#ca: the winter solider

[sibylsleaves]

i am furious. FURIOUS. that i forgot this video existed until just now and didn't post it for the 10th anniversary of the winter solider.

#IN MY DEFENSE #i had a lot on my brain that day #captain america: the winter solider #ca: tws #bucky barnes #anyway look at how well this fight syncs with this song it's everything to me

[mrsbuckybarnes1917]

Fugitive!Bucky Barnes x Winter Solider!Reader

You're a HYDRA asset tasked with tracking down and recovering a lost soldier: Bucky Barnes. Story takes place between CA: WS and CA: CW.

Word count: 4k

A/N: This story is dedicated to @lizatill. Thank you for the encouragement!

He was your mission. 

Memories of his face permeated your mind. Still, cold, frozen in place. His chambers were situated opposite yours. Beautiful brunette locks framing his handsome features. Your HYDRA handler had confirmed he was your mark. Soldat. They offered no name for authentication. He was like you, a Winter Soldier.

You knew him. Deep down, you knew him. He was always there opposite you. His face was the first thing you saw when you woke and the last thing before you slept. He was a constant. Until now.

Your eyes opened to a grayness which made your soul feel as frigid as the Siberian tundra where you slept. Where was he?

They led you to a chair. You eyed the restraints with caution. It looked familiar and it chilled you to the bone. Echos of the past surrounded you. Haphazardly invading your brain, overwhelming your senses. Sleep had made you hazy.

"Ready to comply."

The words slipped past your lips, Pavlovian in nature. To them you were nothing. Pliable. Their Soldat. 

Plane tickets, civilian clothes, concealed weapons, a communication device. You weren't used to the VIP treatment. Your companion must be a valuable asset to them for your handler to have trusted you with such items. To you, he was your mission.

He was good at covering his tracks. You were better. You chased his scent across the continent.

Finally you landed in Romania and swiftly huddled yourself into a silver Taigun. The car was perfectly inconspicuous and afforded you the luxury of maneuvering yourself through the city with ease and a shelter over your head. You'd spent hours analyzing his face, his square jaw, the cleft on his chin barely visible through his dark facial hair, and his piercing blue eyes. His expression was vacant, expressionless. You could relate.

It was impossible to stop your fingers dancing across the screen, tracing the outline of those lips. What would they taste like? Where had that thought come from? You knew your mission. He was your mission. Recover the asset. Those were your orders.

It was your first time in Bucharest. The city was teeming with people, unsupervised, roaming freely, at their own pleasure. You felt a little lost, never having had the luxury of being let off your leash in such a manner in the past. You were determined to do a good job. Maybe they'd let you out again in the future. The thought gave you hope and determination. A fire flared in your soul, one you'd not experienced in the existence you remembered. Could you ever become like one of them?

You'd taken some time to acclimate to your new environment before focusing on your mission. It hadn't taken you long to locate your target. You had undeniable skill; not that you had the capacity to acknowledge this. Or maybe you were just drawn to him.

Once you'd spotted him, you were surprised that he had gone unnoticed until now. He was striking. His stature, his pose, it was exquisite. His perfectly sculpted physique was well hidden under layers of thick clothing of the early spring. His movements were mesmerizing, fluid in nature and had the deftness of someone with the serum coursing through their veins.

It wasn't the first time you'd faced this particular Winter Soldier. He had been tasked with your training; hand-to-hand, an assortment of weapons. His marksmanship was infallible. His aim was precise and every blow he delivered met its mark.

Your mind took you back to a particularly grueling memory of a combat session. You'd put up a fight and delivered your share of punches. In the end he'd gotten the better of you, the sparring ending with you flat on your back, his thighs straddling your waist, silver arm poised to deliver a fatal blow that never came. You could smell the faint musk of sweat as his toned frame perspired from its effort. 

You remembered him. You remembered the look of confusion on his face. You remembered the way his nostrils flared as his hips bucked, his brown locks falling across his face. You remembered the pressure of the swelling in his pants as it pushed against your core. You remembered how his eyes burned with a cold fire, icy blue and wild.

Karpov had been angry. Positively spitting with rage. You had no idea why. They had beaten him within an inch of his life and he had taken it, every single lash from the whip they kept conveniently stored on their belts. They'd lead him to the memory suppression machine, not bothering to sedate him for the process. He screamed and screamed.

You were ordered to watch.

You shadowed your mark for a week. Watching him like a predator stalking its prey. He behaved like all the other ants, blending into the background where no one gave him a second glance or thought. But he consumed your thoughts in every waking moment and invaded your dreams.

Dreams from which you woke drenched in sweat and left you feeling perturbed. The feelings that they evoked seemed foreign and you couldn’t recall any memories of the things he did in your dreams. They were horrifying and magical at the same time. The things he did to you were positively sinful, never in your waking existence had you experienced something as feral as the things he did to you in your dreams. He would ravage your body in the most unimaginable and gratifying way.

Soon your urge to keep your distance was becoming harder. You craved the closeness you had felt in your slumber. You’d never been a fan of sleep, you spent too much time asleep but fatigue eventually allowed you to succumb to the recovery process. But now, these salacious thoughts plagued your mind and you sought after Morpheus to put you under his spell.

Each new day brought you closer to discovering his abode. Care was needed, you wanted to trap your prey, leaving no room for error. If he got away from you, you knew you'd never see the light of day again. You'd pay the ultimate price.

Despite that knowledge, the desire to creep closer, to enter the derelict apartment complex you'd eventually discovered. In the end, you'd gone in to snoop around when you knew he wouldn't be home. Was this a home? You had no idea what the term actually meant, but you felt like you should. The word gave you a feeling of warmth and the place where you stood, the place where he slept didn't fit your definition of that feeling.

You hadn't planned on staying long. The windows were covered in newspapers, which meant you were safe from nosy neighbors. There was nothing there that spoke to you. Each item you'd laid a hand on had no sense of belonging to your soldat. You stood in the center and closed your eyes using your other senses to take in the space. As you did, you shifted your weight and the floorboards creaked under you. You looked down, the cogs in your brain turning.

You knelt down on the floor, wedged your fingers into a small gap and pried up the board. Just as you suspected, there was the hidden treasure you were looking for. The backpack contained around a dozen notebooks, filled with chicken scratch writing, comments, words, phrases, an occasional sentence. He'd taped newspaper cuttings into them with explanations of who the people were, how he was connected to them.

You flipped to the front page. In bigger capital letters was the word 'BUCKY'. Underneath he had scrawled a sentence; 'Your name is James Buchanan Barnes’. 

He had a name. It made you stop to wonder what was yours. You were so lost in your thoughts that you didn't hear him enter the apartment.

He knew something was off as he climbed the stairs. Bucky could feel it in his bones. Ever since he'd fought Steve on the helicarrier everything had changed. He was afraid. Afraid of being caught, afraid of who he was, afraid of going back. Now that he knew who he was, the identity they had stolen from him, he would die before he went back to them.

Bucky wrapped his fingers around the knife. There were several of them scattered about his person. The blade felt like an extension of his body, more so than the clunky metal fist he was sporting on his left side. Even though he controlled its actions, it felt like they used it to control him. Everyday he thought about removing it, but then where would he be without it? He hated that he still needed it, needed them.

He crept towards his front door and pressed his metal fingers against the door. It swung open quietly revealing you sitting on the floor of his humble abode. He recognized you in an instant.

Девушка.

How could he ever forget you? And he had. Bucky hadn't given you a single thought since the last time he knocked you down in training. Not one single thought, until now. Memories of your last encounter flooded his mind and blood surged through his vessels.

Was he dreaming?

You were there for one reason and one reason alone. To take him back. And he would never go back. And yet he stood there. He made no move to attack or to run. You mesmerized him into stillness.

You looked up and your eyes met, surprise reflected in your beautiful sparkling orbs. Your whole body tensed in anticipation of an attack that never came. He just stood there, you could see the way his fingers gripped the concealed knife he carried. It was his signature move. You knew it well, having been on the receiving end of his brutal takedowns.

"Bu-cky." Your mouth sounded out his name, speaking for the first time that day. You looked up at him looking for confirmation.

His face was as stoic as it had always been. Cold as ice, just like blue in his eyes. It seemed that the Winter Soldier had left the Siberian tundra, but the tundra had not left him. The small flame of hope you'd had for freedom flickered dangerously. But he hadn't moved. He hadn't struck you. And he hadn't fled.

"Why are you here?"

"To take you-"

You'd almost used the word 'home'. It seemed that he now called this God forsaken hovel his home. You rose slowly from the floor, so as not to startle your prey. He flexed in response and you caught a glint of muted light from the shaded window on his blade, but he stood his ground.

"I'm not coming with you."

You took a step to the side, arms slightly raised and palms open to show him you weren't wielding any weapons. He matched your movement, keeping the same distance between you. 

Prior to entering the apartment, you'd assessed the potential escape routes; the front door being the obvious choice and the balcony across the kitchen. He was on the top floor which meant that there was easy roof access. You could tell he was calculating which passage to use and you wanted to put yourself in a place where his choices would be harder to make. It was the only way you had to give yourself the upper hand. Or level the playing field at best. 

"I can't go back without you."

"Who says you have to go back?"

Your eyes widened at his words. It had never occurred to you that you didn't have to go back. You had a mission. He was your mission.

Bucky could see the cogs turning behind your eyes. Trying to comprehend a thought you'd never had, or ever remembered having. They'd treated you with as much respect as they had him.

"Do you know who you are?" he asked.

Your brows furrowed momentarily in confusion and Bucky used that moment to press his advantage. 

He pounced at you, like a wolf, aiming for the jugular. He missed by mere millimeters as you dropped under him and rolled to a defensive position, eyes immediately on your mission.

"I know who you are. That is enough." Your answer was simple.

"Ready to comply? Great strategy." 

There was a small sneer in his tone which made your fists clench with rage.

"You're my mission."

Bucky sprung again, this time with a spinning kick that was aimed at your chest. You grabbed his leg and used his momentum to guide his kick away from you. He was quick to adjust, grabbing your shoulder with his metal arm as you twisted away. He pushed you into the sturdy fridge. His body was forced against you to stop you from moving. The warmth of his body was a new sensation to you. You didn't remember having felt it before. He smelled of cigarettes, sweat and sausages, with possibly a hint of cinnamon.

His closeness made you weak at the knees and for a moment you gave in to the desire, the urge you'd felt all week. Did he know? Did he know how he affected you? They had seen it as weakness, would he scorn you for your covetousness?

As your shoulders slumped, Bucky relaxed the force he was applying on your torso. Had he hurt you?

"Are you-"

Bucky had no time to finish his question as you pushed yourself into his middle, propelling yourself forwards and knocking him off balance. Bucky stumbled back and you pressed your advantage, launching yourself onto his shoulders and locking your legs around his neck in a triangular chokehold. Both of you crashed to the floor with more noise than either of you would have liked. Unwanted attention was not on the agenda.

His breath was hot between your legs, his nose rubbed over your sex and you found yourself clenching reflexively. A groan slipped from your lips. It was instinctive and carnal as memories of your dream flashed through your mind. Bucky used your moment of distraction to free himself from your clutches. Both of you scrambled to opposite sides of the room, panting with exertion and desire. He was staring at you through strands of his tousled brunette tresses with confusion and surprise painted across his handsome features. He shifted uncomfortably, his knife-free hand ghosted over his crotch.

“What are you-”

You cut him off before he had the chance to ask his question. “Shut up!”

Your face was flushed with embarrassment and a throbbing need which pulsed between your legs. It made no sense, you wanted him to touch you and when he did, it wasn’t enough. You wanted him closer, closer than you understood. The dreams you’d had were confusing, they felt like fragments of memories woven together by your Soldat.

Lunging forward, you attempted to snatch the blade from his relaxed hand. But he was too quick, grabbing your wrist and holding it in a vice-like grip with his metal fingers. You raised your left arm in a counter punch but his other wrist was wrapped around your fist. His grip was inescapable. His eyes wide as he searched your face for your intent.

"What do you want?" Bucky growled, as you struggled in his grip.

He pushed your hands apart which only brought you closer. His scent was intoxicating, his breath warm on your face. Lips parted as his tongue ran across them as he his eyes locked onto yours. 

"You! Ar-"

You had no chance to finish your sentence, his lips bombarded yours. Newly grown stubble brushed across his skin and his mouth eclipsed yours hungrily. It felt like he was devouring you. Eventually your mind recovered from this assault to your lips and you found yourself kissing him back with vigor. 

After a few moments of intense lip locking, he extricated himself from your lips

"What do you want?" He asked you again, his steely eyes penetrating your broken soul.

You swallowed nervously and answered quietly. "You."

Your Winter Soldier loosened his grip on your limbs and took a step towards you. One step after the other, his forward and yours back. He pinned you against the wall. The weight of his body pressed against yours was electrifying. You’d never been this close to another human being in your accessible memory. It felt new, your skin was on fire where he was still gripping your wrists. You wanted him to touch you everywhere.

Bucky leaned into your space further, his nose trailed across your face and he nuzzled your ear, taking in your unique scent. You heard a quiet rumbled growl from his throat as he nibbled lightly at your ear before he latched his mouth against your neck, sucking at the skin. The sensation made you want to scream, you tilted your head back further to let him work his way down to your clavicle. You were so lost in the burning on your neck that you hadn’t noticed his hands wrapping themselves around your hips. You hadn’t imagined that he could get any closer than he was, until you felt his erection pressed against you.

Your mission, no, your Soldat was more than you’d ever imagined. His hips pushed themselves against yours. Hungry. Urgent. Desperate. He was finally taking what he had been denied for long. His long fingers, flesh and metal dug into your skin as he continued to rut against your core. Your hands fell over his shoulders and you clawed at his clothes, fingers roaming across his broad shoulders, braiding into his long dark hair, tugging at his mane, your body crying out for him to fill you up.

He was starting to get more impatient, wanting to feel more of you, to feel himself inside you. He grappled with your clothing, stripping away each offending time of clothing covering your toned supple body. You complied with every one of his demands. You were always ready to comply. He was becoming less and less restrained about taking what he wanted and your mind felt wild with every new sensation you were experiencing.

He had stripped you bare in a matter of moments, shedding most of his layers as well. Your bare skin was dotted with beads of sweat, patches of red swollen skin littered your neck where he had marked his territory. His eyes took in the beautiful sight before him. You felt no shame, letting him look. You were no stranger to being exposed, HYDRA would poke and prod you regularly, but never in your time with them had you felt the scorching heat between your legs. The desire you felt to touch yourself was irresistible. So you did. A strangled gasp escaped your lips as your fluid covered fingers brushed your uncovered clit for the first time. Your Soldat let you explore as he worked on freeing himself from the dark denim restraints, his soldier standing to attention and ready for action.

His metal fist was wrapped around the base of his cock, gliding back and forth. He reached out, pulling your hand away from your folds, making you whine in irritation. Your Soldat held your wrist firmly, and guided it to his mouth. He sucked your fingers, tasting your essence, making his member throb with need. He wanted to feel you, he needed to feel you. He had waited so long for this, he remembered just how long he had waited. You took his right hand and pulled it towards you. He groped you sloppily, clutching your breasts, kneading your ass, squeezing your thighs. Every touch, every squeeze made you moan out loud. He touched you everywhere except the place you wanted him to the most.

Almost as though he knew what you were thinking, Soldat’s lips were on yours again. His cock shoved between your legs. You bit down on his lower lip, making him cry out in surprise. The fire in his eyes blazed angrily as he looked at you and for a moment you thought he would strike you, but he smirked and pushed his chest up against you. Feet between yours, he pushed your knees apart. He brushed his tip across your sensitive leaking folds, sliding over your clit in the most ecstatic manner. You sucked on his lip as he teased your entrance, coating himself in your juices in preparation for his pleasure.

Without warning, he slipped inside you. The force of his bucking hips lifted you clean off your feet with a small scream. He caught you with ease as you sheathed him fully. Your thighs straddled his hips and arms around his neck keeping you both connected in the closest possible way. His hands found purchase on your ass, as he carried you across to the kitchen counter. There was no way the table would survive ravaging you were about to experience.

As soon as your weight rested on the counter, he slammed back into you with so much force you were almost knocked backwards, your back arching from the inferno that devoured you from the inside out. Soon the only thing that could be heard were the lewd sounds of skin on skin. You had to put your hands behind you for support as he thrusted into you. Over and over. Only your hearing caught the soft grunts of exertion that came from his throat as he chased his release. You wanted more, to hear him moan without restraint, loudly enough for the sound to echo in your ears. The sound you’d heard only in your dreams. But your voice failed you, the breath knocked out of your lungs with every thrust that hit a special spot inside you leaving you utterly speechless.

He was so lost in his rhythm, hitting you deep and hard. Again and again. Faster and faster. He pounded into you relentlessly until you were so lost in a frenzy of fireworks that seemed to be exploding inside you. You were sobbing and whimpering as you climaxed with his cock buried deep inside you, walls fluttering and squeezing around him. He kept up his ruthless pace until he too was pulsing, spilling his load inside you. The warm milk of his release filled you in repeated spurts, spilling from your walls. His cock twitched, still inside of you, now sated and empty.

You'd never seen your Soldat so breathless. His chest still towered over you. You looked up. His eyes were honed in on your face, as though he were trying to commit your features to his fickle memory. Only when a pink tinge graced your cheeks that his intensity lessened and he pulled away, leaving you feeling empty and alone.

You watched as he retrieved his pants and his blade, tucking it away from sight. He dressed quickly, glancing at the door, listening for signs of intruders. But you were the only one who'd come for him today.

Once he was dressed, he turned back to stare at you, back on guard for your next move. He watched you like a hawk as you put your clothes back on. 

"So what now?" he asked. 

"Come with me. You're my-"

"Mission," you both said in unison.

"Yeah, I know." Bucky sighed. "You're not safe here."

"Come with me." You didn't know what else to say.

"You don't have to go back."

"Come with me."

Bucky’s eyes widened, finally understanding what you meant. You wanted him to run away with him.

"I can't," he whispered, almost regretfully.

HYDRA wouldn’t let both of you go so easily. Two Winter Soldiers on the run together were far more conspicuous than being alone. He was too recognizable. You’d be better off alone.

What did he mean? What did this mean for you? Could you become just one of the ants? Miniscule, insignificant, free? You were special. You had potential. You could be so much more. And with your Soldat at your side, you'd be unstoppable. Your flight of fancy was interrupted by a book. A book Bucky held out in front of you. 

"What's this?" you demanded, flipping through the empty pages.

"It's for you. Use it."

"For what?"

"To help you remember. You don't have to be a Winter Soldier. You don't have to belong to them. You don't have to comply. You can be free."

"But-" you hesitated before asking. "What's my mission?"

"You can choose."

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes imagine #winter solider imagine #winter soldier x reader #your mission #bucky barnes smut #winter soldier smut

[ichorai]

blue jeans ; bucky barnes.

based on blue jeans - lana del rey !!

pairing ; bucky barnes x shield agent!gn!reader

synopsis ; four instances you managed to chip away at bucky's icy heart before he realized he was in love with you.

words ; 3.6k

themes ; fluff, action, slight angst, s2l/f2l, shield agent au

warnings / includes ; sparring in the first scene, mild injuries, mentions of death, alludes to insomnia/difficulty sleeping, tony throws a party, hints at steve/natasha, one sexual innuendo, bucky experiences *gasp* emotions, bucky doesn't understand references bcs he's older than your grandparents

a/n ; for @fairydxll's 2k writing event :D

main masterlist. set in the same universe as: to noise making.

blue jeans, white shirt walked into the room, you know you made my eyes burn it was like james dean, for sure you're so fresh to death and sick as ca-cancer

The first time you met Bucky, you were drenched in your own sweat, grunts of exertion falling from your lips as you ducked and rolled away from Natasha’s quick strikes. You were doing pretty well today, managing to evade her offensive strategies in your effort to get her to tire herself out. She was starting to get worn down, you could see it in the soft blue of her irises. The plan was working considerably until…

Well, until Bucky Barnes strode into the training room. Steve was by his side, wearing his Captain uniform, and you absentmindedly wondered if there was a mission you somehow managed to forget about.

Taking advantage of the distraction, Natasha jolted forward, landing a solid blow to your jaw, which made your head snap sharply to the side. She tackled you with a derisive huff, your body slamming firmly against the cushioned grounds of the sparring ring. Her knee hovered over you throat, and she tilted her head at you, a smirk curling at her mouth.

“Dead,” she said flippantly, before rolling off of you, clasping your hand to haul you back up. 

The ceiling came into view as you rolled your eyes, despite the grin forming across your exerted features. Gingerly, you rubbed your sore jaw with a dark chuckle, shooting her a playful scowl. “I had that coming.”

“Nat,” Steve called out from across the room. The two of you turned to face the pair of super soldiers. The blonde sent you an apologetic look. “Sorry for interrupting, but could I borrow you for a second? It’s about what happened in Chicago.”

What happened in Chicago?

You sent Natasha a curious glance, but she only shook her head, as if to say I’ll tell you later. 

She clapped your shoulder in good nature, before ducking underneath the sparring barriers, following Steve out the same way he came in. 

That left just you and Bucky. You suddenly felt awkward, fiddling with the bandages over your knuckles. You’ve never come face to face with the Winter Soldier before. The most you’ve heard were stories and rumors that spread like wildfire through the compound. Some were quite outlandish, but you couldn’t help but listen. The man kept to himself, usually confined to his quarters or out on long, long classified missions with Steve or Sam. He was a mystery, and you prided yourself on being a rather good detective.

What you did know about him, was the fact that he was accredited to over a hundred kills during his time with Hydra. One of the most notorious killers of all time.

And he waved at you. 

You had to blink twice before you realized that you had to respond in some way. Two fingers raised to your forehead as you awkwardly saluted him.

Jesus, he might’ve been from the forties, but really? Did you just salute him? 

Despite your inner turmoil, a slight grin flitted over his lips. 

Desperate to break the silence, you asked without thinking twice about it, “Do you… do you wanna spar?” If your muscles weren’t frozen in trepidation, you would’ve face palmed. You might’ve been a good fighter, but against the Bucky Barnes? You didn’t stand a chance. Sending him another furtive glance, it finally dawned on you that he was wearing jeans. “Oh, I mean, you don’t have to if you’re not dressed for it. I was—”

“Sure,” Bucky said, shrugging. “I’ve fought in worse.”

Damn it. 

He strode closer, swinging onto the sparring platform. 

Your heart was beating irregularly quickly, and you had to suck in a few deep breaths to steady your pulse. 

Bucky raised his hands tentatively, and the two of you began circling each other. This close, you could see the deep blue of his eyes, the shadow of a stubble gracing his sharp jaw, the haunted bags beneath his eyes. There were small things you noticed about his stance. Bucky favored his right side, which was quite ironic, considering he had a vibranium left arm. Though he had a heavier build, he was expertly bouncing on the balls of his feet, ready to strike forward at any given second. But he was slightly drawn back, and that was how you knew he had no plans of going on the offensive any time soon.

Narrowing your eyes, you darted forward, swinging a hit to his face. To your expectation, he easily blocked your blow, moving to the side swiftly. You were quick to follow the hit with a kick to the chest, which he let you land, and he staggered backwards a couple paces.

He was going easy on you.

With clenched teeth, you drew forward and struck his side, followed by a roundhouse punch to his shoulder. The impact made him falter, so you hooked your foot over the crook of his knee and yanked him back, which made him fall back with a grunt. 

There was a smile to his winded features. God damn it.

“You’re holding back on me,” you said, panting slightly, backing away from him. “Don’t think I didn’t notice.”

That pretty smile of his warbled subtly. “I’m sorry. Yeah. Yeah, you’re right. You wanna go again?”

“Nah,” you breathed out, clasping your hands together behind your head, stretching with a mild grimace. “I promised Tony I’d look over the mission debriefs. Think we could pick this up another time?”

Bucky pushed himself up from the ground, running his flesh hand through his close-cropped hair. Jesus Christ, could he just stop being attractive for one damned second? 

“Sure. I’ll look forward to it.”

You nodded once. “It’s a date,” you said stoutly, before ducking beneath the sparring ring’s barrier and striding out of the training room with a heart that slammed far too erratically against your ribcage—and you highly doubted it was because of physical exertion.

you were sorta punk rock, i grew up on hip hop but you fit me better than my favorite sweater, and i know that love is mean (oh oh) and love hurts (oh oh) but I still remember that day we met in december, oh baby

It was late, and you definitely should’ve been sleeping by now. 

But, alas, your eyes stayed open and your mind ran rampant with such horrid irrationalism that you tore the blankets away from you, clambered out of your bed in a rush, and strode out of your room as quietly as you possibly could. A quick glance to the clock hanging in the hallway told you that it was nearing three in the morning, and a heavy sigh fell from your lips. You shuffled towards the living room, curling into the corner of the plush sofa and turning on the television, placing it on the lowest volume so it wouldn’t awaken the others. 

The screen cast a dull blue glow onto you, playing some old Christmas movie you couldn’t recall the name of, and you placed your head against the armrest, eyes hooded with fatigue.

Much to your surprise, Bucky came out not too long after, rubbing his own eyes sleepily. His hair was disheveled, sleep shirt stretched taut over the muscles of his torso.

“Sorry, did I wake you?” you winced, propping yourself up on one arm.

He was quick to shake his head. “No, no, it wasn’t you. Why’re you up?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” you replied cautiously. 

The two of you stared at each other for a good minute before he shook his head with a hoarse chuckle, sitting himself down on the sofa, not too far away from you. Hesitance splayed over your features evidently, but you eased yourself back into the seat and turned your attention towards the television.

You fell asleep to the faint sound of Christmas music and the feeling of Bucky’s arms wrapping over you when your forehead accidentally landed onto his chest. Not that he minded much—he rather liked the way you fit perfectly into him.

The following morning, Tony was the first to stride out, pleasantly surprised to see the two of you sleeping on the couch peacefully, limbs entangled to no return. It was safe to say that he took enough pictures to blackmail the two of you for a lifetime. 

i will love you 'til the end of time i would wait a million years promise you'll remember that you're mine baby, can you see through the tears?

Tony’s parties were a grand spectacle you had the joy of being invited to every year. He claimed it was because he thought you were a fun drunk, but you had a sneaking suspicion that Tony was starting to see you more and more as a close friend—though you presumed he wouldn’t ever admit it.

This year, you appeared in a dark, red velvet suit, crisp white button-up visible just beneath the jacket. The party was already in full swing, music reverberating pleasantly through the room and people milling about with wide smiles and flutes of golden champagne.

You weaved your way through, stopping to greet Natasha and Steve with a flourish, clapping the burly super soldier on the shoulder and bumping your fist playfully against the ex-red room assassin. The both of them wore a deep hue of green today, unintentionally coordinating outfits—even though they were quite the oblivious pair to one another’s feelings, you thought they’d be quite the attractive couple, both in the physical and metaphorical sense.

As Natasha recounted some story of the time Tony messed up one of her missions, your gaze drifted over to the bar, where you saw Sam and Bucky bickering quietly—the former having a wide grin splayed over his lips and the latter wearing a glowering scowl, carding his vibranium arm through his close-cropped hair. The action led you to notice that he had a small red ribbon tied around the metal limb, and you could feel an amused grin tilt at the corner of your glossed lips.

The party drew on—you were whisked away by a handful of your colleagues to play catch up just around a dozen times. It would be quite the understatement to say you were enjoying yourself. Thor’s boisterous laughter seemed to rumble the very ground, Clint challenged you to a game of ‘I bet you can’t flick this olive into that guy’s drink’, and Maria mixed up your drinks for you with surprising ease, sending you a wink when you asked for your fifth sugary beverage in a row. Tony had joined you at one point, nearly black-out drunk, and you had to prop your arm beneath his forehead before he could face-plant against the counter.

A lot happened in such a short span of time, you found yourself bee-lining for the balcony when you gulped down your sixth glass, in need of some fresh air. Outside, the music dampened to a faint echo of its volume inside, and the quiet warped over you like a cold blanket. You sighed in mild relief, rubbing at your sore cheeks gingerly—you weren’t used to smiling this much in just one night.

When the balcony doors squeaked as they gave way for someone else, you looked over your shoulder, eyebrows quirking upwards upon seeing none other than James Buchanan Barnes.

“I’m surprised to see you,” you said quietly. “Didn’t think parties were your forte.”

The suit he wore was a rich shade of navy blue, bringing out the juxtaposing lightness of his irises. That stubble you liked far more than you’d admit brought out the sharpness of his features, giving him a rough edge you knew countered with his tentative and soft personality. You glanced down at the red ribbon tied around his metal bicep, grinning gently. 

“Sam forced me to come,” he replied dismissively, moving forward to stand next to you. Awkwardly, he cleared his throat—this close, you could see the subtle flush of rouge creep over his skin. “You look great. Really great.”

A warm sensation flooded your chest and your nose wrinkled as you looked towards him in muted delight. “You look good, too, Bucky. Blue really is your color.”

Bucky rather liked the way he could see the stars in your eyes. 

After a considerably lengthy period of ponderous silence, you quietly asked, “Why haven’t you been let out for any public missions? It's all hidden underground stuff you do. You’re an Avenger like the rest of us.”

The fond smile that once graced his mouth melted away at an instant, replaced by the harsh framing of an uncomfortable slant. You immediately regretted asking the question, about to tell him that it was alright if he didn’t want to answer before he cut you to the chase and said, “You know why.”

Disappointment unfurled within your ribcage, like a roll of paper stretched taut. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess I do.” You weren’t quite sure what had come over you, so you wrapped your hand over the coldness of his vibranium wrist, clutching it tightly and watching him with keen eyes. “You don’t deserve any of this, for the record. I hope you know that, Bucky. You deserve the entire world and I hope people start to look past the actions of someone you were also a victim to.”

Bucky had so much he wanted to say, but the words were lodged in his throat. He found himself nodding to your words, allowing a meek smile to crack through his stony disposition. No more words needed to be said, and the two of you parted ways with the sort of comforting silence that could be shared with only people who’ve seen too much for a single lifetime.

love you more than those bitches before say you'll remember (oh baby) say you'll remember, oh baby ooh i will love you 'til the end of time

Rumors spread around the compound rather quickly. You had just come back from a rather rough mission, dropping your long-range firearms into the storage room when you heard two other agents gossiping feverishly in the corner. Knowing it was none of your business, you quickly put away your weapons and strode out, but you couldn’t help overhearing Bucky’s name being thrown out between the two. Curiosity getting the better of you, you pressed yourself against the wall and listened just enough for you to catch what they were discussing.

He went on a date. And not just any regular date. The first one in decades. 

Blinking in mild shock, you made your way to your quarters, yearning to wash off all the blood and dirt that rendered your skin sticky and uncomfortable.

It wasn’t until the late hours of the night you bumped into the super soldier in the kitchen. You were washing your dirty dishes from a couple hours ago when you made dinner for yourself, sighing in annoyance at the dried leftovers that clung to the ceramics. 

“What’s the point of living in a multimillion dollar compound if there’s no fancy tech to wash my dishes for me?” you hissed scathingly under your breath, using your shoulder to knock away a stray piece of hair that fell over your eyes. “Stupid broken dishwasher. Didn’t Tony say he’d get that looked at a week ago? Bet he completely forgot.”

Your grumbling was interrupted when you heard the fridge door open. Pivoting by the waist to see who it was, a string of colorful curses fell from your lips when soap suds dribbled from your arms and all over your shirt, iridescent bubbles now lining your pajamas. 

“Seems like you’re having a bad day,” Bucky said from the fridge, now moving towards the cupboards to grab a glass for the carton of orange juice in his hands. “Can’t say I’m better off, though.”

“Yeah?” you asked with an amused edge, quickly turning back around to rinse off your soapy hands and dishes. Ripping off a kitchen towel to dab at the soap on your shirt, you glanced back up at him. “Heard you had a date.”

Bucky shifted uncomfortably. It was only then that you realized that he was still wearing a crisp suit—no doubt he had just come back fresh from his night out. “It, uhm, didn’t go so well.”

“Sorry to hear that, Bucky.” Sensing that he’d rather be talking about literally anything else, you nodded once and swiftly changed the subject. “I was just about to start a new show. You’re welcome to join if you’d like.”

The tired glint to his eyes seemed to wane away as he shot you a grateful beam. “That sounds amazing, honestly. I could use the distraction.”

It was certainly a strange sight—a SHIELD agent in a poorly-dried soapy shirt sitting beside one of the most famous ex-assassins in the world, who just so happened to be wearing a fancy date suit. You turned on the TV wordlessly, lips only faintly twitching upwards when he settled into his seat further, flesh arm coming round over the back of the couch to land over your shoulders, tugging you into his side. 

“You are ridiculously wet right now,” he commented with all but a straight face, eyes flickering down to your still-damp shirt and hands, which made you snort unattractively.

“Gee, Bucky. Didn’t know we were at that stage yet.”

The super soldier appeared affronted for a moment at what you were implying before he quickly began backtracking, “I didn’t—I wasn’t—!”

“I know,” you chuckled, patting his knee consolingly. Then, you turned your attention back to the screen. “I hope you don’t mind animated shows.”

“You kidding me? I was a huge fan in the forties. Snow White was all the rage back then,” Bucky hummed, fingers flexing experimentally on your bicep. It took all you had in you not to preen with delight at how comfortable he was with physical touch with you, so you settled on tucking your knees up to your chest and shuffling even closer to him.

A brilliant smile spread over your features. “I love it when you talk about the forties. It’s like I’m looking through a window of your life before… before everything,” you said quietly before shifting about one last time to make yourself more comfortable.

The episode was brightly colorful, exuberant in both visuals and dialogue. He often found himself in awe at the wonderful animation and spectacular voice acting, enthralled whenever you made small comments on the plot—something he knew you were just doing to subtly check if he was enjoying himself as well. 

One gripe he did have, however, was the fact that there were far too many jokes and references that Bucky couldn’t really understand. At first, he didn’t want to ask you because you seemed to be enjoying yourself—but after the first few, you seemed to realize that he wasn’t catching on and from then you’d pause the show to quickly explain some of the obscure pop culture references. 

“Scooby Doo is a famous mystery show that was super big around the 80s and 90s,” you whispered over to him. “Just in case you didn’t know.” 

Bucky could feel his heart lurch in its steady pace. He wasn’t entirely used to someone considering his own enjoyment in general—much less for something as mundane as watching a show. You were just so… nice. So nice that it left a yearning sort of ache within Bucky’s chest that he couldn’t exactly place. 

“Thanks,” he hoarsely muttered and you only responded with a half-minded hum, hand somehow finding its way back to his knee.

God, you were going to be the death of him.

Eventually, the episode ended and the credits rolled by, the wind-chime music tinkling in the background as you stretched your limbs with a weak groan, followed by an audible yawn you hid behind a fist. You blinked away the sleepy tears and shot him a reluctant watery smile.

“I better call it a night. Got some meetings tomorrow I have to lead.” After a tentative pause, you tacked on, “It was really nice being with you tonight. I, uhm, I hope this took your mind off of things, even if it was temporary.”

The corner of his lips slanted upwards. “It was great, really. Do you think we could… do it again sometime?”

Oh, it was like you could feel your heart melting through the bones of your ribcage. “Yeah! Yeah, I’d love that!” you breathily said a little too quickly, and you cleared your throat in embarrassment. “I, uh—g’night, Bucky.”

Bucky couldn’t understand just how easy it was for you to suddenly lean over and press a chaste kiss to his cheek. Your lips brushed over his stubble, nose bumping softly against his cheekbone. He could smell you—lavender and dish soap infiltrating his senses. Nearly short circuiting, he remained as still as a statue, only forcing himself to lift a hand to stiffly wave goodbye when you promptly hauled yourself onto your feet, turned on the heel, and padded down the hall to your room. He watched you go with slightly parted lips accompanied by a longing stare. 

Hours later, now retired into the privacy of his room, moonlight spilling white through the windows and onto the cold floors, Bucky could still feel the burning imprint of your lips on his skin. He wasn’t able to sleep for the rest of the night, plagued by nightdreams of how your smile would feel molded against his.

#rue's 2k #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky x reader #bucky fanfiction #marvel fanfiction #bucky barnes fluff #bucky fluff #bucky barnes angst #bucky angst #bucky barnes drabbles #bucky barnes imagines #bucky barnes scenarios #bucky drabbles #bucky imagines #bucky scenarios #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes oneshot

[gaypleasantview]

Day 5: Wonderful Christmastime // Clothing Set

Set includes:

⋆ spannersims' AF Dawn Sweaters, converted from TS4 on keoni's 4t2 EP11SweaterFrench mesh

⋆ GenericFan's AM Knifty Sweater (Pride & Holiday), converted from TS4 on lowedeus' 4t2 SP17 Sweater Crochet mesh

⋆ Miss Ruby Bird's AM Winter Sweaters for the Boys, converted from TS4 on lowedeus' 4t2 SP17 Sweater Crochet mesh

⋆ Miss Ruby Bird's CU Winter Sweater Recolor, converted from TS4 on RentedSpace's 4t2 EF13SweaterFairIsle mesh

⋆ spannersims' Holly Jolly Hat, converted from TS4 on MDP's 4t2 EP05Santa mesh

Link, swatch and more info under the cut ♡

Hi! Happy holidays to everyone celebrating! I'm thinking of maybe sharing a couple more gifts before the end of the year now that I have a little more free time. May not be the most traditional way of doing an advent calendar ever but it's more true to my culture that way, anyway. And yay, presents!

Today I wanted to bring you something really wintery so I converted a bunch of sweaters and a Santa hat! I didn't feel like having another breakdown meshing clothes so I looked for some recolors for TS4 meshes that have already been converted by amazing people in our community. Some of these sweaters have a more holiday-ish vibe, and some are just cute thingies that your sims could wear in cold weather. All of them allegedly work as outerwear, too, but I currently don't have the separates mod to check so let's just hope I'm not lying on the internet right now.

Everything is tooltipped and compressed. I tried to name the files clearly so you know what kind of print every file contains, if I labeled something weird it's because I don't always understand pictures lol. No age convesions today, unfortunately. But feel free to send requests, I'll see what I can do!

Credits: spannersims, Miss Ruby Bird, GenericFan for the textures; keoni, lowedeus, RentedSpace, MDP for the meshes; Julia Dreams for some of the original patterns; 4t2 CAS Conversion Archive for being a super useful and fun tool!

☁ Download

Important: all of the AM sweaters (Knifty Sweater and Winter Sweater AM) share the same mesh (lowedeus_TS4sweater_MESH) so please be careful not to put it in your game multiple times. I put it in the shared folder :)

SFS | Mediafire

☁ Swatch

⋆ spannersims Dawn Sweaters on keoni's 4t2 EP11SweaterFrench mesh - AF, everyday & outerwear

⋆ GenericFan Knifty Sweater on lowedeus' 4t2 SP17 Sweater Crochet mesh - AM, everyday & outerwear I think I will convert the solid/striped/Halloween sweaters eventually, but for now I only did the Holiday and Pride ones. The colors on some sweaters might not be spread out evenly due to the mesh mapping. I also edited the lesbian ones a little bit to be slightly more orange and resemble the older flag less.

Pride:

Holiday:

⋆ Miss Ruby Bird Winter Sweaters for the Boys on lowedeus' 4t2 SP17 Sweater Crochet mesh - AM, everyday & outerwear

⋆ Miss Ruby Bird Winter Sweater Recolor on RentedSpace's 4t2 EF13SweaterFairIsle mesh - CU, everyday & outerwear

⋆ spannersims Holly Jolly Hat on MDP's 4t2 EP05Santa mesh - TU-EU, glasses bin, layerable

#s2cc #my cc #the sims 2 #sims 2 cc #ts2cc #4t2 conversion #4t2 #ts2 #spannersims #missrubybird #genericfan

[bullet-prooflove]

Saint Michael - Frank Castle x Reader

Part of @storiesofsvu Holiday Bingo! The square was Gift Exchange/Secret Santa!

Tagging: @crazy4chickennuggets @kmc1989 @withakindheartx @@purrrrfect @juliannatryon @beardedbarba @wooshwastaken @justreblogginfics @anime-weeb-4-life @pleasurebuttonwrites @annetje @adaydreamaway08 @est1887 @multiflixshelves @thanossexual @bonsaijoons @spookyboogyuniverse @ankhmutes @spaghettificationandpretzels @trublu2u @nu1freakshow @thebaileybugle

It’s a few days before Christmas that Frank realises the silver pendent around your throat is missing. In all the years he’s known you, he has never seen you without it. It’s an engraving of St Michael, the patron saint of police. He knows the history attached to it. Your father had given it to you upon your graduation from the academy. It had been his up until he’d retired, and you’d taken over the mantle.

You’re already in the shower when he gets in. It’s been a couple of weeks since he was last here, not much has changed except the Christmas tree in the corner and the modest decorations that adorn your mantlepiece. It’s pretty, he thinks. There’s a dulcet glow to the room, something soothing and sensual.

He can hear the running water as he sets his bag down alongside your front door before toeing off his boots. His clothes are already gone, tossed by the washing machine in the kitchen by the time he steps into the shower with you. You smile as he leans in close, his naked body brushing against yours under the heated stream. His thumb chases along the line of your jaw, his lips ghosting over yours and you respond to him the same way you always do, a little desperate, a little needy because it's been too long since he last had you.

His palm trails down a little further, fingertips gracing over the slender chain only to find that it isn’t there. You feel him tense before he withdraws, his gaze lowering to the red welt against the hollow of your throat.

“What happened?” he asks, his dark eyebrows furrowing into a frown.

You sigh and he sees the sadness in your eyes because that piece of jewellery, it was the last tangible piece of your father.

“A perp.” You tell him, your palm lightly rubbing over the space where the pendant used to hang upon your chest. “He managed to get a hold on me, tore it off. I spent hours looking for it but…”

You shake your head.

“It’s long gone.”

It bothers him that the pendant’s missing. He doesn’t believe in a higher power, he hasn’t since before Maria and the kids were killed but you do. He knows that cops are a superstitious sort, that there is more to that medallion than just a piece of metal that hung around your neck. The protection it delivers, it’s spiritual, it connects to something deep inside. He thinks about that as he lays in bed beside you that night. It doesn’t feel right, you being out there without your faith to watch over you.

“I gotta go, angel.” He murmurs as he presses his lips to your forehead. You thread your fingers through his, mouth brushing over the back of his hand as you whisper.

“Stay safe.”

***

It’s Christmas Eve when he turns up again. You’re in the kitchen, washing the last of the dishes when he steps through the door, removing his boots and hanging his trench coat on the rack. You’re wearing a navy blue knit jumper that clings to your form and faded grey jeans, a pair of his socks are pulled up over the hems at the bottom. He will never admit that it does something to him to see you wearing his clothes, there’s a domesticity in it that resonates with him. You’re the closest thing to a wife that he’s had in years. The way he feels for you, it’s different from what he had with Maria. She was solid, dependable, the thing that kept him stable throughout all the shit he endured throughout his service.

You, you’re a force of nature. You’re the sunshine that graces his skin in the middle of winter, the light that shines in his otherwise dark existence. You’re the person that brought him back to life and he can never repay you for that.

He wraps his arms around your body, his chest tucking against your back as his lips brush over the curve of your shoulder. That welt he saw a few days ago, it’s already fading into a bruise he places a chaste kiss upon it before his breath ghosts in your ear.

“I’ve got something for you.”

“Oh, I know, I can feel it.” You tease and he smiles against your skin.

“Something else.” He tells you before withdrawing.

You turn to face him, and he reaches into the top pocket of his combats, withdrawing a slim silver chain. On the end of it hangs a pendent, your pendent.

“Let me help return it to the place it’s meant to be.” He tells you, indicating with his finger for you to turn around.

You do as you’re told, and he drapes it around your neck, fastening the chain so that it comes to rest in the space just above the swell of your breasts. Your thumb runs over the etching, and he can see how much it means to you to have the medallion back in your possession.

“I don’t know what to say.” You murmur as you turn and meet his gaze.

There’s so much emotion in your eyes, he finds it visceral. His palms clasp your features, his thumbs chasing way the tears that leak down your cheeks.

“I can’t have you out there without it,” He tells you softly. “I just can’t.”

You nod your head because you know exactly what he means. It’s your totem, the power that keeps you safe when all hell breaks loose, the thing that reminds you to be strong in your weakest moments. It’s your saving grace in the midst of the chaos that is your job, your life.

“Thank you.” You whisper as his forehead comes to rest upon yours. “Thank you so much.”

Love Frank Castle? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

#Frank castle #frank castle x reader #frank castle x you #the punisher #frank castle fanfiction #frank castle x female reader #storiesofsvuholidaybingo2023

[mylordshesacactus]

Suncrest Campaign Character Epilogues

Audie (Human Wizard)

About a month after the final battle, as repairs are underway, the party gets a random Sending message from Max's friend Ihava the punk-rock tabaxi, namely, “Hey, did you do something with time travel? Because some dead heroes just showed up in the city and they’re very confused.” As an archivist, and also as the member of the party who's done the most reading and research into the Bastion of Life's specific adventuring party from 50 years ago, Audie is far and away the one that they want to talk to most--especially Rochelle Willowfeather, the tiefling monk who led that doomed final stand. Audie, once she stops stammering, is able to help her find records of the aarakocra settlement where her wife had lived--but sadly in the fifty years since Rochelle was frozen, her wife has passed away. She takes it hard, though her friends help her through it. Seeing as how she just helped to save the world, and how she has glowing letters of recommendation from the incredibly famous, miraculously resurrected heroes upon whose legacy was founded the entire Spellbound Dominion, Audie finally gets a full-ride scholarship to wizard college. Unlike her sister Summer, she completes her degree and starts only the occasional fight with administration. She applies for a work-study position. Her apprentice at her old archive is VERY confused but also very supportive.

Andromeda (Aarakocra Paladin)

Andromeda joins the City Guard. Deeply affected by Olassa's sacrifice, and having seen in the Violet Guard what a city guard can look like without honest people keeping its power in check, she wants to honor her mentor's memory. She enlists as a recruit, starting from the bottom. As an experienced and honest mid-level paladin, however, she climbs the ranks quickly and joins the officer track. While she, UNDERSTANDABLY, keeps her god-touched flail Morningstar (a legendary weapon) as her primary weapon, when she becomes an officer she commissions (possibly from Farrah!) a halberd as well. It's mostly a ceremonial weapon, but she trains with it and learns to wield it regardless. (Throughout the campaign, while she also wore a longsword for emergencies--Olassa's signature weapon was always the halberd.) Eventually, within a few decades, Andromeda is named Guard-Captain of the city of Suncrest.

Farrah (Tiefling Fighter)

Farrah, very excited to meet The Legendary And Miraculously Resurrected Heroes Upon Whose Legacy Was Founded The Entire Spellbound Dominion, happily invites them home to meet her mom! They all immediately start fangirling and asking for Brenda's autograph. This is the BEST running gag in the campaign. Farrah, after speaking with her blacksmithing master, transfers her apprenticeship. Instead of learning to make weapons she trains under a silver-and-goldsmith and learns to make tiny, beautiful things that require a lot of patience. Once she's satisfied she has basic skills in this area, she takes the armor of the fae commander who led the occupation of Suncrest, melts it down, and reforges it into a statue--an excellent likeness, in solid silver, of the Wolves of the Wild Court of Winter. This ninth-level casting of "Fuck You" is casually gifted to V, to display in the Sigil Rampant. In fact, the party periodically drops by with souvenirs from their travels to hang up there, now that V owns the place. Farrah also returns to the smithing guilds in Requiem for a while, learning how to forge enchantments into items, before ultimately returning to Suncrest as a mage-smith.

Max (Human Bard/Rogue)

Max never uses that last Wish. Consideration was given to using it for a resurrection--bringing back Olassa, or even the village of Little Ivywood. Ultimately however, Max's caution won out. He remains attuned to the scepter, but puts it in a chest and buries the chest in an unmarked, undisclosed location, sharing its coordinates with only Audie and Ihava in case of catastrophe--Ihava because she can be trusted to use it wisely, and Audie because she can be trusted to overthink any potential Wish so badly that if she ever goes mad with power the next generation of adventurers will have plenty of time to storm her evil fortress and take it from her before she can do anything diabolical with it. Also because he trusts his friend or whatever. In the meantime, he finds that bardic wanderlust again. He splits his time on the road between Suncrest and Requiem, spending--reluctantly--some time with his family. His route isn't regimented, but it's predictable, so that his friends can always find him if necessary. Eventually, about five years after the final battle, the two fae warlocks--Max and Farrah--wake in the middle of the night with a sharp pain in their serpent marks. Peering into the 'eye' of the peacock feather, they see the image of a plain, battered, half-rotten leather diary...which slowly pans out to show its location in the false bottom of a chest...being rolled and tossed....into a rickety cart......in a cave....in the Underdark. They understand, inherently, that this is their first mission as eyes of the Feathered Serpent. And the adventure continues. But first...

Nimbus (Human Ranger)

Nim also remains in Suncrest--or around it, rather. He doesn't join the Guard outright, but he's on their payroll regardless as a woodland scout and makes regular reports. He often talked about wanting to be able to send his sister to wizard school--Paisley Salvia is incredibly smart and "wizard" is the smartest thing Nim knows. They start by bringing her to study in an academic apprenticeship at one of the government programs in Suncrest to, essentially, get her gen-ed requirements in. When given the opportunity, however, Paise actually ends up not wanting to learn magic--she's much more interested in the mechanical and the mundane, using the real world around her to do great things. She wants to become an artificer...and unlike wizardry, which can only be really learned in Dumplinmere, there's no better place to do that then the rugged and resource-rich city of Suncrest. Nim is, of course, delighted. Paise is also extremely happy to be pursuing her dreams close to home, and of course that's mostly due to proximity to her family...but there is, of course, another consideration. Thesh Nightshadow, the young bugbear girl that she kinda sorta got outed as being in a relationship with when they were [checks notes] kidnapped by werewolves while meeting each other in the woods and had to be rescued by her older brother. (Thesh, when they found her, was barely conscious and half-delirious from fever. When the were-cult, mistakenly believing that torturing a maiden would force Albion the unicorn into their killzone, grabbed Paisley, Thesh tried to fight them. They broke her jaw. It had been left untreated for, at that point, nearly a week--she could very easily have died without Andromeda's intervention. Nim didn't even have the heart to tease them very much.) Anyway. Thesh is the daughter of the chieftain of the Talonholde clan and is training to follow in his footsteps. That means learning politics, logistics, military tactics, conflict resolution, and woodsmanship. For some of those, Nim gets her into the academy in Suncrest--but for the latter, even her village's best hunters unilaterally agree that Nimbus, who has class levels to their "Bugbear Commoner" stat sheets, is the best possible teacher. She ends up training under him a lot, and they get very close as a result. And about five years after the world nearly ended, the party attends their wedding--but the bugbear wedding ceremony I wrote for myself will be its own post ;)

#d&d #suncrest

[exitpursuedbyavulcan]

The Silver Dragon (14/?)

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Original Female Character

Word Count: 2134

Story Summary: Lady Arianwyn Targaryen, the Lady of Runestone, was seeded by her father, the Rogue Prince Daemon Targaryen, in an act of unbridled hatred, and borne of her mother, the late Lady Rhea Royce, as a desperate grasp at revenge.

Ignored by her father, and alone following the death of her mother, she is raised in King’s Landing alongside her cousin, Prince Aemond Targaryen. As they grow, the two find themselves indelibly bonded. But their lives are far from the fairy tales they read, and as tensions in the family rise, they find their paths may diverge.

Will they be pulled apart when the dragons dance?

Chapter Summary: For the first time in the six years she’s been on Dragonstone, Princess Rhaenyra asks for Arianwyn to join her for a walk in the gardens.

Warnings: Mentions of rape.

Series Masterlist

Taglist: @thelittleswanao3 @trap-house-homiecide @50svibes @literishdegree99

The Garden

The morning air was cool, heralding winter’s coming before too long. But Arianwyn did not mind; it was quite warm on Emrys’ back. Indeed, the fire that raged within the dragon was so strong that even with the chill in the air and the wind whipping around her, Arianwyn’s brow was still dotted with sweat.

As always, she was loathe to bring Emrys back to solid ground. But Daemon’s threats still rang in her ears whenever she glanced across the sparkling water to King’s Landing. So, she landed again once more in the courtyard of Castle Dragonstone and watched with an aching heart as he was guided back to the Dragonmont.

While Arianwyn loved flying, she was decidedly less fond of her riding leathers, especially when the thick leather trapped the dampness of her sweat against her skin. So as long as she had to remain on the ground, she was eager to return to her tower and change into something more comfortable.

When Arianwyn emerged from the dressing room in a deliciously soft gown of gray silk, Brynna was waiting for her in the solar with paper in her hands.

“Today’s message from Prince Aemond has arrived, my Lady,” Brynna said, holding out an envelope sealed with deep green wax. She fumbled nervously with a small fold of parchment before handing it over as well. “And a note came for you – from Princess Rhaenyra.”

Arianwyn’s hands froze in the middle of tearing open Aemond’s letter. Rhaenyra sent her a message? Though her mind raced, she could not think of a single reason why. Curiosity thoroughly piqued, she took the note from Brynna and unfolded it.

Lady Arianwyn,

As soon as you are able, please meet me in the Chamber of the Painted Table.

The weather is pleasant today, and I thought we could take a walk.

Princess Rhaenyra

In all the time she had been at Dragonstone, Arianwyn had never been asked to meet with her stepmother. So what reason could the Princess possibly have to reach out now?

Arianwyn refolded the note and looked to Brynna, who was waiting impatiently to find out what Rhaenyra had said. “She wants me to join her for a walk,” she said.

She was sure Brynna’s look of confusion was mirrored on her own face, but the lady’s maid quickly composed herself, nodded, and stepped back into the dressing room. “Right. You’ll need a cloak,” she muttered, almost to herself. “The wind will give you a chill.”

Once she was dressed to Brynna’s standards, Arianwyn made her way out of her tower and toward the Chamber of the Painted Table. She had been able to find her way through the castle without guards for several years, though Daemon still insisted she be escorted every time she left her apartments.

Unfortunately for her, the Stone Drum, the tower which held the legendary Painted Table, was on the far eastern side of the castle. Her tower, so small and unremarkable that it had never been given a grand name, was in the far west. As a result, it took nearly half an hour to reach her destination.

One of the guards moved to open the grand wooden doors carved with fearsome depictions of Balerion, Vhagar, and Meraxes in the Conquest, but Arianwyn held out a hand to stop him. Then, taking a deep breath, she focused on the carving of Vhagar, imagining that the rider atop her was not the warrior Queen Visenya, but Aemond.

Though she still missed him to the point of despair, the thought of him calmed her racing heart and gave her the strength to stand straight and proud as she finally signaled for the doors to be opened.

She was surprised to find the grand room nearly empty, the Princess and her constant retinue of guards the only occupants. Rhaenyra stood at the side of the Painted Table, in a position that, were the massive map real, would place her on Driftmark.

When she saw her stepdaughter descending the stairs, Rhaenyra gave the girl a pleasant smile, though it did not quite reach her eyes. With a wave of her hand, she dismissed Ser Lorent Marbrand, her sworn Kingsguard, from their conversation and moved to greet Arianwyn.

“Thank you for coming so swiftly,” Rhaenyra said, gesturing for the girl to rise from her curtsy. “I thought it was a fine day for a walk in the gardens, don’t you agree?”

Stunned by the casual way the Princess addressed her, Arianwyn gave a hesitant smile and nodded. That was all the affirmation Rhaenyra needed before she began climbing back up the stairs. Arianwyn dutifully followed, keeping her hands clasped before her and her head bowed.

The walk to the gardens was silent, save for the clanking of armor which always accompanied their guards. Arianwyn was desperate to know why she had been summoned, but protocol demanded that she allow Rhaenyra, her stepmother and presumptive heir to the throne, to speak first.

It wasn’t until they arrived at the gardens, the one place on the island where Maesters had been able to coax anything beyond grass to grow, that the Princess finally broke the silence.

“How was Emrys this morning?” she asked, fumbling over the pronunciation of the dragon’s name.

Arianwyn had to bite her tongue to prevent herself from correcting her stepmother. “He is well,” she replied curtly. But Rhaenyra continued to stare at her as if expecting more, so she continued, “He very much enjoys flying when the wind is strong, so his mood was quite high today.”

Rhaenyra grinned, “Syrax was the same way when she was young.” She laid a hand over her swollen belly, “I regret that I have not been able to ride recently, but Daemon is quite protective when I am in such a state.”

The small feeling of ease that Arianwyn had begun to feel was at once extinguished at the mention of her father. If only he had felt the same protectiveness for Rhea.

Sensing she had made an error, Rhaenyra moved quickly to try and break the tension. She cleared her throat, “The Dragonkeepers tell me you have been immensely helpful to Rhaena in her training with Morning.”

Indeed, for more than a year, Arianwyn had spent most mornings in the training yard with her younger sister and the hatchling. The still small creature, with scales the lovely soft pink of a sunset, had hatched from the clutch Syrax laid during Rhaenyra’s last pregnancy.

Arianwyn had nearly wept when she first saw Morning coiled around Rhaena’s neck. She had not seen a person so overwhelmed with joy since she watched Aemond claim Vhagar for the first time. Watching Rhaena bond with her dragon helped to fill the missing piece of her that still regretted not being there to see Aemond do the same.

“Rhaena is a naturally gifted dragonrider,” Arianwyn told the Princess. “I assure you, my help is entirely unnecessary.”

Rhaenyra laughed, “You would not know it by the way she speaks of you. It is good you can be a sister to her, with Baela on Driftmark with Rhaenys.”

“You flatter me, Your Royal Highness,” Arianwyn replied, bowing her head slightly.

The two continued to wander through the garden, exchanging formal pleasantries and shallow conversation for nearly an hour. By the time they at last reached the far wall of the massive park, and the vista overlooking the sea below, Arianwyn was so overcome with the monotony that she could no longer maintain her demure façade.

“Princess, may I speak freely?” She asked, her voice harder than it had been throughout the afternoon.

Rhaenyra blinked, surprised at the change in her tone. “Of course you may.”

“Why am I here?”

The Princess’ kind face immediately fell into passivity, and she let out a uncomfortable laugh. “I am afraid I do not understand what you are asking.”

Arianwyn steeled herself, looking at her stepmother directly as she spoke. “You and I have lived under the same roof for most of my life. For six years now, I have lived in your castle as your stepdaughter. And yet, you have said more to me just this afternoon than you have in all the past nineteen years. Why?”

Rhaenyra’s eyes narrowed, though her voice remained friendly – but only just. “Do you think it wrong for a woman to desire to spend time with her family?”

“I think it strange when that desire appears so suddenly after almost two decades of neglect.”

The Princess sighed heavily, turning to face the sea. “That is why I wanted to tell you myself –we are to leave for King’s Landing at dawn. You will fly with us on Emrys.”

Arianwyn felt as though her heart might never beat again. She had dreamed of returning home for so long, but now that the prospect was before her, she struggled to trust that it was real.

“Truly?” she asked, her desperation revealed by the trembling of her voice.

“Truly,” Rhaenyra replied. She reached forward to take her stepdaughter’s hand. “Lord Corlys is gravely ill, and his brother is seizing the opportunity to formally contest Lucerys’ claim to Driftmark. We shall go to the capital as a family, united, to refute him.”

Arianwyn looked up into the Princess’ violet eyes, struggling to believe that she could ever be any part of her family – the family she shared with Daemon. But Rhaenyra’s gaze held genuine hope, perhaps even affection. Before she knew it, Arianwyn was clutching her stepmother’s hand.

“I am sorry for the way I have treated you,” Rhaenyra said, rubbing her thumb over the back of Arianwyn’s hand. “I know that I cannot change the past, or make up for the time we have missed, but I need you to understand. Will you listen to what I have to say?”

With a smile, Arianwyn nodded.

Rhaenyra continued, “I have loved Daemon all my life, since before I can even remember. When you were first brought to the capital, I was a heartbroken girl, younger than you are now. Daemon had just wed Laena and flown across the Narrow Sea, and I was left in the Red Keep in a marriage that was weeks old and already a failure.”

Arianwyn recognized the look on Rhaenyra’s face. She had often seen it in the mirror—the helpless look of one stranded in a prison beyond their control. Just as Arianwyn had not chosen to live on Dragonstone, Rhaenyra had not chosen her husband.

“Seeing you, the beautiful silver-haired daughter of the man I loved, was torture for me,” Rhaenyra confessed with guilt in her eyes. “I knew it was not your fault, but every time I saw you, I was reminded of the life I could not have – the fairy tale I always dreamed of.” Her words echoed similar feelings in Arianwyn’s own heart.

“It was easier for me to avoid you entirely than endure those horrible feelings,” Rhaenyra said as she raised her hand to Arianwyn’s cheek. “I am so sorry that my behavior has cost you your family all these years.”

At that, Arianwyn’s brows furrowed. She had been alone, surely, but she had not been denied her family. Ser Gerold still wrote to her frequently, as did Aemond. Alicent and Helaena had as well, even Aegon had sent a few ravens over the years. Her family was far from her, yes. But she had never been denied their existence.

Rhaenyra grimaced, “I know your relationship with your father has been strained. And how he treated your mother was…” she trailed off, grimacing, “regrettable.”

She continued her plea, but Arianwyn did not hear it. She had seen the look on Rhaenyra’s face when she mentioned Rhea – the pity, the disgust, and even the hint of fear.

Now, all Arianwyn could hear was the rushing of blood in her ears and two words echoing through her mind like thundering bells:

She knows.

It did not matter how she knew. Whether she deduced it or was told by Daemon himself was insignificant. Rhaenyra knew what he had done to Rhea. And still, she loved him. She remained married to him. She carried his child. Still, she would make him King.

What kind of person loved such a monster?

Arianwyn tore herself away from her stepmother, royal protocol forgotten and damned. Her heart, which had only just begun to warm to the woman, froze over once more. No, she would neverbe a part of this family.

As she stormed out of the garden, deaf to the calls of Rhaenyra and her guards, Arianwyn made a solemn vow:

She would return to King’s Landing, to her home and her true family. And once there, she would gladly die before allowing herself to be taken again.

Next Chapter

#aemond fanfic #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond #aemond x oc #aemond fic #aemond fanfiction #aemond imagine #aemond one eye #aemond the kinslayer #prince aemond #house of the dragon fanfic #house of the dragon aemond #house of the dragon #hotd #hotd fanfic #hotd aemond

[frankchurchillsaysrelax]

it's been a long, cold, lonely winter

London’s skies mock her as the Featherington family arrives in Mayfair. The start of a new season, her third season on the marriage mart, and the weather is sunny and bright when all Penelope wants is to lock herself away in her room and hide away. A long journey with her mama and Prudence for company will inspire that in her.

When she’s finally out of the carriage and again on solid ground, she catches sight of Bridgerton 

House across the square and swiftly looks away knowing it will only sour her mood further were she to catch sight of the family. If they have yet arrived, a detail she is no longer privy to and should care little about but finds herself yearning for knowledge of anyway.

The footmen make quick work of moving their belongings inside, their lady's maids ushering them about despite the men knowing where to take everything. Their butler stands beside Mrs. Varley ready to greet them and when Penelope passes he pulls an envelope from his pocket and discreetly passes it into her hands. He gives her the dull look of disapproval she is used to receiving and she does not need to look at the address on the back to know whose correspondence she holds. 

She should rip it up, perhaps burn it, but she knows the thought is futile. It will end up in the box with the other unopened letters alongside the ones carefully saved from last year. She knows not why she keeps them except that she does. She knows all too well of the sentimental fool that she is, of the tiny spark of hope that resides in her heart, kept alit against the chill of bitterness that ravages her by the walls hastily built during her time in the country. 

Colin Bridgerton does not love her and she cannot fault him for it no matter how she wishes she could; could put the years of unrequited feelings in his hands and hold him accountable for the damage done to them. The only thing she can rightly fault him for is his words from last season, the laughter he roused from his friends with his careless cruelty, and so she does so fervently. She thought them at least friends, but do friends treat each other so harshly? She thinks of Eloise, of the twin flame of hope that burns for their companionship. Perhaps it is possible. 

Later, once the house has settled into its quietude, she wanders through the halls as is her wont. Penelope had learned long before she was Whistledown how to sneak about without being seen. It is easy to do when one is unwanted and easily overlooked. The skill benefits her as she begins her thorough search for secrets within her own household. She will not miss another scheme like that of the ruby mines again.

It is her name that gives her pause outside her mama’s rooms, a conversation between lady and housekeeper that is not meant for her ears. She has heard countless whispers she would rather have no knowledge of, and this is just one more to add to the list it seems. Words like spinster thrown about as if not for the first time, stuck with, holding a level of distaste she has never heard from her mother’s mouth, and for the rest of my days with such finality, it carries an air of inevitably that follows Penelope back to her room. 

Penelope is not stupid, she knows that the likelihood of her marrying well decreases with each season. She had thought spinsterhood a few years off, however; kept hope that if she could not marry for love or respect then at least she could find a match that allowed her freedom. A hope her mother did not share apparently.

Hot tears pour down her cheeks as she rests her back against the closed door. Tears of anger and humiliation. Tears she has become all too familiar with these past months. A rage beats against her ribs to the beat of her mama’s words. She wants to destroy everything in her sight, wants to watch the world burned by the candle still lit on her writing desk. Only the carefully crafted persona of a quiet, thoughtful young lady stops her from such destruction.

She can not give up, can not give in to the defeat her mama feels. She stomps toward her wardrobe, lets the anger travel through her feet and the floor so that the house can carry it for her, and flings open the drawers. Her old gowns stare back at her in a sea of sickly greens and yellows like a healing bruise on her past. An idea starts to take form.  

If her mother was giving up on her then she would take her future into her own hands, mold it with the gentleness and care it had never been shown before.

#just a short look into the mindset of penelope before season three #i do not know why i wrote this #unread and unedited #my fic #bridgerton fic #penelope featherington #bridgerton

[scoonsalicious]

lol is the fav part when she moans Bucky’s name and the guy is like what? who the hell is Bucky? (recap that ICONIC line in CA: the Winter Solider lol)

YES! WE HAVE A WINNER!!! ALL THE INTERNET POINTS ARE YOURS, BESTIE!

[murfeelee]

Hi Murfeelee ☺️ I hope you are enjoying your winter break!

Thanks so much for putting together this window conversion tutorial (https://murfeelee.tumblr.com/post/189279738643/windows-tutorial-time).

I've been using that tutorial as a reference whilst I've meshed my own window. I've a question if you have the time, please:

'Now, assign EA's bone/joint' - I've searched about to try to understand this but all the results I can find are for meshing CAS objects. Would you mind to please elaborate on what I should select in Milkshape before hitting assign on this step? Do I want to assign it to the entire mesh (all groups) or a specific part?

Thanks!! - J

Hi!

(Omg I haven't been in Milkshape in so dang long I dang near forgot what to do, LOL.)

TS3 meshes usually have a joint/bone that needs to be assigned to it--it's kinda like an anchor, that makes sure CAS/Build/Buy meshes sit or move or look the way they're supposed to in-game.

(This does not matter as much for the regular solid parts of the mesh--sometimes I forget to assign joints and everything's fine. But for glass objects like windows, if the mesh does not have the proper joint/bone assigned to it, the glass WILL be invisible in-game.)

So in Milkshape, all you have to do is go to the Joints tab I highlighted, and you'll see where in the dropdown list there's only 1 option: OxCD68F001 (I'm squinting, LOL). That's the only joint available, for both the regular mesh and the glass mesh.

So just Select ALL of the mesh, solid and glass parts included.

Then click the Assign button.

And you're good to go! 👍

Happy Simming!

#replies #sims 3 tutorial

[rethomiata]

A Special Kind of Weird; chapter one (cross posted on AO3)

Jester Lavorre is a Traveler fan.

Okay, maybe a lot of folks are fans of The Traveler, but none are as enthusiastic about them as Jessie. She’s read his books since she was old enough to vaguely understand the concept of romance — back when her mother would read her children’s stories, and the little tiefling would steal her books off her bookshelf in the dead of night.

She’s just… a big fan. Yeah. Big fan.

So why is The Traveler making college so fucking difficult?

It’s the first week of September; college is on the horizon, with students just getting into their dorms, meeting their roommates, the likes. It’s a time that, as a child, Jester looked forward to — and now, as she sets a box on one of the three beds in her cramped dorm, butterflies dance around in her stomach. Her roommates have barely arrived too, which she’s thankful for — it gives her a last few minutes with her mom, the Ruby of Nicodranas — famous singer and performer, who Jester wishes she could be like.

She tears into the box as soon as Marion leaves for another… in it are posters of The Traveler’s main character, Garmelie, a satyr who goes on… well, to Jester they’re romantic escapades… to others, they’re sexual flings that would normally result in a bunch of STDs. The poster she first gets out is signed by The Traveler himself — one she was lucky to get in a giveaway online, even though she’s never met the man. The second one has Garmelie and a unicorn — unicorns are Jester’s favorite animal — and the third and forth share The Traveler’s cloaked portrait, with his right index finger up to his lips, as though he’s telling the photographer a deep, dark secret that’s not for anyone’s ears but theirs.

Oh, how romantic…

“Sapphire, did you pack your toothbrush?” Jester instinctively shoves the forth poster back into the box as the Ruby comes back, holding a stack of boxes labeled ‘Jessie’s clothes’ and ‘fun thingies’. She sets them down beside her daughter’s bed before going to give her a tight hug. “I can’t believe it… my baby is a college student. It’ll be so lonely without you, little one.”

“Aww, Mama! I’ll email you like, every single day,” the blue tiefling says through the squished hug. She squeezes her mother back, only to feel sad when Marion backs up after a few solid minutes of hugging. She sits down on the bed, staring up at Jester, who’s… trying hard to be brave. For her mama. For school.

For The Traveler.

“Do you know when your roommates are coming?” Marion takes a look around the small dorm; there’s a small desk to the left, and a bathroom that the three girls will have to share — the three beds are bare, just boxes atop them, no bedsheets or pillows to make it look homey. It almost makes the blue girl want to dig out her paints (that she brought, of course) and paint everything a nice pink or blue… maybe yellow? “I’m sure they’ll be… more friendly than the kids at school.”

More friendly could mean anything for any kid. For Jester, it means ‘kids who don’t pick on me for writing nasty fanfiction instead of going to beer pong parties’.

Yeah… her old friends are a relic of the past.

The girl takes one of her posters and heads to the corkboard above her bed, where she starts to pin it up with pink starry push-pins. “Ah! Oh my, doesn’t he look just so cute ?” I’ll avoid Mama’s statement if I can, she thinks. “Mama, do you think you can convince Bluud to invite The Traveler to the Chateau during the winter break?”

Her mother doesn’t suppress her giggle. “I’ll ask him, little Joy.”

Just as the pair are about to banter on, the dorm door bursts open with a ca-thud . Two girls struggle to go in, each saying “after you”; one looks like a sad poet, and the other looks like she could bench press Jester like she were a sack of flour.

The ‘poet’ is the first to enter. A white haired girl, she’s wearing an Orphanmaker shirt and ripped leggings; she has only a small bag with her, and a pillow under her arm. The other girl, who Jester feels both intimidated by and also… very interested in, has dark brown hair, brown skin, and striking blue eyes; she’s in gym clothes and has three duffel bags in her arms. A little boy no older than three is running after her, yelling, “Beau! Beau! Beau, you’re gonna miss me?”

“Yeah, you shithead, I’ll miss you.” The girl, Beau, says to the toddler as she throws her bags on the bed closest to the bathroom. The toddler simply giggles. “Don’t tell Mom that I swore and I’ll get you a… fuck, what are kids into? — a toy or something, when I get home. Yeah?”

“Okay!” The boy screeches and runs back out of the room, most likely to whichever adult was helping Beau take things in. She swings herself onto the foot of the bed, narrowly missing the bed frame’s wrath.

Beau looks at Jester with peak curiosity. “You one of the new roomies?”

“Yeah…” Jester’s voice goes quiet; she looks over at her mother, who’s helping unpack her clothing and putting it in the trunk at the end of the bed. She takes in a forced breath before turning back to Beau with a plastered-on smile. “I’m Jester! You’re—”

“Beau. Just… just Beau,” the other girl says with a smirk on her face. She looks like she could pick Jester apart just by words alone, and yet— “Oh, you a… a raunchy book fan?” She points to the poster. “Not gonna lie, I’ve only seen the movies, but they’re better than Fifty Shades, really.”

Thank gods… Jester’s forced smile turns more genuine at the thought of someone knowing her passion — and oh, how this series is a passion! She takes a seat at the desk nearby, looking at the ‘poet’. “And you are…”

“Oh…” the girl with the white hair is hanging stringed lights from her cork board and bed frame as she pauses to speak. She’s a good six feet tall, if possible. Jester has to really look up to meet her eyes — colorful ones, too. “Yasha… you’re pretty uh, colorful?”

“Thank you, Yasha!” The tiefling looks down at her own clothes (a pink skirt, pastel, of course, and rainbow Converse — a custom made one she bought recently with money from the café she part-timed at) with a wide, toothy grin. “You look kinda… are you into poetry?”

Yasha stops hanging the lights, holding the strings in her hands for a solid minute… before nodding. “I like… poems. My sibling and I write together, though he prefers, ah, songwriting… he’s also a tiefling, if that means much to you..?”

Tiefling? Another one? “Is he here, too?” Jester inquires, with an ounce of hope in her voice.

Yasha nods, not looking away from the stringed lights. “Yeah… his name’s Molly… er, Molly mauk , but everyone calls him Molly, really. He’s weird, but he’s… you know, a good kind of weird. Like—”

“Like me!” Jester says enthusiastically. The white haired girl chuckles as the blue girl gets up and spins in the tight quarters. Marion beams.

“Sapphire, I better get going.” The mother stands from her daughter’s bed; she’s tall, too, but nowhere near as tall as Yasha. She takes Jester into a tight hug, kissing her forehead, before leaving the room, trying (and failing) not to look sad.

Jester isn’t used to being away from her.

“Man, did she look like she was gonna cry or what?” Beau blows a bubble of pink gum and pops it. “Jess, you’ll be fine. There’s like, no need to cry.”

Am I crying? The tiefling touches her cheeks; her fingers come back damp, and she’s quick to wipe her tears off on her sweater. With a sniffle, then an eye rub, she heads back to her side of the room, grabs another poster, and starts to hang it up…

xxx

“Ja, I-I know, I know, Essek —” click .

Caleb Widogast sucks at relationships. Period. He was in a relationship of three, maybe four years that blew to smithereens by the time he graduated high school… then there was his summer boyfriend Essek, who didn’t seem too awfully thrilled about a long distance relationship with the human boy.

The human throws his phone down on his barely-made bed as his roommates snicker. “Shut up,” Caleb mutters; Mollymauk chucks a pillow at his head, just narrowly missing him. “Molly!”

“Look, I’m sorry Mister ‘I bring three fucking toothbrushes with me to a sleepover’ is mad, but you’re too damn adorable for him.” Molly is a short genderfluid tiefling with spiky black hair that falls to his shoulders, and has a habit of wearing funky outfits to ‘find myself a partner’ (his words, not Caleb’s). His other roommates are a half orc boat lover named Fjord, and a giant firbolg known simply as Caduceus, who’s not really studying anything, but he runs the library at school for tuition. “You shouldn’t waste your time with him! Find yourself a new man — or woman, whatever your little Zemnian heart desires.”

“Please… stop.” Caleb feels his face grow red just in time for Molly to ‘ooooh’ about it; thankfully Fjord elbows the purple circus man in the neck, making him shut up. “I didn’t… think he’d break up over the phone.”

“As opposed to in person?” Caduceus isn’t very versed in romance; he’s more of a ‘watch and learn’ type, whether that be from his years as a ‘homeschooled’ kid or just… general ‘Deuces vibes. “At least it wasn’t in front of your family.”

Ah… family.

How did he tell them about his fucked up family? Maybe he would ignore it; maybe he’d pray that his ‘dad’ wouldn’t show up for band practice or fun days. Maybe…

“Well, it’s over, which is good, ain’t it?” Fjord asks. The half orc is quite short for, well, one of his kind, but it doesn’t stop him from trying to sound big. In all fairness, no man is as tall as Caduceus, so Fjord has little to fear.

The human groans into the palm of his hand. “It’s… I actually liked Essek, though,” he mumbles; prays nobody picks up on what he said. “He was… fascinating. Breathtaking, even. It’s… I don’t know—”

“Can’t you just, like, bone someone and call it a night?” Molly flops onto Caleb’s bed, sprawling his body out like a cat.

Caleb’s cheeks burn red. “I— listen, circus man , it’s frankly none of your business, ja ? Yeah.” He tosses a small box on his bed before deciding, albeit last minute, to open it.

Inside, amongst pictures of Essek, is his favorite book by his favourite author — a known Traveler, who a girl in another hall idolizes…

Here’s hoping Caleb isn’t the only Traveler fan in freshman year…

#jester lavorre #caleb widogast #widojest #mollymauk tealeaf #yasha nydoorin #beauregard lionett #caduceus clay #fjord stone #veth brenatto #fjolly #fjeth #beauyasha #the mighty nein #critical role #fanfic #fanfiction #my fics #my fic #my writing #archive of our own #majesticath #college au #university au #modern au

[salchat]

Secret Flowers - Chapter 14

Don’t expect anything.  If you love, don’t expect to be loved back.  You don’t deserve to be loved.  Love is for other people.  Not for you.

He could tell the voices - his own voice - to fuck off.  But it was like snakes stirring in a pit, rising up and hissing at him, like that bit in Raiders.  

Dean rested his hands on the edge of the old kitchen table, letting his head sag.  He and Cas had been doing well.  They’d been healing - together.  They’d finally found each other and, yeah, it was a messy, mixed-up what-the-hell-are-we-doing kind of relationship, but it was getting there.  They’d even made it to highschool stage a couple of times - fumbling and embarrassed, and Dean hadn’t known how far to go or what he could ask Cas to do and they’d really needed to talk about it - but then they’d both gotten sick.  And now Cas didn’t seem interested - in Dean or in anything.

Was it slipping away?  This life they had begun to build together?  Would they drift back to the bunker and slot back into that old, bitter hunting life?

Dean’s eyes wandered to the kitchen window, framed in blue curtains that Cas had insisted upon.  Outside, the light was a stark white, the stiff spikes of grass tipped with frost, ruts in the stamped-up area at the bottom of the verandah iced into hard ridges.  The tips of the pine trees shifted in the restless wind.  Would the stream be frozen over?  Maybe it was protected down in its little valley.  Or maybe it was a cold-air sink down there and the water was as solid as iron.

He squinted at the scene and then pushed away from the table and stood so close to the window that he could feel the cold coming from the glass on the tip of his nose.  

The sky was moving.  Out of the blank whiteness, soft, fat flakes were lazily drifting down.  Already they were collecting on the edge of the verandah, on the tops of the ridged dirt - outlining the footprints he and Cas had made when the ground was soft and they’d gone to get more wood from the shed.  If it kept up, soon the whole place would be covered in white.

They’d arrived in the summer, when the air was warm and soft and fragrant, and they’d worked through the heat and then through the damp, rich, mould-scent of the fall.  Now winter was here in its soon-to-be pristine whiteness.  And in a few months time, new green shoots would come up and there’d be spring flowers and sunshine.

This place was home.  It was Dean’s and Cas’s.  They belonged here.  And they belonged to each other.

Dean tensed his jaw and made a sharp noise of grim determination through his tightly pressed lips.  Time to get back on track.

He opened a can of soup to go with the sandwiches and put it on to heat.  He set out two bowls, two spoons, two glasses of milk, and put the plate of sandwiches in between, so that he and Cas could share.  The soup sizzled.  He stirred it for a minute and then poured it into the bowls.  

Dean looked at the place settings.  Then he grabbed another glass from the cupboard, half-filled it with water and wrenched open the fridge.  He sorted through the crisper drawer, pulling out a couple of tired scallions and the remains of one of those long, tall lettuces.  He separated the leaves and shoved them down into the glass and flicked them so they sprayed out a bit.  Then he dumped the arrangement in the middle of the table, between the two place settings.  Picture fucking perfect.

He wanted to cry.  He wanted to snarl.  He wanted to fight.

He wanted to still be loved.

Read on AO3

Read on ffn

#supernatural #fanfic #secret flowers #fluff and angst #destiel #my wip that I love very much

[ussgallifrey]

(She Moves With) Shameless Wonder | 16

✦ Summary: Your badge clearly said SHIELD consultant, so you weren’t entirely sure where Fury was getting this whole make you an Avenger idea from. But you had a feeling it might have something to do with the recent discovery of an artifact at the bottom of the Arctic Sea.

✦ Pairing: Steve Rogers x Female Reader

✦ Warnings: Canon divergence, dialogue taken directly from CA: Winter Soldier, injuries, language.

✦ Word Count: 7.5k

✦ Playlist: Here

✦ Author’s Note: Okay, few things of note here. Does it feel like you've already read this chapter before? Well, surprise. I just rewrote it. So, I'm sure a lot of it seems pretty familiar to you.

I was incredibly unhappy with the original version of this. I ended up changing my version of Olympus to better suit the MCU's and I regretted it almost immediately. So, we're back to square one. My version of Olympus more closely lines up with the comic version while also being inspired by Blood of Zeus's incredible version too (here and here).

Second, since we will now be getting introduced to more and more of the Reader/Athena’s family, I felt it only right to say that I have actually made a post with the actors and actresses that I have subconsciously been using as faceclaims for the Olympians. So, if you wanted to check that out, you can find part one over here.

Third, this chapter begins to allude to the existence of other God realms. And I want to preface this by saying that anything to do with the other realms and their deities is being taken directly from the comics.

Also, Love and Thunder will have almost no effect here in terms of what is canon and what's not. Russell Crowe is not my Zeus, etc.

[Master List]

They’re surrounded by hauntingly vast darkness - speckled only by distant starlight, standing on this lone structure. But it’s not solid ground that they’ve been teleported to. No, this ancient span is quite literally hovering within the unbelievable confines of outer space. With a sharp drop-off just a few feet behind them, the masonry abruptly crumbled away into the galactic void.

Steve is far too awestruck by the sight suddenly surrounding him, and the rush of oxygen coming back to his aching lungs, to even notice the way your eyes are falling closed before you’re quite literally slipping from his usually steady grasp.

His fingers immediately try to tighten their grip on your waist, but it’s too late. You’re falling to the cobblestoned bridge in a slump of exhaustion, giving him barely any time to catch your head before it makes contact with the rough ground.

He’s on his knees in a second, shield tossed in a scattering heap behind him, as he rotates your cheek in his hand to get a better look at your face while he begins repeating your name.

From above, Sam’s the only thing keeping Sharon from sharing a similar fate as you - with her hand pressed tightly against her bleeding wound. God, he had never wanted any of this to happen to them.

“Did she just say what I think she said, Steve?” She groans, teeth bared in pain.

“I don’t know,” he says, feeling helpless and desperate as he tries to gather you up in his arms. “Come on, Athena.”

Who could even help them all the way out here, he wonders. But then Steve can feel the sharp inhale of breath against his palm, and he sags back slightly as your eyes begin to flutter open once again.

“You’re like a fuckin’ boulder, Rogers,” you mumble in tired awakening, peering up at him - a hand pressed against his chest.

Seeking out your eyes, his thumb presses into the smooth skin against the side of your lips, “You okay? Not gonna pass out on me again, right?”

A rough smile graces your face as you give a rueful shake of your head, pressing your hand against his knee to give yourself enough leverage to stand back up. Steve keeps a stable hand on your right elbow as you sway slightly upon regaining your footing. 

Looking back to where he had tossed the shield, he finds it teetering on the edge of the crumbling bridge and pure nothingness. An inch further, and it would have disappeared into the void of space. He doesn’t even have the mental energy to contemplate how the hell a bridge is floating without supports or how they’re able to breathe in the big dark vastness.

You’re on the verge of fainting again and Sharon’s losing blood, and they were all just teleported from Washington D.C. in a flash of light. Nothing made sense right now.

“Just been doing a lot of back and forth, must of zapped my energy when I pulled the three of you with me. I’ll be fine, just get me back on solid ground and it’ll renew itself,” you offer, giving him a reassuring look before turning your attention back over to Sharon. “You, on the other hand, need to see a healer.”

“Solid ground?” he hears Sam question, eyes wide as he stares forward - beyond the length of the bridge.

When you move to help the other woman, Steve gently pushes you out of the way - handing over his shield so he can get a better hold on Sharon. With an acknowledging nod, you begin to lead the three of them down the gray stone bridge.

“Home sweet home,” you gesture, walking backward for a moment.

As if saying it finally gave him permission to take it in, Steve forces his eyes up and away from the three of you to really look at the oddity before him.

They’re on a stone-cobbled bridge, old and breaking apart, stretched out from the bottom of a floating bit of landmass towards infinity. There’s no rhyme or reason to it. But, for now, he’s going to pretend that this is just normal; that it makes sense.

But what pulls his attention, as he tries to take on the majority of Sharon’s weight from Sam, is the massive island that the bridge is connected to - floating there in the same void of space. Below the landmass, he can see the remnants of Earthen soil - as though the entire island was ripped from a larger structure and thrust into the cosmos.

Just past your shoulder, a massive waterfall cascades over the side of a crystal blue lake - the stream fading to ice vapor as it drips down into the expanse of starlight below. At the edge of the lakebed sits a curved amphitheater and a sprawling temple structure.

“Tell me I’m hallucinating this,” Sharon murmurs next to his shoulder.

If he squints, he can make out a vineyard just past the lake temple. And adjacent to that, near the edge of the island, a rolling hill of yellow wheat. Beyond that, the thick canopy of a forest takes up the rest of the horizon line before everything fades back to the inky stillness of space.

Steve just shakes his head, unable to form any coherent response. 

Stretched out before them, past the edge of the bridge, is a cobblestone street leading into the main portion of a city. He can make out the radiant orange terracotta roofs of the buildings against their bright white exterior. For such a small portion of the floating island, the city is lined with houses, and - dotted between them - Steve can make out the clear architecture of towering temple-like structures.

You laugh, catching his eye as you glance towards the city, “No one really uses this bridge anymore. It’s kind of a visitors-only thing and we don’t get a lot of those these days.”

Sam huffs, giving a quick glance over his shoulder, “Any chance of having stragglers?”

You shake your head, leading the way once again, “Unless there was secretly another Olympian hiding out amongst the STRIKE crew, then not likely. I popped the manhole cover right before we transported. Hopefully, it’ll send them on a wild goose chase through the DC sewer system before they realize what really happened.”

Out of the habit of worry, he looks toward you. Walking with a slight limp, shoulders slumped. And then, in a wave of shocking cold recollection, the fight comes back to him. Like water against the shore, it laps up and over his thoughts until all he can see in the stormy sea is Bucky.

That was Bucky, no doubt in his mind. As he lives and breathes that was James Bucanhann Barnes standing in front of him with no idea who Steve was.

And he’s immediately hit with a torrent of questions that he can’t answer. Can’t even dream of comprehending how or why. But in his heart, in his soul, he just knows what he saw. The ghost of his best friend, still alive and breathing. But now he was like an opaque reflection of the man Steve had once known. Shards of him caught in the kaleidoscope of memories.

He feels your hand on his forearm, catching your gaze in a burst of emotion. Almost like you had known exactly where his mind had trailed off to as you had fallen back beside him - a quiet understanding passing in the blink of an eye as he forces his shoulders back and walks forward with a soldier’s stride, fingers gripping Sharon’s waist.

I know, your expression seemed to say. But not now, Rogers.

At last, you make it to the end of the bridge - two flame-lit pillars resting on either side. You pause, resting your hand on the ground for a moment. Steve swears he can see a shimmer of blue light drape itself over your back as you take a shuddering breath. When you rise to your feet, you almost seem renewed with a sense of energy.

Steve’s gaze falls on the people scattered throughout the street. Dressed in colorful tunics and cloaks, they go about their day - barely sparing the four of them a second glance. He’s so distracted by the oddity of the scene (something that seems to be straight out of a history book or a documentary), that he doesn’t even notice that you’ve passed Sam the shield and taken Sharon into your arms - scooping her up bridal style like she doesn’t weight more than a feather.

He balks in surprise, but you just shake your head - shelving the argument that was about to spill from his lips for another time.

“Be faster this way,” you explain, already walking ahead of them albeit backward. “We need to get her to the healing houses before she loses any more blood.”

Sharon grunts in annoyance as her shoulder is jostled, “Still here, for the record.”

Sam gives him a look like a shrug before he hands over the shield and follows after you both, Steve quickly on your heels - the shield tucked into his side.

You lead them down a curved street, past more people who pay them no attention, through a sprawling marketplace where your name is called out in greeting. You offer nods and praise to everyone as you easily navigate the narrowing street - cautious of Sharon still in your arms.

With each and every step forward, the unsettling nature of where they are seems to sink in just that much further in Steve’s chest.

He trusted you completely when you said you were from a different world. He knew, logically in his mind, that this place likely wouldn’t look like modern-day New York City. But god, it just doesn’t feel real as he passes the flowing red and gold banner flags and a group of tunic-clad children who point and whisper at him and Sam.

Maybe this was how an ant felt under the scrutiny of a magnifying glass, he contemplates as he grips the shield’s straps a little bit tighter against his side - ducking his head down. Not that he felt under attack, but all this? This strange and glorious alien world? People like Steve didn’t just walk in and go unnoticed.

The street curves back around, now leading uphill. From cobblestone streets to mosaic tiles, you lead them into a more regal section of the city. Here there are temples and lush greenery. Tree canopies shade the journey, soft music fills their ears, and the quiet bubbling of fountains can be heard as they pass through the area. 

And even though they’re surrounded by the vast blanket of endless space, and even with no visible light source outside of the floating island, the sun is shining down upon them. There are blue skies above, birds flying past, a gentle breeze rustling the leaves upon the mosaic tiles into a sort of aerial dance.

It feels like he’s trespassing in a place where humans were never meant to set foot.

Looking back at the two men following behind you, taking in the wide-eyed kind of wonderment on Sam’s face and the still trying to comprehend it all look on Steve’s, you offer, “I’ll give you a proper tour once we get this one fixed up.”

“Sounds great,” Sharon groans with a biting tone, lifting her head up just enough to glance at the two of them.

Steve clears his throat, “I’m not sure if we have that kind of time…”

“Please,” you smirk, “you can spend more time here than you think. Over here.”

Gesturing with your head, Steve follows your direction towards a series of domed buildings tucked up ahead. Fixed with a row of ornate columns, you ascend the steps of the largest of the temple-like structures - the one with the marble image of a snake wrapped around a staff on the exterior of the two main pillars.

You’re careful as you guide Sharon inside. Steve takes a final glance back at the small group of people who have seemingly congregated behind them before he slips through the doorway after you both. Struggling on her feet, but still keeping her head up, you gently hand her over to Steve as you walk down one of the corridors.

“You okay?” he murmurs as he settles next to Sharon.

Dropping her head back on her shoulder to look up at him with a less than amused expression, she says, “The things I do for you, Rogers.”

He bites down a smile.

“Asclepius?” you call out.

It takes a second for his eyes to adjust to the softer tones of the room, a cool breeze makes the white drapes surrounding the open archway windows flutter into the chamber. Several wooden chaise lounges are laid out on the opposite wall, covered by soft blue cushions. The room is lit by warm candlelight flickering against gray-speckled marble posts.

“I was wondering when you would be coming back to check on - ” an older man appears from around the corner of the chamber, an exasperated expression on his face, which immediately falls to true annoyance once he sees them all standing there.

“Ah, so you’ve brought another one of them for me to fix up.”

You fall back to Sharon’s side, guiding her forward, “And I trust, as always, that we’ll have no issue with care.”

The man stares for a long moment before relenting, “And what do we have this time?”

He comes around Sharon’s left and easily takes her weight - she groans in annoyance from the jostling, grabbing hold of his green robe as she bites back a swear.

“Bullet wound to the left shoulder,” you supply, taking the lead once again.

With a shake of his head, he huffs, “Typical humans and their barbaric weaponry.”

Sam looks at him with wide eyes as the three of you disappear around the corner without any indication that they should follow after. Once your voices fade from earshot, he blows out a weary sigh.

“So… alien planet, right?”

Steve shakes his head, the strangeness of the entire situation finally sinking in as he looks around at the temple chamber decorated in marble and gold accents, “Alien… dimension, I think is more accurate.”

“Okay,” Sam breathes out, turning to look out one of the ornate archways as if trying to convince himself that this was really happening.

He wants to reach out and touch the carved horse head at the end of one of the lounge chairs, but Steve ultimately resists, gripping the leather strap of his shield more tightly - knuckles going white with the effort.

None of this felt real.

Maybe he had just been knocked out cold during the fight and was currently imagining all of this. He’s not sure if his mind could come up with a place like this though. But at least with Sam here, looking equally confused, Steve doesn’t feel so alone as he stares at the distantly familiar architecture that he had only ever seen before in books.

And then a booming voice has them both startling as they whip around just in time to see a hulking figure come striding up the steps.

“Epione! I need another vial!”

The man, no - the god - that stands before him easily towers over even Steve. Bare-chested save for a faded orange apron that reeks of sweat and metallic fibers. From his soot-covered face, he pushes back a set of golden welder’s goggles. Wiping his dusty brown-colored hair back with his hand, he squints slightly before locking eyes on the supersoldier.

“You’re not Epione,” he grumbles, hands falling to his hips.

And then his eyes rise to look somewhere over Steve’s shoulder, and the supersoldier feels an almost immediate sense of relief as you lay a hand on his arm and gently push yourself in front of him. There was only so much he could take in a single day.

“Ah, so, you must be more of my dear sister’s strays. Bit of a nasty habit you got there, Athena.”

Steve feels your fingers curl around his arm as you pull him over towards Sam, “Should only be a few hours before she’s back to her usual cheerful self. And I see you’ve met my brother.”

The man gives a crooked wolf-like grin in response.

“The All-father would be pissed if he knew what you were doing.”

You tilt your chin up in defiance, “Lucky he’s with the Council then. You’ll find Epione with Panacea.”

He nods once, dark amber eyes giving the three of you a final once-over at your dismissal, “Sister.”

With a nod of your own in return, the man disappears down a corridor and out of sight.

“Think I might need to go see that healer friend of yours for my own racing heart,” Sam sighs, shaking his head from the rush of nerves.

You laugh, pulling his arm, “Hephaestus is rough around the edges, but he wouldn’t hurt a fly. He’s got a soft spot for humans too. Now, you two need anything fixed up while we’re here?”

Steve glances over at Sam before they both, ultimately, shake their heads. You knew he would heal in only a matter of time and the other man seemed no worse for wear - thank God. He had never wanted to pull someone like Sam into his world and he wasn’t sure if he could handle him getting genuinely hurt because of it.

At least Sharon knew the line of work she had signed up for, even if he was still internally beating himself up for her getting shot in the first place.

“Okay then,” you smooth your hands over your pants for a moment, glancing back at the place where Sharon was taken just a few minutes prior before you look back at them with a sort of forced smile, “Come with me.”

You lead them back out onto the street, pointing out different buildings and people as you lead them up the curved hill towards the massive temple looming over the city. Steve has to crane his neck back to see the top of the buildings - seemingly resting amongst the clouds.

“This whole area is Apollo’s - whenever he gets back. The twins are never here, that’s why I was on Earth in the first place. Our father wanted me to track them down,” your voice fades in and out as he absorbs the area.

“Asclepius is his son. Basically took over all the healing aspects of the craft. His wife and daughters run the whole place…”

“So, that makes him your… nephew?” he can hear Sam ask.

You nod, offering a wide grin, “Yes, but I know how that must appear to mortals.”

Sam laughs, “Dude looks old enough to be your grandad.”

Steve can’t take his eyes off the world around him enough to notice the way you keep glancing back at him.

“Well, Olympians function a bit differently than humans, Mr. Wilson.”

You guide them towards the main street once again. The mosaic tiles are painted with deep blues and glimmering golds, making up elaborate stars and circles. Just beyond rests a marble fountain where several people are congregating. But it’s to the left of it that you direct their attention.

Steve sees the small domed temple first, backed up against the base of a mountain, bracketed by two spiral staircases on either side of it. But then his eyes quickly rise upward to the towering structure above that.

The temple is made up of shining white stone and glistening golden detailings, with several waterfalls and sprawling green and purple plants hanging down the sides. Banners and flags decorate the forward pillars, with one massive golden statue of the god of Olympus with his famous lightning bolt in hand residing in the center of the upper courtyard.

But then, as if only just now occurring to him, an old memory comes to the forefront of his mind and he can’t help it from bubbling out of his mouth as he says, “You told me your father was dead.”

Your mouth opens and closes twice and Steve would say that you almost look like you’re trying not to laugh when you finally respond.

“No, I said that Thor desecrated my father’s corpse. But that was over a millennia ago.”

Even Sam twists his head back to look at your nonchalance voice.

Sighing, you elaborate plainly, “I told you I could withstand a nuke. Did you really think decapitation could stop Zeus? As long as we have the Promethean Flame, Steve, we’re pretty indestructible. Now, come on.”

With a shrug, Sam follows after you, glancing up at the temple for only a moment longer.

You lead them just a few steps away to the round temple entrance at the foot of the mountain face.

Looking almost shy as you hold out your arm, you say, “The Temple of Athena.”

Steve blinks, glancing from you to the white pillars surrounding the entrance, to the bronze door with golden owl-head knobs, and finally to the placard resting above the archway with a Gorgon’s face.

The other man shakes his head, knocking Steve’s shoulder with the back of his hand, “Don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore, Cap.”

That makes you laugh, guiding them inside with a jerk of your head and a playful, “After you, gentlemen.”

Steve feels strange placing his shield down on the bright white cushions of the chaise lounge, feeling incredibly out of place amongst the grandeur of his surroundings. So, you forcibly pull it from his grasp and place it face down on it, purposefully rubbing the grime into the cushion to make a point.

“You and Sharon, huh?”

His head whips up, eyes scanning your face.

With a laugh, you bump his arm with your own, “Don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me. I think it’s sweet.”

“We’re… we’re not, no. She’s my field partner and my neighbor,” and probably my only other friend outside of you and Sam he stops himself from saying.

You ah with understanding, rubbing at your elbow for a taunt moment as you look around the elaborate hall before giving him another once over.

“Rogers, you look exhausted.”

Sam had disappeared moments before to a washroom you had directed him towards. Steve hadn’t felt so… small in your presence before. It was strange. But then again, this whole place was strange. He wasn’t sure if he had fully realized and accepted that he was standing on an alien world just yet.

He gulps, clenching his jaw, “Been a long few days.”

You glance down at your boots, looking awkward against the golden decor, “Can I get you anything?”

Running a hand through his hair, he shakes his head, the reality of the situation they had escaped from in DC finally sinking in.

“A plan? How the hell we’re gonna fix this mess,” he winces at the harshness of his tone, rubbing at his forehead, “I’m sorry, I didn’t - ”

“No,” you shake your head, brilliant eyes latching onto his, “No, you’re completely within your right to be frustrated. But, maybe eat something and let me try and explain a few things? I’m sure you have questions.”

Giving him a sheepish smile, Steve sags under the weight of it, nodding tiredly and following you down the marble hallway to a small balcony overlooking a series of waterfalls from the temple just above your own - so close he could reach his hand out and feel the mist billowing up from them.

Two lounge chairs rest against the outer wall with a glass table in between them - on it sits a tray heaped with familiar food.

“Sorry, don’t have a chessboard this time,” you explain, taking a seat on the edge of one of the chairs, and plucking a string of grapes for yourself.

With wary eyes, Steve mirrors you - sitting on the chair opposite yours, right on the edge - eyeing the food but ultimately feeling no real urge to eat. It feels like the echo of a different time, a different setting, not that long ago.

The rushing water fills the void of silence that stretches between the two of you and Steve tries his best not to let his mind wander. When your eyes find him, he sighs.

“That was Bucky.”

You entwine your fingers in a loose fist in front of you, nodding with a solemn expression, “I know.”

“He looked right at me like he didn’t even…” he trails off, feeling a strange lump in his throat as he recalls the moment over and over again in his mind’s eye. “Like he didn’t even know me,” he finally forces out, unable to maintain your gaze any longer as he looks towards the waterfalls.

“A normal human would age,” you press gently.

And then it clicks into place. Camp Lehigh, the bunker, the computer.

His teeth grit together, “Bucky’s whole unit was captured in ‘43. Arnim Zola took him; experimented on him. Whatever he did helped Bucky survive the fall.”

He can hear you sigh before you say, “And all this time, he was their prisoner. Who knows what could happen to a person’s mind after something like that. It’s no wonder that he couldn’t recognize you right away, Steve.”

When he finally looks back at you, you’re staring into space - somewhere just past him, as if caught in your own thoughts.

“What is it?”

Your eyes slowly drift back towards his own but there’s the flicker of something resting within them. Almost like… hesitation. 

“I’ve never liked keeping secrets from people.”

Steve tries to clamp down the sudden tightening in his chest, almost fearing what will fall from your lips next. From Fury to Pierce, the fact that HYDRA had been growing within SHIELD… so many lies from people and institutions he had placed his faith in.

“Uhm…” he watches the way your hands ball together, nervously twisting and pulling at your fingers - nothing like the battle-ready woman he had fought alongside just an hour before, “When we were at the Smithsonian, I saw the tribute exhibit for him. And, I thought I recognized him from somewhere before - not, the history books.”

He finds himself nodding, leaning forward to a point where his foot is almost touching your own.

“You know I’m a lot older than I let on. And… I’ve been around, on Earth, for a long, long time, Steve,” slowly, you stand, fingers digging into your thigh as you look out over the sea of floating temples.

“He didn’t want us interfering with human affairs; my father. Once you lot stopped worshiping us, what was the point? But I just couldn’t stay away. Mortals always… fascinated me. The human spirit and their ability to fight back and rebel, even if they know they’re not guaranteed victory or even their own life, but they still go out and fight.”

Darting a look back at him, he tries his best to offer what he hopes is a reassuring smile your way.

“We couldn’t interfere like we use to, couldn’t change the playing field. The age of Achilles had long since passed. But we still found our ways,” he watches the way you take a shuddering breath before saying, “I was part of the Greek resistance when Germany invaded Athens.”

He can feel his brows rise at that.

With a sad kind of look in your eyes, you move back to the chair opposite him, focusing on your knees instead of his face.

“I watched them raise their flag over the Acropolis, saw them destroy the land, my people starving. And all I was allowed to do was join a medical team. The Red Cross needed extra hands and they said the invasion of Italy was starting - ”

Steve’s eyes widen marginally as you finally look up at him.

“ - I wasn’t sure it was the same person, but I recognized his picture at the museum, and then today…” you trail off, rubbing your temple for a moment. “I was there, in Sicily, when the 107th landed.” 

With a weak laugh, you say, “I removed shrapnel from Sergeant Barnes’ shoulder. He was so… young. We spoke maybe a handful of times in the camp. But I remember his face and I promise you - Steve - if there’s any chance that your friend’s still in there, then we’re going to figure out a way to get him back.”

Rubbing the back of his neck, too mentally worn to take in much more, he finally says, “Well, we better figure something out fast. We’ve only got hours until they launch Insight.”

“We have time,” you say, sort of distantly before you blink back to him. Shrugging your shoulders in explanation, “I told you, time works a bit differently here.”

And then you’re standing up, reaching for his hand without actually grabbing it - urging him to join you at the banister overlooking the pools of floating clouds. You clutch the railing, eyes staring out past the landscape into that never-ending void just beyond the edge of the world.

He still can’t believe what he’s looking at - never having dreamed of stepping foot in this place. He’s not sure he could even dream something like this up.

“If you went a few billion light-years that way,” you start. “You would come across the Celestial Heliopolis - home of the Egyptian Gods. And that way,” you point vaguely towards your left, “Another few billion light-years or so and you’d be in The Upperworld - the Mayans.”

“And back the way we came from, just beyond the bridge? If you just kept going and going, you’d eventually reach Asgard,” you look up at him with a tight-lipped smile. “On Thor’s world, a day spent there is the same as a day on Earth. Here though? You could spend two weeks before a full day had even passed down there.”

Steve blinks, “How is that even possible…?”

You give a sorrowful chuckle, leaning your arms on the railing, “The God realms all fell into existence at one point or another. Some of them came before the others. Technically, Asgard is younger than Olympus - therefore, closer to your dimension. But, if you went as far as you possibly could that way - ”

You point past the waterfalls once again, “Beyond the Celestial Heliopolis and Dilmun and Ta-Lo… you’d eventually come to Orun. A single day on Earth is equivalent to ten years there.”

With a sigh, you nudge your elbow against his hand, “I don’t know exactly how it works out, Steve. All I’m saying is, we have time to recover and come up with an actual plan before any real time passes down on Earth.”

He nods slowly as he tries to understand the idea, unable to shake the feeling that he needs to move now. Act now, figure out how to end Project Insight, find Bucky, and take down HYDRA within SHIELD now.

But then he remembers -

“Wait a second,” he turns, looking down at you with a hardened gaze. “Two weeks for one day, right?”

You nod, brows quirking up slightly.

Stuffing his hands into his jean pockets, he turns towards you, “When you told me you were off-world for sixteen months, how long were you actually away for?”

A smile sneaks past your grip before you even out your features once again, standing up straight to match his stance, “Technically, I was only here for seven of your Earth months. So… roughly… eight years? Give or take a day.”

Steve looks at you, from your scuffed-up boots up to your warm face - smiling at him in a playful challenge. And he would have barely even guessed a day had passed since the events in New York. If he had ever once doubted your true powers, now there was no real question in his mind. You were immortal.

And then a strange series of thoughts hit him, seemingly out of nowhere.

Eight years had passed you by in the blink of an eye. Did time move differently for you? Had it seemed like no real time had passed since fighting the Chitauri? Had you missed him at all in that stretch of time?

That thought alone rattles around in his brain for a long moment, dragging up curious feelings he can’t put a proper name to. 

And then your hand slides into his own and a universe bursts into existence in his mind, feelings and memories rushing past in bright starlight tunnels until everything settles into place and all he can see is your hand in his, your laugh in his ear, your hands on his waist as he drives you through Central Park on his motorcycle, the venomous fear that had ruptured through his veins at the thought of you dying, and the immediate heart-racing relief when he saw you once again.

And he’s hesitant to put a name to it, but the feeling blooms within his chest - encapsulating his heart and weaving through his thrumming veins like an out-of-control grapevine until all he can see - all he can think about - is you.

When he comes back to himself a moment later, heart beating a mile a minute as he gently squeezes your hand with his rough fingers, he catches your wary expression.

“There’s, uhm, something I need to show you, Steve.”

And it’s like a bucket of freezing Arctic ocean water has been dumped over his head as he finds himself nodding slowly, allowing you to lead him through the vast corridors of your residence with your hand never leaving his own.

He stares in disbelief as you lean in the open doorway of the chamber, barely able to meet his eyes as he takes another step into the room.

Nick Fury regards him with tired interest from his chair as he sips from a golden goblet “About damn time.”

One look at you and all you can say is a tight-lipped, “Told you I didn’t like keeping secrets.”

Agent Hill is standing next to the Director, offering a much more sympathetic expression as she regards him with a polite, “Captain Rogers.”

And despite himself, despite everything he has been through in the last three days, Steve feels a blinding rage lighting up behind his eyes. A force so strong it almost has him punching the very ornate pillar next to the bedside lounge chair. Instead, he compels himself to tighten his fist at his side and drop his voice down to a painfully distinct monotone.

“How many more people you got in your circle, Nick?”

“Steve - ” you begin to say, almost pleading, but he pulls away, walking further into the chamber - like he can’t even bear to look at you right now.

“You know, first you send me onto that ship, withholding vital information from me. Then you show me the little project you and Stark’ve been working on right under our noses. Compartmentalizing, right? God, did you send her - ” he gestures back at you, nostrils flaring, “ - all across the globe on an imaginary manhunt too?”

Fury’s lip twitches up as he considers him above the rim of his goblet, “Emil Blonsky was taken from the Alaskan facility, Captain. Just got bad intel on where he ended up.”

The fight begins to wane as his shoulders finally release the tension.

“She did chest compressions all the way to the hospital, sitting there covered in your blood,” Sharon’s shaking hands and lost expression fill his mind, “we watched your heart stop.”

“Tetrodotoxin B. Slows the pulse to one beat a minute. Banner developed it for stress. Didn’t work so great for him, but we found a use for it.”

Folding his arms over his chest, he leans back against the wall, staring at the three of you with uncertainty in his eyes. It hurt. All of it, everything him and Sharon and Sam had been dragged through and this entire time…

“Why all the secrecy? Why not just tell us?”

Hill regards him, “Any attempt on the Director’s life had to look successful.”

Nick shrugs his head to the side in agreement, “Can’t kill you if you’re already dead. Besides, I wasn’t sure who to trust.” 

Steve glances over at you, anger finally boiling down in his chest to the point where he can see clearly again.

You fix him with a straight expression, eyes giving nothing away, “Safest place to lie low and heal. He’s been here almost two weeks now.”

“Enough time to mend that punctured lung,” Hill agrees, swiping up the golden goblet for herself much to Fury’s annoyance.

And he can’t just stand there and look at the man, whose blood had coated his hands, sitting in relaxed comfort as if it had never even happened. Like the hell Steve had been through over the past two days had been for nothing.

With an exhausted shake of his head, he pushes off from the wall and makes his way past you and down the hall. 

He can hear you calling out his name as he storms out, almost tempted to turn back to you to explain. But instead, he takes the entry steps two at a time, disappearing into the alien world with no real destination in mind. 

Only knowing that he can’t stand to be in there a moment longer - with all those lies just hanging over him.

At the sound of your voice calling for him, Sam appears from a side chamber, jogging after Steve as he glances back at you with a confused look on his face.

“You good?” he asks cautiously, taking in Steve’s appearance with a concerned eye.

He nods tightly.

There was only so much one man could take - could carry the burden of. Steve wasn’t sure how much more he could take on right now.

“Just need to clear my head,” he manages.

Sam’s still keeping pace with him though, as they move down one of the curved pathways leading away from the temple. And everything just seems to overwhelm him all at once when he’s met with the sight of the sprawling cityscape and rows of temples.

Three days ago he was boarding a ship in the middle of the Indian Ocean. Now… now he’s standing in the middle of a place straight out of a sci-fi movie mixed with Ancient Greek architecture and it’s overwhelming, to put it mildly.

Coming to a stop, staring out at the landscape without really seeing it, Steve turns to look at his companion.

“Look, what you did today… I’m sorry, Sam. Just, go back to her. Right now, I need to - ”

“Steve,” Sam refutes. “We just got dumped on an alien planet, you found out the organization you work for has been lying to you, and you’ve been on the run for two days. Let’s just go back to your girl and talk this out.”

And part of him wants to - longs to - but he shakes his head, “I just need a few minutes to myself, let this all sink in, right?”

The other man offers him a smile, “I can be pretty good company when you’re not trying to lap me on a morning run, you know?”

At that moment, he finds himself forever thankful for Sam Wilson. But he shakes his head once more and takes a step back, “I appreciate it, but right now I need this.”

With a sigh, Sam’s eyes are distant as he looks out at the temple just beyond Steve’s shoulder, “Don’t get yourself into too much trouble then.”

Shaking his head, he offers a less than convincing, “Does that sound like me?”

And then Sam is slowly backtracking up the hill, around the side of the mountain, before finally disappearing from sight. And Steve is left with his own tidal wave of thoughts as he glances between the main cobblestone street and the well-worn dirt path just beyond.

After retrieving Natasha from the set meeting point, you finally feel that enough time has passed for you to go looking for the missing supersoldier. Leaving the two agents and ex-Director to consult Romanoff’s latest intel from SHIELD, you slip out of the chamber unnoticed.

Sam journeyed down to the healing temples at your insistence, when he returned two hours ago with Steve’s shield in hand. You didn’t blame him - after all the shit that had been piled onto his shoulders, it was a miracle the man was upright and functioning at all.

Following the distant trill of Pallas’ call, you find yourself wandering through the backcountry trails, and you’re not surprised in the slightest to find the blonde-haired man situated on the edge of the natural pool within the small garden enclosure tucked away in the clearing of Artemis’ forest.

Like a homing beacon call, you follow the sound of your oldest companion through the spiraling paths and flora of the garden before you come to the center of it all. 

Sitting there with his jacket off and his shoes removed, arms draped over his bent knees as he looks into the reflecting water. Pallas sitting diligently at his side.

“You know,” you begin softly, so as not to startle him, “Not many people, let alone mortals, can say they’ve been within the sacred grounds of Athena.”

A slow half-smile appears on the corner of his lips, though he doesn’t turn to acknowledge you any further.

Moving next to Pallas, you cross your legs as you sit next to them on the moss-covered ground. A hand falling to rest on the owl’s head, much to his pleased head-butting and chirping. Silence stretches between the two of you once again, broken up only by the sounds of Pallas nipping at your wrist.

And then, at last, Steve’s voice breaks the stillness.

“I think I’m just waiting to wake up.”

You turn to look at him, the strange mortal man who had somehow woven his way into your life, “I know this seems… unreal, maybe even insane. But it was the safest place to hide away, just sorry I couldn’t give you any warning beforehand.”

He nods in understanding, fingers twitching along his bare forearm.

“Before he got to your apartment, Fury messaged me and Hill. He trusts her most of all. And me?” you shake your head, looking down at your lap as you draw your hands inward, “He’s known me for decades now, I guess that’s enough in his mind. I wanted to tell you, but when I left here he was still unconscious. And then we were on a highway and your friend threw me out of a moving vehicle.”

“I get it,” he says quickly, soft blue eyes finally meeting your gaze. “It was just… so much all at once. I needed a minute to think, I guess.”

Feeling the beginnings of a smile tugging at your lips, you look around the lush garden. It had taken you decades to cultivate it all and it had become overgrown and untamed in your absence. 

“Not a bad spot to take a breather.”

And then, almost as an afterthought, you add, “When I pictured bringing you to Olympus it was definitely under different circumstances.”

Steve turns his body towards you, dropping one knee down to the ground as he begins to smirk, “You wanted to bring me here?”

“Well,” your hand finds purchase on Pallas’ head once again, fingers combing through the soft brown feathers. “As hard as that is to believe, I actually consider you a good friend, despite your terrible chess strategies.”

That gets him to laugh, a bright shock of sunlight that makes a smile form on your own face.

The moment stretches between you, simmering off before Steve straightens his back, gaze lost along the far wall of the chamber, “It all has to go.”

His eyes meet yours once again, but there’s an assuredness now resting within their depths, “HYDRA grew within SHIELD for so long, you can’t take one down without the other.”

Standing with a soft groan, you look down at him, “I never was a fan of the security council, you know.”

He glances at your outstretched hand before taking it in his own, rising to his feet.

“Fury’s not gonna like this, but you know I’m with you, Steve. If you’ll still have me.”

The supersoldier smiles down at you, “Be a fool not to.”

With a final affirming nod, you say, “Come on, I wanna see how 13’s doing and maybe convince my brother to add a few upgrades to that wing-pack of Wilson’s.”

“He’d do that?” 

You watch as Steve bends down to nab his shoes and forgotten jacket from the ground, seeing the tiredness still resting between his brows as you move away from the water’s edge. 

“Eh,” you shrug, “he’s got a soft spot for humans just like I do.”

Pallas swoops past you before gliding down to rest on Steve’s shoulder. You can barely hide your shock as the owl chirps happily, nudging the side of the supersoldier’s head with his beak.

An unexpected warmth washes over you as you look at your oldest companion and the human you had grown to call a true friend. And in that moment, you were surprised to realize that there was almost nothing you wouldn’t do to help this god among men. 

Steve looks down at you with an all too easy smile and gently bumps his arm against yours as you lead him back up the path to your temple.

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#steve rogers x female reader #steve rogers x reader #marvel fan fic #my fic #series: shameless wonder

[notevenanna]

#for me it will always be black widow nat #i love all of her #but bw nat lives in the middle of my heart forever #a talks🕯 #natasha romanoff #poll

[bunnyreaper]

ask game: 15, 34, 43!

15. how can I pick just one favourite movie?! uhm special mentions to ratatouille, ca: winter solider + stranger than fiction

34. what I find attractive in women? her (but yes fr muscle daddy women i will die for them)

43. My brain shouted Barry Sloane as the sexiest person bcs clearly the brain rot is strong, sorry!!

#tysm!!! <3 #bunny mail

[dangerxox]

One part of ca: the winter solider that always confused me is the Zola computer brain;

It was brought back to my mind recently on a re-watch of the first avenger.

In the first avenger, Zola was presented as a very nervous man, that although being a very talented scientist, not quite fully dedicated to Schmidt as the rest of Hydra. Although this may just be my viewpoint of it, Zola always appeared troubled by Schmidt. When the Nazi inspectors come to pass on Hitler's displeasure at Hydra not producing any weapons, Schmidt sees no problem slaughtering them all in a blink of an eye. Zola, however, looks troubled by it and is hesitant for a moment where every other solider salutes and hails Hydra. To me, he gives the impression of a man who joined Hydra due to the large leaps in science Schmidt promised and delivered, who slowly grows more weary as Schmidts cruelty and craze for power grows.

But in the winter solider, Zolas demeanor changes completely. When Steve and Natasha stumble across his uploaded consciousness, he seems almost as crazed as Schmidt, ranting about his progress with implanting Hydra into Shield and the success of the Winter solider program. After the way he is shown in the first avenger, it confused me when watching the movie due to his apparent sudden change of heart. The man who seems deeply troubled by the cruelty of Schmidt and how he used the weapons the he created is suddenly monologuing about the success of the winter solider, a project developed singularly as a merciless assassin; not even touching on the 70 years of continued torture and brainwashing required to keep it up and running.

I don't know if this is me simply not understanding this character, or if Zola was acting like this to distract Nat and Steve long enough for the missile to hit, or if it was simply an oversight by the writers; I just thought it was really interesting.

#Dr Zola #captain america: the first avenger #captain america #captain america the winter solider #natasha romanoff #black widow #steve rogers #johann schmidt #arnim zola #please dont take this as me being some kind of Zola apologist #hes still a fucking nazi #my post