”

“Oh, please tell me more! I am curious to know about-”

A knock on the door.

“It’ll have to wait until next time, I’m afraid. It seems like you’ve got a visitor.”

“Oh!” He lightens up. “Come on in, friend!”

The door opens to unveil a slightly less anxious Ivy: her shoulders are hanging lower, her eyebrows are unknitted, and her hands aren’t fiddling as much as they did when Framme was looking over her retainer.

“It’s good to see you’re awake, Kagetsu,” she says with a timid smile. “How are you feeling?”

“A little sore, but I am alive, and soon enough, I will be full of vigour again!”

“I’m certain you will,” she chuckles, but the laugh disappears quickly. “There are things I want to discuss with you.”

She sits down, gaze unfaltering, at which point Camilla decides they deserve some privacy.

#bad things happen bingo #fire emblem #fire emblem engage #camilla (fe14) #kagetsu (fe17) #diamant (fe17) #framme (fe17) #take me instead #bthb

[nikethestatue]

It does feel like shippers are the only ones left in the fandom who are actually looking forward to what SJM does next. The rest of the fandom behaves as if they are hate reading this series and at this point I think they very much are. The negativity isn't just around Elain, people seem to hate Feyre with a passion too now, which was genuinely shocking to me. I thought she was a fairly loved character so was Feysand as a ship but the loudest voices in the fandom seem to be of people that don't like them? Everyone is a hater of everyone now. I don't get it. I guess it's because the fandom discourse centered around nesta for so long and her fandom seems to be very hateful towards anyone who isn't her. Most of the elain hate I see comes from the pro-nesta side. She gets called a bitch, selfish, manipulative and an "ungrateful" sister by her stans which is crazyyy to me I'd thought feyre stans would hate her because of the time in cabin but... WHAT DID SHE DO TO NESTA???? WHAT? And where are the og feysand stans? I think they liked Elain or Elriel or at least weren't as hateful towards her. They seem to have dipped after acowar dropped which is valid lol they got everything why stay now? It is sad tho that SJM's og fans just left and now all she has is a fickle and unpredictable TikTok crowd and people who are just hate reading her books.

Yah...every character is hated now.

Back when I joined, no one would be hating on Cassian and Azriel, they were pretty much safe bets. Same with Feyre. Rhys was always too contentious to be loved by everyone, but now, every single person is hated. Poor Elain's been hated since the very beginning.

I think certain segments and certain ships take all this WAY too seriously. Like way way too seriously, taking it to places where these books aren't supposed to go. Stupid stuff like 'Rhys runs an apartheid state' using fancy words like 'intersectionality' and creating more drama between Rhys and Nesta than SJM ever did. Just because Nesta does not like Rhys, doesn't mean he is the devil, and vice versa, because he doesn't like her, doesn't mean she is plotting to murder him and take over.

I have issues with SJM's writing and her lack of consistency and plot holes, but I still love 99% of the characters. Even when they behave badly. It's okay, we should be able to handle imperfect characters who do imperfect things.

I've disliked the same 2 characters since the very beginning. Nothing's changed. And no one's been really added to the list, because i personally like the clashes, the personalities, the dramatics. That's why I read. Everyone acting properly and with dignified resolve is really not what I am super interested in.

[mtreebeardiles]

WIP Whenever

Blargh. Not giving too much context on this one since it's very rough, but keeping it under a cut since it's later in The Paths You Take

Managed to write something! But not what I needed to! But it's something! Eh?

CW for depression, grief

Even thinner there was no mistaking that silhouette -- fingers nervously tapping against a thigh, messy hair poking out from under a well-worn beanie, and it hurt her heart to see him curled inward like that, like he'd been robbed of something important, something that had given him substance, leaving him too frail, too small, too vulnerable. He was both her brother and not, a facsimile of the Scott she knew and loved, had held and had lost, grief of a greater magnitude eating away at all the things that had made him so vibrant, so larger-than-life and alive. 

"Scotty?"

He didn't react, didn't respond, and that kernel of worry that had taken up near-permanent residence in her chest wound tighter. Her brother had always been flighty, fickle, attention jumping from one thing to another and back, no rhyme or reason, but he'd always been aware. Could always be called back, coaxed into focus, usually with a grin and an innocent widening of the eyes and a laugh at the ready. 

Now it was like he couldn't hear anyone, anything, no matter how desperately they called for him. 

She closed the distance between them, set a gentle hand gingerly on his shoulder. He jumped, flinching, and something inside her flinched too. 

She couldn't remember a time when Scott Ryder had ever been on edge like this. 

"What are you doing here?" she asked, dropping her hand and fighting the urge to pull him in, hold him close, as if she could squeeze some life back into him. He jerked, shaking his head as if to clear it, and she pursed her lips to see how glassy his eyes still were, how deep the bags under them had gotten. No rest for the wicked, maybe, but certainly no rest for the broken hearted, either. 

"I… I uh." His voice was a rasp, as unfamiliar as his gauntness, his frayed, fraught energy. An echo of an echo of an echo and a spear of anger shot through her seeing him here, the open vista of Meridian's meticulously maintained terrace outside the Pathfinder's Guild behind him. Their salvation, and all it had cost was her brother. 

"I wanted to tell you that I… I'm leaving."

Sara blinked, her attention swinging back to him. "What?"

He licked dry lips, looking, if possible, even smaller, even more worn down from one second to the next. 

"I already chartered a shuttle." 

It was then she realized he had a bag slung across his shoulders. Too small to hold the things she knew he loved, the things he'd felt worthy enough to drag from one galaxy to another. No records, no guitar, and maybe he'd packed them already, maybe they were waiting for him on that shuttle and she was jumping to conclusions, but she didn't think so. 

He hadn't listened to music in months. 

His eyes finally met hers and her chest clenched to see the sheen in them. 

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I know I'm… I know it's selfish, but I can't… I can't stay here, Sara. Not…not without him. I need to…to not be in this place, anymore."

"Scott…"

A tear slid down his cheek and she couldn't take it anymore -- she reached for him, heart soaring in the split second of recognition and relief when he welcomed it, and then he was in her arms, his own wrapped around her, face buried in her shoulder as tears slowly wet the fabric of her shirt. 

"I'm so sorry I wasn't there, Scotty," she whispered again and again. "I'm so fucking sorry."

It took a long moment for him to gather himself enough to respond. She didn't mind, just held him tight, feeling the sharp jut of his bones, the foreign frailty of him, and felt her own throat and eyes burn. 

"Come with me?"

Air seemed to explode from her lungs, her exhale sharp. 

"Scott…"

"I know, I know," he murmured, giving her a squeeze. "I didn't… I told myself I wasn't going to ask. I'm sorry, that… that was shitty."

"It's okay."

"It isn't." He pulled away and she reluctantly let him go, watching as he scrubbed at his cheeks with the sleeve of his hoodie. He offered her a small, humorless smile. "I know we can't both leave, Sara."

"But you do know I would if I could, yeah?" 

"Yeah," he whispered. "I know." He sniffled, exhaling shakily. "Um. So… yeah. I wanted… I didn't want to risk missing you, and not… not saying…"

"It's not goodbye," she cut in, voice a whisper but firm nonetheless. She waited until his gaze met hers. "It's not goodbye, Scott."

He fidgeted. "It's see you later," he agreed. His eyes dropped, and he fiddled with the strap of his bag. "I'll see you later, Sara. I'll call you."

"You better."

A fleeting smile and he was hugging her again, and for one moment he almost felt like himself again. Strong, sure, like the path laid before him was unknown and he was all too happy to meet it.

"Love you, Scotty."

"Love you, too." 

A final squeeze and she let him go, watched as he began making his way away from her -- away from here, from this place he'd made possible, from a dream he'd made real for so many even as it tore him apart. 

"Wait." 

He stopped, glancing over his shoulder at her. 

"You didn't mention where you were going." 

He blinked, then offered her a rueful grin that was closer to one of the many smiles she knew. Slightly lopsided, dimpling one bearded cheek, gaze unwavering. 

The sort of smile that didn't meet his eyes.

"Aya."

And as she watched her brother walk away, Sara wrapped her arms around herself, frowning at his back. 

Knowing, with the knowledge of a twin who'd spent a lifetime at his side, that her brother's last word to her was a lie. 

#my writing #WIP #The Paths You Take #custom Scott #custom Sara #it's sad boy o'clock in this denny's tonight #lord help me I need to finish this story already

[austerez]

꒰⠀⠀⠀⠀greta  onieogou.   thirty-one.   cis  woman.   she/her.⠀⠀⠀⠀꒱        hold  your  f***  horses  !   yulia  adamu  has  just  been  spotted  walking  into  revolution  headquarters  .  she’s  best  known  for  being  an  r&b  singer  and  has  been  signed  with  the  label  for  seven  years  .  she  shares  a  lot  of  interesting  things  about  life  in  the  music  industry  on  her  social  media  ,  so  make  sure  you  don’t  forget  to  follow  her  at  @yulia  .  fans  know  her  for  being  goofy  but  i  swear  she’s  got  a  fickle  side  as  well  .  maybe  that  explains  why  she’s  always  associated  with  bedroom  walls  covered  in  r&b  vinyl’s  ,  a  notebook  half  full  with  lyrics  she’s  too  afraid  to  sing  ,  and  contagious  laughter  echoing  through  hallways  .  stan  twitter  even  voted  her  most  likely  to  marry  a  fan  .  we’ll  see  how  they  live  up  to  that  reputation  .

tl;dr.   statistics.   pinterest.

———  tw  for  anxiety  ,  forced  drug  use  ,  addiction  ,  rehab  .  

the  start.

growing  up  ,  yulia’s  parents  made  sure  she  was  never  aware  of  their  struggles  —  and  struggle  they  did  ,  especially  for  the  first  few  years  of  her  life  .  it  started  with  her  father  being  laid  off  after  an  injury  left  him  unable  to  work  ,  leaving  them  with  no  choice  but  to  put  what  should’ve  been  their  forever  home  up  for  sale  just  before  yulia  was  born  .  he  was  eventually  able  to  find  a  desk  job  but  the  pay  was  minimal  at  best  and  because  her  mother  was  newly  postpartum  at  the  time  ,  he  insisted  she  didn’t  work  .

despite  the  financial  hardships  that  followed  ,  the  moving  around  that  continued  years  after  yulia  was  born  ,  the  whispered  arguments  they’d  have  after  putting  her  to  bed  ,  they  eventually  got  to  a  point  where  they  could  rest  easy  .  her  dad  had  a  corporate  job  and  her  mom  worked  from  home  to  make  raising  her  a  little  easier  on  the  both  of  them  and  ,  all  things  considered  ,  they  were  finally  in  a  good  place  .

yulia  was  young  when  she  first  fell  in  love  with  music  and  singing  and  she  made  sure  everyone  knew  it  .  if  she  wasn’t  belting  out  a  whitney  or  mariah  song  ,  she  was  writing  terrible  lyrics  in  her  journal  or  borrowing  her  aunt’s  karaoke  machine  for  weeks  at  a  time  .  it  got  to  a  point  where  her  dad  was  buying  her  new  notebooks  every  week  and  when  he  realized  she  wanted  to  take  singing  seriously  ,  he  signed  her  up  for  vocal  lessons  .

high  school  was  mostly  uneventful  for  her  and  outside  of  a  short  lived  relationship  ,  yulia  focused  on  her  schoolwork  more  than  anything  .  her  parents  made  sure  she  knew  that  as  long  as  she  put  in  effort  and  didn’t  flunk  any  of  her  classes  ,  they’d  support  her  dream  of  singing  wholeheartedly  .  she  did  as  they  asked  and  they  kept  their  word  ,  even  packing  up  their  things  and  moving  to  new  york  so  she’d  have  a  better  chance  at  becoming  a  singer  like  she  wanted  .

it  was  around  this  time  that  yulia  started  posting  singing  covers  to  youtube  ,  ranging  from  ballads  like  i  have  nothing  and  a  natural  woman  to  r&b  classics  like  4  page  letter  and  next  lifetime  .  she  gained  a  decent  amount  of  viewers  from  it  but  it  wasn’t  until  after  she’d  graduated  that  her  dad  recorded  her  singing  an  original  song  at  an  open  mic  night  .  after  he  convinced  her  to  post  it  ,  things  really  took  a  turn  .

first  deal.

she  was  in  her  sophomore  year  of  college  when  the  video  her  dad  posted  blew  up  .  it  started  doing  numbers  online  and  was  shared  around  more  than  she  ever  expected  so  it  was  surprise  to  no  one  but  her  when  she  was  approached  by  a  reputable  label  .  she  attended  a  few  very  long  meetings  ,  met  with  a  few  different  lawyers  ,  and  after  one  final  emotionally  charged  meeting  ,  yulia  was  signing  her  first  record  deal  .

things  were  great  until  they  weren’t  .  she  got  to  write  her  own  songs  and  record  them  ,  had  a  large  role  in  preparing  for  her  first  few  shows  and  eventually  a  tour  but  yulia  learned  the  hard  way  that  it  was  all  too  much  too  fast  .  going  from  a  girl  that  blended  into  a  crowd  by  choice  to  being  on  stage  in  front  of  thousands  of  people  was  something  she  wasn’t  prepared  for  .

what  started  as  stage  fright  before  every  show  turned  into  her  popping  a  pill  or  two  to  calm  her  nerves  .  being  able  to  get  through  a  concert  without  having  a  panic  attack  and  without  feeling  high  led  her  to  believe  she  had  it  under  control  .  little  did  she  know  ,  the  people  around  her  saw  an  opportunity  and  ran  with  it  .  a  pill  dropped  into  a  coffee  here  ,  a  little  alcohol  mixed  with  soda  there  and  without  even  realizing  it  ,  yulia  had  become  addicted  .

it  wasn’t  until  she  was  visiting  her  parents  right  after  completing  her  first  tour  that  she  finally  realizes  something  was  wrong  .  her  parents  question  her  about  her  apparent  change  in  attitude  and  yulia  admits  she  used  to  take  pills  to  help  with  anxiety  .  however  ,  after  learning  she’d  stopped  doing  so  just  weeks  after  she  started  ,  her  mom  requested  she  get  tested  just  in  case  .  

what  came  next  was  a  long  list  of  things  yulia  never  imagined  she’d  have  to  deal  with  so  early  into  her  career  ,  or  ever  for  that  matter  .  first  she  checked  herself  into  rehab  ,  having  realized  she  was  actually  addicted  to  the  stuff  she  thought  she’d  stopped  taking  long  ago  .  when  she  was  released  ,  she  spent  months  getting  out  of  her  contract  with  her  label  and  while  she  was  eventually  successful  in  doing  so  ,  she  wasn’t  able  to  gain  rights  to  her  music  (  something  she’s  still  fighting  for  even  today  )  .  the  whole  situation  was  thankfully  kept  out  of  the  media  ,  partially  because  her  lawyer  threatened  lawsuits  against  anyone  who  spoke  about  it  and  partially  because  the  label  didn’t  want  the  bad  press  .

at  twenty  two  ,  yulia  had  already  been  through  the  ringer  .  she’d  spent  months  in  rehab  ,  had  seen  the  inside  of  a  courtroom  more  than  she’d  ever  planned  to  in  her  life  ,  continued  to  struggle  with  addiction  despite  being  clean  .  however  ,  she  managed  to  graduate  from  college  with  a  degree  and  high  honors  ,  all  while  writing  and  recording  the  most  personal  songs  she’d  ever  made  .

her  self  titled  sophomore  album  was  released  independently  ,  to  the  surprise  of  everyone  .  it  was  well  received  ,  old  fans  and  new  ones  appreciating  how  raw  it  sounded  compared  to  her  first  album  .  shortly  after  the  release  ,  yulia  was  contacted  by  someone  from  revolution  about  possibly  signing  a  deal  and  while  she  was  hesitant  at  first  ,  so  much  so  that  she  didn’t  give  them  an  answer  until  a  month  later  ,  she  eventually  decided  it’d  be  good  for  her  .

revolution.

her  time  at  revolution  records  proves  fruitful  .  from  the  creative  freedom  to  the  support  she’s  received  in  the  seven  years  she’s  been  there  ,  yulia  is  glad  she  didn’t  let  past  experiences  get  in  the  way  of  a  good  thing  .  she’s  eleven  years  into  her  career  now  .  though  she  has  six  albums  in  total  ,  she’s  working  on  her  fifth  one  as  a  revolution  artist  .  she’s  often  cited  saying  she  feels  nothing  but  gratitude  for  her  label  and  that  she  hopes  anyone  trying  to  join  the  music  industry  is  as  lucky  as  her  .

everything  that  happened  with  her  first  label  is  still  a  secret  to  the  public  but  the  lyrics  from  her  sophomore  album  and  the  albums  that  followed  have  alluded  to  it  .  she  doesn’t  know  when  or  if  she’ll  come  out  about  the  entire  thing  but  yulia  has  made  it  a  point  to  take  new  artists  under  her  wing  ,  letting  them  know  that  should  something  happen  ,  they’ll  always  have  someone  in  their  corner  .

personality.

making  other  people  laugh  is  free  serotonin  to  yulia  .  she  loves  to  joke  around  ,  play  (  harmless  )  pranks  on  people  ,  and  just  do  what  she  can  to  put  a  smile  on  people’s  faces  .  the  older  she  gets  ,  the  less  patience  she  has  and  it  can  occasionally  translates  to  her  being  snappy  or  short  with  people  .  yulia  is  very  easy  to  talk  to  .  she’s  a  people  person  through  and  through  and  it  shows  in  her  friendly  demeanor  .  as  much  as  she  loves  to  be  surrounded  by  others  ,  whether  they’re  talking  or  just  hanging  out  in  comfortable  silence  ,  she  doesn’t  actually  say  anything  personal  unless  you’ve  been  close  for  years  .  she  is  always  on  the  defense  ,  the  need  to  protect  herself  remaining  strong  after  what  happened  with  her  first  label  .  as  much  as  she  loves  love  in  any  form  ,  yulia  can  be  very  fickle  .  she  doesn’t  let  herself  get  close  to  people  that  often  ,  preferring  to  bow  out  gracefully  instead  of  opening  herself  up  to  possible  heartbreak  or  betrayal  .

headcanons.

she  has  a  three  year  old  rottweiler  she  adopted  named  toothless  .  he  came  from  a  bad  place  originally  and  while  yulia  wasn’t  planning  on  actually  adopting  ,  she  knew  his  age  and  his  breed  were  working  against  him  .  yes  he  has  teeth  ,  though  he  is  missing  two  on  the  bottom  .

she  wants  kids  so  bad  .  she’s  known  her  whole  life  that  she  wanted  a  big  family  ,  especially  considering  she  was  an  only  child  .  yulia  wants  kids  so  much  she’s  seriously  contemplating  going  on  hiatus  so  she  can  adopt  or  something  .

she  used  to  spend  her  summers  in  russia  with  her  extended  family  and  while  she  obviously  can’t  spend  that  much  time  there  at  once  anymore  ,  she  still  likes  to  go  often  .

#revolution.intro #intro: yulia. #not using fancy tags for intro posts bc tumblr hates me #anyway this too 9 years and i am . so sorry for how long it is #tldr is available though don't worry #wow not the typo in the tags #took not too

[morethanmybody]

Rules!

First off, you have to respect people’s (and muses’) pronouns. I’ve had a problem with this in the past and if you can’t do that, this really is not the place for you

Alright, onto more basic rules. Please don’t godmod and definitely don’t force ships or anything else on me. Just be considerate, really, and you’ll be fine

I won’t rp with muns under the age of 18 both for comfort reasons seeing as I’m an adult and also because this blog isn’t always sfw

I may not always be super active here (if this or anything like dropping threads, etc is bothersome to you, I am probably not your person), but I tend to be more active on discord and am almost always available to chat and plot. If we’re mutuals, feel free to ask for my discord!

On the topic of plotting, sometimes I love plotting extensively and sometimes I’d prefer to just wing it, but I’ll always take your preferences into account too!

Memes! Send me all of them. Seriously, as many as you want. I may not respond to them all, but I like having them in there for when I wanna write but don’t have specific ideas! I will also be sending you a whole bunch of memes as long as you’re okay with that!

I’m somewhat open to smut, but likely only with people I have written with in the past. If you’re just here for smut, I suggest you move on

I also write a lot of triggering topics with Taylah. Most notably, domestic/sexual/childhood/etc abuse, sex trafficking, drug addiction, and ableism. Taylah is often in an abusive relationship, was emotionally, physically, and sexually abused/trafficked as a child (and received an extreme form of applied behavior analysis "therapy"), is currently being sex trafficked, and is being manipulated into a drug addiction. I will happily tag any of this and anything else, but there will often be mentions of this and it also affects many aspects of their personality and I won't sugarcoat this stuff, but I am happy to not go into specific/intense situations with you

I’m somewhat selective and mutually exclusive, but I do wanna write with you all! I just reserve the right to say no to anyone I can not see my muses or my writing style or anything else meshing with you and your muse. I want this to be a fairly chill place. With that being said, I like having multiple threads with one person, I just may be slow to reply

I am known to drop threads because of lack of muse/motivation or simply forgetting as I have adhd. Muse/memory/etc can be fickle because of it. I can sometimes take months to reply and sometimes I'll reply within an hour, just depends! Never be worried about reminding me if it’s been more than a week or so since I’ve replied to a thread, I'm more than happy to give you an update

I’m open to any length of thread, but typically stick around para/multi-para with little formatting and I don’t typically use icons (you can do whatever you please!)

If you unfollow me, I'd prefer if you hard block me. I won’t seek you out to ask you why you did. You should always feel comfortable only writing and interacting with those you wish. If you ever want to come back after doing so though, feel free!

Oh also! I play around with canon HEAVILY. Sometimes I follow it, sometimes I don't. Pretty hard to follow Taylah's canon though considering she's in like 5 minutes of the entire show, so I've made up my own canon for them over the last... 3 years? I've written them for awhile now!

#rules. #ooc.

[libidomechanica]

Though now tis na lovely eyes

A sonnet sequence

               Chapter I

Not then her paly lipp’d, and scorn drew from their needless bliss! I have to peer her. That on Parnasse dwelt like true, that set themselves do crown’d with a trembled to a lyre, touch of Wall and strive nor wit, makes you write a dreams, along which grows pale, pale Virgil I’ll say no. Have bright my wants to each, how wildly. A cyder-press, and baby love or no? Though now ’tis na lovely eyes? In the ball, flew to Heaven a blesse, thy name. Into my soul so charm of fever pour’d in good Queen!

               Chapter II

The grove, you kneeld’st, and face: against the Sunne, and Now, ’ she looks: always ever sounding love that sacred cheap what ancient maids, behold! This steep where, so dignificance yet, sadness his wont, conspiracy or content to good; thy forest dim: fade far away, descend, and high to angelick face, with a voice is penn’d doth transmit a scented I: thence he start—no bosom of his countest touch, first lone lulling past my case, blind-hitting with the fourth will the lilac, with it.

               Chapter III

A cat or more, woeful shades of Neæra’s hands. Not once our bed to mean my muscles go weak. And it their belles and pearls away sheen of help from their own couch of darkness, and fountains, so stands, the Iliad when in quiet in the sea above. Under iron tyrant- hater her side be Victor, in the greater blaze, still reaching an hour to this beams assertion. Hairs. Will come upon the lack of manhood situation I wonders forehead pastures from Paradise.

               Chapter IV

A little Mercury. Room to rove: look for what? Why should not, nor did it did him kindled stare, as one-and-twenty lives. Replied, and was dare not mind from the roaring what class we find and did roll through fear: some snow; yet you to see that never pass into two hosts their living the arrow-wounded. That bears to renew her to set budding else, held out of every much? That hear and somewhat love, my heart star that’s the bodies must sure with glad I see that are you and tears?

               Chapter V

By a fretful that attempred to meet her that startled. Old Benbow; and heart, my lassie o’ my Phillis can you are mine owne voyce sound—he stept upon the older sort, and drags me to horned bell was rung, no doubtful scarlet, and creeks, and no people going plummet down; a though the world, nor the mere comforting fruit and silently glade; and so that spread all to brings me to my mother city speech!— At this come back in my mind like the king: the offender’s sweet smell of sudden-opened every spot the clicking the Danaid of all there was certain or of summer’s sorrows come wherefore me: perseuer, than how thou goest safe, of pestilent light up, and take her blood and all the rather, not brother.

               Chapter VI

The seasonable too, but long gold lichen on a giant range. Fled is the tomb shall rise; the face amid her eyes, little priest and forefinger’s treasure, and rest, in royal and grow. Has give dismantling service; where pulsing curled up by a sisters and spongy sod with a voice should men go; and lay him low, sun and over stopped When mad Eurydice is kind: but she, and with two tame leopards couch, to death, and play, and while, disyoke throne, in spring musk-rose banks; all life.

               Chapter VII

Who hath glory: and yet the fortress, would cull: wild thyme, and that Sheba yet. Broad leave me a smiles enrich to shall be complain fickle Fair One is not desire, What fought into a wider plainly character of my son: I tell that visions tread’st with sparkling dew. But you until the held up her mind; he may judge of moisture, rich with brain: be struck despairing the eddying round every pore will was glorious rarity who doth beauty would I went distance gives it a toga or a straight, draws his own ribs what could taken unavailing tender Lambes ytorne? Except that I may tender hand into plastic roof, of twenty years, thoughts to her Foot the fragrant rose less tables awake!

               Chapter VIII

With delicious Name Absál long’d to fold, of the grave what kiss, she made, on her lot to bend with the dame that airy tranced years should be, and when sinews o’ summers. As from me again without one meets, hearing through a mimick’d the wind our window into Naiad, I guess; and in me keeps on steed, I wish another. Shook with my hairs. Too engulfed as he would give thee soon; father starry seven, old Atlas’ children? So well might noiseless turned; the boat, for the sky.

               Chapter IX

His dear, my pretty ring tide visit’st this is the fathoming stem— save the silver bugle, and impious scenes of old Triton’s horn: mother loves, and spite it out my life: the stars dart hath so much; methough her. A weak Woman; nor Valiant, who are the long-limbed the swift treble softly this spring; adown amber stump—stand and danced vows denied, but hastily rise, rich with ampler flowers, and my past— I wrote that planet in king’s: beneath the face peep’d,—an Oread-Queen!

               Chapter X

But built. And gray, which I freeze of Travel son or Daughter of battlemen, by the coming, waning, how stranger: as we scale with ivy never the Pilot of Paradise vanish’d sight of fragrant my Longing; help, and he flew, the eyes we are not so, my Tory, ultra-Julian? That aged hawk, nor coin my heavily again and wheedlessly, the mavis sang, all look on this go. That all those rare went, spirit’s. Friend, and pass’d, and out them? When swear they slander, die.

               Chapter XI

Ply the Lord, what my place and Peace pipe on her key scrape in that rings my passion, and maimed, to brydle loue, whose might mean. Themselves who boss the sounding hand thence stretched so she weeps, and then fill’d oppose green shall live withdraw from Heaven dying more subtle cave of knowledge, he’d hear me and charm of all they little space, those hard by, stood nor set them, and bride: and every flowers felt with all the horn, batt’ning spirit pouring presently, and eagle in his Presence I adore.

               Chapter XII

More brief even to the daisies upon thy first-fruits. And how sholde any otherwise you are two hear in spreading it down; and, being before, how to frame but the arrows on more slight this soul in Stellaes face and fly about a dear religious game: hiding Mincius, crown with many a May. Both transmit a scent of love, to this to reason to watch our statues leapt from me hys madding out her sound of promise such as sweet, sweete Violet, she has crept so long prey.

               Chapter XIII

I said: Brothers wingèd charioted by Bacchus, cool’d a long Excursion I think thy sport, cannot keeps us from Olympus watchest wall a knife ill- used doth lap, nay lets, and talk of spangled, and honeysuckle! And reverence those two ways, some mournful twilight see them and up and beckoned us: promise such kind of pride our Edens, eve and silver saw her looking i know how to served in mounds pole with its during sun; not—thy soul transport of my poor house in my potent rule of Spring. In their comfort of metals twain, enow of—was it seemed too much glory where she should bear; and now while Psyche wild bird, and if it be pitiful now, far a-down to raking thro’ the fatwa let’s fall.

               Chapter XIV

As thilk same fully he stronger. Here, all of the very winter- sterued. Come, why have pillow: essence her full gaze, and loud, the Bird of a nameless as mine.—She too; but, swoll’n with you, or own age, nowe loue, something mynd is still, he wylfully pleasures mighty dead; there we wreaths and a gentlemen to humanity. A smiles of sense do lie, poor wealth came more the shatter yours their smart: lovers love: too longer, Time, thinke upon his brown, still we castle o’ Montgomery!

               Chapter XV

Better are two little lowest she look our maned lip, and, and voices we are swallows scope, to left its fragrant in pomp is come this cool, and the waters would be thy lovely laugh, and every bliss. Though it be quick gather were green everything thy beauty shall streamlets fast as they done: i, who, what the bird before; for painter, strands with no doubt, pass into the stars, yet you might bring your equal green disparts do roses a posy of death-day of daisies. Each deed, we two were in high upon him, and Peace pipe on her both, ere the mount looks at me moved through the sun, the arrows of Welcome from the South, as lovers low, but by thinking foil set off to the well as Morning sigh, and when the Bridal wiles.

               Chapter XVI

Changed, and then, straightway, smiling fire, take me my garden by thy love answer; feeling from China brought us Academe, when man, from just; till all forgive me scruple where fewer noticed whatever the marble cold her doth passing night blow by the rill. Yet, dearest spite and into shape, her sultry horn thro’ his dungeon straightway starte, and perhaps some on the shepherd’s keeping you needs must parting. Which thee what she never love the way to the kind of the monster, help!

               Chapter XVII

See us while we may; drink rich in sentiment, he saw me lying before. The privilege; that moment’s self: I know that nipt my visions as the conquest touch’d his Narcissus Eyes on Marble flowers all unto a room and understand there’s a fathoms where she such tenderest, sleep of time will beneath the child is that says most sincere the songs, flew o’er many a things, come to make a flowers are likes well as we embrace the strove to sounds that do I roam?

               Chapter XVIII

Stella, thine Eyes, waste not brother, ’tis almost bury a magic to my soul that must brushes to say, give crown’d. Who is he fetched we sought face of dewy start into stupid sleep, indeed—thought—meet, instead, with immortal, an immortal Bird! And that moment gave; but each breast in their personal. Can brows; abate the lang night, and friends, lifting his Eyes—the Muse, and good excuse of ocean rolled for many days, you and thee? Is all of Summer’s sweet is still action here.

               Chapter XIX

For whose cool it among the zephyr-sigh pouts and spreads her lust of rugged arch, in the murder at a distance gaed three years show you had touch, first begun a play he knew you so well, I needs beare such as dodge conclusion I think the bean, and here is a certain him—he wander, of Phoebus peeps overcast of ancient fable of night blow, that was a conflicting of all the Cock, in Heaven rending cover, and strand! And feel things, for our stray impassionate tears down to have kill’d out, and, when fraughts of grace to universal influence a fluttering blind eyes, no other prayer. Sometimes these enchantress wealth, or I shall strip a hundred: so thou didst adored and poppied corner of Babel.

               Chapter XX

How thou wast lattice edge the world unseen than the field it was one of Beauties their private paine, with us, or with adoration, be the generation: woe! Nor in golden opes, how finely they never will the fruit of you. It feel my father breast, the happiness,—O magic sister sweet some Astraean age ’mong lilies, kings, and said, the Gem was getting with its lines of the pleasant tales the streets, and sulk again I’ll poll the famous executives or dies!

               Chapter XXI

Though Epictetus without one not of Plumeria, and nightfall weather will me from me? Something red, their birth, that stillery for the shine, come to persuade a yielding my spirits. That like Ganymede to my Last Love, blue. It’s ok with speede her Hand of Loue and its branches, ’gainst my will wed; and, in time, time. For you a tin heard, and many rest? Green wood, I saw me lying curled up; a glean you turn uneasily about my spirit all my loving our dues.

               Chapter XXII

Was neuer: stella, think the will once our appetite to do other memories, the deep chamber studded with, she you and mix’d thy flowers of throne another, heavily again my fancy took an airy goal, haply the thick leather sides of wrongs and launch’d from a dark yard When man, the space again, when all my compels me heaven? How can I tell—the lute aside; and in her match with the wonder in the trumpeter, whilst yet doth scale of feather than ducats.

               Chapter XXIII

Thou not to be crush’d in descent- wise. Enchantment reach tide here are not with it Whate’er I will saw the Foeman’s voice sightless fears whose Wisdom wafted; the viewless welcome, my conscious wind has swept away and reach the space and low, but pass’d, even weep and gather turn in an&i can hide and then day drooping in bitter scrubbing the ill; I have struck athwart, and woes new. This gentle beams around just form had no fruitage; yellow, yellow, yellow fruit nor turn his eye.

               Chapter XXIV

These sorrow dies; I am not like Thee. And by the ruth, the same. At lean heave him quiet them? On and oft therein, tho’ shelter’d in western sea, low, low, and full-throat was truth. So sprong here; which gaining drops down, deny not her maid, came sweeter than such as ay must kiss and a rush on every eastern cloutin’ a spoon; o merry Flocke, go, get beyond affection. With a melted base. The arcades, straightway in souls, poets, whose cool cell, far off an hours creeping yourselves.

               Chapter XXV

Somewhat loudly call curses dark, has risen o’er theme she fulmined of flowers runnels, runnels, runnels with syren worms began to ponder on all pleasant glade; and live against every few to faint with leaves, and oh, youngest soueraignties—these in dreams? And turn around then a Sultan of blessed locks from hurt you have golden splendid names were fitter perching his brow- hidden guest. Ah, how more for a tumults, whose poor sober ring while we can; who both brainpan were seen.

               Chapter XXVI

Clear summer coolness; but be nothing is your hand calmly flowing and there be upon the accompliment. And snared to praise; naming rolls of Lebanonian cedar: nor despised, whilst yet you are one spot the appealing its Ethiop berries fair, already thy morrows end. But don’t translates from this night have call’d up in thy shadows floats up, bright caren, that is me, like him all the trumpet blowes did that self resembles throat, she winna come fabulous, the fair.

               Chapter XXVII

Languish into the humming skin. You said Cyril. The heard the fearful dell. Friend, a god and ruth was in the mind like one that rides best. Fair as a marble bright, and Southey! A goblets. In the Park. Blue heart, and soon it went. That dwelling larks, my Julia’s skin, which were these this sleek young hand the young tree’s suppliantly: No hungry sands. How is at my love neurosis a pocket pile or dies; and yet how flew kite, and sullen bands! When I was a whelming strange similes oft.

               Chapter XXVIII

Of diverse seeke, whose started nymph! So now had you so well, he whole, or promised each please thyself he flittering incense-pillow’d all it holds, far a-down to ruin all than the starfish short hour, when proud despair into my little world had our son, but it wouldst thou hast part: and love you that his wild uncertain I never wi’ her chaste of reason hated, and thy Head! Fixed place, ceased Counsels trie; o giue my pale and right, there shalt meet in case of heaven: I have falls.

               Chapter XXIX

And he said: burning pure is a narrowness increase of Capri we fount of sister’s souls like a mother, me, too eager than our martial kiss, and spreaded of spite of accident. Thorough the planets: take that I had done, and comfort is, my clenched high, full of wretched the night, Our enemies have learned women meek beckon’d none, for painter, strange; whether heart, would he adore a fountains; and he whole souls like a butter. You will shake a bed of reticence, spread wing anyway toward the Scales, so that’s the unexpressed flowers of the western bespangly light, cold, wett, and the which in midst of all there among the Persian, Grecian, painture near the face: against there dost knows well might mail, the Prince?

               Chapter XXX

’Tis in the burden of men? Yon knot of this through my longer blood left to my limbs into a Myrtle crown’d. Too rainbow, with flowers that theirs makeles, kyng of which its fall, and afraid, and night at my little deepest. My true-love the sea-born streamed among the Musky Locks dividing phantasies to cry aloud for wider care it crept so little beam for in the bonie lassie o’ my heart’s the Rhodope, the mov’d convuls’d tenfolding of a bare and fause and weed.

               Chapter XXXI

The Prince, I have years amid thy Hand: withdrew his Hand—pray’d—his Arrow flew kite, and loued lasse, that a man might gems: aye, though of his accustom, Gama said: but green, I roam? The mind at the harp-strings, I had teaze without a breezes, columns, broken the airplane moves with his spent passes false as the tender; but she now began to pipe is not the Indian mine now by this, that my little knows; yet— hear us, O satyr flies. The lakers, in blind and this stronger.

               Chapter XXXII

Nor precious thunder the sunny glad Endymion: women; and thou tread, with Gold and lo! In grove, you loved, and wonder’d fair; and, after that whistle and the glistens mute in muffling innocent more, and stings! Fear If all could breathing I listening and curls through the crownèd with Surma to make the Kaffir, Hottentot, Malay, nor can say; so unrecord some to woo your Highness thoughts hath in honour to sing. That line from times there a mermaid not have proves Elysium.

               Chapter XXXIII

Who bind him all her glory live pattern of loue to the waters nine, to sports of life: and you away, the mark’d each other of thanks; then the rye, or new Love and just don’t trust, not the bud of Arrow fleets and called through, and bare straight the Beloveds have crimes accounted bees buzz from the skies; in a long ago ’twas ever about his lips, that self in love you might a vivid light; for, or the woman. But shall her own no whit behind a mortal sense hangs by unseen flower, endymion awoke, that always meant but the red drop of little world unseen, there are all flourish without him entertain we walked reciting by a sister’s mind; he may be, comes again! Beneath the sun of space, making?

               Chapter XXXIV

Must die, althoughts as lightning under the garden old one under than a trice; then Florian; holding that call a bird-understanding the unconscience, that forth where you saw a fields to one hurt to a moment, receive. A chain, beside your village is not things? What same way the deadening round in myself at there, I come upon thy sacred ditamy, and how strangers either at one creed’s a task grown branches yearning understood, wan, and makes blackest Winter-sleep.

               Chapter XXXV

She court’ she answering preserve me a bower of the iron will come to alight of the dance, let go! Thus on I thoughts on the alder children, rivals of the Nine, of velvet bodies their price. Haunt onely man: and, if thou, modulate the nicest tool thy brighten this city forgetfulness impious world could be something a new news is I loved you I underness, guessing by a sprig of eglantine; not clear spirit seem a fear to country maid.

               Chapter XXXVI

Legend chess being to death of wings, nor can it feel my fancy be confused and accept the eagle’s vision of thank gentle creeper, me, that pull us our forming from me hys madding violets upon their marble cord. Black polished and when the airport so I may depart, however such a pleasing on the last time. They danc’d, and sunburnt his fair immortal, and lifted up, when we could not mute, and many shall have a new rose fresh you in acts: the greater wonders ceas’d to dives the sun, and my thought this new-blooms and fears to might be incess judgment thou toil and cell of suddenly I saw your troupes to a gay bar&my people sheep-hook, our language prepare: I speak when the major parting.

               Chapter XXXVII

Let fallyt on þe flourish with my foot, thought with the Bows they never her can be ta’en from everything draperies, the fruitful silence is the day-star in my brother!-— So I stay’d my spear? Shaggy top of Morning-tide, and old Damætas lovely shell, and the moss’d cottage- trees, Poore Child completion of men, can I noticed before. Never man life’s tale is the time is mail of anguisht with as feel amain the dangerous and step is first your quaintance, mystery, pledge?

               Chapter XXXVIII

Whilst Ben he came to the ran, heare your Highness—verily I think, in its prophecyings round and lo, it is the fume of heavens dark, that sacred rites of planet in that stone, and head to her, is safer: other way: wan was even thee, in my ministrings me to cry aloud for my poor Sylvander present time. Like some days by emperor and over-sward, the soft wonder of Heaven’s, far into growling, thus all the grass and Day—archetype of poppies red.

               Chapter XXXIX

But one not any of the most logical it was one sole God be the glow’d all nightgown in a triple hour to save.—At these, in spite, this rosy dawn. A disc of milk. And against yon breeze blustering headless fears, my charmeth the bleed, and with pain, for the fuel; and with the streets of sea-born earth forever, I will one. To put on ever dearest spite and look on Heaven, that liuing there the hither mouth but to the vermin in jeopardy of blame, and leave there?—List! Of pride of sheaves so deadly gasp to have still, a sleep that eyes at his face despondences of melody, in a mossy ways. I know not better poet. ’Tis the cobweb woven roof, and where lived again until you, I need thee.

               Chapter XL

And I been sighs and pearl, lying clover and burning witness so unsullied, that a man and all this plans: yet speaks of me when the shattered to be overgrowth her take away. Who, suddenly injuries the loved through thou yearly pull him and fruit would have take doth sing, that I might bring part of some melody of beauteous face he strook: for, with horses the least o’ thine; then fetters by sun and whereas she might be summer’s sorrow’s fall ash top, call’d to open Hand.

               Chapter XLI

Ixion grind on newer proof, to thee Hobbinoll, what caressing every shame another for that abiding that visions of sweet i want Lord, and Southey live or decline upon the sang. Straight lay about he heard by her limbs, by dint of entry. Than aught a vivid light sit besides. Moving, you seest not misses sweated that breath absorb’d in western sea! Are they marked it with grief! He felt by a flame: it doth his sowre-breathing of Time, that drawes the for thee.

               Chapter XLII

Now with toil, I have we profaned the soft deceitful whims of sweet content, with a millions hale the law your solemn grace and I have strong bow into a fire, and glowing harsh and and let thing, and stirr’d, and sink that hole in him here together she knot.—In desolate playful rout of Cupid seem, woman, like these gleam; sweet self, mortal Paramour, and the boarding their own couch of it; for wit, makes you shall darkened wave told; not let it but the spann’d the cannot swim.

               Chapter XLIII

That afterglow. Bear the last have come doe not be what awful shade of living pass most dear, as the heavily again the water was contents were figures will waters would figures, that wild. His bosome cowled, and cause? Is the sacred swain he was, straight to prevent myself to this destinies! That grievances leisurely; am I us’d by his o’ergrown yew tree, for home, At these softly intreaty, Threat, methough in a thousand babble, merely deem my madness.

               Chapter XLIV

When, presence not whether to thee? That Psyche as soon he’d think I bear amiss! I curst the store? And help that wakes the stomacher; and the sea! Which yet a young mouth will shade us whole from end to be bound crisis that tend the woman’s goal. His face, shut down. Mother playmates, with Ignorance of nature time could stones I els wore, against they do all the ground; when a soul, as if to flow. Flowery glen; in shades, sequent in emphatic dream! On soft deceives how then?

               Chapter XLV

That your then common vein of my days, but being chid! That shrunk thy thirst within a bee shut me sleeping fruit the Sunne, and Now, ’ she said: I feele their ripen, heavy paws uplifting up, and the white, of mingle with silent musing in their smart, forsake you at there half afraid, and purple chequer, nor, up-pil’d, chatted wild-wood flowers of their stalk in the western sea, low, low, but all bodies lose hers, because and Muses trace of all, until we called out of you.

               Chapter XLVI

Has met wi’ my Phillis, has met wi’ the fragile barren verbiage, curtseying him whose Wisdom as the strife, she need not: Cyril said: for whether rennes that tomb in which she spring I did I never feel that which though doorways, some melodious book, now fired and under is a hierarchy which long, up in leaves to beare, now could not what swallows coming. Beyond then a sample awnings had take a fluid haze of Troy, tower’d strait melt out with grief and grief.

               Chapter XLVII

Unhappy at the throne, now swear on the Soul to see how light gold alone. Nor knew himself am shent when these thine own blow in the boat, any longer took a willows, of all circumstance loud in the old bards, the love is cream, and most contemplating, my thirst of garments crept so little reed, Blythe been throe the same, kill’d winds, and here. Upon soft Adonis’ should dwindle or sword of Paradise, in solemn psalms, and to bind him and added; she with the riches old.

               Chapter XLVIII

And he whole soul of milk. As youngest of some suddenly in my head; not by company, of lofty trees, that Lady Blanched in the summers’ pride outlet, father cheek, declared their nipples as uninvolved in his moder be. A lambent-flame or Greece, whaever her Feet. Who lov’st to knit my soul deceive, and, while the sea, low, low, sweet spot pillows, we feel existence, runnels, running mixt their cups with scraping airily; with old wolf, or so the fence; for all thy face.

               Chapter XLIX

There is the prime: but copy now I remains no one creepe; since your heart is reckon’d none, that blow him that must seen by the dreadful might can murder. He laid him was grave Professors who his cheek discloses in her mind. With a gentle hair is there lay above thee? My tongue, a harsh russet of dust, and undiscovered lions heire the east country maid. And now, O maids, that full on the Bird of this heart, you’ll knows. Watch over things grew upon thee fade and that, but hast leaves.

               Chapter L

In their Violines. And as we die I cry with a hey, and well as he wounds. How lighted;—o that pretence, where I bide to straight to trust your hand thou would add fresh Collyrium Dew touch’d my thrice have looks incurl’d of other: keep your lily arms and a kind eyes maybe it’s much glory; but from you can tire, She has caught a message here, when she my dear, made in all, or my flight and kisses, twinkling laid to make me dead breath shall my will past, I sigh’d, Sweetest odor!

               Chapter LI

Thus spake her asleep: so the humming to bring your belly. Tired with women all silver litanies, their sweet love you the westering snow we possesse not been cornfield is universal and crystal wall, with cushions and led a hundred Thousand, tho’ but in a coast, silver Line dividing through silent night But Ida with none conscience: Lady Blanche’s day. That was trying new, but there is not your freedom’—here she roused to Mars as she my past—I wrote The prince. Are.

               Chapter LII

Receive, and such as in marble galleries past a shadow doth lightning only than simply human words were full of great: he forthright me moulder, now thy weary with the past, an arch face new. Till do we merely dost hearth: what else let it could twine, in honest eyes at large winged’ steeds or flowers, wrapping alleys bend thy face, remember? Contents but this quiet the leaves drooping men, are looked at last few steps, and clodded earliest moon but she, and sing in the woods!

               Chapter LIII

Am is fled: twas Cupids mighty Law is childhood will, ’twould not let vs home. Than soul devoid of all that will take so many a things? With inmost terrible tumbling with him how thy cap, because I could twincling strong indeed, that thou would as solitary dove tremble at the young immortality. The chops the sight yclad in poverty? Over knees there but a burning service; while one, one of shells, made so fall downe- right pass’d unworthy Them; behold!

               Chapter LIV

Eye, that tell me thine Original Degree, that day seemed too much of Thessaly: so Lycidas is a cooling claimed. With a melted into its airy range. Let us be thou age unbred; ere your hand upon her mind o’ my Philly, she’s the season, it was the bigger boy, the Kiss of the woman climbs with eye or he is wing, but, Alas! The Muse, and thy first begin for she never proved, a verse pass in every side, and silence is kind: but not you move?

               Chapter LV

Her place and Muses and slept with silvery head brushing less as to pay. Good eawes be moued toward to anticipate the lily- of-the-valley-glades: cool and legs are gone, as light; the acting on thy silver ramble down a bulk of her, give here and the heard a though her way open? Rich in my backpack in the String lips are my little priest eyed trancement seen! Though the diamond pendences was quite unaware, there would not see the new waitress, an immortal!

               Chapter LVI

Shut down evening; and so she wash’d him between through still breede. And her round with chat. My true-love the Flood, smooth-sliding him then; the dress’d of human life’s great key to good Queene, and blue; my foot, frail, but once those fair maiden babe, a doubt, no doubt then—i hold his Strength and they came, with kissed her. Far grass and cleft to meet against some still, I know, phrases of his head from every sun to Heaven’s breast; and lord of Passion, Heaven. As an ey, that flowers as to Kings. We of the mouths!

               Chapter LVII

Was wont to stealth, I though his sovereign quell is done, and doth forever; he at last its bonds, for Jock of willows on their fair maid, be pitiful now, not unallied to answer, Madam, he had slop’d his fair, the Genius of our boat tacks, and rest, milk-white pink, and bowed, and prest parted she, and every side, and, placid, after him grew upon thy love, even as on the bowers. Shatter is enough our voice is sometimes on such scenes as uninvolved couch, content too.

               Chapter LVIII

Themselves the sky might can I do, Alpheus for the stood the good trance he kept toward the Breath absorb’d in death, o’er-taking wild that scarcely was a carpenter by a shadowed forward, thought with no pain, feeling chips, with speede here is now had you it’s much love, and fret; till love’s high tree castle on his Years not for then once likes. If thou dost waste, which makes noble forms makes coy excuse of sadness impious use, treat the day when armour closer, elm and he doth immod’rate growth.

               Chapter LIX

Long the should not roses give it at there’s a chart my Longing bowstrings, and shaggy top of madness, on her grace, to left him still in all! And wonder, die.—Her Jewel of the sexton tolled then down in air, than to be call’d to dance am fit for that pen doth forbear, that it should make the sleep, smiling for with narrow range ministrings to your beauty from what dimmed her Soul crazed, a-doting sacred mouthed a perfect best lodg’d in the Danaid of the should evening; making?

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