#don't ask me why i started at the end instead of the beginning lmfao but here we are

[romulanslutempire]

The Terran Romulan. The Green-Bellied Turncoat. The Pointy-Eared Pretender. 

These were the names people called her by now, among other worse things, although those particular slurs were restricted to being slung by the other last few remaining Romulans that didn’t die en masse with the rest of their brethren upon their humiliating defeat at the second Battle of Cheron lead and won by Khan Noonien-Singh during the second Federation-Romulan war. Their arrival to the battlefield too late. The senate’s decision after the decimation of their military forces and Remus’ destruction upon Khan’s forced entry into the Neutral Zone to enact his most brazen assault yet on that of Romulus itself being the universal agreement to commit mass suicide, to die with honor instead of disagrace, to spit in the face of the Khan Imperator’s offer to be subjugated under his regime being orders that hadn’t quite reached Sera and her fellow temporal operatives, who at the time had been a secret subdivision of the Tal Shiar tasked with slowing down Human progress and making advantageous changes to the timeline in the pursuit of Romulan superiority. 

No one trusted her. Not really.

It felt silly to think it. Was laughable, really. Trust being something that, for a Romulan, was either non-existent or the most sacred of bonds. There was no in-between in her culture of deceit and concealment.

No, that’s not true. Someone did trust her. Manu Noonien-Singh trusted her and Sera had loved him for it, so much so that she had given him not just a heart filled with intensity, passion, and every other strong emotion she carried around with her, but her true name as well. Their exchanges of truths and revelation of secrets the ultimate commitment to someone like her. And then he died — the way James T. Kirk had died in a different timeline: coldly, impersonally, cruelly.  The brilliant light fading from his kind eyes as she cradled him to her chest in her arms, bright red blood soaking through her shirt. And like before there was La’an, flooded with grief, trembling with anger, blinking back tears, applying pressure to the wound torn into his chest by the Gorn with the palms of her hands, telling him to look at her and that it was going to be okay, even though it obviously wasn’t. 

And then he was gone. 

“No…” 

“La’an, I—”

She expected La’an to blame her, to explode like the supernova that, in yet another timeline, destroyed her homeworld, but instead all she did was press her forehead to Sera’s, gripping her tightly by the shoulders, like she was afraid that if she let her go she would lose her, too.

“Don’t,” La’an ordered, her voice firm but gentle. “It’s not your fault. I’ve been there. It’s not your fault. Do you hear me?”

It was a long way from where they’d started, Sera thought, all of it fraught with regret over what she’d done and the suffering her actions had caused to the woman who now called her “family”. 

The only family she has left. 

Khan didn’t count. They shared a name, and his Augmented ichor, albeit diluted to the point where La’an did not possess any of his enhanced genetic abilities, coursed through her veins, but Khan was not her family. La’an had told him as much when she finally revealed herself to be a leader of the Resistance, a coalition movement of several species, including Sera of Romulus and Spock of Vulcan, who had been opposed to his reign of tyranny from the start.

He was a killer who felt no remorse, unlike Sera, who had found herself overcome with it upon allowing herself to feel it rather than compartmentalize it, along with every other pesky emotion that interfered with the mission back when the mission was to wipe out humanity, whereas now… now it was to save them — the people who looked upon her with fear and loathing and suspicion, unable to see what La’an and Manu saw. 

Of course, the only other exception, along with the Noonien-Singh siblings, was Spock. S’chn T’Gai Spock, to be specific. A name, much to her amusement and La’an’s annoyance, only she could pronounce, the Vulcan dialect not so different from her own native Romulan tongue and its variations, some of which, they surmised one evening in the science lab, were an offshoot of the ancient ancestors who bore them both. 

With Spock’s offer to make himself available to her, Sera had learned that it was okay to walk in two worlds but to belong in neither. That she didn’t have to commit to being Terran or Romulan. She could simply just exist. It was harder for him, Spock truly being two halves of a whole with a (dead) Vulcan father and a (safe) Human mother, but on his own personal journey of growth, he had found that he was more than the sum of his parts, that self-acceptable enabling the hybrid to evolve into someone that Sera often sought out when she was struggling to strike a balance between who she had become and the strict Romulan moral code she was raised on regarding who is a friend and who is an enemy, that clarity of what is right and what is wrong no longer applying to a world that had become grey instead of black and white . The understanding he offered invaluable to her. 

In exchange, though he had insisted one wasn’t required, Sera had shared her species’ technique of balancing logic and emotion. Showed him sterility could hinder as much as help. It was something that Spock had largely forgone, leaning into his Vulcan side as per societal expectations, and to control his own anger over everything that had happened, including the complicated loss of his father, whose head Khan had struck from his shoulders on the steps of the Vulcan Science Academy in front of a crowd that contained his wife and son, Amanda and Spock. The act separating the Humans (and Human Augments) of Earth, renamed Terra Nova, and the Vulcans of Vulcan, replacing mutual peace and prosperity with an oath of fealty as the pacifistic, scientifically-minded race of astoundingly intelligent and sensitive beings were subjugated (“united,” Khan had called it) under the rule of the Khanate of Earth and the Imperial Starfleet, whose totalitarian mission was to conquer the galaxy under his iron fist..

Sera, who had found solace on Vulcan at the time by posing as one, saw right through his transparent speech. He wanted to enslave the stars, not save them. He was Death, destroyer of worlds, and anyone who dared oppose him would feel the full force of his wrath. 

That wasn’t how or where she and Spock had found each other, though. Her confession that she had been there that day and bore witness to Khan’s unending brutality came later, a lot later, after La’an had offered her a place aboard the ISS Puget Sound as her Chief of Security, the position she once held on the USS Enterprise before moving on and up (in terms of rank, anyway) to the USS Farragut to serve as first officer to James Tiberius Kirk. 

The real James Kirk. 

James Insane-Middle-Last-Name Kirk who Sera had shot dead in another life, only to gloat about it, bragging over the achievement that she had been the one to kill (a version of) Starfleet’s most famous captain. (A captain that, in this universe, had been stripped of rank and moved from prison planet to penal colony to prison ship for his opposition to Khan’s rule.) Just thinking about it makes her feel sick, her cheeks turning green as a wave of nausea flips around in her belly. That was then. This is now. With her mantra — Manu’s mantra — coming to mind, Sera forces herself to swallow the bile in her throat, grimacing as she chokes on the taste, her face abruptly turning to the side as she splutters and sobs with unimaginable grief before sagging against Manu’s chest just beneath his chin. 

“Mr. Scott, beam us out. Beam us out now!” were the last words she heard before everything went dark.

When her eyes reopen, she’s greeted by the overhead fluorescent lighting of sickbay, blindingly white, with Doctor McCoy, better known as Bones, peering over her as he applies a hypospray into the shell of her right ear. She’s about to ask what happened, but before her mouth can even form the words all of it comes back to her in violent flashes of red, yellow, and shades of green.

They had been fleeing from Khan. Trying to regroup. The Puget Sound needed time for Montgomery Christopher Jorgensen What-A-Mouthful Scott, more affectionately known by the crew simply as “Scotty”, to repair her engines and other starship necessities like weapons and shields. His attack leaving them stranded in space — Gorn space. Not that they knew it. Gorn territory was ever-expanding and though Manu, being the self-proclaimed expert on the bipedal reptilian species, had mapped out as much of their hunting grounds as he could, not even the elder Noonien-Singh could have predicted, much less warned of, the arrival of a Gorn raider ship before it was too late. 

Beaming aboard the ship was a suicide mission. Sera had told him as much, but Manu being Manu had only smiled and kissed her before stepping up onto the transporter pads, his trusty Gorn-dispatching sword strapped to his back. 

“I have to do this,” Manu had said, willing her to understand. “I’m the only one who can.” His experience outlasting them for six cycles as a boy coupled with his personal crusade against them throughout his adult life inspiring confidence in his capabilities, but Sera could see the fear behind his eyes. That never went away and after the ordeal he endured, Sera had to admire his courage to face such a terrifying enemy again and again. And it was never once about revenge. No, it was always, always, always about helping people, sparing them from sharing his fate. His unconditional compassion the very reason Sera was still alive today.

“You’re not the only one,” Sera insisted, taking her place beside him. “Where you go, I go. Remember?” Unholstering her Romulan phaser, Sera powered it up in preparation, its sole setting that of a killshot. “You can’t get rid of me that easily.”

“I’m coming, too,” La’an said, appearing before them in her own tactical uniform, and wearing a look that brooked no argument, which Manu knew better than to protest against. After all, La’an was just as protective of him as he was of her, maybe even more so, considering she had spent over half of her life convinced she’d lost him when they’d lost their parents. A team of three other security officers followed behind her. “Mr. Kyle, if you please.”

“Aye, Captain. Beaming you down in three… two…”

The memories get murkier from there, but Sera wades on through. Sees herself blasting holes through lizardlike bodies, painting the ship’s walls yellow with their blood. Manu striking off a Gorn head and having to use all his might to do it, the physical exertion leaving him breathing hard. La’an unused to the stifling atmosphere aboard the starship, wiping blood and sweat and grime from her brow as they ventured deeper into the bowels of the ship, fighting their way to command central. Sera’s ears pricking up to the sound of strangled wails and terrified cries. All three of them investigating, only to discover a cell full of captives — men, women, and children. La’an contacting the Puget Sound for immediate evacuation. The Gorn surrounding them, hissing and clicking and spewing their infectious venom. A skirmish like no other. Primal. Instinctive. Unrelenting. It’s predators versus prey and neither the Gorn or the trio of crew from the ISS Puget Sound know who is which until Manu takes a wound that was meant for Sera, and all she can do is watch as his guts are yanked out of him.

“Judging from that look on your face, I’m guessin’ you don’t need me to tell you what happened,” Bones commented as he waved a dermal regenerator over her skin, absent of his customary cranky attitude as he did so.

“Where’s La’an?” Sera asked him, sitting up and swinging down off the biobed, uncaring that she’s missing half of her left ear or that her shoulder is dislocated or that her cheek is cut wide open, a trickle of bright green pouring out of it. 

“In her quarters,” Bones supplied, his eyes narrowing as he watches her. “Goddammit, Sera! Would you sit back down?” he grumbled, his tolerance for impatient patients next to none.

“I have to see her,” Sera explained as she made her exit, half-expecting Bones to chase after her, medical instruments in hand, nagging her about his duty of care as a physician, no matter how big a pain in the ass Romulans, like Vulcans, can be. But instead all he did was sigh in exasperation, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger.

“You get back here the second you’re done, got it? Don’t make me come and find you.”

Upon arriving outside La’an’s assigned quarters, Sera stiffened. The sound of agonized screaming and the breaking of furniture letting her know exactly what she’s in for as she overrides the lock on her door and slips inside, sealing it shut again behind her. The oriental vases that once decorated the shelves are shattered completely, just like the glass coffee table they used to play Mahjong together while drinking kali-fal. Plants have been upended. Lamps broken. Trinkets wrecked. And in the center of the chaos is La’an pacing back and forth like a lion in a cage, looking for something else to unleash herself upon, but all that’s left is Sera.

“I have to go back.”

“What are you talking about?” La’an asked, not understanding. Her rage morphing into confusion and concern.  “Go back where?” 

“In time.” Something that she hasn’t been able to do since Romulus found a new ruler in Joachim, Khan’s right hand man, who gifted him the planet after the Augments sacked it, stealing their technology, including their plasma weapons. “The Department of Temporal Alterations on Romulus has the device I require to do it, but…”

“Romulus is a no-go zone.”

Sera gave a shrug. “You can’t turn back the clock. But you can wind it up again.” It was one of the first lessons she learned as a time traveling assassin. “Commander Charvanek and Sub-Commander Tal can take me there. No one knows their way around the former Neutral Zone like them. We just need a big enough to distraction to draw Joachim's attention away from the drop zone. And since Krinn still owes me a favor or two... I figure he and I can work something out. Khan doesn't know about the technology and even if he did he'd never be able to access it. The security system wouldn't allow it.”

“Imperial Starfleet knows your tricks. You’ll be shot out of the stars before you can get boots on the ground, you know that,” La’an informed her, walking through the wreckage. “I’m not sanctioning this.”

“Well then,” Sera started with a smirk that didn’t quite reach her eyes, “I guess it’s a good thing I’m not asking for your permission.”

“Sera.”

“What are we even doing?”

“Surviving.”

“And what about living? Sure, we’ve had moments of it, but this war with Khan is unwinnable, and even if it wasn’t by the time it’s over there won’t be a world to live in. Not like there was before. That is what we’re fighting for, isn’t it? The way things used to be before Admiral Pike made the wrong call, not just with the Romulans but with the Botony Bay.” 

“It was a grievous error in judgment,” La’an stated terseley, her tone indicating the words she does not say: It was stupid. He should have known better. It got him killed. “One that he paid for with his life,” she reminded Sera, referring to the reactor explosion that had killed a number of others as well, people that Pike had tried (and failed) to save while she struck a deal with Khan, agreeing to join him in exchange for him saving the lives of those who were still left to save onboard, including Spock and Samuel Kirk, both of whom now served with her on her own ship: a gift from Khan that she’d christened the Puget Sound II in honor of her fallen family, the starship Imperial Starfleet’s finest after her flagship the ISS Khan’s Wrath. But where Khan had intended for her to use it to do harm, La’an had used it to help, the vessel an essential resource to the Alien Underground and the Resistance. 

“I never thought I would say this,” Sera began, hefting out a sigh and settling her hands on her hips, “but… the galactic universe needs the Federation. It needs—”

“—hope,” La’an finished for her, fresh tears stinging at her eyes.

Sera nodded. “I used to hate Starfleet for its shining optimism. On Romulus, I was raised to believe that it made you weak and foolish, but I realize now how wrong we were. It was never a weakness. It was strength.”

The Federation sought knowledge and understanding. Khan sought power and domination. The Federation charted the unknown to explore strange new worlds. Khan charted the unknown to conquer new territory. The Federation embraced new civilisations. Khan made them bend the knee. The Federation taught that if you could find a way to empathize with an enemy then they could one day become a friend. Khan taught that if you tested him then you would feel his unbridled fury.

“If you change the timeline, you and I will be enemies again,” La’an whispered, averting her eyes at the crack in her voice. It wasn’t a reason for Sera not to go through with her plan, but it warranted pointing out all the same. “You’ll remember all of this, but I won’t.”

“Which is why I’ll use what I know to make sure it never happens again,” Sera promised. She then closed the remaining distance between them, extending the arm that she still had complete use of, and out La’an reached with her own, the two women clasping each other by the forearm, a Roman handshake. “As for you and me, I won you over once — twice, if you consider the time you thought I was just a sad conspiracy theorist believing in little green men from Mars,” Sera laughed. “I have every confidence that I’ll be able to do it again someday. Time is my speciality, after all.”

Grudgingly, La’an gave a snort. It wasn’t Sera’s finest hour, no, but it was where it had all began. And until Sera could make good on her irritatingly charming promise, it would be where it ended, at least as far as La’an was concerned. Her fakery of her death at the Noonien-Singh Institute of Cultural Advancement to cover her tracks the last time La’an would see her until years later when rumors of an all too familiar Romulan brought the ISS Puget Sound to Freecloud to chase down a lead that would eventually bring her to Sera.

Sera who had pretended not to know her. Sera who had her convinced that she was the prime universe counterpart of the Sera she had met in 21st century Toronto. Sera who had joined La’an because it was the only chance she would ever have of saving her people and her homeworld, if not in this life then another. Sera who had initially only gone along with her to finally get her shot at Khan. Sera who had agreed to help because she knew what La’an was capable of. Sera who pissed her off. Sera who made her smile. Sera who had come through for her and for her crew time and time again. Sera who had changed so much. Sera who had gone from being a rationalization (the enemy of my enemy is my friend) to a true ally who was loyal to her. Sera who loved her brother and became her family, too. Sera who was willing to sacrifice herself for the hope of a better tomorrow. 

“We have our work to do.”

#* #i... have no idea how to write character studies and fic anymore. what even are tenses? i blame RP #all i know is that i was hit with the feels and this is apparently what happens at 1:00AM on my notes app #don't ask me why i started at the end instead of the beginning lmfao but here we are #au #star trek: au new worlds #you can tell where i fell off with this which is probably why if/when i do ever rewrite it properly i should probably plot it out #especially since things are liable to change #la’an/manu/sera having the octavia/bellamy/echo dynamic is everything 2 me #for context: this is a 5 years later setting #star trek au #verse: destroyer of worlds

[mahoushoujotechsupport]

episode 8 time, this rewatch has made me realize the title cards' style don't actually alternate every episode. is there a pattern to them or what?

starting off with nika and martin telling the rest of earth house about miorine starting gund-arm inc and lmfao at nuno just calling that shit out immediately. yeah her ulterior motive is being a giant lesbian

honestly had kinda forgotten how averse to the idea of working for miorine the whole of earth house was at the beginning

before the break up arc i thought this frame was going to be important for dealing with prospera especially when later on miorine is shown for being one to keep receipts (ie. the photo she took of the kids who threw the spraycan or whatever at martin's head). but nah i guess she was just recording everything prospera was gonna have to say about gundams etc

i know prospera's priorities are hella skewed from her own trauma, but i honestly don't blame her for keeping this from suletta for as long as she did. no one on mercury needed to know about this and suletta wasnt in any danger while piloting aerial

i think if anything, it probably shouldve been information to be divulged to her prior to leaving to asticassia, but even then im not sure given suletta's personality early on. like she wouldnt have blabbed about it but it may have always just been more dangerous for her to have that knowledge

musemetachi again and one of the most iconic prospera shots lmao

and of course mio isn't buying any of this shit

important points being made, but like... why didn't she just ask herself lol

enter the shaddiq plot and it's kinda funny how suletta immediately pins the issue at hand here and why shaddiq is trying to pursue gund-arm. meanwhile miorine can't even fathom that being true

kinda funny to have miorine of all people telling earth house to look on the bright side after they see how much money theyve got to work with. though i'm pretty sure this is just her early naivety

miorine rembran, prospera mercury told you to check your privilege

i guess i don't really have much to say on earth house standing their ground against building weapons since lmao its objectively good and all the coming work with earth house allows miorine to not be so prickly and realize there are people out there who will be her genuine friends

i wonder if by the end of the series guel even realized shaddiq was in love with miorine lol

literally what even is sarius' deal against gundams

well, he was right i guess

in rewatching this episode, its hard not to feel so frustrated with shaddiq. like sure, she was likely never going to return your feelings, but could you not have just said something instead of all this posturing and trying to play white knight lol

something something suletta doesnt even hug her mom in greeting

i don't think anyone at earth house could have even fathomed the idea that miorine would have found something for them to focus on besides weapons

man, i wish miorine and dr cardo could have met lol

god this fucking promo video lmao

i wonder if even if its a tiny miniscule amount, but if prospera holds any sort of respect for miorine choosing to have gund-arm inc focus on what the vanadis institute was originally doing. thats honestly something i wish we'd had gotten at all some point

mio please

as soon as suletta starts talking about how much fun shes having, mio just gets the softest look on her face and lays her head against suletta's back and gosh is it cute lmao that is a girl in love

what did she mean by this lmao

i dont want to know what cheering someone up is code for for maisie

interesting scene set up with the grassley girls to have sabina be the one to speak out their plan if miorine doesnt go along with it easily as well as having maisie call out the fact that shaddiq wouldnt want to do something to hurt miorine (laughing at this latter point imagining all the grassley girls clowning on shaddiq for his thing for miorine)

the stakes are all slowly building up but it still isnt nowhere near 2nd cour stakes. not sure if i'll get to episode 9 today because thats another favorite and just like my episode 7 rewatch, it may end up being 2 posts lol

#g witch #rewatch time #g witch episode 8

[mushiewrites]

okay but seriously can you maybe go into what inspired you to write tiny boy big complaints, handsy hyperfixation (a classic), and the newest snf one?? and also maaaaybe the older one about teleporting if you wanna do that one too???

thank youuuuuu :))

- cal <333

from this milestone post / tiny boy big complaints / handsy hyperfixation / losing the battle winning the war / the troubles with teleporting

some of my favs in here <3

tiny boy big complaints my beloved ): and cals fav <3333 this fic is so special to me even though it's one of the lower note ones! it was actually a prompt sent in by cal (found here), so it's kind of hilarious to me it turned out to be his favorite one ):

I wanted george to be soft and tiny and I wanted dream to be soft but playful with him, and somehow I created one of my favorite things ever by doing so. I think this is another fic that I didn't really brainrot the concept with anyone, I am actually 99.9% positive I blacked out and wrote this entire thing and then made cal read it for me before I posted it and cal helped me pick the title tooooooo

cal is just the best is the bottom line actually :D this one was written for him and me and us and that's really all I can say about this one <3

- - - - - -

handsy hyperfixation was started december 26th, the morning after the dream team did their christmas stream, because I went completely insane over pictures of dreams hands (enjoy the blurry pictures <3)

then I sent these messages to cal (yes he is nick nelson) followed after I blacked out and wrote 4K words in one sitting:

then I let the fic sit until the end of february, and I finished it in the beginning of march. I will be honest, this one was absolutely 100000% a self indulgent fic, purely for myself and I didnt really care if I posted it or not. cal actually told me to name it "mushie's self indulgent hand fic", which....absolutely not....but it's correct. whatever. sue me, Im obsessed with dreams hands ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

this is my favorite thing I've ever written, it's my baby, it's 7.2K words for me and me alone lmfao. I actually was terrified to post it bc I didn't think anyone would read it, and now it's over 100 notes. I actually could cry thinking about how proud I am of it (even though I messed up some things in it, I don't care, I poured so much into this fic)

so yeah. that's handsy 🥺

- - - - - -

losing the battle winning the war was written 100% because of @wishitweresummer. this little idiot asked to commission me (which I said no to bc she's an idiot) bc she wanted to read about back of the neck raspberries....I wonder why? she also wanted it to be the first time george got back of the neck raspberries! cute, right? again....I wonder why :D

cal named it and its the perfect title tbh

summer requested for it to be playful and I know summer loves rough, so I made sure to really play up the snf fighting dynamic and I actually love what I created ):

she ALSO requested for george to struggle and be cocky, and for him to come out on top and completely destroy sap. she said she wanted it to be in a place that wasn't super common, a new spot for george to discover, and I adore the spot above the hip bc it's such a surprisingly sensitive spot! so that's how that was born

I truly just wrote this up to make sure I flustered the shit out of summer. I included things that people know get her and things that only I (and maybe one or two others) know about purely just to have summer yell at me for it :D

I love how this one turned out, targeted fics always turn out better to me for some reason <3

- - - - - -

the troubles with teleporting was the first time I ever wrote XD 🥺 this was a prompt that emma sent in, I can't find the actual prompt bc it was when my tumblr was a different name and the link is broken BUT

I remember just getting this idea to make the teleporting itself tk george at first instead of XD doing it right away, just bc I had the idea that it would kind of feel like when you go down a drop on a rollercoaster???? but a little more intense?

I also remember being super excited bc emma actually had the idea of the teleporting itself tkling instead of XD, but neither of us mentioned it to each other until after I wrote it that way! great minds think alike :D

again, it was my first time writing XD, and for those of you who don't know, XD is one of my all time favorite lers to read and write. I wanted to make sure I did XD justice, and I really love this silly lil fic, and how XD winds up just tkling the heck out of george at the end anyways (they even lifted george's arms up above his head while XD's bottom set got his ribs oh my goodness that was cruel huh 🫠)

the teases in this were pretty good too (':

#awkwardtickleetoo #asks #okay sorry this is like a novel but.........I explained it all didn't I #thank u again baby for sending in stuff ur the greatest ): <3 #i love the ones u sent in #u know how special handsy is to me and also tiny #ugh i love them sm #mushies 300 milestone

[revasserium]

but in the meantime, i love love love childhood friends to lovers too <3 all the best with the zoro fic! -- @anonymilk

i love how in the previous reply of my ask you said you don't have the energy to write and your new zoro fic is estimated to be hella long. go girl, give us your blood, sweat, and tears <3 (im saying all these with a sincere and endearing tone XD). how is the progress of that fic? you said that you normally write without much planning, and you seldom do drafts (iirc), but is it the same for long fics? how do you handle longer fics? what sparked the idea?? also don't forget to drink water and take breaks! also, dw abt not having "that girl" tips for dealing with stress. i also have a few bad habits up my sleeve, although thankfully it has been sort of controlled and i hopefully won't spiral again XD

LMFAO LAWD go on -- expOSE me some more why dont u HAHAH. no but in all honesty, i think it was a combo of me feeling super inspired by opla, opla fandom being fucking HYPER active right now, and actually (!!!) me forcing myself to read like actual books that i enjoy reading!

i always forget (for some stupid reason) that nothing inspires me to write like reading does. and you'd that after almost 20 years of reading and writing voraciously, i'd have learned that by now but alas, here we are -- every single fucking time.

it's like pms-ing, and then realizing when u get ur period that u were feeling genocidal bc of pms... and just like living through that cycle every month. whomph.

and yes, you're right -- i do write with zero plan. i still write with zero plan. but the its like... hm. how do i say this without sounding absolutely unhinged and literally clinically insane --

whenever i feel inspired to write down a story, i'll hear/see/feel the first few lines in my head, like literally word for word, the sentences will just... unfurl inside my brain. and i'll get this like vague, misty impression of how the story might go. now IF at this point in time, i'm in a place where i can write down the first few lines and "pin down" the start of the story, then it's safe. it's home free. think of it like... tendrils of silk on a high wind -- if i manage to catch the end of one and pin it down, the rest of the string might still flutter in the wind, but there's much less chance of it just flying away.

now if i DONT manage to get those first few lines pinned down to a word doc or a notion page or like... the back of a grocery store receipt, then the story simply flies off, towards another willing creative who might have the time and energy to pin it down instead. it's happened plenty where the start of stories will come to me when im in bed or riding the subway or whatever, and i'm too tired or there's no service or whatever -- and i decide to let that story go. but literally it'll just flitter through me and then by the time i sit down somewhere i can actually write, i'll have forgotten the whole thing.

but after i've got the beginning down, there's a high chance that while i'm writing the beginning, i'll get some idea of how i want it to end (this isn't always the case; a lot of times the end won't come to me till i'm solidly halfway through). so i'll like write down roughly how the story wants to end, and from there, i have to do the legwork of filling in the middle -- aka GETTING from the beginning to the end.

and truthfully, i still don't plan. i have no idea how most of the story will go. but i like to think of the story as it's own kind of living thing as opposed to it coming from like... inside me. so i trust it like it's a living thing too, i trust that if i write down the beginning and then as much as i can of it, it'll stay put where it's supposed to be till i have time to come back to it. and so far, that's what's worked for me.

this is the case even for my "longer" fics, and i think the longest i've written on this blog is like... 4/5k, but in my personal "archives" of fics i've just written for myself (there's a kakashi fic, a criminal minds spencer reid fic, and an inuyasha fic, that are all like 50k+ words each, and unfinished), this is still the case. i just write what comes to me, and trust that if a story wants to and is meant to be told by me, it'll stay put for as long as i need it to till i can find the time and energy to take care of it and write it down.

there's no advanced planning, no like... outlines or anything. i still just sit down and write.

before, back when i didn't have to get up at 8am to work a big girl job, i would just tough it out and stay up all night writing till i was done with the story or it was done with me or i got too delusional to keep on writing. but now, as long as i've got a decent start penned down, i can kinda close out the fic whenever i want to, and then come back to it later.

and thank you for reminding me to drink water!!! it's highly necessary haha. AND YES I LOVE CHILDHOOD FRIENDS TO LOVERS BRO. i can't wait till this fic is finished <3 now this answer got WAYYY fucking long but i hope you enjoyed reading my answer regardless.

#anonymilk #writing advice #im answering ur first ask here so i don't publish ur url! i'll keep that as a secret to myself u__u <3 #dont be embaressed!!! i wont expose you i promise! #🌧 raindrops

[hard-core-super-star]

It's funny that I have a few paragraphs talking to you, but when I want to write something I just barely get past the second line. I don't think I need to say that I don't mind and I even like these long answers since I was encouraging them from the beginning...😶

I'm thinking of a song- is this a song? If not, I think I'll look like an idiot too.

“i'm just too gay to obsess over a man the way I obsess over kate” HELP, THIS IS SO FUNNY??? LMFAO. I can literally add this at any time to anything in my life and that's exactly what I'll be doing!! It's research that could save the world from possible alien invasions, don't worry. I mean your mom was right (I guess? here where I live the game is not recommended for -18 so-), although the game is cool, it's not something people should have contact so young. as they are nowadays.

so you're going to send me to the lion's den and make me survive like this?? I'm not ready for it. I swear I try not to ask too many questions but my fingers just slip!! Jhdskwkka oh okay, if you mentioned Joker her attitudes might remind you a little of him....?

since this doesn't ruin my experience, you can tell me about this cliffhanger, right? 👀 okay, wait, so the cliffhanger was just something that would probably be a plot for the first eps or that would open to season 8, is that? wow this is disrespectful to them, did they already have season 8 written or something?

wait wait I remember someone called Zari, if I'm not wrong she had a situationship with someone on the team... isn't she the one with the animal powers? 🤔 you're selling batwoman in a very good way i- I'm very tempted. We need a petition for them to stop making the characters dirty, not even barry escaped! I was going to ask if you like Cisco since you didn't mention him, but I feel like the answer coming would be you're too gay to be obsessed with men, but this time with caitlin instead of kate 😶

now I don't know if it's a moment that you're not thinking about it, or you're not thinking about it kwhjwkwskk

– 🌟

i felt that in my soul. talking to you is so much easier than writing my fics, i can't tell if i should be happy or worried about that. you didn't have to say it but i very much appreciate the reminder.

😮 technically yes. okay, i’ll bite the bullet and risk looking like an idiot just in case. i think we might be on the same page though ‘cause i think there's only one thing this references and it’s…the song nineteen by tegan and sara. it's such a subtle and dumb thing but i have a major connection to the song and the number so at some point i just started saying 119% for no reason and then it…sort of stuck lmao.

akdkdsakaskd thank you, it was both a joke and the honest truth lmao hmmm, i guess that makes sense, carry on. yeah, i agree, i just find it funny that mortal kombat was a no but she had no issue with injustice which is basically just the DC version of mortal kombat 👀 your last comment has potential for a whole other conversation but i’ll just say that i agree and that it baffles me that there are 7 year olds out there who have better IPhone’s than me like why???

kind of but i promise it’s worth it!!! just know that if you do end up liking alice, it'll get painful quick 😶 it’s okay! it’s just that i can go on for hours and i don't want to ruin anything for you. i wouldn't say she reminds me that much of the Joker but the comparison is an easy one to make cause…Batman -> Batwoman, you know? she's a lot more complicated. in a good way of course.

i guess i can tell you but i’ll do it as vaguely as possible. basically, they struggle all of season 7 because they're stuck in the past [i can't remember the exact year rn, my bad] and once they finally fix the Waverider and are able to go home…they essentially get arrested by some sort of Time Police. it's frustrating ‘cause we see them struggle ALL season and once things are solved, this happens and then BOOM, the show’s canceled. so yeah, it was just supposed to be the start-point for Season 8 so no real harm done, it just sucks. i assume there was already a plan for Season 8 so if they would have known there wasn't going to be one, they could have wrapped off Season 7 in another way and given a real ending to the Legends. somehow, though, i feel like this ending fits them lmao.

close, zari’s the one with the wind totem, amaya’s the one with the spirit totem aka the animal powers. [and they also should have been girlfriends but that's another rant] djskakswjsjks lmao, you know me so well. i honestly do love cisco, even though they also messed up his character toward the end. him and caitlin ARE team flash, screw everyone else.

…yes? 🧐

#rubix replies #🌟

[nightowlwriting]

summary: steve is acting weird. avoiding you, being snippy and mean, leaving the room when you enter. all you want is your boyfriend back, but all he wants is to pretend you don't exist. when he's almost hurt on a mission, you do what you're made to do.

word count: 11k

reader specifics: no race/gender/sexuality/body type mentioned, no pronouns for reader used, powered!reader, insecure!reader

warnings: steve is mean to the reader in the beginning, heavy angst, hurt/comfort, canon-level violence, brief ptsd symptoms, slight description of blood, brief mention of racism in the '30s & '40s

brief mentions of: reader's parents being toxic, homelessness, past accidents, ableism in the past & present

note: this one hurt me lmfao. idk why this went the way it did but i'm not mad at it // also i am a queer, trans, disabled american. i have fundamental disagreements with things that marvel/the mcu as it stands for and some of the more nuanced things that you might not notice unless you're looking for it. this will take place in my writing because i cannot separate myself from the lens in which i consume/create content.

title credit: lil nas x

mobile masterlist - request - support my work? - ao3

Falling in love with Steve Rogers went against every instinct you had. You knew that he was going to hurt you from the first moment your lips touched his. Sure - he’s clever, righteous, courteous… You can’t forget he’s also drop-dead gorgeous because every trashy gossip magazine in a three-state radius of New York doesn’t let you forget. Neither does the sight of him waking up in your bed every morning. (Well, actually, maybe that would remind you if he was still fucking doing that.)

But lately, you’ve had to rely on the fucking tabloids to catch a glimpse of your super-hero boyfriend. The university class you had picked up on a whim at the end of the summer - Life & Times of the ‘30s and ‘40s - avoids any mention of Steve Rogers and the Howling Commandos. Not that your classmates do because, Christ on a bike, those magazines manage to catch pictures of you and Steve in moments that you don’t even remember. Plus, you’re an Avenger too. It’s bound to catch some attention when you waltz into a college classroom.

You’re sure if you were an undergrad trying to fill a gen-ed requirement and were sitting next to someone who could kill you without blinking but also dating Captain Rogers you’d be a little distracted too. You try not to blame your classmates too much, but they do make it hard to concentrate with their -really dating Captain America?- and -wonder if I could get an autograph- whispers. None of that matters because you’re learning, really studying, in between missions and missing Steve and believing that maybe the gossip reporters are right.

Maybe he’s forgotten about you.

You grit your teeth and push the thought away. It does you no good right now, while you’re training with Peter. He’s working his way up to bona fide missions and, because you’re the only one on the team who has experience with real-life teenagers outside of saving their lives, it’s up to you to get him to the level that he needs to be. Plus, the mission where he’s going to get his gills wet is just you, Tony, Steve, Nat, and Bucky. You’d much rather be the one to train him because you won’t traumatize him.

Right now, though, you’re just kicking his ass to try and get rid of some of the tension in your body. You feel a little bad about it, but when you started as his mentor you told him point-blank that you’d never go easy on him. That meant if you were having a bad day he either needed to up his game or he’d have a bad day too. It appears he’s taken that to heart as he struggles to dodge the hits you’re throwing his way. He lunges out of the way when you try to land a right hook but practically walks into the leg sweep that sends him crashing to the ground.

“Awe,” Peter groans, letting his guard down. You take the momentary lapse of focus to grab him by the collar of the hoodie he’s wearing and haul him to his feet, jerking one fist back to cold-clock him but he beats you to it. You hear the sound of your nose cracking before you feel it but then the pain rushes you all at once. You’ve had worse but coming from Peter, the move surprises you. You don’t yell out but he does when you push him away from you and call the fight off. Peter practically yelps your name, hands up by his head as he watches you bend at the waist, both hands over where your nose is absolutely gushing blood. “I am so sorry, I just reacted-!”

“It’s fine, Pete,” You shake your head and stand straight again, the blood beginning to leak through your fingers, “Just go get me a towel, okay?” Peter practically trips over his feet to get something for your nose and as you track him on his way into the locker rooms, you see Steve, Bucky, and Nat. The latter are looking your way, eyebrows raised like they’re asking you if you’re okay. Steve hasn’t even broken stride in his conversation so you wave them off with a bloody hand. Peter’s back in a flash, pressing a wet towel into your grasp and snapping you out of your self-pity party. “It was a good hit,” You compliment as you wipe your face off, “I just wasn’t expecting it. Prob’ly wouldn't have landed it if I had.”

He wrings his hands, shifting from foot to foot. “I’m sorry-”

“It’s a good thing, Peter, means you’re getting better.” You deadpan, checking to see if your nose has stopped bleeding yet, “I don’t think you actually broke it, but I’ll go down to medical to check later.” You do your best to clean up your hands with the wet towel, but it’s so soaked with your blood that it mostly just smears it around. You grimace and shake your head. “Well, I should go now before our sparring match ends up looking like I murdered you.”

“I’ll go with,” He offers, “I’m the one who broke your nose.” You let Peter walk you down to medical even though you were originally going to refuse. Perhaps petty, but it was the way that Steve didn’t even look your way as you left that made you let the teenager walk you the two floors to where you’d be able to clean yourself up. He hums in the elevator and you know that he wants to ask you something - it’s the way he holds his mouth when he’s prying for information or keeping a secret that tips you off. Finally, just before the elevator opens, you sigh and turn to him.

“What, Peter?” He grins but then it falls when he has to skitter after you down the hall. Maybe that’s why it falls - the question he asks next nearly sends you to your ass.

“Is everything okay with you and Captain Rogers?” He easily catches up to you when you stop in your tracks, ignoring that you’re still bleeding a little bit down your face and you might be dripping blood everywhere from where it’s run down your arms.

“What?” You do your best to look confused like everything is fine, but Peter is perceptive. He may fumble around and be pretty awkward, but those are really just teenager things that he’ll hopefully outgrow. You should have known that when someone caught onto how bad things are on your end, it would be Peter. (You wonder if Nat or Bucky has brought it up with Steve, considering he’s spent more time with them in the past week than he’s seen you in the past month.) “We’re fine.” Your words are stilted as you begin walking to the medical wing much faster than before.

“I just thought I’d ask, well, because I’ve sort of noticed… Something just seems off, you know? Like, you two used to spend a lot of time together, and maybe it’s the recon mission coming up, but I was just thinking that you two really barely look at each other even when you’re in the same -”

“Peter!” You say his name much louder than either of you expected and both of you jump. “Peter,” You say softer, looking at the glass door to the medical wing instead of him, “Just leave it, okay? It’s nothing you have to worry about, kid.” Peter ducks around to open the door, forcing you to look at him. “He’s just focused on his stuff and I’m focused on getting you whipped into shape for this mission. We only have two days.” Once you’re inside and surrounded by the medical crew Tony keeps on staff, he thankfully drops it. You love Peter, you do, but it’s a lot like having a little brother. You can only love them so much before you want to fucking strangle them. Eventually, as the doctor checks to make sure he hasn’t broken your nose, you have to order him away to go study or something. “I’ll join you later,” You promise him as the doctor prods at your tender flesh, “I have an essay due soon.”

That’s another thing that’s been bugging you that Peter surely picked up on. Nearly everybody knew you were taking a course at the local community college, but nobody knew what it was about. You’d wanted to keep it a secret until you told Steve, but the day you had registered he’d flown out for a two-week mission without telling you or saying goodbye. After that, you decided it didn’t really matter if anyone knew what class you were taking, and keeping it a secret sort of spiraled from there. If they wanted to know they could look it up. Maybe it was petty, but you just wanted the class to be over and done with so you could forget that you really only picked it up so you relate to your boyfriend more.

If you can even call Steve your boyfriend anymore. You’re not so sure where you stand and, honestly, you’re really close to giving up on the relationship as a whole but you can’t do that. Before you were dating, you were friends, and Steve… He never gave up on you. Not once. How could you repay him by giving up on your relationship? The one that you thought was The One? Even if it hurts, even if you’re unsure more than sure these days, how could you? Somewhere, though, you know you deserve better. You don’t deserve the sinking, dark feeling that lingers in your gut for most of your days now or the way that you second-guess every move you make - even in the field. It’s dangerous but you can’t do anything to fix it.

You’re too scared. You know that eventually, it will happen, he’ll break up with you, but you’d like to put that day off for as long as possible. To relish in the love he once had for you, how pure and powerful it was. You’re sure that you’ll never experience anything like that again.

Hell, you might never fall in love again.

Those thoughts don’t do anything to help you, though, so you try not to have them. You get clearance from the doctor and get cleaned up as much as you can without taking a full body shower. The idea to go back to your room and take one crosses your mind but you know that Steve’s probably done training, probably heading back for his own shower, and you don’t want to open that can of worms. Instead, you go to the common room and drop into the couch between Peter and Tony. They’re talking about something something science something something, but you pull your stack of books and notebooks out from the shelf underneath the coffee table and continue outlining your essay from where you left off. The assignment was focused on how the end of WW1 changed American life and then how life changed leading up to and during WW2 but that had hit a little too close to home for you, so you’re writing about the racial tension and overall racism of the times. Tony and Peter keep talking over your back and then you hear footsteps heading toward the common room.

You barely look up when they enter - Nat and Bucky - because it’s fine. It’s normal. They’re just two of Steve’s best friends, that’s all, nothing to be jumpy about. You don’t even register that emotional pain that hits when you realize that, yeah, you’re not one of his best friends anymore. You doubt you’re even considered a friend in his book.

You groan and lean back into the couch, bringing your study materials with you. Peter glances over, skimming over your page and a half of shorthand, and gags. “Jesus, can you write like a normal person?”

“Oh, sorry,” You say lazily, not looking up as you continue to scribble in your incomprehensible code, “I do forget that some of us had privacy at home.” You lift your lips just a little bit to let Peter know you’re kidding, looking up at him through your lashes as you slouch next to him. He looks red in the face. “Besides, once you have to start doing mission reports you’ll be begging me to learn my shorthand and use my stenography machine.”

“I keep telling you that I can update that ol’ thing,” Tony draws your attention. For the first time, you realize that Nat and Bucky are on the loveseat looking at you expectantly. Steve is standing in the corner over their shoulder reading a book from the bookshelf in front of him. His back is tense and he looks like he’s not reading, just listening. You force your eyes back to Tony on your right and shake your head.

“No, because then you’d know my shorthand and it makes me too happy to see you spend hours trying to decipher it.” His eyes wander to your essay again, trying to find any patterns that he can use to figure out what the hell you’re writing on anything ever. He’s opening his mouth to make a smart-ass remark that will no doubt lift some of the weight off of your shoulders when another voice speaks up.

“Wow,” Steve doesn’t even look at you even as he says your name sardonically, “Way to be a team player.” Your mind comes to a screeching halt, trying to figure out what the fuck he’s playing at. Even Bucky and Nat look surprised at the cold way he spoke to you, Tony and Peter both gasping from your side. You can’t say anything, throat tight and burning with tears as you stare at your boyfriend with raised eyebrows. What do you say to that? How do you respond? You know it wasn’t a joke because he’s not laughing, not smiling, not even looking up from that fucking book in his hands. You can’t tell if you’re more hurt or embarrassed, but either way, you don’t want to stick around for someone to get the nerve to say something.

Instead of replying, you slam your textbooks shut and bundle everything into your arms. You doubt Steve even notices that you’re making such a hasty retreat but if he does, he doesn’t say a fucking thing. You feel like you’re in high school - practically running through an empty hallway with your notebooks and textbooks pressed to your chest, trying not to cry. It’s ridiculous. You’re a trained assassin, you’re an Avenger, you are strong and powerful and yet… And yet. You’ve given so much of your heart and soul to Steve Rogers that he can knock you down eight pegs without even trying. Without even looking at you. You can’t wait to go on this fucking recon mission, where you can put all of your focus on making sure Peter is doing okay and gathering the intel. Where you can stop thinking about how easily Steve Rogers seems to be pushing you to the side.

You spend the next two days writing your essay, ignoring almost everyone, and working on your essay. On the day of the recon mission, you’re running out the door for your eight a.m lecture, printed essay in hand, and reminding Tony that he promised to pick you up on campus after class for the mission.

You’re lucky that you went, too. You hadn’t counted on the professor making everyone stand up and tell the class the subject of their essays - didn’t realize that it would be twenty-five percent of the grade on the paper. You’ll never understand college professors and the weird shit they do, but the class is informative and entertaining. He goes around the room, starting on the opposite side of you, so you’ll be last. Great.

Several students did their papers on the propaganda of the time, one student was brave and did her essay on the ethical dilemma of the super-soldier serum and eugenics, and most of the other students focused on pop culture and how it changed. When your professor looks at you it’s almost like he’s expecting you to have done nothing but fawn over Steve and Bucky, considering you know them personally. He looks surprised when you clear your throat, stand and say: “I focused on the casual and institutional racism that faced non-white Americans at the time.” You almost preen when he looks impressed and then the shame fills you. It’s just… You want Steve to be proud of you. You want him to congratulate you on going back to school, even if it’s just for one class. You want him to be happy and surprised that he was the inspiration for taking the class.

Though, lately, the class has been more for you than for him. You like learning new things, pushing the boundaries of assignments, making people uncomfortable with the truth of the times you’re studying as told to you by two people who lived it. It’s nice. Normal.

Everyone needs a little bit of normal.

But, honestly, normal is fucking boring. By the time your class is over and you’re handing in your essay it’s like ants are crawling over your skin. A combination of nerves from the upcoming mission, a head full of fog from whatever is happening with Steve, and a little bit of fear at the thought of taking Peter into the field has you bolting for the door the moment your essay is taken from you. You’d worn your tac-suit underneath a pair of baggy sweats and a loose hoodie, so you don’t even bother slowing down as you head toward the car that Tony has waiting for you. He’s in the front seat, grinning at you from underneath his aviators and Peter is driving.

You slip into the backseat without thinking or looking at who’s there, tossing your bag in the back and peeling your hoodie off. “God, Tone, we’re goin’ to die before we even get to the mission with Petey driving.” You toss your hoodie back to join your bag and finally see who’s sitting next to you.

Of course, it’s Steve. He’s looking at you - but not really. He’s looking through you, like he can’t stand that you’re both crammed in the backseat of Tony’s electric car. His gaze catches you and holds you in place. Everything around you goes cold and fuzzy, making you miss Peter’s indignant complaining that he has his license so he should be able to drive… And then Steve scoffs and looks out his window, ignoring you. It stings but you have a job to do. You make some witty retort back to Peter, but it falls flat as you struggle out of your sweats. This is what life is, you think. Relationships aren’t meant to be forever - you learned that at a young age.

Until your accident at fifteen, you had watched your parents run out of helium, their relationship expanding and cooling in arguments, in days spent not talking, in trips to your grandparents without the other, in passive-aggressive computer searches for divorce attorneys left open for anyone to see. Then, after you were trapped between those machines - after you spent hour after agonizing hour with electricity pressing between your atoms, being torn apart and rebuilt as a young god - after that day you watched them expand against each other before the neutron core of their relationship collapsed on itself and the resulting supernova sent you to the streets. But then Fury found you. Then Tony, then Nat, then Steve.

Your parents exploded out from each other and the shockwaves ruined your life. At least now, your relationship with Steve is ending silently. There’s no explosion, no collapse, no rapid expansion to take over your cosmos. Your relationship with Steve is simply approaching the event horizon, where it will hang in the air until one of you takes the final step and you both become frozen, two collapsing objects on opposite sides of the universe. Maybe that’s what you already are. You feel so far away from him in the back of Tony’s car - like he’s eons and light-years away from you - and you feel so cold. Frozen, down to the bone. It makes you stiff in your replies to Tony and Peter, slow on the uptake when the car pulls up to the quinjet, nearing stasis and unable to respond when Nat asks if you’re okay.

Finally, you turn to look at her, nodding. “Fine,” You clear your throat, “Been a rough day.” You do your best to smile at her, but your face feels heavy. Your chest feels cold and tight, making you worry about your performance on the upcoming mission. When Peter shakes his head next to you, discreetly telling Nat not to press, you’re focused on Steve and the electricity humming in the most base part of your body.

He scoffs and rolls his eyes. You turn away and force yourself to smile, throwing a weak and numb arm over Peter’s shoulders. “Are you ready for this, Pete?” You jostle him back and forth, leading him toward the sitting area behind the cockpit. “Gonna get your ass kicked?”

“Please,” He shoves you off, nervously laughing, “Not with the skills you’ve taught me.” He mimics throwing webs, making hissing noises under his breath, and you bark out a laugh, shaking your head.

“You’re payin’ my medical bills when I have to save your ass, Spidey.” You shake your head and strap in next to the wall, Peter taking the seat to your right. Tony, from the aisle across from you, points a thick finger your way.

“You don’t pay medical bills anymore,” He waggles his finger, “So you’ll just have to make him do your homework for a week.”

“Mister Stark!”

“He’ll have to earn shorthand to do your essays,” Nat chimes in from between Bucky and Steve, who are both doing their best to not look at you - or anyone really. “You willing to share that with him?”

You lean back in your seat and jab at Peter with your elbow. “Hell no, so I guess Spider-Boy better do his best.” The arachnid in question grumbles, crossing his arms and slouching in his seat.

“No pressure, right?” He complains, “Not like I’m already nervous or anything.”

“You’ll do fine, kid,” Bucky pipes up, drawing your eyes back to Steve, “It’s goin’ to be a cakewalk.”

“Don’t jinx it, Barnes,” You warn half-heartedly, tucking in on yourself, “We need this to be easy.” From the look on his face - everyone’s face, really - you know that they heard you loud and clear when you were really saying I need this to be easy.

After an uneasy laugh from Bucky, a claustrophobic silence settles over you all as the jet begins to take off. You’re in for an hour ride and plan to spend it going over battle plans with Peter when harsh whispering catches your ear. It’s Bucky and Steve nearly crushing Nat between them until she gets up and sits across from Peter, rolling her eyes. Still, you try your best to run him through the actions you both had planned - the names, the setups you needed to execute them, everything. If something happens to Peter, you’ll never forgive yourself.

And then, cutting through your soft promptings to Peter and his equally soft replies, Bucky’s voice. “Leave it, Steve. Until after this mission.” Even Tony looks up from his tablet, curiosity piqued. Their faces are both red, set hard and angry at each other and your stomach drops. What the hell is going on that Steve ‘Till The End Of The Line Rogers is fighting with Bucky You And Me, Pal Barnes? You must shift, or lean too far into Steve’s eyesight, because for the first time in what feels like years he is looking directly at you - and seeing you, too. It makes your pulse jump and, almost instinctively, you want to reach out and ground yourself on the rubber of the seat underneath you.

You don’t get the chance, though, because Steve speaks. “No, why should I? This is clearly affecting the team.” He’s still looking - glaring - at you like you’ve done something wrong. “What’s the point of waiting? I’ve been waiting to talk about this.”

“Bo, I don’t think this is the time,” Bucky looks over his shoulder at you, then, and you know what’s coming. You know that it’s time, that Steve is about to break up with you in front of your teammates. Your friends. Your family. You steel yourself for the anguish you’re about to feel and then jerk your chin out, hardening your resolve.

“Buck, it’s fine. If Steve wants to address something, he can.”

Natasha says your name, a low warning over the hum of the quinjet. “I think he should wait.”

“Well, I’m not goin’ to wait!” Steve unbuckles himself and stands, “I have tried waiting, and look at where that has gotten me.” He puts his hands on his hips and puffs out a breath. You unbuckle and stand, too, unsure of where this is going. “You need to,” He holds one hand out, pointing at you while his voice shakes. You notice his hand is shaking, too, but fractionally. If you didn’t know Steve as well as you do you may have never noticed it. “You need to get it together.”

“I need to get it together?” You question, eyebrows nearly hitting the ceiling with how fast they shoot up. You’re not totally sure you’ve heard him right because what do you have to get together? The broken shards of your relationship? The information and research for your final paper? The awful way you’ve let yourself be treated for what seems like forever?

“You heard me,” Steve says, at the same time Bucky leans his head back and groans deep in his chest. “What? Someone had to say it.”

“We should wait for this,” Nat speaks up again, but lifelessly. She knows now that you and Steve are both on the warpath, neither of you are going to stop. (That’s also why the two of you work together as a couple so well. Very rarely are you both so worked up about something that you can’t back down, so the other is always there to meet you halfway and get you back to earth.)

“No, no, no,” You say, near hysterically, “No, he wants to do this now? Before a mission? Instead of the fuckin’ weeks we had to hash whatever crawled up his ass and died out? Be my guest. He’s already dragged everyone into this by treating me like a pariah.” You’re not sneering, but your teeth are gritted so tightly together you can hear them scraping and feel a tension headache beginning to bloom in your temples. Bucky looks… Almost incredulous at your statement. Like putting the blame on Steve is a dick move or something.

“Oh, so I’m the bad guy here?” Steve is curling his lip, glaring at you. There’s something behind his eyes, but he’s buried it so deep that you can’t reach it and figure out what it is. “I’m the bad guy, right. Right, right, right.” He scoffs, shakes his head, and then he’s running his fingers through his hair like he really can’t believe what you’re saying to him.

“Well, what else am I supposed to think?” You throw your hands out to the side and let them slap back down on your thighs. “You ignore me, you make me feel like shit, you talk down to me like I’m some insignificant foot soldier. How else am I supposed to take that, Steve?”

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe ask me what’s wrong? Maybe ask me why I’m acting like this, instead of ignoring all of your problems like a child?” He mirrors your moments, but the sound his hands make when they hit the outside of his suit is more powerful than yours. Fueled by anger, you think. Anger and whatever the hell was in the serum Erskine pumped into Steve.

“Ask you?” You repeat, near-hysterical, “Ask you? Oh yeah, let me get right on that. Hey, Mister Rogers? Mister Captain America? Mister Ignores-His-Partner-For-God-Knows-Why? Hey, just why are you doin’ that?” You’re surprised that you’ve said something so snotty, but you don’t back down. (Steve looks surprised, too, and Bucky has stood up next to his friend like he’s about to start berating you as well. At least he looks more cautious about it, like he’s not totally sure that this fight should be happening.)

The more surprising part of your fight is how fast it’s shut down. Tony and Nat stand at the same time and exchange a glance like they’ve surprised each other. “That’s enough,” Tony starts.

Nat cuts him off. “I don’t care if you fight this one out instead of talking, but if you do it before this recon mission you two are going to blow it. Do you understand me?” She looks dangerous, the sharp edge of a knife spiraling through the air. You force yourself to look away from her, from Tony, from Bucky, from Steve. She’s right. You know she’s right - especially on this mission. Peter is there, going to be in real danger even though there’s not supposed to be one Hydra agent in a four-mile radius. You have to clear your mind and focus on protecting him.

Steve seems to think the same thing because he stands down. When you watch him collapse in on himself, Bucky’s arms around his shoulders, into the little quinjet seats your everything aches. Heart, lungs, eyes - everything. Even though you don’t know what’s going on, what could have possibly happened to make your relationship sink this quickly and out of the blue, you still love him. He’s still The One for you. You still want to be the one to comfort him and make him feel whole when he’s struggling.

But you can’t. You can’t and it kills you.

The heat of battle makes a lot of things fade into the background. Important things like why the fuck are there Hydra agents here? and Steve is going to break up with you when you get back on the jet and Tony swore on the fucking limited edition AC/DC vintage tour poster he has in his office that this would be an easy in/easy out information mission. None of that matters, though, because you’re in deep shit. There are seventeen of them, all primed to the teeth with weapons made to take your team down permanently.

You’re practically glued to Peter, calling out commands and plans for him to initiate. It’s when all of your plans fall through that you take a hit from a heavy fist on purpose, hitting the ground hard. “Plan F, Spidey, Plan F!” You cover the instruction with a groan and then you’re back on your feet, working your way toward him.

“Plan F?” Tony says, somewhere above you in his suit. Your comms crackle ominously as another heat-seeking grenade is launched, interfering with the radio waves your tech relies on. You don’t worry about it, because you know Tony is on it. He’s your eyes in the sky.

Peter is the one who answers his question, watching your close hand-to-hand tilt out of your favor briefly. “Plan Fuck It, Mister Stark.” He grunts as he webs up a Hydra agent, jerking him away from where he was about to slip a knife up and under Natasha’s kevlar. You finally drop the guy in front of you, ignoring Steve’s disappointed Language! and toss one of your knives toward Nat for her to use. Tony is still laughing in your ear, wheezing as he drops down and snags the rifle from one of the snipers and then takes back off.

What your little protégé failed to mention about Plan F is that it’s not just chaos, but controlled chaos. You let loose, letting a soft current cover every inch of your skin as Peter switches to his conductive webbing and takes special care to not web any of his allies. Except for you - if you’re in the way and he catches you in a web it doesn’t matter because you’re you, alive with electricity that drops the men that get caught in the web, too. You rip out of the webs and turn the current off when one of your teammates gets too close.

More Hydra agents are pouring out of the woods, topping out their numbers around twenty-five. That’s twenty-five too many in your opinion, especially when you can see Peter getting tired, his anxiety spiking, his moves having more and more hesitation behind them. You need to get this over with quickly, but you don’t have the options to do that. Steve, Bucky, and Nat are really the heavy-hitters - you, Pete, and Tony are the only ones without serums despite all of your individual abilities. Desperately you reach out for a web that’s still connected to Peter’s arms, pulling him out of the way of a baton that’s about to come down on the back of his neck.

The baton the agent is wielding glints in the coming dusk, freezing you as Peter scrambles past you with a quick apology. You’ve seen that before - seen it, felt it, know it like the back of your hand. There’s no way that you could ever forget that weapon. The man stumbles when his hit doesn’t connect but then rights himself and searches for a new target.

A long, black baton that splits into two prongs at the end is heavy in his hand. Electricity crackles between the bulbs at the end, flashing in the setting sun and your memories. The man only has one, but if it was hooked up to a machine, spinning. If there were four, five, six. If you were pinned between them, screaming in the pain as they rewrote your DNA… You’ve only felt it once, but you’ll never forget it.

And now, you’ll taste it again. On purpose this time. The man holding the stun baton is going for Steve’s back - his strong back, the one that protects people, the one that holds the weight of the world, the one that lays in your bed, the one you see whipping out of rooms as you’re entering just so that he doesn’t have to look at you - and you can’t let that happen. It only takes ten amps to kill a regular human, but you know those things are cranked up to twenty minimum. You don’t want to see how many amps of current it will take to stop Steve’s heart. You’re between the baton and Steve before you can think about what you’re doing or what comes next, the hard bulbs settling unyielding into your side and cranking out maximum power for maximum damage as soon as the current is connected and able to flow from one bulb to the other.

The pain hits you and your throat catches on it. It burns through your body, setting everything on fire - your chest hurts as your heart protests the electrons and then your powers kick in, sweeping them into your very atoms and cells. You’re a live wire now, ears humming and body thrumming with power you’ve only dreamed of. It hurts, and it burns, and you feel tears rising in your eyes because you’re back there - back begging for death or for life or for God and god at the same time - but then it’s over. The man sees that you’re not seizing up, not dropping dead in front of him, and he takes three steps back.

It’s not far enough.

You’ve only felt like this once before - right after you were unhooked from the machine that changed your life and brought you to your new family. You remember how you looked when you were put in front of a mirror with all of the pent up electricity circling your body - how your eyes were filled to the brim and dripping with bright and blue electricity, the way it was jumping across your body, how you didn’t need to breathe because your body was fully saturated with pure, unadulterated power. You wonder if you look like that now and assume you do because you can see the bright blue reflecting in the terrified eyes of the Hydra agent.

Your suit, unlike everyone else’s, is not grounded. It’s metal, metal, metal. You’re made to conduct, born for it, and the earth beneath you comes alive with bright white as you release all of the energy, the power, surges down and out. You’re practiced. You can reach out and feel the synapses and neurons of every human being in the clearing, know exactly where your teammates are standing, and know exactly how to target everything but them and the pitiful amount of electricity their brains carry. You grin, something truly feral and unhinged, and you can see the fear in the Hydra agent. Then, you let go.

You know that everyone is going to be pissed. (Maybe not everyone.) You’re not built for this, not made to take down nearly twenty fucking people at once. As you let go, you feel what they feel. The seizing muscles, the stopping of their hearts, the inside of their bodies crisping against their bones. At that moment, that delicious moment, you see the universe.

You become God. You become everything - your mother and your father and God and god and anyone else who’s watching your life from the ether. You become the judge, jury, and executioner of souls that you don’t know from Adam. You become lightning, and thunder, and exposed nerves of the cosmos at the same time. The world bends to your will and you relish in it, taking that power in your fist and wielding it to protect the man you’ll love for the rest of your life and the family that you’ve made. You will stop at nothing to end this, even if it means turning yourself inside out to do it.

You damn near do turn yourself inside out too, but that doesn’t matter, does it? The blood spilling from your ears, nose, and eyes feels like heaven. It’s hot, and thick, and it’s proof of the power that your body holds. You’re a temple and a sanctuary, a war-room and a bunker, a field of flowers and a sun-dry desert. It does not matter if Steve doesn’t love you at that moment, because you are love and hate wrapped into one package. You are everything and nothing, spread thin at the beginning and the end of time.

And then none of that is true. You are just… You. Standing in a clearing, surrounded by twenty-something dead Hydra agents and your terrified, terrified family. It hurts to breathe and you can taste blood in your mouth, but that’s an afterthought. Steve is still standing behind you, but he is alive. That is what matters.

This is what love is, you think.

Pain and pleasure.

Even if he leaves you, you will always love him.

Pain and pleasure.

You’re weak at the knees when he finally turns to see you - and you’re a sight. Struggling to stand, fingertips blackened with soot but not burnt, blood pouring from your nose, ears, eyes… You look like death, but you feel like life. Someone says something behind you - Peter, maybe? Or maybe Tony, in your comms? - but you don’t hear it. Everything tunnels out, your weak knees finally collapsing as you keel backward.

Steve bears down upon you almost immediately. You’re halfway to unconsciousness when he wraps you up in his arms, keeping you from falling in with the pile of bodies around you. He’s saying your name, harsh and soft and then in a voice like he’s ordering you to wake up. You loll about as he drops you down onto a patch of clear grass, hands searching your body for wounds. When he skims over your side, where the baton has burnt through your suit and your flesh, you surge back toward being able to have cohesive thoughts. The pain brings you back, hands wrapping around Steve’s arm and calling out his name. “Steve! Fuck, that hurts!”

“Honey,” He breathes, “Fuck, we have to get you back to the jet.” His jaw ticks, hair dirty and loose from its normal style. “Why’d you do that?” Steve doesn’t wait for an answer from you, ordering Peter to web something up to carry you over your protests.

“I’m fine,” You argue, only slurring slightly, “I feel fine.” But you’re going to let Nat and Bucky load you up on the webbed stretcher anyway because it’s the first time Steve has cared for you in a long time. You want to relish in this moment, the way that he didn't say your name but called you honey.

Well, and because Natasha slides a thumb across her neck over Steve’s shoulder in a silent threat.

You groan when Bucky accidentally grabs your calf where there is an absolutely awful stab wound, but you wave off his apology. “How could you have known?” To be honest, you hadn’t even known it was there until his Vibranium hand was slipping against it and sending shockwaves of pain through you. Peter is next to you the whole time that you’re being carried back to the jet - Tony staying back to begin scanning the bodies of the Hydra agents for the information you need and any other information they may be carrying. The poor kid is nearly at a breakdown, so you reach out to him and shake his arm when his fingers twine with yours. “Chill out, kid, I don’t know how you got it into your head that this is your fault, but it sure isn’t.” He sniffles, but hands back with Steve as Bucky and Nat get you situated in the small medical room of the jet. They transfer you and then make to leave, only Bucky hesitating near the door.

“Stevie’s goin’ to be here soon and… I don’t know what made you do what you did but you have’t explain it to him. He’s bendin’ over backwards to figure it out, and we don’t have’a clue. Came out’a nowhere.” He looks at you for another moment before shaking his head and stepping out of the room. Your head is spinning, partially from what Bucky just said and partially from the pain and stimulus of electricity. You wait there, then, because this is it. This is the event horizon. You wait there, eyes closed, until you hear footsteps approach the med room, and then the door slowly opens. Steve says your name, holding all the finality and weight of an atomic bomb. You don’t open your eyes until he swings a chair next to the stretcher and lays a hand on your calf.

“You don’t have to do this,” You finally say, pushing yourself up onto your elbows to watch him. “I know that you don’t want to.” Steve only scoffs and begins to wash the stab wound using a packet of soap and a water bottle. You say his name twice before he looks at you, something between hate and hurt curdling into a glaze over his eyes that stops you in your tracks.

“Just let me do this. It is the least that you can do.” His words are painful and stilted, like it’s taking force to push them past his teeth. You lay back down and close your eyes, content to just feel the pain of Steve beginning to stitch you up and then dress the wound before you feel the pain of Steve leaving you like you knew he always would. (Falling in love with Steve Rogers went against every instinct you had. You knew that he was going to hurt you from the first moment your lips touched his.)

When he’s done he sits back and puts his elbows on his knees, head in his hands. He heaves a heavy sigh and then shakes it off, “I’ll dress your burn, and then we’ll talk.” And normally, yes, you would agree but this is too important. You want to get it over with so you can lick your wounds metaphorically and dress them literally - and then you want to go home, you want to pack your bags, and you want to disappear and remake your life somewhere else.

Some far-off place where everyone you know won’t take one look at your face and know that you’re still painfully, deeply in love with Steve Rogers, end of your semester be damned. Family you’ve made be damned. You can’t sit around and be in love with him like a neon sign on a dark highway while it’s painfully clear that he hasn’t had a sign on his highway in a long time.

So instead of agreeing, you swing your legs over the stretcher and swallow your flinch when the burn pulls tight. Steve opens his mouth to argue but you give him a tight-lipped shake of your head and his jaw snaps shut. “No,” You say, voice not giving in to the emotion swirling in your chest. “I have let this go on long enough.”

It’s the wrong thing to say because Steve fucking scoffs again and looks away from you. “One day was long enough.” He says, cutting straight to your core. Okay, ouch. You take a deep breath and shake your head to try and bite back the tears that are inevitably rising in your eyes. If one day was long enough for him to realize he doesn’t want to be with you, why did he let it go on for nearly a full year? Why did he spend so long leading you on, pulling you by a thread before garroting your heart with it? What was the point?

“If you want to leave me, just say that,” You reply harshly, standing and wobbling away from him. He just watches you go, watches the way you struggle past the lead weights your muscles have become, the way you’re starting to feel the stab wound on your leg, the way the skin on your burn is beginning to blister and only just now losing its heat. He just watches you, where the Steve that loved you once upon a time might have helped. You turn your back on him, hands on your hips so that you can hide the way that you’re crying and your hands are shaking.

“If I want to leave you? If?” He says. You hear the scrape of his chair as he stands, “I think after what you’ve done, it’s not an if, sweetheart.” The way he says it tastes like iron. Steve never calls you sweetheart like he never calls you by your name. It’s always honey, lover, dovie. You don’t turn to face him because you’re struggling to keep yourself above water. “I spent so long thinkin’, wonderin’, askin’ myself - God damnit, will you look at me?” You turn slowly, not because you’ve never heard Steve speak like that but because his voice is desperate and raw. When you turn, you’re not sure what to expect. Maybe him, standing in front of you, broad-shouldered and disappointed like in those PSA’s he had to film once. Maybe he’d be angry, hands clenched at his sides and eyes narrowed like he gets in meetings when he doesn’t agree with something but he’s out-voted. But you never expect to see him crying, lip wobbling, folded in on himself like a young boy instead of the strong, invincible man you’ve come to love.

He looks so different.

It hits you, then, that you’re not looking at Steve Rogers. Not really. He's not Steve Rogers, not Captain America, not even Captain Rogers. You see him as he was - before America spat it’s untruths all over him and injected him with a serum that changed who he was, is, will be. He’s not the able-bodied man that you know, not strong and unreachable, not the heartthrob that overshadows the team during press events. He’s not America’s Darling, not really. Not where it counts.

You’re looking at Stevie Rogers. Stevie Rogers who, for all intents and purposes, was supposed to die before he made it out of toddlerhood or soon thereafter. Stevie Rogers who the doctors said wasn’t supposed to survive. Stevie Rogers who grew up sickly, rattling painful breaths and never playing ball with the neighborhood boys. Who couldn’t walk until middle school when he got his braces off. Who never had a partner because Bucky, strong and handsome and tall Bucky, was always deemed the better option. Who believed in his country so much that he tried to sneak into the second world war, subjected himself to a painful medical procedure so that he could change his very DNA to be what the world wanted him to be.

Captain Steve Rogers. Captain America. Strong, blond, patriotic, resilient.

You’re sure that if men don’t want to go to therapy now, in the modern age, they certainly didn’t want to go in the ‘40s. So where did that leave Steve, your Steve, standing in front of you and looking small, and broken, and sad, and alone? Did they expect him to take his new, taller, working body and run with it? Did they not think about how he would lose a part of himself in the process? How did they expect him to go from disabled to abled without some disconnect?

You think about the You That You Were Before and the You That You Are Now, and how you lost a part of yourself when the accident gave you your powers and how you’d lose yourself if someone figured out a way to take them away. You Before formed your identity around being normal - living in a shitty home with shitty parents, sure, but normal - and You Now form your identity around your powers, your team, your job, your love. If you lost those things, what did you have left? Who would you be?

When Steve lost his identity and became everything that America wanted everyone to think that America was, what did he have left? Sure, he could tell himself that he represents America - strong and patriotic and just - but it must have conflicted with everything he knew about himself before that. You know that disabled people now know that American society is unjust, unfit for them with abled people not willing to make room to allow them to thrive. You can only imagine what it was really like for Steve in the ‘20s and ‘30s and ‘40s. What he had to do just to survive. (Medical experimentation, you remind yourself. Did they know it wouldn’t kill him? Did they know his body wouldn’t rip itself apart with the new sinewy muscle they were packing on? Did they care? Or was he just a body they saw as broken? A project to fix? To turn him into something more like them and call it patriotism?)

You shake your head at him, still filled with despair, and try to figure out what he’s talking about. “Stevie,” You start, pet name easily replacing what you had been calling him because it’s not fair to shoe-horn him into a body that doesn’t feel like his own. You wonder if he still expects the bone-grinding pain that he used to tell you would happen when it rains. He raises a hand, a strong and family hand, shaking his head.

“I just need to know why I wasn’t enough for you,” Steve looks sad, slouching in on himself like he’s expecting to get his ass handed to him in another alleyway and hope Bucky is there to save him. “I need to know why you wouldn’t just break up with me if you wanted to see other people so badly.” You suck in a shocked breath because, okay, that’s not what you were expecting. Between that and the paradigm shift you’ve had on how Steve must view his identity, body, and self, you’re stunned. Steve continues like he doesn’t even register that you look shocked and pale and now you’re crying because he thinks you’re cheating on him? “And I get it. I get it. You have no idea how much I understand. If I were you, I wouldn’t want me either, okay?”

You cut him off there because what the actual God damn fuck is he talking about? “No, Stevie, I’m not cheating on you.” You shake your head again and this, your statement, lights a fire in him. He still looks like Stevie rather than Steve, but there’s anger there. You imagine that’s what it might have looked like moments before he got himself in trouble back before he was serumed. “I’m not.”

“Oh, yeah?” He challenges, jaw ticking and chin jerking up, “Oh, yeah? You can’t lie to me. I know, okay? The act is up, it’s over, I know, okay? You can stop pretending.”

“Steve, I do not fucking know what you’re talking about but I”m not cheating on you!” You raise your voice, not really angry but more out of necessity. You need to get it out of his head that he is anything less than everything you want - that you could possibly love anyone more than you love him.

“I wanted to clarify something for you,” Steve says like he’s reading an old script from when he was just a beefy, red/white/blue stage prop for the American military, “I am excited to meet with you, but there are some rules. Do not talk about Captain Steve Rogers. I don’t want to hear about him,” As he continues to recite something that has clearly hurt him, you go lax. You know exactly what’s happened - your fists unclench, your jaw drops a little bit, and it feels like someone has gutted you, “I think it is wise to keep work and pleasure separate, and it’s a rule I will enforce heavily. I look forward to seeing you again.” He’s sneering at the end, tears falling down his ruddy cheeks.

“Steve,” You try again, but he cuts you off.

“Am I just work for you?” His voice is shaking more than you thought possible, and so are his hands. You’ve never seen Steve so off-kilter, so thrown, and it breaks your heart that yes, technically, you’re the cause of this. Before this, before this horrible misunderstanding, your relationship with Steve was the paragon of trust so neither of you cared if the other read emails or texts. You remember the email - the email from your fucking college professor - because it had made you so angry that he’d referred to your relationship with Steve as something as simple and base as just pleasure - like you could even put words to the galaxy of a relationship you had with Steve - that you’d gone to the gym to work off some of that irritation. You hadn’t wanted to take it out on anyone accidentally. When you came back from the gym, Steve was gone on that two-week mission that he’d left on without saying goodbye.

Oh, God. You feel sick to your stomach as the paradigm of the way that Steve’s been treating you shifts violently to the left. You have to physically hold yourself up and try to speak past the lump in your throat. Steve looks… Brokenly smug. Like he knows he’s right, but he’d rather gnaw his own legs off than be right.

“No,” You croak, “No, Steve, you’ve got it all wrong.” You want to reach for him, but it feels like the room is closing in on you. You’re second-guessing everything now - especially what you’ve just said. How many people said the exact same thing to him pre-serum because they said something meant for Bucky to him? How many times did he hear that when he was getting a new diagnosis, hoping for the best? How many times had his own mother said it to him when he told her something someone had said, fresh-faced and not yet used to the way that abled people sometimes treated disabled people? You think you might be sick. “That email was from my professor, Steve. I’m not cheating on you, I’d never.” He laughs darkly and sits back down in his chair, head in his hands again. You try to gather the strength to move toward him when you see his shoulders shaking, a telltale sign that he’s crying.

“A professor,” He says with a watery laugh, “Right.”

Finally, you realize that he needs you, needs to know you love him, that you’d do anything for him. You can iron out the kinks later - figure out why he didn’t want to come to talk to you past the original hurt, why he treated you so coldly, why he didn’t trust that you wouldn’t do this to him - but now, you need to show him that you’re here. That you choose him. That you’ll always choose him.

You make your way to him and set a shaking hand on his shoulder. For a brief second you think he’s going to shake you off but then Steve’s hand shoots up and latches onto where your hand is resting, dipping his head to press against your arm. “Stevie, please,” You say, unsure of what you’re asking him to do, “I picked up a class, just one, and it’s… I picked it up for you, it’s about the ‘30s and ‘40s and…” He looks up at you and he looks so broken - face ruddy and wet with tears, lip wobbling, chest heaving as he tries to not sob. His brows are knit and he looks confused, “I just wanted to be able to understand you better. You had to leave so much of yourself at the door when you joined the Avengers, had to leave so much of yourself in the ice… In Erskine’s lab… Stevie, I just wanted you to be able to be you when you’re with me. I wanted to know the you that you were before you became Captain America.” Your voice is shaking, knees knocking together, and honestly? You feel like you might blackout.

“What?” He rasps, “What?”

“He sent that email because too many kids signed up for his class thinking that they’d be able to look at pictures of you and Buck for a semester. Emailed me directly because he knows we’re…” You choke on your words, shaking your head because you’re not even sure there’s a we anymore, “Because he knows I’m on the team. Didn’t want me walking in and making his class about just a few years in the ‘30s and ‘40s rather than the culture of the time.” You don’t know how else to explain it to him, but Steve isn’t saying anything - practically isn’t moving or breathing- so you continue to try and explain what’s really happening as best as you can, “And - and that email made me so angry because he singled me out, didn’t email anyone else about it, and I left to try and work some of that out; I didn’t want to take it out on you, or let it spoil - let it spoil… But when I came back from the gym, you were gone. You were gone for two weeks and I didn’t know why.” You’re crying harder now and pretty sure that within the next sixty seconds you’re going to collapse if you don’t sit down.

Steve shakes his head, still looking like he doesn’t understand. “What?” He says for a third time, “A class? A college class?”

“I just wanted to feel closer to you,” You confess, “Just wanted to understand a fraction of your life without making you do the heavy liftin’ and teachin’ me. Shouldn’t have’t do that,” You’re sobbing, barely biting out your words as you realize that something you’ve done to strengthen your relationship with Steve has destroyed it, “Shouldn’t have to explain a whole different time just to feel loved, Stevie. Should be able to be with someone who understands without you havin’ to explain.” You’re not sure you can say Peggy’s name out loud, and you hope he understands what you’re saying without making you actually say it, “Should’a been able to have love with someone who knew, and I know I’m nothin’ compared to what you should’a had, but I want to be. I want to be in the same ballpark instead’a watchin’ from the stands.” You wipe your face with your free hand and look away from Steve when he stands in front of you. You don’t want to see the look on his face - what he’s thinking about what you’ve said.

He says your name and you glance at him, but his expression stops him in your tracks. Where Steve looked broken and hurt and fuming with anger to hide the anguish, now he looks stricken. You shake your head, “No, no. I didn’t say that to make you feel guilty-”

“You think that I care about whether or not you can understand the ‘40s?” He cuts you off, hands moving to curl around your biceps, “You think that I care whether or not you can relate to a time in history when you weren’t even thought of?”

“Of course I love you. I love you more than anything in this world, but you shouldn’t have to not care, Steve,” You argue, shaking your head, “That’s what I’m trying to say. You should be with someone who understands without explanation. I just wanted to give that to you - didn’t know that this would happen.”

“I should be with someone who loves me,” He argues back, “If you love me, that’s all that matters. My past be damned.”

“But your past is you!” You try to pull away from Steve, but he anchors you there. You’re dizzy from being so close to him after this long, but also because of how many different twists this situation has taken. You can barely keep up with how bad your communication with Steve has become - barely keep up with how you need to fix it, or how to fix it. “Your past is you,” You repeat when you realize that Steve isn’t going to let you go. “And you shouldn’t have to give that up so that someone will love you.”

“But you love me,” He says desperately, ducking his head so that he’s nearly nose to nose with you, “You love me, right?”

“More than anything,” You say, closing your eyes and relishing in the feeling of being so close to Steve, “I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone. I don’t care about what anyone else thinks, or anyone else. I’ll even stop goin’ to class if you want me to - Steve, I just can’t do this anymore. Can’t do this thing where you don’t talk to me about what’s botherin’ you.” You’re choking up, barely whispering, but you know he hears you. YOu can feel his warm breath on your face, “Nearly fuckin’ killed me.”

“I thought it was goin’ to be easier,” He breathes, nose bumping yours, “When you eventually decided to leave me for him. Thought I was savin’ myself some trouble.” You can practically taste his tears as they fall again, “Buck and Nat tried to tell me that you weren’t - that you wouldn’t - but I just couldn’t believe them.”

When you open your eyes, his are closed. This close to him you can see the soft freckles that are blooming over his eyelids, his soft eyelashes kissing his cheekbones. You can feel him breathing, feel him nearly pressed against you in a way that feels hauntingly nostalgic and terrifyingly fleeting; like you’ll be able to feel his warmth for years to come, but he’s about to disappear. “That’s okay,” You finally whisper, “It’s okay that you didn’t believe them. That you thought what you thought. It’s okay.” He shakes his head against yours, opening his mouth to protest, but you refuse to let him feel guilty about feeling this way - you have plenty of time to sit him down and talk to him candidly about the way he acted because of these feelings, anyway. “If I would have been in your place I’m not sure I would have believed them.”

“I treated you so badly…” He shifts and wraps his arms around you. It’s almost immediate - you relax into his arms and wind yours around his waist, keeping him pulled against you as he presses his face into your neck and you press your cheek against his chest. “So awfully.”

“We’ll talk about that, okay? But later. Right now you just need to know that I love you, Steve. I love you more than I can tell you - more than I can express.” You want to kiss him, but you can’t. Can’t kiss him, you need to wait for him to kiss you, for him to close that gap and show you that he still loves you like you love him. “We’ll have to have a talk, a long and hard conversation about this, Stevie, but for now… For now, I’m just content to be with you, okay? MIssed you so much.”

He sighs, nose pressing against yours again. “Missed you too, dovie. Missed you more than I can even say,” His voice breaks as his lips brush yours. Your relationship is not without its flaws and problems - Steve’s actions when he thought you were cheating on him are proof of that and, well, the fact that you didn’t realize what was happening, why it was happening, or a large part of your boyfriend’s psychological makeup having an impact on your relationship while it went unknown by you… There is a lot of work for the two of you to do, a lot of work to do, a lot of communication to be done… But you’d do it all for Steve, over and over again.

When he presses forward and presses his lips gently to yours, you know that he’ll do it all for you, over and over again, too.

#steve rogers imagine #steve rogers/reader #steve rogers x reader #marvel imagine #mcu imagine

[cheelduh]

How to strike your way into someone’s heart (Highschool AU)

Part 2 to this. Can be read alone!

Pairing: Childe x fem!reader

Warnings: A lot of swearing I mean what do you expect they’re all teenagers. Lots of brick slapping. Childe clowns Scaramouche. OH YES this isn’t edited at all lmfao have fun.

Synopsis: It’s your big date with Childe after you lost the bet miserably. You decide to pay the occult club a visit in hopes of finding something that can...ease your concerns. Childe on the other hand has Signora give him a friendly piece of advice, believe it or not. 

Note: SRY THIS TOOK ME LIKE A MONTH

For as long as you can remember, you've never believed in ghosts, demons, or souls that lose their way in the endless void, forced to roam the earth in repentance.

Believing in the unknown takes creativity, adventure, maybe even a little sense of fear. Scratch that—a shitton of fear, because humans love to weave in their insecurities and inability to explain something into something of a phenomenon.

Bad luck lies in this category. Bad luck is simply a way to justify the catastrophe that one cannot admit they have fabricated themselves. Everyone wants a reason as to why shit hits the fan, and it can be anything but their own fault.

Bad luck is nothing but a load of bull to you. That's totally why you're standing outside the calculus classroom during lunch break, which happens to be the official meet spot for the occult club.

You raise a fist to knock, but then falter, thinking over your options once again. Is this what it has come to? Putting your faith into the weird kids that once tried to summon Schrödinger's cat for the physics final.

Fischl kicks the door wide open, a smirk playing at her lips once she spots you. "One cannot refrain from the song of your cogitation. The feline for which thou dwell on—"

A squeak leaves your throat and you flinch back, cutting her off. "You can read my mind?"

"Fischl," An icy eyed boy shows up from behind her and points a thumb back. "Mona needs your help."

Fischl squints at you for a brief moment, and then spins onto her heel to go back into the room.

The blue haired lower class man, Chongyun you guess, narrows his eyes at you. "Is there something I can help you with?"

Finally you manage to speak, palms all sweaty. "Yeah uh, I need your help. You know, with occulty things." You use your hands to articulate your thoughts, but ultimately give up.

You're not sure if it's pity towards your pathetic explanation or simply annoyance, but Chongyun widens the opening. He silently gestures for you to follow.

Stumbling on your feet and putting on your big girl pants, you hurry inside of the room, hoping you aren't seen by Beidou. She wouldn't let you hear the end of this.

The temperature instantly drops, and you have to adjust your sight to navigate. There's heavy incense in the air as well as a a few lighted candles from the dollar store, you guess.

Sitting smack dab in the middle of all the demonic markings is Mona, with a mischievous glint in her eyes. Chongyun has made his way next to her, crossing his arms with a sigh, and Fischl is busy cooing at her bird.

"Well well well..." Mona's amused, eyes almost twinkling as she gets up from the poor desk that had to suffer the wrath of her ass. "If it isn't Y/N."

Mona is a glorified dick wiper in your books. One time, she partnered up with you in chemistry last year and refused to do any work because apparently her "star sign" said she was incompatible with science. You haven't forgiven her since.

"I need your help." You barely manage to choke out the words, reigning yourself in by clenching your fists instead. It'll be unethical to claw her face, especially since you're the one who's come to her.

"Oh?" She smiles wickedly, revelling in every moment of this no doubt. "Why would the high and mighty Y/N need help from the 'Whoroscope whore'?"

Fischl nearly slips out a laugh, trying with her upmost ability to refrain from rolling all over the floor.

You blink away your tears of almost-laughter, casually sliding in twenty mora across the table dividing you two. If she's a whoroscope whore like you say she is, she'll definitely put it in her bra.

Mona raises a brow, but her eyes linger on the bill for a second too much. "What makes you think I'll do it for money?"

"That's simple," You say, rolling your eyes. "When you see mora, you cling to it like a baby clings to a tit. Now just take it and solve my issues."

She fumes a litany of curses but snatches the money up anyways.

"What do you want?"

You breathe in, then out. "I need a talisman."

Mona raises a brow, hand on her hip. "I'm sorry. Did I get that right?"

How dare she. You will your eye into not twitching, the beginnings of fire thrumming through your veins, scalding hot. How dare she make me repeat myself.

"You know, the thing to fend off evil spirits," Your statement hangs heavy in the air as the cogs in their brains click into place. "I need one that can remove the most evilest thing times ten to the power of twenty five on this planet."

Everyone immediately thinks of Hu Tao.

Chongyun is the first to speak from an area of expertise, seemingly shocked at your words. "Are you sure you want a talisman that powerful? How bad is the evil spirit you've come across?"

You glance out the window, through the semi-open blinds. The apprehension curls in your stomach once you spot Childe chasing Aether with safety scissors, and you've never been more sure of than anything in your life.

Gulping, you turn back to the exorcist. "I'm 110% sure."

He doesn't ask any more questions and goes to fetch the talisman.

Mona clears her throat. "So I hear you have a date with Childe today. Quite the character you've taken to."

"Oh please," You hiss through your teeth, your blood pressure going up tenfold, "you're the one that told him our star signs were intertwined and that we're fated lovers."

She shrugs innocently, stance casual unlike your own that is ready to lunge an attack.

"Here you are," Chongyun hands you a talisman, a colourful mix of some charms, some kind of liquid in a bottle, and about a shitton of other things. "You'll need these if you're going to face the most demonic of all evils."

You think of Childe's stupidly handsome smirk, the playful life of his eyes, and how gentle and considerate he is with you. You think about how cruel he is to others, but how loving he can be to you.

"Oh, I will be."

—

Childe is getting his ass handed to him by Scaramouche on the switch. It's just that he can't seem to focus, not with the forthcoming date all over his mind.

He hasn't experienced these kind of jitters in a long time. Has to endure that foolish smile that's about to plaster all over his face.

Scaramouche may be a son of a bitch with an agenda, but he doesn't appreciate his acquaintances safeguarding their personal crap when it starts to leak onto him. Especially when it comes to video games.

"Okay," The short boy sighs, stretching over the staff room sofa to drop his controller on the cushions. "Let's hear it." He can't even properly enjoy his victories when Childe isn't giving it his all.

"Hear what?" Childe lays his head back, relaxing from all the strain of endless gaming during the lunch hour. He seems too relaxed for someone who's broken into the teacher's lounge.

"Why you're so distracted." Scaramouche points out. "Not that I care—hey! I'm serious here!"

Childe's cracking up for absolutely no reason, rudely cutting him off. "I'm sorry—sorry it's just so hard to take you seriously when you're wearing that stupid fucking hat."

"Don't question the drip." The older moves his head to glare at him, but the thin stripe of silk on his hat swooshes with him, and it's enough to have Childe clutching his stomach in pain as he barks out in laughter.

"Grow the fuck up." Scaramouche says, no doubt exasperated from the constant shit he gets.

"Ok—ok I'm sorry."

There's a knock on the door before Scaramouche gets the chance to intimidate him again.

"Fuck shit fuck who is that? Wasn't there a staff meeting?" Childe whisper yells, panic clear in the ocean of his eyes.

Scaramouche shrugs and downs a can of soda with no care in the world.

Childe would be nonchalant too. If it were a normal day, he wouldn't give two shits about getting caught.

However, he's looking forward to that date he has with you today. Detention is going foil all his lecherous plans.

"It's me." The feminine sound of a threat calls out from the other side. "Open the door." The clicks and clacks of her toes tapping the floor indicating her impatience.

The two sigh in relief, Childe getting up to open the door. It's way too early in the afternoon to deal with this crap.

"Surprised to see me?" Signora greets sweetly, and if not for the murderous glint in her eyes, he would smile back.

"Yeah, I didn't say Bloody Mary three times." The ginger replies, keeping a steady eye on the upperclassman in case she pulls a fast one.

The blonde shoves him aside in offence, and prances in like she owns the goddamn place. Scaramouche greets her with the bird.

"There's this rumour going around—I'm sure you've heard..."

"Oh?" Childe pockets his keys, ready for an attack, not even remotely interested in the topic.

"Something about how Y/N gave Mona a visit today" Signora muses, elegantly taking a seat on the arm of the couch, "with your date and all, I just thought you should know."

"Hah!" Scaramouche bursts out in laughter, tears in the corner of his eyes. "I can't believe she went to get a horoscope reading on how shitty your date's gonna be."

"Get castrated." Childe growls, flipping him off on both hands.

"Now now boys," Signora's lips curl, and she clasps both manicured hands together, prepared to break the fight if it ever reaches its peak. "Settle down. You two are comrades."

"As if I'm comrades with this SIMP!" Scaramouche has to wheeze out the words.

The youngest clenches his fists, unclenches, and then lets a smirk grow. "Oh? I'm the simp? What about that time Mona pantsed you in-front of all the freshmen and you fell in love with her."

Scaramouche glares at him, a glare strong enough to have anyone shaking in their shoes. "I'm attracted at her sheer audacity of trying to fuck I, Scaramouche, the 8th harbinger, over. It takes balls."

"Mad respect." Signora leans forward to place her phone on the coffee table, then approaches Childe. "Moving on, the reason I've decided to bestow my precious intel on you is because I have a favour to ask of you."

"What?" He says blankly, confused that she has a request for him out of all people.

"I need you to let me get you ready for this date of yours." She gives him a gaze that is enough to wither away any arguments.

Childe shares a look with Scaramouche as if to say "am I fucking deaf because I sure as shit didn't just hear that."

"You sure as hell did, boys." Signora intercepts the connection of their two brainwaves with a dreaded sigh. "I hate Y/N. This is the only way I can get back at her."

"Hey!" Childe exclaims loudly, waving his hands in the air incessantly. "What makes you think I'll let you shit on my future girlfriend."

"I'll be doing nothing of the sorts." She points out, giving him a sly smile. "I just know she's terrified of what's coming. The better the date is, the more she's gonna hate herself. What more do I need but to sprinkle some inner conflict within her airtight resolve?"

As favorable as the proposal is, Childe  contemplates for a second. Signora...helping him? This could work to his advantage if he plays his cards right.

His inner turmoil takes him into the future, where you two are happily married with eight and a half kids. If you ever managed to find out Signora was the culprit that was finally able to set you two up, you'd never forgive him.

"Nah I'll take a hard pass." He doesn't want to think about divorce and custody battles this early on. He'd rather face the brunt of Signora's wrath.

Scaramouche chooses right then to make a tactical withdrawal out through the window since he doesn't want to be a witness to a murder he hasn't caused.

Surprisingly— "Fine then." Signora shrugs, unbothered when summoning out a minty juul from no where. She's disappointed nonetheless.

Childe tilts his head, perplexed, but decides against mulling over it for too long. Instead, he strides off to the door, wanting to get the last two periods over with so he can run home and freshen up for this date.

"Oh and Childe?" Signora calls out to him, but he barely acknowledges her, only pausing momentarily without looking back. "A piece of friendly advice. A diligent student like Y/N, there's no way she'd be into rash things like fighting. So try and control yourself, hmm?"

He flashes the senior a sheepish smile, the front row tickets to the illegal underground fight-club burning in the back pocket of his pants.

—

Childe conceals near the bushes by the gate, expertly hiding his shaking hands by pretending to look for something in his back. His goal isn't to seem desperate, even though he's raced out here at the speed of light after Havria's dismissal.

It's not like he's trying to eavesdrop or anything. He just wants a little insight on how you're feeling about this, in case the rumors of you visiting the occult club wasn't a farce.

From his peripheral, he spots you and a familiar figure that is Lisa, leisurely walking side by side as you approach the main side walk.

"Ready for your date, Y/N? You've been daydreaming all afternoon." Lisa winks, and dodges the shove you send her way with experience like no other.

"Yes, daydreaming about punching you in the face." Your left eye twitches in annoyance as you fix your hold on your skateboard.

"Well then, I'll be off—ah!"

The gorilla grip you have on her sleeve takes away all the time she has to get on the last bus she's about to miss.

Your utter strength is enough to make Childe's knees weak. How pathetic he thinks.

"Oh no you don't," You say in a sing-song voice, "you got me into this, so you're going to help."

"Help with what?" Lisa fakes a hard pout as she bats her lashes, trying to collect pity points.

"I—" You inhale, loosening your grip on her and averting your eyes nervously to see if anyone's watching. "Don't make me say it."

The older girl motions for you to continue, and you're sure you've suffered more for less at this point.

"I've never...been on a..." The sentence ends in a trailed murmur.

Childe doesn't think he's ever seen you so flustered. He's about to snap a picture for later, but decides against it. They'll be plenty of moments later on to see your cute expressions.

Lisa's grin is both seductive and terrifying, Childe notices. "You've never been on a date?"

"Shut up!" You hiss, dropping your board so you can cover her lips with your palm, eyes darting around your surroundings frantically. "Not so loud."

He has to bite at his fist to hide his amusement.

As if she has a sixth sense, Lisa's eyes somehow find Childe's through the abundance of leaves, and there's a glint in her eyes that nearly makes him shart his pants.

"Of course Y/N," She replies sweetly to you, who is currently unaware of the staring match going on. "I'll teach you everything you need to know...and more."

Childe doesn't know if that's a good or bad thing. Nor does he want to find out.

—

You ponder on what's taking him so long, more on edge than you usually are. Thankfully, Lisa basically pried your hair down from its usual up-do. Said something about how you can hide your lack of shits given as to not offend him.

Except you think you're giving more shits that you expected to. Why else would your heart be pounding so hard?

"What took you so long?" You sense him creeping up on you, ceasing his chance to pounce.

Childe groans playfully and slaps a hand over his face as he comes into view. "How'd you know?"

"You have a douche-styled gait." You reply as you remove your gaze off your phone to approach him.

He's prepared to shoot a witty reply, but it dies halfway through his throat when he procures a good look at you. Your hair frames your face elegantly, eyes shining despite the tiredness that's so clear, all complete with a cooling spring dress that hugs you just right.

Mouth going dry, he forgets how to speak the common tongue, unable to tear his gaze off your form.

You shift in place awkwardly. "Uh are you okay? Looking a little...blank."

"Sorry—sorry just thinking." Childe stumbles over his words like the complete idiot and a half he is, berating himself countlessly on the inside. He regains his confidence once he spots the light dust on your cheeks. "You ready for the best date ever?"

"The best date huh?" It's the first time you smile today, and he swears his heart leaps in his rib cage. You're the prettiest thing he's ever laid his eyes on. "I'm ready. I better not be disappointed."

"I wouldn't dare disappoint, girlie." He feigns mock offence as dramatically as possible. "I'll show you how to have some real fun. Cool keychain by the way, for good luck?"

It's one of the charms Chongyun urged you to carry with you at all times to keep all forms of evil away.

"Yeah...something like that."

The two of you ease into the walk in a relatively comfortable fashion, contributing with lively chatter and a few jabs here and there. It's not awkward at all, not like you thought it would be. Your nerves loosen up, mind diverting from the roots of the stress of high school.

"—And you won't believe what Kaeya did the other day. I'm telling you there's something wrong with him because that SoundCloud rapper wannabe Venti goaded him into birdboxing through the hallways at lunch."

"And the son of a bitch did it?"

"The son of a bitch did it." Childe confirmed, gasping through his laughs as the two of you converse in psychobabble. "And guess who he bumped into?"

You're choking in laughter, tears in your eyes as you hunch over and shake. "He didn't. Childe—no he didn't."

"Straightttt into Diluc. And he had the balls to feel him up because he thought he bumped into a hot bab—"

Childe crashes into a sturdy chest and stumbles backwards towards you, but manages to catch his balance midway. Both of you freeze when faced with a buff guy from another school, bandages on his fist and a crooked smirk on his face.

Fuck. You think. Classic high school cliché.

Realizing he can't risk the remainder of this date when it hasn't even begun, Childe raises a hand in apology, aiming to be the bigger person instead of socking the kid in the face.

"Sorry. I wasn't looking." He offers to the guy, but you can tell he isn't buying any of it. There are about four more kids who group, a setup that isn't going to end in your favour.

"Hey punk. You don't remember me?" The upperclassmen barks out, glaring holes into your date.

You deadpan towards Childe, but he's too is racking his brain to remember. Ends up shrugging with no recollection.

"I have a list of names but they're in my other pants." Shit, what an a-grade reply. Now you know you're done for. "Listen dude, I'm kind of on a date and the vibe is going great. Don't ruin it."

"It's a good thing she's here to watch then!" The guy yells, stomping so that he's right in-front of Childe, ready to pounce. "You humiliated me in front of my gang last week. I'm here to rip you a new one."

Childe blinks, tries to remember, and when he doesn't, he grabs a wad full of cash from the his Fanny pack and throws it at the guy's feet.

Everyone's eyes bulge out of their sockets, including yours at the amount of money placed there casually on the crack of the dirty sidewalk.

"Hopefully this is enough for the damages." Childe offers, aiming to not further escalate the situation albeit how pissed he is right now. If you weren't here...well that would be another, much more violent story.

With a soft tug, Childe brings you close and begins to pass the guy, until he's abruptly stopped by a hand gripping his shoulder tightly.

"I don't think so!" The guys barks, and his lackeys move to surround you two. "You gotta pay taxes too buddy." Oh he's getting way too comfortable now.

A feral smile grows on Childe's face as he looks over his shoulder. "Oh?"

"Yeah shithead." The guy seethes, puffing out his chest to size him up.

Childe itches for a fight. He can no longer keep in the urge and is just about ready to raise a heavy fist, but is beaten by the sound of a loud thwack, and then a painful groan following.

There you are, standing in front of the trembling asshole, spinning your crossbody bag in circles like it's a nunchuck in all it's glory. There's a deadly glint in your eyes, pure, unadulterated vexation in your features.

If Childe could fall for you any harder, it's probably happening now. In that exact moment, his heart beats in his ears uncontrollably, and there's nothing but raw adoration that piles up all at once.

You're an angel of destruction, a force not to be reckoned with, and shit, you're the eye of the fucking storm.

Fire courses through your veins as you pulverize the guy with your bag, swinging with such expertise it has Childe in awe. "He may be an absolute idiot for not remembering—"

"Hey girlie you're killing me here!" Your date snaps out of his astonishment temporarily.

"—but you don't get to call him a shithead, you asshole!" You snarl angrily, gripping the handle of your bag tightly, decking everyone that lunges at you, letting out strings of curses with every hit. Every hit sends a flock of them either stumbling back in pain, or knocked out completely.

Childe doesn't even get a chance to lift a finger by the time you're done violating them with your heavy ass pink bag. Stands there like an absolute loser.

"Apologize." You pant, prepared to send another flurry of attacks at the leader, who is crawling away with a battered face. "Apologize or I'll—I'll fucking Russian neck tie your ass."

"S-sorry!" The guy whimpers out and tries not to piss his pants at the threat.

Childe is still in too much shock at the whole ordeal to reply, short circuiting.

Another thirty seconds pass until he registers the smaller hand waving in front of his face. He catches your cold hand through his haze, brings it closer.

Running a free hand through his locks, he doesn't hide his astonishment. "You're fucking gorgeous, girlie." He whistles lowly, eyeing you with a new kind of regard.

"I-I uh." Your face is all shades of red by now, the adrenaline from kicking ass wearing down. "Let's go."

"How is that bag so heavy?" One of the fallen gasps out in pain, clutching his ribs as he trembles on the floor. "Like a buh-brick."

A part of your zipper in open, and Childe briefly peeks out of morbid curiosity. His jaw slackens. "Is that a...no, it can't be."

"It's a brick." You murmur guiltily, gnawing at your bottom lip. "Just in case." Fingers tentatively play with the straps.

Childe is head over heels by now, all smitten as a foreign warmth bubbles up in his throat, and he's just about sure he'll puke his heart out.

His next words are picked out carefully. "There's an underground fight club going on—"

You lock and aim for his right kidney.

Worth a try, Childe thinks.

"SIKE. Joking—joking. Just a joke." He insists, gloved hands raised by his ears in defence.

Clicking your tongue, you scowl and rush past him.

It hasn't even been an hour and it's been the most exciting date Childe's ever experienced. When he sees your lips twitch, he knows it's the same for you as well.

"Are we going or not?" You mumble, avoiding eye contact, a tinge of red still decorating your cheeks.

Childe crumbles into his hands at your deadly duality. One that comes for his enemies and one that comes straight for his heart.

#genshin impact #genshin impact oneshot #childe x reader #childe #genshin tartagalia #genshin oneshot #tartagila #mona genshin impact #Chonghyun #kaeya alberich #master diluc #venti genshin impact #fischl #lisa genshin impact #jean gunnhildr #fanfic

[dojaeism-archived]

Hello, hope you've been well! I've been very busy recently with a lot of things and it's been giving me headaches but other than that I've been pretty good! Ah, it seems more interesting than Psych alone because of how broad it is... I hope you don't hate doing it though, subjects get really tough if one doesn't enjoy them or detests them (the only reason I hated Physics; my teacher didn't do a good job at explaining it and I learnt everything by myself after school) - ❄️

im writing more for these asks than some of my assignments lmfaoo 😭😭

I'm good at Math and anything related to it, but for some reason I could never understand anything other than the formulas and problems in Physics hence why I went for Psychology only instead of Psychiatry... Oh, I'm sure once I reveal myself you can find a few things I've made; there were quite a lot but I got rid of my art sideblog because it was too time-consuming and kind of cleared my main a few months ago so there's like only 2-3 here, but there's some on my other sideblogs as well! - ❄️

I used to only make breakfast items or pasta before but now I learnt how to cook almost everything -once again courtesy of quarantine Lol- and I enjoy making any kind of dessert; but Cheesecake and Tiramisu are my favourite, along with Quiche! Among things on stove, I quite enjoy making dumplings and stews ^^ I've been okay-ish in the kitchen since I was little, but my sisters? A fire in the microwave, oil splashed all over the stove and the only thing they're decent at is fries + ramen - ❄️

but I think they'll learn as time passes! Ah, I don't gif exo that much; I think there might've been a couple sets before I cleared my blog but I gif 2 other groups mostly... there's this multi blog I need to post more on but since I've been busy I've barely had time to post there T^T that's where my nct and exo sets will go (if I ever get to making them) I took part in this event for the purpose to have an exo-l as a friend too; since I gif those I have friends in the fandom of the most - ❄️

Ça bien; je suis sur le point de le terminer bientôt et j'aurai un examen~ Non, ton Français va bien! It starts in November or mid-November I think, not too sure since it keeps getting delayed :( II used to only play Tomb Raider or The Uncharted; maybe a little NFS if I'm up for it haha so I get you... My friend plays Genshin so that's where I know of it from, she forced me to sit down and have a go but I lost interest too quick XD - ❄️

omg my dad always drinks tea! I don't think I've ever seen him sitting down without a cup right next to him; rare to catch him having water unless it's midnight Lol Ah, thank you :D things have been pretty okay but I guess once college starts it'll get more hectic than it already is. Take care! - ❄️

hellooo im glad to hear that you’ve been keeping busy but please don’t let that get in the way of you taking care of yourself!! but don’t worry, i definitely enjoy it!! its just that sometimes there’s that lingering question of “would it have been better if id done something else” ya know… but its all good! it sucks when teachers don’t do their job properly and end up causing students to lose interest in their subjects 😭

ohh omg im so excited to find out who you are now lmfaooo i cant wait aaaaaaa but how many sideblogs do you run??? it sounds like you have quite a few :0

its great that you’ve managed to get something out of this quarantine!!! i cooked a lot at the beginning too but now im just like.. eh….. i loveeee tiramisu but im not really a fan of cheesecake lol its too… (idk what the word is but like thick? like it gets sickening after u eat it too much LOL) but ive never had quiche :0 or stew actually HAHAHA omg but dumplings!!!! im obsessed with themkjjgfnklfg but i totally relate to ur sisters, when i was younger i wasn’t allowed in the kitchen when the adults were cooking cos they were worried id set something on fire lmfao but speaking from experience, they’ll definitely learn as they get older!

ohh its interesting that you don’t gif exo all that much, i don’t either even if they’re my ult group which is a lil funny except me thinks but oh well!! its cool that you joined this event to make friends tho, and i look forward to getting to know you better and us becoming closer friends hehehe what other groups do you gif for then?

CRYING BC idk why i didn’t expect the french reply when i started it 😭 but anyways bonne chance pour ton examen!! j'espère que ça va bien ~

ohh omg tomb raider and uncharted 🥺 reminds me of when i was younger and all my friends would play them hahah but tbh idek why im so obsessed with genshin, i literally played for like 14 hours straight over the weekend which is crazy since usually i absolutely have no interest in games at all 😭😭😭

good luck for college, make sure to rest well now especially since things are gonna get a lot busier!!!! take care 💗

#❄️ anon #exolsecretsanta #anonymous #replies

[nightowlwriting]

summary: caleb is not so sure that he deserves the kindness you've done for him. you're sure that he deserves so much more, and you plan to show him in small increments so that you don't scare him away. the shopping trip is only the beginning. (part 3/13 of the kindness series, a thematically connected series of c2/exu imagines)

word count: 2.1k

warnings: caleb's low self-esteem, mentions of political corruption, set early in c2

note: i am only on ep16 of c2 so that's where we're at folks, also my german is so so so rusty so uhhh hope it's right but any germans want to correct me feel free lmfao

masterlist - request - support my work? - ao3

Caleb Widogast is a jumpy, jumpy man. You assume it’s for good reason - he’d confided in the group that he met Nott in jail and, well, typically people don’t go to jail unless they’ve done something.

(Although, the more that you adventure with the Mighty Nein you’re not so sure that’s true. It seems like corruption runs deep in the Empire, and you’ve only scratched the surface.)

Still, he is far jumpier than even Nott, and she’s a goblin in the Empire. You watch him, sometimes, and cringe when he flinches. It’s not pity that makes you start being nice to Caleb, but that does color your actions in the beginning. You are of the firm belief that he is a good person, that all of the Nein are, and that they deserve kindness. Caleb most of all. He is so hard on himself and no amount of coaxing from the rest of the group can get him to ease up. Not even Nott, and she functions as his pseudo-mother. But you want him to loosen up, want more of those moments where he makes a joke with a straight face, only to crack a small smile when the group looks away from him. (You try not to look away, craving those moments where you can see the smile light up his face.) When your group arrives in Zadash, you make it your mission to get Caleb to feel some sort of positive emotions about himself.

Or some sort of positive emotion that’s not scarred by whatever happened in his past. You want him to be happy, to heal from whatever keeps him held back from joking with the rest of you. It doesn’t even matter if he reciprocates how you feel about him - you don’t really care. You can love him from afar, be kind to him, and that will be enough for you. He doesn’t have to fall in love with you like you’ve fallen in love with him, really, that’s not why you’re doing this. This being stopping by Pumat’s shop to pick up some more spell scrolls for him with your gold. He had been muttering to himself the last time you were all in about not having enough money, but you hadn't wanted to embarrass him by purchasing them on his behalf, so a separate trip it is. Pumats, all of them, seem to know what you’re doing because they smile when you tuck the scrolls under your cloak and sweep out of the shop.

Your next stop is an ink shop, where you pick up some more ink and incense for Caleb. You’re not really sure how his magic works because it’s not something he was born with or given by a God, but you know that he’s always looking for good ink, parchment, and incense. Just because you don’t understand doesn’t mean that you can’t be supportive. You hope that’s what Caleb will get out of your gift, and not anything else. After you gather the magic supplies - you’d asked specifically for the things that wizards use just to make sure - you make your way to the Chastity’s Nook. Maybe Caleb was joking about wanting to be titillated while he learns, but you feel better safe than sorry.

The worker there is incredibly nice, if not shy, and helps you pick out something educational, historical, and terribly smutty. It makes you blush when you glance through it, but it seems to be the right balance of the things that Caleb has expressed interest in before. (Even if that might be fake - you’re not totally sure. Still, it can not hurt to try.) She even wraps it up nicely for you, offering to wrap your other gifts too. That might be too much, so you decline, but you still pass her a few more silver as a tip. You’ve never been so nervous as you are when you make your way back to the tavern where you’re staying, but it’s almost easy to keep your cool and mask the absolute terror you feel when Caleb is sitting with the group, eating dinner. You were kind of counting on him being in his room, reading, but you don’t let his sudden appearance stop you. Jester spots you first, patting the empty seat between her and Nott, calling your name. You slip into it, easily concealing your gifts behind your back. “Where did you go?”

A sly smile slips onto your face as you reach forward, taking a portion of the food they’d ordered, “Oh, you know, around.”

“You smell like perfume,” Beau leans over Nott and sniffs you, making a slightly disgusted face, “Why do you smell like perfume?”

“I went shopping,” You cut in before Jester and Molly can interject with salacious theories, “That shopping happened to be in the Tri-Spire, thank you very much.” Caleb raises an eyebrow, sharing a look with Fjord, but you ignore it. “What did you guys do today?” You don’t really listen - only enough to hum or nod as they’re speaking - because you’re focused on figuring out a plan to get your gifts to Caleb without the others noticing or making him feel like you’re doing it out of pity, or that he owes you. You just want him to be happy that he’s getting a gift. It’s later, when everyone has cleared out, that Jester shakes your shoulder lightly, calling your name.

“Are you okay?” Her dark blue eyebrows pull down over her eyes, incredibly worried, “You didn’t talk at all during dinner.” You take her hand in yours, squeezing it briefly.

“I’m fine, Jessie. I think I might head to bed, though.” You give her a hug before heading up to your room, looking over your shoulder just before you hit the stairs to see if Caleb had gone to bed when you had zoned out. He’s easy to find in the corner, nose deep in a book, and you grin. That makes everything so much easier, especially since Nott is tucked into the booth next to him. That means that their room is completely empty and a perfect place to drop the gifts without any of the unnecessary baggage that might come with giving them to him face to face. You don’t even think about the fact that he might have warded his room until it’s too late. (That being until you watch the string snap around your ankles when you make it four steps into the room.)

But, damnit, you have a mission to complete. There’s at least a minute before Caleb makes it to the stairs and perhaps another half a minute before he hits the door. You set the things up on what you think is Caleb’s bed a little messier than you wanted but you’re running out of time. The door is a no-go to leave, and you can hear Caleb bounding up the steps. You whirl, tugging your cloak tightly around you as you debate jumping through the window instead of opening it. In the end that will just draw an entirely different reaction than you want, so you settle for slamming the window up and slinging one leg over the sill. Caleb’s room is on the second floor, so the fall might hurt a little bit, but Caleb is right outside the door, so you don’t have any other choices-

“Was machst du in meinem Zimmer!?” He bellows, hands already engulfed in flame, when he kicks the door open. It startles you off of the window sill, luckily into the room instead of out. You pop up, hands raised and already talking.

“Okay, I don’t know what you’re saying but I didn’t know you had your room warded, I was just trying to give you the things that I bought you today, and then by the time I realized it was too late because I couldn’t just leave without giving you the stuff, because then you’d be scared-” Caleb extinguishes the flames that had started to crawl up his arms, shutting the door as he comes closer to the bed. You scramble to your feet, snagging your cloak in your hands to twist it nervously. “-I should leave now, excuse me.” You do your best to skirt around him but Caleb holds up a hand, eyes on the pile of loot you’ve left on his bed. He wraps a warm hand around your wrist to keep you in place as he tries to process what’s happening.

“What is on my bed?” Caleb finally looks toward you then, eyebrows furrowed as he watches you nervously fidget with your robe, biting your lower lip. “I am not mad, but what do you mean things you bought me?” He gestures loosely with the other hand and you take a step closer to him and the bed. You weren’t ready for being confronted with Caleb, despite how much you thought about what you might say to him in a situation like this. You almost swallow your tongue trying to figure out what to say to him.

“I bought you things,” You blurt, “Because you deserve it. I’m not sure if it’s all the right things, but I tried and even if you can’t use them for, you know, magic things you can use them for other stuff-” You watch as he makes his way over to the pile and begins rifling through it, mumbling to himself in Zemnian. “I’m not doing this out of pity, or anything,” You move to his side, peeking over as he skims through the book you bought, “I did it because I want to, I promise.” You wring your hands and look off to the side, avoiding watching the way he’s pouring over what you’ve bought, “You weren’t even really supposed to know they’re from me, honestly, I just wanted to do something nice for you because you deserve kindness-”

“-I am not so sure about that,” Caleb turns to you, catching your attention. He smiles, but it’s weak, when he looks at the small pile you’ve bought for him, “The spells will be useful for the group, but the rest… You are too kind.”

“I’m not!” Perhaps on instinct, you reach out and clasp his wrists in your hands, “No, Caleb, please. I didn’t do this to make you feel bad, I want you to feel good. You’re so bright, Caleb, and so amazing that I just want you to feel a fraction of the happiness you make me feel.” He hesitates so you press on, taking the chance to step closer to him as your heart takes off at a breakneck pace in your chest. “Please, don’t feel guilty. I did this because I want to, okay? I want to make you happy and make you smile, and make you feel good because it makes me feel good. You don’t have to do - to do anything and if you want, I’ll stop. You just say the word and I’ll stop, but I see you, Caleb.” Your voice breaks off as your eyes mist over. He looks awe-inspired at you, not stepping away or pulling from your grasp, “I see you. I see the way you bite back jokes, and sometimes they slip through. I see the way you care for us, for Nott. I see the way you sacrifice yourself in everything you do because you don’t feel like you deserve to be happy, but you do. Please, you are such a good man - I can see it. I can feel it, Caleb. You deserve the world’s largest kindness, but if I can’t give that to you I’ll give you small kindnesses, if you’ll let me.” Your lip quivers and your voice comes out in a hoarse whisper when you decide to fling yourself off the metaphorical cliff you’ve found yourself on, “Caleb Widogast, I wish to give you never-ending small kindnesses not only because you deserve them, but because I love you. I am in love with you.” The difference sits heavy in the air between you as you watch Caleb process everything that you’ve said.

“You… Are you in love with me?”

“Undoubtedly.” You confirmed, whispering. He’s stepped toward you a fraction of an inch, but it puts the both of you nearly chest to chest. “I have never been so sure of something, Caleb.”

“I enjoy the way you say my name.” He confesses. You watch in wonder as red begins to crest from underneath his facial hair, coloring his cheeks a rosy, pretty pink. He tries to look away, but you duck your head to try and keep some semblance of eye contact. Your hands tremble in his.

“I’ll say it forever, then,” You try to smile, but you really only manage an upward quiver of your lips, “Every day, if you’ll accept my kindness.”

“Es wird schwer,” Caleb says under his breath as he shuffles even closer to you, “Es wird so schwer, aber ich werde es versuchen.” You’re not totally sure what he’s saying, but when he presses a terrified, hesitant kiss against your lips the message comes across loud and clear.

#critical role imagine #c2 imagine #cr imagine #caleb widogast imagine #caleb imagine #caleb widogast x reader #caleb x reader #caleb widogast / reader #caleb / reader #campaign 2 imagine #critfic