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whateverisbeautiful · 3 months

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♥️ Ranking Richonne

#11: I See Things (S3E12)

Something I appreciate so much is that Richonne's journey is a love story, not a fairytale. Their story feels grown and grounded, healthy, and realistic, while also feeling perfect and aspirational between two flawed people doing their best in a broken world. And through each season of their slow burn, we got to organically watch the many building blocks of what makes their love so genuinely strong and special. So I cherish these early moments that laid Rick and Michonne's foundation, especially here in my favorite scene from the masterpiece OG Richonne ep that is Clear...

Rick, Michonne, and Carl pack up to leave King County after a stellar episode with both Rick and Morgan’s storyline and Carl and Michonne’s storyline. The acting was superb all across the board in this ep. 👏🏽

The three really do look like a family as they pack up and head out. And in their own ways, this scene has Carl and Rick both telling Michonne...

I love that it just took one trip for Carl to be completely warmed up to Michonne. And he admits this in the best possible way to his dad. Because Rick, in such a dad way, asks if everything went okay with her, and again, I always feel like Rick really really wants the answer to be yes because deep down he knows he wants Michonne around.

And to me, it isn’t just Rick asking if everything went okay on their trip but if everything is okay with Michonne as a whole. This episode was about Rick and Carl beginning to truly accept Michonne and learn that not only does she not have a problem, but in fact she is the beautiful solution to so much in their life.

It’s also just great to watch this scene back knowing Rick is asking Carl about the woman who will become his wife and mother to all three of his children. 🥰

And then I will forever love Carl saying, “I think she might be one of us.” Just the absolute best. 😭 That statement is the gospel truth too. And it’s so meaningful because of how much Michonne will end up being not just a vital member of tf but a true blue member and matriarch of the Grimes family.

Michonne truly belongs in this group and this Grimes family, and I love that intuitive little Carl picked up on that so quickly. That seal of approval from him is huge because it allows Rick to feel like he can slowly but surely stop fighting the clear undeniable connection between himself and Michonne.

I also absolutely love Rick’s dramatic reaction to Carl saying Michonne is one of them. He can’t hide that this is great news to him, and you know Rick's extra side is so loved by me. 😋

Rick acts taken aback and asks, "What?" and I think part of it is actually being surprised that Carl made such a big statement because he could have just said 'yeah she was cool' but instead Carl lets him know she’s truly meant to be with them. And also part of the reaction is because our man Rick has for sure been catching some sorta feelings, even if just the earliest stages of attraction.

I know Rick's happy to hear his son likes her as much as he deep down wants to like her too. Also I really don't think Rick would be having a low-key tickled reaction like this over just any newcomer getting a good report.

Then Carl is just the cutest when he gives a little laugh and tells Rick "Everything went okay." This is all just so precious, especially after Michonne helped Carl retrieve a photo of his family all while planting the seed of Grimes 2.0 at the very same time.

And think about it - this moment is occurring so freshly after losing his mom. Carl probably hasn’t had many smiling moments since then, so I know it means the world to Rick to see that Carl and Michonne bonded and that she brought some joy back into his son's life. She's the best. 🥰

Then, because our lovely leading man is always expressive when it comes to his kids and Michonne, Rick has the biggest smile hearing this.

And again, we gotta be so for real for a second because this smile from him is not just cuz it in-general worked out with a newcomer. I feel this is specific to Michonne. Because like I said, Rick really wanted Michonne to check out (partly so he could keep checking her out🤭) and so he’s really glad to hear that she more than did.

I love that even this early, Michonne is putting smiles on Rick and Carl’s faces. After everything they’ve been through leading up to this ep, it’s refreshing to see.

So Rick is happy, but then he pauses as tho he’s seeing something - likely Ghost Lori. And my theory has long been that Ghost Lori stayed showing up in moments like these to let Rick know his soulmate had now arrived and he should get with Michonne, just like Lori got with her soulmate while Rick was in a coma.💁🏽‍♀️ 😋

Like I just know in this moment Lori's ghost was looking at Rick like...

It’s interesting how we the audience don’t see what he’s hallucinating like we have in other episodes. I like this choice tho because in just seeing Rick staring off it shows how much Michonne was able to read and understand him.

Like all Rick was doing was standing there, and from the outside looking in, it could easily be missed that he was having another hallucination - but Michonne knew Rick was having a moment of seeing things cuz she gets him. Always has. 😌

So Michonne notices it right away and her look of care and concern is really sweet. Throughout the series, Michonne so often looks at Rick like her heart is tugged by this honorable man in all his humanness.

I also love that she brings it up. She could’ve just noticed him seeing things and not said anything, especially because it’s personal and they're still mostly strangers. But this choice to bring it up immediately established that she and him can talk on a deeper level, even this early in the relationship.

And it shows Rick that he doesn’t have to feel misunderstood or ashamed for these episodes he's been having. Someone else sees it, and not only that - relates to it too.

So she gently asks if he saw something and Rick silently looks surprised that she could tell exactly what was happening.

Michonne says, "I know you see things - people." And then in one of the first examples of Richonne doing their signature thing of leveling with each other through being vulnerable, she tells Rick she used to talk to her dead boyfriend. Saying reassuringly, “It happens.” I repeat, Michonne is the best. 👑

It is lovely to see Michonne open up about this, and I love how innately she knew she could share this with Rick. We saw in a s3 scene by a fire with Michonne and Andrea that Michonne was not the type to fully open up about her past family, and yet here with Rick she's willing to share something personal and offer up this part of herself. It just further suggests that Rick and Michonne have a different and uniquely intrinsic connection. And I repeat - they trusted each other before they knew they trusted each other.

It’s also sweet that Michonne is willing to be vulnerable to help Rick feel less alone. This is such a big reason why their union is so special. With each other, they're never in it alone.

They are cut from the same cloth and understand each other deeply. And despite living in a world that would suggest you should always have your guard up, I love that Michonne and Rick instead allowed themselves to open up to each other, slowly but surely. 🥰

Also, more and more, I realize that the making of Richonne was actually so obvious from season 3 forward, and especially here in Clear.

Like this episode really plants the seed of Rick, Michonne, and Carl becoming a whole family because that family theme runs all throughout.

I mean even just the fact that the episode takes place in Rick and Carl's old hometown, bringing only Michonne on this run where she gets to gain insight into the past of her future husband and son, R&M essentially co-parenting together when Michonne offers to go with Carl to get the crib, and then Carl wanting the family photo and needing Michonne's help to retrieve it, and then Michonne finally opening up a bit about her family.

Richonne was looking like Morgan's apartment in this ep because, honey...

So then Rick is quiet for a sec after Michonne addresses him seeing things and letting him know it happens, and I know deep down he appreciates this moment from her. It's a rare moment of someone looking at him not to lead or provide an answer but simply to know he's not crazy or on his own.

And then Rick definitely gets flirty as he asks her if she wants to drive. (and again, letting Michonne drive is another establishment of trust) Also, I just love that throughout their pre-canon era, Michonne is the one Rick most wanted to be sociable with from team family.

I adore this scene for being the first moment of flirting between them as he asks if she wants to drive and she smiles and says "yeah." Rick then says "good" and takes the scene to new levels of adorable with his playful flirty energy when he adds, “Cuz I see things” and hands her the keys to his heart and the car. 😊

It’s a nice way for him to admit Michonne was right that he sees things but still keep things light. And it's adorable how quickly Rick would go into flirtation mode with Michonne, even this early on.

(Side note: Y'all sometimes I used to want a body language expert who has never seen TWD to analyze these pre-canon Richonne scenes because I just know they'd confirm that Rick and Michonne's pre-canon moments read as more than platonic. But truly there is no body language expert needed for it to be known that Rick's energy is flirtatious here.)

And same for Michonne's energy afterward because I love how she smiles as she holds the keys and watches him go. #SmittenKitten 😋

They’re both real fond of each other, y’all. Even in season 3. Like this moment lets you know Rick and Michonne really do have “common interests” lol.

And while of course Rick and Michonne are still on their own individual healing journeys atp so they aren't yet aware that they're meant to be, it's still nice that in this scene they at least now know they like each other as people.

I love that Michonne who can read people so well, knew Rick was a good man doing his best in this world as a leader and father, and as she closes the trunk she looks like she knows she might have found her new home with these people, which I love that for her. 🙌🏽

This beautiful scene is just such a great and foundational moment in Rick and Michonne's love story and gives an excellent peek into how their dynamic will be going forward as they evolve into a husband and wife. 👏🏽

And how spoiled are we that Gimple was planting the Richonne seeds back when he was writing for Season 3 (before Richonne's journey had even aired for us to see), and now here we are 11 years later with Scott, Danai, and Andy having created a whole miniseries dedicated to Richonne and constantly confirmed to be an epic love story. 🤩🥳🤗

Like this is me and every Richonners' energy for a reason lol...

I'm forever thankful to Danai, Andy, and Scott for loving Richonne like we do and returning to give Rick and Michonne Grimes closure. And I'm grateful that we stan a married ship that always flourishes within the actual franchise. #WinningSinceTheBeginning 🥰

There's also just something so poetic about the fact that way back during the season 3 Clear days, Scott said Danai was able to pick up on the Richonne trajectory because she was a writer - and now we'll have the privilege to watch a whole TOWL episode written by the illustrious talent Danai, herself, as she gets to help shape the final chapter of Richonne's years-long love story. What. A. Journey. 😭🙌🏽

So as the classic and fitting 'Home' song concludes this phenomenal 3.12 ep and the three drive away, it shows how these three entered that town as strangers and left as a family more than they could ever imagine. They didn't know it entirely yet, but after Clear, Rick, Michonne, and Carl were on pace to become home to each other.

Imo, Richonne was written in the stars from the moment they laid eyes on each other at at that prison fence. But after Clear, it was set in stone, with no going back, that Richonne was bound to happen. They were too perfect together, too much passion and attraction emitting from them in these early stages for it to not eventually blossom into more.

Rick and Michonne were destined to be Mr. and Mrs. Grimes. And heartwarming scenes like this just made that so, well, clear. 😌🤍

#thank you Clear 🥂#thank you birthday girl Danai & Andy & Scott 🥳#and thank y'all for reveling with me from 30-11 🙏🏽#now let the top 10 begin! 🎊😏#richonne #top 30 #number 11 #rick x michonne #twd 3.12 #reveling in richonne #twd towl #the ones who live

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flameof · 2 months

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Okay, Gundam SEED Freedom has completely taken over my brain for the past 24 hours. I ABSOLUTELY MUST GUSH LORE AND PUT IT DOWN SOMEWHERE.

Naturally, there will be major spoilers for Freedom below the cutoff. If you don't want to be spoiled, then TURN BACK NOW, PLEASE.

Okay, we good? Good.

First the lore: A major theme throughout quite honestly the entire SEED series is that of Destiny. Rau le Creuset believed it was humanities destiny to destroy itself, Gilbert Durandal believed humanity would be happiest if their destiny was determined by genetics, and Foundation, the nation introduced in Freedom, follows in Durandal's footsteps, only to a more violet degree.

The main thing that differs Foundation from Durandal is the existence of Accords; basically Ultimate Coordinator MK2. At some point between Ulen Hibiki's initial experiments that created both Kira Yamato and Rau le Creuset, and Durandal being a part of whatever it was when he devised the Destiny Plan (as well as whatever created Rey za Burrel), two particular individuals were a part of the overall scheme. These two were Aura Maha Khyber (the blonde loli), and Lacus' mother.

That's right. Lacus Clyne is an Accord. She, alongside Orphee Lam Tao (blonde dude), were designed with the express purpose of running the Destiny Plan as a couple. Arranged marriage between Coordinators is no big surprise, let's be real. Hell, Lacus was probably genetically coded to be attracted to Orphee, shown in the movie by certain scenes (not show how else to describe them).

But, as you might guess (or know, if you've seen the movie), Lacus still chooses Kira over Orphee. Why? Well, time for some theorycrafting.

It's my believe that the main message of Freedom is one of Nature VS Nurture. Who we are genetically vs Who we are, raised by our environment.

Kira Yamato is a First Generation Ultimate Coordinator, so while he's outstanding compared to normal Coordinators, he pales in comparison to the Accords. But, Kira always said he was more than just the byproduct of Ulen Hibiki's hubris. More than a child of Ulen, he is a Yamato; raised and nurtured by Caridad and Hamura Yamato, after being entrusted to them by Via Hibiki, his mother by blood. Kira's kindness may very well be engrained into his DNA, but it was something he was taught to value by the Yamato's. He could have easily become conceited, like so many other Coordinators, but he didn't.

Just the same, Lacus Clyne, as far as we knew up to Destiny, was raised by the late Siegel Clyne, who almost certainly taught her to value people based on who they are, not what they represent. She can be cunning underneath her cheerful exterior in her youth, but she gravitated towards Kira because he was Kira Yamato; the kind boy who stuck his neck out for a stranger.

A wise dragon once said: Destiny is little more than the sum of our choices. I feel this quote perfectly encapsulates the core of SEED as a whole, not just Freedom. Destiny shouldn't be something chosen for you; it should be something you yourself choose. And in the end, Lacus chose Kira. A common theme in Freedom was the idea of 'Loving someone because you need them', which Lacus herself refutes with "You don't love someone because you need them; You need them, because you love them". Its a sentiment that Kira actually shares, when the woman holding Lacus at knife point threatens to cut our her tongue, or gouge her eyes out, and see if Kira still loves her then, Kira's immediate response... is of course I'd still love her; she's Lacus.

The Destiny Plan, laid out by Durandal, and worked on by so many, like Aura and Lacus's mother, was (ha ha) destined to fail, and I believe it all comes back to the choices two parents, unrelated to each other, made for the sake of their children. Because Via Hibiki got Kira and Cagalli to the Yamato's and Athha's, and all because Siegel Clyne taught Lacus to value the kindness of a stranger, over the power of your destiny.

Funnily enough, I'm remembering a line Kuzzey says back in SEED, about just how much work went into making Lacus's voice the way it is. Turns out; a lot.

It also makes me wonder if Meer Campbell was something of a backup plan, since she sounds identical to Lacus.

Okay, gushing about the new lore done. Now, let's talk about the awesome.

First off: The Immortal Justice is a Shinn Asuka suit, not an Athrun Zala suit. I don't make the rules, but Athrun never sat his ass down in the Immortal Justice.

Next, Agnes Giebenrath can literally be described as 'Coordinator Flay Allster', and I appreciate her for that.

Then, there's all the callbacks to other characters that had passed away, specifically Nicol and Natarle. Those two had complete maneuvers and tactics named after them. They're gone, but never forgotten.

As I mentioned in my last SEED Freedom post, Athrun did stuff with the Z'Gok that would make Char envious. The way Athrun handled that machine made me think he was Master Asia, Undefeated of the East.

Next, as we all well know by now, the way Athrun managed to get one up on the Black Knights' ability to read his mind; by thinking about having sex with Cagalli.

Next! Once more Mu La Flaga proves himself to be the man who does the impossible... by face-tanking FREAKING REQUIEM WITH THE AKATSUKI! Man practically said he had to stop doing that.

Then, there's the new warship, Millennium. Not only is it state of the art, but Murrue, once she starts captaining it, gets her own assault deck where she controls FREAKING GUNBARRELS! The Millennium is a warship sized Moebius Zero!

Finally, for the last thing I want to gush about: Shinn Asuka. Just... all of him. From the fact that he's calmer, earnest, stands up for Kira, drinks his 'respect' juice, and at the end, when he gets the Destiny Gundam back, he faces off against four of the Black Knights, and kicks their asses... WITHOUT TAKING MAJOR DAMAGE. Not only that, but STELLA LOUSSIER makes a comeback, proving definitively that Shinn Asuka is the Kamille Bidan of the CE era, by protecting Shinn's mind from being probed by the Black Knights, freaking them out by going all nightmare on their asses (which is probably just a representation of them being scared by just how much darkness is in his heart), and then immediately followed by him putting the F91 to shame and using the much meme'd about afterimages to kick ass and take names. Shinn may have lost to them before, but only because he wasn't using the machine literally built for him. Also, before I forget, when Shinn went SEED mode during that same battle, the Black Knights couldn't read his mind. Shinn's instincts are just that good.

Okay. I'm done. I've gushed all I can.

#gundam seed freedom #gundam seed freedom spoilers #spoilers #gundam spoilers #gundam seed spoilers #like serious spoilers #dead dove do not eat #I'm literally doing this because if I don't I'll die of brainrot #Like seriously this is complete spoilers #Please do not complain about being spoiled by this post #I am giving ample warning #I don't know how many more spoiler tags I can add

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myheartissetinmotion · 1 year

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THE NEW GHOSTS PICTURES OH MY GOD.

(spoilers ahead obvi)

so of course I’m excited about the Pat storyline and all that but WE NEED TO TALK ABOUT KITTY RIGHT NOW.

she’s playing Cinderella DO YALL KNOW WHAT THIS MEANS?!?!?!?!?

there are about to be some PARALLELS drawn between the panto and her own stepsister’s cruelty. in that flashback, she wanted desperately to go to the ball, and it was Eleanor’s scheming that stopped her. another facet usually focused on in adaptations of the story is Cinderella’s grief for her mother, which is also touched upon in Kitty’s backstory

I’m guessing this might start out as the other ghosts thinking she just wants to be the center of attention and humoring her as they cast it, but as they rehearse, it’ll start bringing some of that trauma back up for her. and maybe this time the others, instead of shutting down her realizations about her past to maintain her cheeriness, will actually help her work through it.

according to Kiell’s tweet, Lolly’s work in this ep is going to be especially incredible, so I bet we’re going to get to see some SERIOUS growth, and, as self-appointed #1 Kitty Fan, I am ridiculously excited

like. she’s gonna be facing the same situation, except this time, she will triumph. she’ll be seen as the lovely one she truly is. the help and support she’s longed for will finally come to her (oh my god PLEASE let Cap play the fairy godmother that would be pure gold). she’ll dance with the prince-

-WHICH GETS A PARAGRAPH OF ITS OWN because there have been hints of her having a crush on Thomas since THE FIRST DAMN EPISODE. as someone who’s utterly obsessed with picking apart subtle little nuances in camera acting, I’m telling you, seriously, watch her during the whole show. watch her face after he thinks she’s Alison, goes in to kiss her, and then is led off by Pat. watch the way she’s so nervous during the sorry song but almost starts to smile when he goes off script with the rap verse. take it from someone with plenty of experience being in love with a friend and trying to keep it under the radar, THESE ARE THE SIGNS. of course it’s vital for Thomas’ development for him to somehow realize, despite the whole stay-how-you-died thing, that there’s more to life than romance; once that happens, series 4’s genuine friendship and banter laid a really nice foundation for the writers to eventually go in that direction later with them if they so choose (“burgundy, big time”, the WAY he LOOKS at her in that post-poetry-reading scene holy SHIT, etcetera). and now they’re gonna combine their Melodramatic Theatre Kid Powers™️ to play the best fairytale romance Button House has ever SEEN.

ANYWAY. after nearly three centuries of just longing to feel like part of something, to matter, to be seen, especially in the context of a party (watching her follow Alison’s friends around during that one episode was fucking devastating as someone who’s experienced something like that many a time), my beloved girl is finally gonna get to be the belle of the ball. and to that I say, GOOD 👏 FOR 👏 HER👏.

tldr; GO KITTY GO.

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nottoxicfr · 8 months

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Pfffff! I Didn't double check what I wrote. I meant to ask "What are your Rosegarden Headcannons?"

What are my Rosegarden head canons? Hmmmm…that’s a pretty good question. I’ve never made a list to be honest. My brain is more like a highway where my neurons activate when I think of the pairing. I'll try and cover what seems to be the foundational stuff first, then maybe get more specific?

Who falls in love first?

Oscar falls in love first, but he doesn't fall in love immediately. He get a crush on her fairly quickly but actual love only starts during the time when Oz is hiding in Oscar's mind. He has more time to think about stuff that isn't an impending death of identity, and he naturally thinks about why he likes Ruby. He has the realization of love in Salem's dungeon, which is a depressing time to realize you love someone. I like that timeframe of events because it makes Emerald interrupting the Rosegarden hug funnier and a little sadder, which I like. He just realized he loves a girl and he can’t even get a hug! Maybe he could confess to her later, but then she dies…(kind of). He's entirely devastated and barely recovers.

Ruby falls in love with Oscar second, but it’s falling. There’s not a slow descent from affection to crush to romantic love. That wouldn’t happen until after V9, though there is a certain lovely feeling to Ruby being in love with Oscar but prior to V9 just feeling like she can’t be in love the world is ending and I need to save it so I can’t be in love. I respect anyone who head canons that. For mine, I think the first big indication is writing a recurring thread of Ruby missing Oscar in the Ever After.

“Oscar would know what to do. Oscar would know what to say. Oscar would think this is weird.”

It’s incredibly important that the thoughts don’t indicate that she thinks Oscar is better than her (a perilous trap for RWBY writers of all pairings) but that she thinks he would be able to take the lead while she is free to fall apart. She wants someone else to be there and she trusts Oscar to be that person.

NSFW Questions? Y'know, like sex.

I don't really think about them having sex. Partly that's because that seems like a good policy to prevent mean behavior on my posts (I assume you've seen anti-RG rationale) but also my mind just doesn't really go that direction. It's not quite to the point of Aesexual! RoseGarden, although I enjoy that too. Most of the time that I write big consummation of romance scenes, it ends up being more about kissing or they essentially propose to each other and swap necklaces or something. Rings are a hassles! This is influenced by FFXIII...

I do think they’re the type of people to adopt and co-parent a kid while living together, but not be in a confirmed romantic relationship. They’d sleep in the same room with two beds next to each other. Eventually they’d confirm that relationship and switch to one bed, but the important thing is starting off with two beds in one room because they are not dating. I think it is 1) Funny and 2) Filled with the comfortable tension of co-habitation. It’s very Advent Children.

I’ve written them with a kid twice (unpublished), both times adopted and both times it was a Grimm that had evolved to the point of essentially being a human. Once was post-series and the other was a thing where a Grimm ate part of Ozcar’s magic and got turned into a kid between V6 and V8. I’m very fond of the second because it’s incredibly silly to me to do that at that specific time. I need to talk about that sometime.

Who is taller? That comes up a lot, right?

Oscar is taller than Ruby, but it’s close enough that it really depends on who laid down the most recently. A height difference of maybe three inches? Something that’s easy to catch up to for Ruby by wearing tall shoes and standing up straighter. I like negligible height differences.

What’s another thing people are always talking about? I don't get involved in discussion a lot...

Food?

Oscar likes coffee, but Ruby enjoys fruit smoothies. Oscar has a weakness for sour (not bitter) desserts like lemon tarts or lime sorbet, but not much of a sweet tooth. Their main point of agreement is orange cookies.

Is there any song I associate with RoseGarden?

Steven Universe's True Kinda Love, specifically the end part where Steven (Universe) is climbing up the big Injector-Thing to reach Spinel. Oscar is hardly Steven, and Ruby's no Spinel, but during V9's Peak Ruby Breakdown Time I liked to imagine Oscar climbing the Tree to reach Ruby.

Also Simple and Clean from Kingdom Hearts 0.2.

Also also Lightning's Theme from Final Fantasy XIII. It has a lot of sentimental meaning to me, but it plays under dialogue about growing up in the wake of grief. I strongly associate that with time-skipped Oscar.

Who supports the pairing the most?

Emerald and Blake/Yang are the biggest supporters of the pairing for Oscar and Ruby respectively.

I think we've discussed Emerald and Oscar as a duo before, but I'll say again that my long term hope is that Emerald and Oscar become close pals. I like to write angst and the EO duo, so I write Emerald as being aware of Oscar's plentiful sadness and also his determination to live.

On the other hand, I think Blake likes Rosegarden because she's a suppressed romantic and also because she thinks they're a good couple conceptually. She wants them to get their happy ending!

Yang supports the couple mostly because she wants Ruby to be with someone who has open arms, meaning Oscar doesn't hesitate to give Ruby his time or affection. He's also very good at detecting when she needs his attention/affection/time (mostly because he asks).

My ideal HC ending?

Oscar decides to go on a road trip at the end of the series and Ruby goes with him. His idea stems from the feeling that Oz was very familiar with Remnant’s past, but Oz has passed on now. Both Ozma and Oscar loved the world, but Ozma is gone now. There’s only one person of their duo to live in the world they love, and Oscar wants to see Remnant as it is now, and he wants to live to see the future. He wants to live!

Ruby goes with him for several reasons. She wants to see Remnant. She wants to be a hero. She doesn’t want to be the hero. She thinks she can probably do that on a smaller scale and still help the world. She thinks Oscar's likely to disappear from her world if she lets him slip away.

Together, they also share a formidable feeling that they’ve completed the major plot of their lives. They feel lost without a major goal in their world, and everyone else they know is settling into their lives in their new roles, so Ruby and Oscar bond together to take care of each other. In the short term, Ruby’s goal is to keep Oscar alive. Oscar’s goal is to teach Ruby how to drive.

In the long term, I like to imagine Ruby as a courier with a bike that she can use to zoom across continent and Oscar as…something? His day job would be like an innkeeper or a librarian, a job which stays in one place. He takes the calls for the Rose Courier Service. However, people also call for him a lot. They need help or advice or wisdom, so he isn't actually all that stationary. They both have adventure, but they also both have a place to return to.

I really like angst and AUs so I have a lot of head canons about that stuff. I tried to limit the above to what seemed most relevant. Below, I'll will do some more AU-esque head canons.

Favorite Time-Skip head canon?

I have a recurring image of Oscar walking in the desert walking past scenes of Oz's life and then being confronted by the "ghost" of Ruby standing in front of him. Sometimes he stops and sometimes he keeps moving, but it always does something.

Emerald is Oscar's most frequent friend during the time-skip, and she's the only one who knows the depth of Oscar's feelings for Ruby. After Ruby comes back, Emerald pushes Oscar into hugging her at some point.

Ruby is strongly caught off guard by Oscar running around trying to keep everyone coordinated, or by how well he's doing. For the entirety of the time-skip, they've been trying to prepare for Salem trying to destroy Vacuo. Ruby thinks Oscar takes to leadership strongly, but he is not doing very well.

One person Oscar never talks to about Ruby or his feelings is Qrow. Things go from peaceful to bitter and back again really quickly between them, and Oscar is certain being in love with one of his dead nieces wouldn't help. Qrow would just be sad about it though.

Oz is quiet more often now. There's a space between them, but Oscar is more dedicated to protecting the world than ever before so he thinks that's part of the reason. The actual reason is that Oz wants Oscar to live on his own while he can be Oscar. They're very fused together still.

If any of this interests you, please ask away! I have a lot more timeskip stuff to talk about.

Is there a head canon prompt I enjoy?

I really like writing the faux Dojo Scene 2. The Dojo Scene being Oscar asking Ruby how she deals with everything (you already know this). The Dojo Scene 2 is the much anticipated reversal, but I like writing it where Oscar dodges her questions. He's not sure how to feel around a resurrected Ruby Rose, much less answer her questions about how he is handling everything.

Favorite AUs (I just wanted to list this one)

My personal favorite is the FFXIII AU I have where Oscar is a l'Cie (meaning someone given a mission by a god to complete or turn into a monster, given access to magic and such) and Ruby (a third year at Signal) has to escort him across Remnant to awaken sleeping gods. I intend to publish this one on AO3 later on! Generally though, I really like Time Travel AUs, with Lost Parallax being a favorite of mine.

I'm very passionate about fanfiction, and that makes me a bit of an airhead when I talk about this. I'm also kind of bad at answering questions. I hope you enjoyed reading this, and I hope you feel free to ask anything ever. I love answering!!

I also submitted an ask to Chaikachi about headcanon reactions to scars, but I was so nervous about it that I made it anonymous. If you see it, that's me!

#rwby rosegarden #rosegarden rwby #rosegarden #asks

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sitp-recs · 1 year

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Hello live, it's me :3 the anon who asked about having troubles with a common drarry dynamic. I just wanted to thank you because i didn't expect to feel so seen 😭 or find someone who felt the same way. I didn't get to speak much about it, but YES i also do feel very strongly about emotional imbalance. It's so important to me. Thank you so much for that kind and understanding answer.

This has encouraged me to really look at some of your personal recs knowing they're from someone with similar sentiments. I'm not saying this to put pressure on your personal recs! Please, this is your blog and i can really simply fuck right off, it's so not on you. the same way it's not on authors to write what makes me feel comfortable 🥂. It's just that i think your answer has given me newfound courage to look at some of your tags and faves with gusto~ I know some recs are made specifically for the askers and some works won't be in line with my preferences so I'm still very careful.

ALSO, thank you for reccing me authors!!!! Gosh! DID YOU KNOW THAT I'VE YET TO READ A FIC FROM TACKYTIGER?? Liv u rock.

------

regarding my previous ask, i guess then, do you have lengthy wholesome fics or those that end wholesome-lly 💛🍂☕? Feel free to recommend absolutely anything on that regard hahahha. And please only answer when you feel up to it, I'm good over here 😌 ✌. It's the holiday season, you shouldn't have to do things u don't feel like doing.

In light of our kinship regarding a certain veritaserum scene, i shall call myself, veritaserum anon.

Hi again, anon! I’m so happy you felt seen and validated 🫂 I noticed some comments on that post sharing the sentiment so we’re not as few as you might have thought! I’m very excited to hear your thoughts on those lists but I’d maybe start with the ones below and see if they work for you. Most explore Draco’s redemption arc in ways I personally found satisfying and without belittling any character. I avoided fics that deal with hardcore emotional imbalance (I love the secret identity trope but I didn’t want to take any chances) and tried to include some recent, lesser known fics in case you’ve already read the popular ones. Also - I’m biased af when it comes to my pal @tackytigerfic but imo you should definitely start with Modern Love then make your way through their superb catalogue! Happy readings, and Happy New Year :)

8th Year/War Years:

Like Lightning at Your Fingertips by potterwatch (T, 43k)

The July Tree by @oknowkiss (E, 51k)

Seeker, Chaser, Keeper by VivacissimoVoce (M, 59k)

The Promise of Summer by Omi_Ohmy (M, 66k)

Right Hand Red by @lqtraintracks (E, 73k)

At Your Service by Faith Wood (E, 95k)

Changing Tides by carpemermaid (E, 109k)

Far From the Tree by aideomai (E, 112k)

Eclipse by Mijan (T, 287k)

Post-Hogwarts:

Take a Chance on Me by @mintawasalreadytaken (E, 41k)

Here’s The Pencil, Make it Work by ignatiustrout (M, 49k)

Take the Air by dysonrules (M, 51k)

Meet Me at Midnight by @the-starryknight (T, 57k)

Modern Love by @tackytigerfic (E, 61k)

The Compact by astolat (E, 64k)

A Young Radical's Guide to Love by blamebrampton (T, 66k)

Home Truths by @skeptiquewrites (E, 67k)

Tea and No Sympathy by who_la_hoop (E, 70k)

Timecode by Rasborealis (M, 73k)

Among Ancient Pines by @graymatters (M, 74k)

Balance, Imperfect by @bixgirl1 (E, 91k)

Little Deaths and How to Avoid Them by nerakrose (M, 96k)

Who we are in the shadows by @quicksilvermaid (E, 100k)

The Liars Department by @dorthyanndrarry (T, 104k)

The Paradox of Active Surrender by @korlaena (E, 108k)

Way Down We Go by xiaq (T, 109k)

All Life is Yours to Miss by Saras_Girl (E, 114k)

A Sword Laid Aside by @korlaena (E, 128k)

Any Instrument by @dictacontrion (E, 130k)

By the Grace by lettered (T, 140k)

All Our Secrets Laid Bare by @firethesound (E, 150k)

Foundations verse by Saras_Girl (E, 364k)

Angst with a happy ending:

Vale Sanare by RurouniHime (M, 23k)

Holly and Hawthorn, Thistle and Thyme by bryoneybrynn (T, 31k)

Kept in Cages by @sweet-s0rr0w (E, 77k)

Super Rich Kids by @thusspoketrish (E, 81k)

I Am Not Who I Became by mab_di (E, 93k)

Nor All That Glisters by @sweet-s0rr0w (E, 110k)

Medium Length:

Tidings of Comfort by blamebrampton (G, 10k)

Rebuilding Draco Malfoy by khasael (E, 11k)

How We Throw Our Shadows Down by thistle_verse (T, 14k)

Turn and Face the Strange (time may change me) by @punk-rock-yuppie (T, 16k)

Vortex by @xanthippe74 (T, 20k)

Nice Things by aideomai (M, 22k) - 8th year

Doing the Lambeth Walk by blamebrampton (T, 26k)

Speak (and may the world come undone) by @shealwaysreads (E, 26k)

Slithering by astolat (E, 27k)

The Nobility of Ascent by Lomonaaeren (E, 27k)

Waiting by an Open Door by Femme and noeon (E, 29k)

Faint Indirections by ignatiustrout (T, 29k)

The Consolations of a Summer's Day by blamebrampton (T, 33k)

Open for Repairs by @drarrytrash (M, 35k)

Follow the Water by @xanthippe74 (T, 38k)

In Dreams by @moonflower-rose (E, 38k)

#asks #Veritaserum anon #LOVE that name btw #drarry reclist #wholesome long fics #and some 💅

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vanwritesfan-fiction · 9 months

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jack has a crush on the cute librarian that is y/n, but never made a move on them. One day, jack is dragged into a strip club. jack is whining about being there until their eyes lock on the best stripper in the club, who happens to be y/n.

You were actually nominated by your friends for the Jack Harlow Foundation Grant project in hopes to get funding to help renovate the library you work at in downtown Louisville. You always knew who Jack was, he was a local hero, but really didn't know much about him, and thought you had no chance in hell of winning the grant money.

A couple months later you got a letter from the Foundation letting you know that not only did you win the grant prize, but Jack would like to an event to personally give you the check and meet the kids that frequent the library's after school program.

When Jack first laid eyes on you that day, he thought you were one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen, and the fact that you weren't starstruck by him, made him like you even more. He kept it cordial, not wanting to hit on you at your place of work, but he couldn't get you out of his mind for the rest of the day.

In fact, he thought about you for the next week. He even thought about stopping by the library a couple times to see you, but stopped himself because he knew he wouldn't have a good enough excuse to stop in that wouldn't make you seem like a creeper.

It was Sunni's birthday a couple weeks later, and while a strip club was the last place Jack wanted to go, he reluctantly joined his crew. He had been to quite a few strip clubs in Atlanta, but it really wasn't his scene. He was about to leave when they called the next dancer to the stage. He chuckled at 'Nail Tech' coming over the speaker, his face blushing red that he was about to see a stripper dance to one of his songs. He recognized your face right away, as you did his. You wanted to run and hide, but you really needed his tips, so you danced. He couldn't take his eyes off of you the entire time, his gaze trying to commit your beautiful curves to memory.

After your dance you walked off the stage, hurrying to the dressing room. You were mortified that he had seen you practically naked; not the best second impression.

"Hey, you've got a private dance request."

When you spotted Jack in the dark room, your heart stopped. He noticed the fear on your face, standing up, his hands held up in surrender.

"Sorry, I didn't know how else to get you to talk to me."

"I have a day job ya know."

"Yeah, I thought about stopping there too." He gave you a gentle smile making your heart skip a beat.

"Are you here to tell me that you're rescinding the grant? I know that being a stripper is not the most glamourous career, but don't punish the kids, they really deserve a better library."

"No, of course not. I chose you personally because I really fell in love with how much you love those kids. I actually just wanted to ask you on a date?"

You looked down at your lace lingerie set, your intimate parts basically on display for Jack to see.

"And this seemed like the best time?" Jack laughed, sitting back down.

"You're right. Totally inappropriate." You couldn't help but chuckle.

"How about this? I'll stop by the library tomorrow, maybe we can chat then."

"I would really like that."

#jack harlow #jackman thomas harlow #jack harlow x reader #jackharlow #jack harlow concepts #jackman harlow #jack harlow fluff #jack harlow imagine #jack harlow fanfic

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seasaltmemories · 1 year

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Mars Review/Analysis

Mars was a series I had vaguely known about for a while. I've seen the iconic statue kissing scene, the male lead ranked as one of ppl's faves problematic love interests, and even had a mutual who talked about reading the series once a year. However it wasn't until a discussion on the portrayal of sex and other mature topics in shoujo that I figured it might be useful for me to read such a foundational work

Cue me reading the first chapter and breathlessly telling people it alone would count as the one of the best of shoujo. I binged the rest of the 15 volume series in a week, and through so many familiar ups and downs, it still felt like something special.

CW: Suicide, Sexual Abuse, Homophobia, Transphobia

Summary time:

Kira, a shy high school student, lives only for her art. Rei, An arrogant, rebellious and violent playboy, wears his delinquency like a badge of honor. They are exact opposites in every way, but when Kira sees Rei kissing a statue of Mars, she overcomes her fears and asks him to model for her. And, to everyone's surprise, Rei agrees.

On the surface it seems just like a typical good girl/bad boy story, and it is hard to say it isn't, but so much of what makes the story work is the details. Their meet cute is subdued, nothing but an excuse to get them talking again, but as they talk more and more, their chemistry just shines through. I don't know if it just fits my specific tastes, but it really is the stuff of girlhood dreams. Rei has this easy-going charm that is hard to look away from, and you can see Kira start to fall fast and hard despite herself, and by the end of volume 1, they've shared their first kiss and are more or less an item for the rest of the series

It is a pretty fast courtship for most romance stories, but the fact we skip the pining to get straight to an established relationship means we get this sort of easy physical affection that is so refreshing. Frankly I would enjoyed just watching them be absolutely adorable, but as we uncover both their dark pasts, they take on this young, restless "us vs. the world" love I can't resist

I mention before how a lot of Rei's appeal lies in his laid-back nature, rather than brood in a corner, he's outgoing and popular but the same carefree nature means he doesn't put much stock in social convention or consider the consequences his poor impulse control can get him in. It's a much more thought-out portrayal of a "bad boy" even as the dramatic details of his backstory build up. Considering his mother's early death, his estrangement from his father, and the fact he saw his twin brother commit suicide in front of him, it is clear his ease with everything is more bc of a general apathy, even towards his own wellbeing

Kira we learned started the series still recovering from the sexual abuse she suffered at the hands of her stepfather, as her relationship develops with Rei, she has to process a lot of trauma she still has surrounding her sexuality. It is clear her introverted, passive nature is not just a means of making her more relatable/easier to project onto, and that the real Kira has only started to come back out of her shell

I'd be lying if I acted like these issues were explored in nuanced, subtle ways, but even through the melodrama there was something real to it all that captured me. Like I usually struggle to latch onto most contemporary romances where the biggest obstacles couples face are their willingness to go ahead an make the first move. But these are real problems that real ppl face, even if it is heavily dramatized, and so their determination to stick together and make a place where they can be happy and safe just tugs at my heartstrings, even the breakneck pacing from one arc to the next, felt true to the whirlwind that is young adulthood. Did Fuyumi Souryo forget a plot thread when Rei's dream of becoming a pro racer fell away from the plot for like ten volumes? Maybe, but in life you're usually not really following a laid out plan and are more trying to survive from one crisis to the next while discovering patches of stability along the way

The melodrama really started to test my limits with the introduction of the antagonist, Masao. In contrast to Rei and Kira's detailed history of violence, Masao's just plain evil and attracted to the both of them for extra "creepiness" It's not just tasteless, it's boring, his entire arc nearly killed my interest in the series

Thankfully he only shows up for one arc in the middle and then briefly at the end to stir up more trouble. He's more bearable in those chapters thanks to the fact he's reflecting how much our main leads has grown, but his existence is painfully utilitarian, which applies to most of the rest of the cast, clearly only existing to highlight our main duo better. This also leads to some transphobia and insensitive portrayals of suicide.

Rei's mother and twin also suffer similar "secretly evil all along" reveals as Masao, which I do think cheapen Rei's struggle. Frankly we don't get enough time to unpack either character's history to really understand them, but even if the narrative doesn't suggest it outright, it is hard to ignore the feeling their deaths aren't so tragic bc of their flaws. Even so, they bothered me less than Masao for some reason. For all her violent tendencies, Rei's mother is still given sympathy that Masao never gets. And even though Sei's suicide note expresses a lot of misanthropy and sadism, to me there were enough lines almost suggesting he feared those tendencies within him and was also struggling in his own way. Perhaps their underdeveloped nature all helps keep either plot point form having to overstay their welcome

And that's the thing, despite all the dark and shocking plot twists I casually mentioned, what really stands out as I look back on the series, is the strong love Rei and Kira share. Going back to the plot summary, what you see is what you get. If you aren't on board with the series after volume 1, then it probably isn't for you. But few pieces of media have ever sold me on two character's love for each other as hard as this did. I mentioned before that I tend to need my media to acknowledge tragedy before I can accept their hope, but even when Mars isn't pulling out its soap opera cliffhangers, I always wanted to see how Rei and Kira would come together to support each other through their next stages of life.

#mars manga #mars #fuyumi soryo #rei kashino #kira aso #my reviews

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rosejigglypuff76 · 1 year

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Cookieronpa - Years End of the Cookie Kingdom 🍪 Cookie Run Kingdom x Danganronpa Inspired AU ✨ 16 Unique Cookies labeled as the Top 16 Cookies are given the potential to be labeled as "Cookie of the Year 2022" It's pretty much a set of fun games for the cookies to participate in, and also a voting ground for the audience watching Things look like a typical competition, all new and improved for the End of Year 2022, but looks can be deceiving as those who are eliminated will face the consequences Whoever gets eliminated will not just simply walk home and out of the competition, but instead this entire game was actually a trap laid out by a new antagonist working behind the scenes, and whoever gets eliminated are lured into a trick room that will hypnotize them into becoming evil Unfortunately none of the 16 Cookie Participants know about this, nor does the audience and official managers that observed and created the previous games saw the sense of deceiving either While everything seems hopeless, as the anonymous host intended, there were two errors that they failed to notice: 🎀 1) Three cookies that were previous winners of some of the older Cookie of the Year Competitions saw through this anonymous person's plans, and will work together to find a way to save those 16 Cookies, recently formed as the Cookie Foundation Guild. 2) While the 16 Cookie Participants for Cookie of the Year 2022 completely don't know about the true intentions of the anonymous person's put onto them, only 1 out of those 16 Cookies know the actual truth about this. However they will be discovered soon enough by that anonymous host and the remaining participants when it gets to the Top 8,and they will have a more severe punishment which involves something much worse. Nevertheless, this will be a completely different Cookie of the Year than expected to everyone watching and participating!

- - - - - -

Decided to make a short Danganronpa Inspired AU with some of the cookie characters that are deemed the Top 16 in this year's Cookie of the Year 2022 🎀

I had to cut it down to Top 16 despite having 24 Cookies so far, so that I have an easier time once my time of drawing for this CRK AU comes ✨

This is a mixture of Danganronpa 2 & Danganronpa V3 combined, and is also a Rated E for Everyone version for both Cookie Run and Danganronpa Fans 🪄

Also decided to put White Lily in place of Black Pearl, only because I can't find a good choice of sprites of Black Pearl and she also has the same English VA as White Lily 🌿

Overall this is made just for fun with a good amount of creative concepts I came up with for this CRK AU 🍪

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tiny012 · 7 months

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The idea of a character who comes off as harsh but deep down cares more than anyone, or a friend who is a bit hard on you but because she loves you, is extremely common worldwide, but Japan even has the tsundere archetype and such.

The idea with Rei and Usagi is that Rei loves her and wants her to succeed so she pushes her. It's very very obvious in the moments where it matters that Usagi is Rei's best friend, and their friendship in the 90s anime is actually extremely well-done.

In that screenshot at the end someone says their relationship develops into 'sisterhood' and you make fun of it but idk if you have siblings... 'sisters' is very apt. They push each other's buttons but they know each other inside and out and that makes them closer. Even though they bicker it's a relationship founded on deep trust, understanding, and affection.

I don't dislike your blog overall and some of your criticisms of the 90s anime are very valid but I think you're wrong on this one. In S1 their relationship does develop a lot from just fighting bc they don't like each other to growing attached, Rei comes to be very fond of Usagi. In later seasons this foundation has already been laid so while Rei does continue to be mean to Usagi it very much is with the understanding that she loves her very dearly. The Rei-Usagi relationship is one of the things the 90s anime did extremely well.

Let me say this

Last night when I did that post, it actually come spur of the moment since I was in Sailor Moon Stars looking for a particular scene for a friend of mine so we could discuss. I was watching some of the episodes of Stars when this scene

Popped up

So I was like " Hold up They supposed to get character development but she is still calling her a crybaby. She is still saying the same thing they she had said to her since the beginning. If they supposed to be evolving and developing then that should be something she should stop calling her because she knows how upset and irritated she gets but she still does it. And for what? to get under her skin. We had 170 plus episodes where they went through at lot of shit together, died for each other and still calls her a crybaby? Even tho she knows Usagi wear her heart on a selve? "

So that's why I decide to do that photoset which I wasn't even looking to do because I was looking for something else dealing with Stars. From the beginning of the series which yes they don't like each other and she's calling her a crybaby to the end of the series which she is still calling her a crybaby.

It didn't take me that long to find all of those scenes that she say nasty things to her. I know they have moments where they show them being nice which one in particular is when Chibiusa is black lady and she is comforting her.

Which is a really good scene.

Also my fave scenes in season one when they talk about Mamo and she tells her to be happy with him.

Also in a scene in Stars when she trying to stop her from going after Mamo by herself and fails. Of course in Season one finale when she is the last one standing to fight a DD girl and the things she say to Usagi is heartfelt.

I know about those scenes but they are too many scenes like the scenes I showed in that photoset. To the point that it's easier to find scenes that Rei saying some nasty shit to Usagi and it's harder to find scenes where they have nice moments. Which that shouldn't be the case at all. It shouldn't took me like 10-20 minutes to find a lot scenes that she just saying some mean shit to her. Which it literary took me 45 mins to put that photoset together. I started put it together at 11:29 pm and I posted it at 12:25 am. I was going to put some more pics in that photoset but I exceeded the limit of 30 pics. So minus the screenshot that was from a FB group and Rihanna gif that was 28 pics of Rei saying mean things to Usagi.

That 28 pics WAY to many.

The main reason why I stopped watching S besides Luna calling her an idiot because every single time Usagi opens her mouth her comes Rei saying something mean. To the point I am saying over and over again " Why are you like this?" While sometimes Usagi go toe to toe with her , most of time it's not even necessary for even do that to Usagi. Most of times Rei may something to someone else and Usagi maybe backing her up.

Like the scenes with Mako in S

Like why she had to do that? Was that necessary at that moment? No Especially when it was backing Rei up about telling them things that Mako is worried about.

Like why she have to be like this?

Like she always have her " Let's roast Usagi everytime she say something" on and never cuts it off unless the plot permits her to do so.

I am Aries as well so I know we have smartass mouths, are blunt, no nonsense and can be sarcastic but damn I know how to cut that off. I am not trying to pissed people off every single time I open my mouth. I know when to joke around with people and know who not to joke around with.

Also with my set of friends, I was considered the no nonsense but Mom of the group since I was oldest. They knew I don't play that but they knew I love them and push them. I would never say the shit Rei say to Usagi to none of my friends. Every person have a limit of what they take and I wasn't going to cross a line they would fuck up a friendship.

Rei feels like she wake up every day just ready to piss off Usagi with some mean shit because she doesn't like the way Usagi acts.

As for siblings, I do have siblings. I have an older sister and brother which makes me the baby of the family. Yes we do roast each other. We have certain jokes that we say to each other and go back and fort but we have a limit. If we say something out of pocket to each other we going to let each know that this joke hurt and it's below the belt and it will never be said again. I love my brother and sister a lot and I know they love me as well but majority over our realtionship is not us roasting each other to get a damn reaction out the other.

My realtionship with my older sister is one that I have a deep bond with. I love my sister to death and I know someone messes with me see will protect me and I will do the same for her. I know I get on her nerves since I am the baby and she get on mine but at the end of day if both of us are not laughing at the shit we say to each other, that's a big fucking problem. If we said something to other person that offends, we will tell each other, say that shit hurt and apologize which it will never be said again. My sister is really to check me if I say some off the wall shit which an older sister supposed to do. I will check her if she say something that supposed to be a joke but it hurt my feelings. I can come to her if I have a problem and she will push me to do what I need to do. She always have my back and I know she loves me.

So lets ask this.

Do anytime where Rei and Usagi say something to each other, are they laughing at what the other person has said? Do they realize what silly shit they are saying to each other and just fall to ground laughing?

I have seen most of the time that Rei say some shit and Usagi end up crying..

Because to me it's a not roast or ribbing if the person you are roasting are not laughing and not having fun as well.

When I am roasting with either of my siblings, we are going to make sure that all of us are on the ground laughing and having a good time. It's not a good time if the party doing the roasting is having a good time but the person who is receiving the roasting is not.

It more ways to show you love someone them 95% of the time you are roasting shit out of them with some mean shit to get a reaction out because you know you are getting to hit a nerve over and over again.

Rei is always saying something out of pocket and when Usagi say " Hey You are being meanie" she don't apologize she just double down more with something else hurtful.

Like in episode 94 when she want to be more of a wife to Mamo and they was at the concert, Mako apologize, Luna apologize but this what she says

All she had to do was say a simple "I'm sorry" but the writers got her playing " the tsundere" character so well they couldn't let her say a simple apology but she can say this to her which wasn't needed.

So to me no it's not a sisterhood. A sisterhood knows each other bounties and not push them.

A sisterhood knows that if this word hurt their sister they will stop using it and apologize.

Now in the manga, crystal, and most def PGSM it is a sisterhood.

Rei does rib her in PGSM but she knows when to stop and they do have that sisterly bond.

Why you think it's so many fanfics of Rei betraying Usagi?

Fanfics of Usagi leaving the group and going to America because she was tired of Rei, Luna and the other girls treatment of her.

Which majority of the fanfics steam from the 90's portray of their " friendship" since the 90's anime was pretty much the first adaption most SM fans watch.

If they did have a sisterly bond you wouldn't have fanfics like that.

But ok.

You have all the right in the world to disagree with me because that is your opinion and you bought the reason why you feel like that. Your opinion is not wrong because it's your opinion.

In my opinion, the 90's anime didn't do a good job to show Rei and Usagi realtionship and I will stand on my opinion.

#Tanya rants about SM

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phoenix-flamed · 5 months

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The memorial remained tall and proud, seemingly unaffected by time or the elements. As Miles stood before it, eyes transfixed upon the words so respectfully etched into the stone surface, he couldn't help but wonder who it was that had commissioned the grave marker, and just how long ago it had been placed there. No body was buried beneath the soil at its base; there had been no body to recover at Phoenix Gate, with the likely assumption being that he, like so many others, had been reduced to ash in the flames of chaos.

Which was likely a mercy, knowing what he knew about his own fate -- from the manner of his death, all the way to his cowardice in hiding that he yet lived.

A shuddered breath was drawn in and held for a few moments. Everything about the scene felt wrong, and his mind and heart both screamed for him to turn and run. He shouldn't be there. He didn't want to be there, in front of his own grave; dread, anxiety, discomfort, they all snaked upwards from his feet to his scalp, consuming him whole until a tremble rippled through his body and forced him to finally exhale again.

Against his better judgment and the tempest of emotions that raged within him, the Cursebreaker stepped closer and knelt. Gloved fingertips traced along the letters, spelling out the words as if committing them to memory. Then he spoke in a voice that was far too thin and fragile in contrast to the way he ordinarily carried himself.

"...It has been a while, my friend." Of course, there was no reply -- save for the gentle rustle of leaves, courtesy of the early morning breeze. "And longer still since I have addressed you amicably."

The man's brow furrowed. He bowed his head in silent contemplation, searching for what to say and how to say it. But there was nothing now, not as if there had been a plan prior to his arrival either. After all, what was there to say to a ghost he had spent so many summers struggling to run away from?

When his pursed lips parted next, he made sure to keep his head down to hide the old, familiar way in which he struggled to express his deeper feelings. "After father's death, you vowed that you would never again leave words left unspoken to those you love. But you... You broke that promise to yourself."

Miles shifted and sat. "As time went on, you became too busy, stretched too thin, and you fell back into believing that there would be more time. There would always be tomorrow to tell them what truths laid within your heart." Like a floodgate opening within, the words that had but moments prior eluded him began pouring out like water, effortless and flowing in a constant stream. "Your intentions had always been good. You believed in compassion, that you could use your power as Archduke for the benefit of all -- to help Rosaria in a new, more lasting way. To free it from its bindings to tradition which held it back from change, kept it beholden to war and conflict, and perpetuated a cycle of needless suffering for those born with magic."

Guilt-stricken gaze lifted to stare again upon those written words. "I hated you for that damnable optimism. For as observant and thorough as you always were, your focus was so firmly locked upon what lay ahead -- and this notion that noble suffering in the present was necessary to accomplish this better future -- that you failed to realize just how great the pain you were inflicting upon your family had become. The burden you placed upon them... between adhering to duty, and picking up where you would inevitably leave off in constructing this new foundation, it was too great. But you always likened yourself to The Founder. You would start to rebuild Rosaria with your own two hands, without the use of magic, for as long as breath filled your lungs. And just like The Founder's tale, there would be those who spurned your efforts -- yet for every one who scoffed and ridiculed, there would be another who would see your work and find the inspiration to join in, and together a new nation would take shape. It was so painfully idealistic."

Again, his fingertips traveled along that memorial stone's surface, this time heading upwards so that he could rest his hand near the top. He couldn't rest his hand upon the grave's owner's shoulder -- so this would have to do. His oceanic-hued eyes squeezed tightly closed in a futile effort to hold back the welling emotions that burned behind them.

"I... I forgive you," Miles managed to heave. Another shuddering breath was hastily sucked in, and that new tremble quaked the entirety of his being. "I forgive you. Even should the fallen refuse to, even should your family choose not to, I forgive you. I forgive myself. I cannot change what I have done... nor the suffering that my choices have wrought. But breath yet fills my lungs, and so I will join in building a better, free world."

And for a change, Miles -- no, Elwin, smiled, that warm smile that had been missing for far too long. "Thank you, my friend." After brushing away his tears, he reached down, grasping the sheathed sword that had been resting across the memorial's base. The weapon was every bit as heavy as he recalled, but it felt perfect to him, it felt right in his hands. It was a long overdue reunion with a friend, after all.

With his task completed, the man stood, taking a moment to attach the blade to his belt where it rightfully belonged. Then he turned to depart.

#Writings #Don't look at me -- I had an idea and it ran way too far away from me but here we are anyway so I'll toss this out the window #Besides writing it has helped me better understand Miles so hey it's not a total L

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blogofloathing · 3 months

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Part 1 of 1! Rittle And The Day Out On The Town

I'll be out for the day, continue your work Simmy, the bleeding shimmer forced Simone to think.

"Y-Yes sir.." the girl shakily replied, ironic how such a bossy little bore could be whipped so easily.

It had only been a few weeks since they'd properly met, but she was already bending to hisheel.

Her mind was easy to manipulated, he knew what made her clock tick, how to wind it by hand.

Simone was key, to building this machine, she was the only one who would do as needed.

Someone of her caliber, was hard to come by, even Rittle could admit he was impressed by her.

Continue working, I will know how much you did, the beast howled one last time before leaving.

Fading out from the scene like a shadowy mirage, as if dissipating into the very air surrounding it.

Viewing this was nearly nauseating, like seeing holes in space fill in where they hadn't been before.

He was almost disappointed to not hear cries for an encore, invisible roses tossed up onto the stage

Ceasing to exist, inky molecules reapplying the glue binding them at their new location.

"Goodbye.." Simone quivered hesitantly, as if to speak too loudly would draw his temper.

Elsewhere, a clinging black tar stuck to the walls of the Ocean City Watchful Eye, like an infection. Rooting its way into the very foundation.

A wiry dark tendril unfurled throughout the ceiling and floors as if a great snake were relaxing.

There he was, the newspaper boy, the conceited fool sorting through that obsessives papers.

But nothing out of the ordinary these days, the serpentine tumor hissed an awful laugh.

One so full of hatred, and amused mockery, that he could sense the silly newsies hair stand up.

"Uh- who's there?" The stupid man said suddenly, glancing around, seems Rittle hadn't been as quiet as he thought, "ugh probably another prank.."

Well, seeing as there weren't any pressing issues, the pricked finger of god detached itself,

Once again dematerializing out of sight and out of mind, save for the fetid roots remaining.

Elsewhere, the bridges tattooed graffiti darkened, burnt as sin and flashing a bright, cheery smirk.

The coalescence of infinite minds looked down at what appeared to be just some hobo girl.

But, for some reason he couldn't reach her, he wasn't able to infest her mind like he did others.

His feeble attempts at such had proved fruitless it was as if she possessed no mind at all, yet clearly she did! Clearly she moved, talked, ate,

He couldn't deny this issue had been frustrating for quite some time, she would be the snag..

Letting Simone think for now that he was leaving her little girlfriend alone out of courtesy.

The beast couldn't let its one good chance have any kind of advantage, mental or otherwise.

But this.. girl, would become an issue later on..

In the end, it could always just rip her apart, once the dutiful engineer had finished her work.

Messily unsticking itself from the physical plane just as before, the stains of its malice remaine.

As he peeked his one, endlessly fractalized eye, into an unassuming alleyway, where a girl was.

She laid there in a box, twitching and skittering around like a centipede running in circles.

The playthings eyes had that look about them, as if to gaze too closely would be to fall right in.

The shadow had been using this girl as.. somewhat of an experiment if you will, in possession.

Of course the process could never be clean, most of all for the body who was taken hostage.

He wouldn't dare compromise the bespectacled girl, but a hobo? No one would miss her anyway.

And he had things to test, stepping down into this girls skin, stretching it out to its limit.

Writhing demons and creening grackles sung songs of warning and of regret in turn.

The outcasted hobo heaved and foamed at the mouth, rattling violently like a dying animal.

As something with no true measure of its form subsumed into her, miniature in scale, flesh.

Pushing aside her bones, making room where her organs lay, filling in the space between her veins.

And finally, flexing its fingers, and standing up.

Affixing his all too vicious blood-in-the-water smirk firm upon his newly acquired face.

They said the devil would be beautiful, but he'd say beauty is in his eyes, the beholder.

He pondered what to do today, through a human brain, it felt familiar, but restricting.

Ah! Exactly the thing I need to unwind, lightbulb forming brilliantly atop his head.

Calmly alming over to the boardwalk, something to stimulate his consciousness.

"Sorry to bother ya ma'am but coulda spare some meat?" Said an unsightly woman.

Clearly this was not the finest specimen of the era.

Attempting to ignore this less than reputable lady.

"I could really use the-" she continued, before her skin drained of blood at the expression on his face.

Something between a killer smile and the haunting look of a predator on the hunt, "I- I have to.. go"

The hobo stuttered, croaking out as if on the verge of vomiting simply at the look Rittle gave her.

Something in that horrid stare told of a creature beneath this, facetious skin stretched over it.

It let out a cackling laugh, one which drew in odd glances all around from passersby.

Well that was certainly fun, thought Rittle, but I'm looking for something more.. exciting!

Spying a fortune tellers tent just beloft the spot where the hobo had previously stood.

A sly smirk snakes its way onto his face, lets see

Surely this would be amusing, reading his future.

He slowly entered the tent, the girl manning the table seemed far too young for such a job.

She greeted him with a cheery "welcome in! Here for a reading?" At which he slithered "yes"

You could almost hear the malevolence within his tone, even translated through a human mouth.

The quote fortune teller unquote, launched into an immediate tangential derivative drivel about tarot and star signs, they weren't all that special when you're actually there to see em up close.

Finally after her fifth offer of magical crystals, at which Rittle eyed her like a hunter eyes a doe.

"Ah- uh, well, anyway let's get to the meat of the matter" surely referring to the actual session he had paid for, and the money used to purchase it

The slightly rustled seer place the first of 3 tarot cards upon the table, flipping it face up with a dramatic swish, displacing the fog, which was upsettingly easy to tell how fake it was

"The Fool Reversed! A kindhearted adventurer is unaware of the hooked lure hanging above her"

This being only the important bits, cutting out a lot more pretentious explainy wainy cauliflower.

"The Tower! A sudden change marks a point of no return, from which the adventure is forever altered"

Even Rittle will admit his eyebrows were quite a bit raised, as the lady flipped over his final tarot card.

"The World Reversed, the adventurer has plans of a massive scale, but has either found it difficult in the past, or is currently troubling to finish the job!"

He couldn't deny this was shockingly impressive, a good showing if you will,

Seemingly uncertain how to finish, she blurted out "well that'll be 600 meat!"

Six Hundred? For flipping a few cards and trying to sell some cockamamie garbage, this wouldn't do.

Sitting silently in the chair, Rittle waited for the girl to foolishly inquire again about the ghastly price.

"Uh, ma'am for my services and time that'll be-" like the previous mousey little thing, her face seemed as if a plug had been released, emptying of color.

As she began backpedaling, nervous laughs clawing free of her throat, an unconscious attempt at appeasing whatever blasphemy she's incurred.

Rittle's humanoid form collapsed like the magistral death of a falling sun, the cowardly deer screamed.

Looking for an exit where one no longer existed, it was just it and her, the tent had no opening.

I think, my fees are paid, hm? The clicking and skittering of insects vibrated to the human.

The silly girl shook and cried on the floor, her eyes struck through with terror, of unimaginable horror.

God looked down at her from above it's inky black heavens, crossed with a shade of maroon.

My dues, are yours, tempesting violently like a hurricane had entered this unfortunate girls head.

"y-yes! Yes! They're paid! I swear! Please please don't hurt me! Please!" She screamed as if to stop begging for forgiveness for a moment would truly condemn her to damnation, ah ah ah, pay, me.

"Yes Yes! Okay! You can take everything! It's yours!" Cowering with her head in her arms, finally the beast was pleased, returning to its human shape with the snap of a star twinkling into existence.

"Well see now how hard was that?" Slithered Rittle, his forked tongue, hissing with each S like a snake.

His speech was slow and methodical, as if each word was carefully chosen and enunciated.

The peddler only sat silently, handing over all of the meat she'd received that day, oh no no.

"All of it, Marla" Rittle wrote onto her brain with careless imprecision, "b-but, I need-"

"I'm sorry, here.." pulling out a much larger sack, plumb full of meat, "thank you kindly!"

Rittle blew the bedraggled and haunted woman a kiss on his way out, quite a productive day!

He could faintly hear the sounds of racked sobs emanating from the squinty little tent, as he sauntered on home, the sun was setting softly, it seemed he'd had a bit too much fun with her.

It was daunting enough maintaining this shell, he could feel cracks deepening in the thin flesh surrounding this blackened solar storm.

If he didn't leave soon this ruined body would be unusuable, and he liked pushing her limits.

Exiting the poor girl with the force of ripping out weeds from within her, the host let out a gasping scream before collapsing on the ground, shivering and gurgling as she crawled back into the alley.

He avoided being spotted, if she could even see after having him invade her already greatly sullied brain, he expected she couldn't take much more

Abandoning her to struggle once more, he flowed, a heavy fog, down into sewer grates, seeping into cracks and hitching a ride on the wind

Leaving the unfortunate cringer with blood like stars and skin that pulsed with strange movement

Fully reconstituting himself back within Simone's workshop once again, oh Simmy, it breathed with a musical little trill, I'm back from my days errands

"W-Welcome home.. I made some progress on-" impatient to hear the rest he interrupted

Excellent job, you've gone almost a full day with out failing me! The backhanded praise stung, the poison of a scorpions tail delivering the news.

Simone went back to tinkering miserably with a bolt here, a nut there, and Rittle only smiled.

Part 1 of 1 END! Rittle Continues To Torment Poor Simone, And Another Girl? Who Could She be?

#original character #original writing #shadows over loathing #west of loathing #sol #wol #writing #oc character #writers on tumblr #creative writing #original characters #shadows over loathing oc #sol oc #short story #story #scary #horror

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myassbrokethefall · 7 months

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xf rewatch: squeeze and conduit

(As if this wasn't already apparent, I'll warn you that any off-the-cuff posts I manage to spew out as I rewatch are going to be rambly, unorganized and rudderless. I am tagging all of these "xf rewatch rambling." And I will be kind to us all and put in a cut.)

Eps 3 and 4, and we're still building some real foundational XF DNA here. Squeeze of course is our first MOTW and it's all nicely laid out for us: Colton and the jackass squad are all like, hurrrr it's ol spooky mulder he thinks a flying saucer did the murders, and even Scully is like, so whaddya think, these are the stretchy fingerprints of ALIENS? And it gives him a great opportunity to say, please Scully, I have range, we don't ONLY do UFO episodes cases on this show in this basement, sometimes we might have a "week" where we are investigating a "monster"! That will keep us busy!

It's also really interesting to see Mulder interact with the rest of the federal law enforcement universe for the first time, and how he plays into it in a smartass way, but how it really is relentless (with Colton in particular like physically blocking him from the crime scene even before he calls off the stakeout). Mulder doesn't get really mad about it until it gets to the point where he knows they've let a killer go and no one will listen to him about that. He's just such a fundamentally Good man, and it's a lovely thing to once again see through Scully's eyes how he is not the unreasonable one here, that despite his willingness to connect the dots to make a picture that is Beyond the Realm of Science, he IS, in fact, connecting dots, he's not just making shit up, and none of these dudes making fun of him are actually listening to him. I am loving watching how they draw his character in these early days.

Then with Conduit we're back into UFO stuff and it's our first Gordon/Gansa ep. This is the first episode I don't know like the back of my hand, although I remember it pretty well (and I don't know Squeeze AS well as Pilot and DT). It is quite solid, and MUCH more based on Carl Sagan's Contact than I remembered. As I rambled to a friend earlier today and will now do here again probably even less coherently, this whole thing was great for me until it falls apart at the end with the pieces of paper forming the portrait of Ruby. Despite this being a nifty reveal, the portrait is just SO GOOFY!!, and it is just a step too far for me. The aliens are sending numbers through the TV to Ruby's little brother — sure. And he's compelled to write them down and they turn out to be, in binary, the aliens repeating back to the humans what they've heard in transmissions from Earth, in what is assumed to be a way of reaching out or saying hello (this is what happens in Contact). I love all that, it's very spooky, it's a fun side-swerve when M&S get interrogated by the NSA because Kevin was accidentally transcribing top-secret military info, and it is undeniably a great moment when Scully goes upstairs and looks down and has the realization that it's a picture of Ruby. But... how can the 1s and 0s be BOTH encrypted satellite transmissions AND the precise sequence that makes a physical picture of Ruby's face? Also, is it like, a school portrait? Why is she smiling so hard? Did the aliens tell her to smile and snap a photo of her on the spaceship? Are they reading Kevin's mind and that's how he pictures her, with a giant cheeseball grin? It just kind of falls apart for me and it is silly enough that it breaks the momentum of the episode.

On the other hand, I get that they wanted to make it unequivocal that the aliens were communicating to Kevin about Ruby specifically — and to make that explicit tie between this situation and Mulder's memories, as expressed in the hypnosis in the (very emotional) last scene, about Samantha's abduction: the voice saying that she's ok and she'll be returned to him. This is a touching consistency that I never really picked up on before, that it is the aliens' MO when abducting a kid to make an effort to let a nearby loved one know that they don't have to worry. So working instructions for how to arrange the papers on the living room floor into their tv transmissions in order to make a giant Sears portrait of Ruby is another way of delivering this ultimately benevolent, hopeful message, I guess.

You couldn't keep it this way indefinitely, but I really do feel wistful about these early days when there was such a sense of wonder with the possibility of aliens, and so much unknown, before it all got bogged down in super soldiers and magnetite and consortiums and viruses and black oil and impregnating people with science against their will. You can FEEL Mulder's agitation and urgency in wanting to get Ruby's story and his agony at being blocked from it, and yet also understand Darlene's refusal to let this crazy-sounding stuff that has branded her a kook her whole life define her daughter's life as well. Just good stuff.

I will note though that there have been 4 episodes here so far, 3 of them dealing with UFOs, and in all 3 of those they have done the thing where you think you're seeing UFO lights and then it turns out to be a vehicle Very Much Of This Earth. I think you could give that one a rest for a little while, show.

Let's get real, this is all prelude to Jersey Devil, up next. Yeah baby.

#xf rewatch rambling #squeeze #conduit #you wouldn't shoot a unarmed man wouldja copper

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farm-witches-fic-recs · 2 years

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It’s another fantastic Friday on the farm and we are very happy to bring you the first round of September recs from our friends!

Enjoy your weekend and give these fics a read from your favorite cozy spot. Be sure to leave the authors some love!

====================

Ain’t justice blind (marchtwentyfour) “One of the most underrated & best AUs i have ever read from the D&P fandom. The characters are fleshed out, the foundation for David & Patrick's relationship was laid out so believable it felt so earned when they finally got together. This fic also explored them navigating their relationship, growing into it, and the very satisfying happy ending they got. I love LOVE this fic and i re-read at least every quarter?”

Birthday spanking (@lisamc-21) “This story exemplifies the perfect one-shot… a potentially humiliating meeting of our favorite co-workers at a club morphs into a blazing hot (yet tender) canon-divergent celebration of David’s birthday, just a few hours outside of SC. Lisamc21’s words paint the scene beautifully and efficiently, and her depiction of anxious sex god David and take-charge Patrick is A+!“

The fundamental things (@goodiecornbread) “This Mutt/Jake fic—yes, trust me, just try it—is so rich, thoughtful, and fun. Mutt needs a place to sleep and Jake's got a bed. Magic ensues. There's lovely insight into their characters, some Schitt family backstory, quiet hobbies on winter nights, interactions with other Schitt's Creek residents, and lots of understated affection and intimacy.”

How long till we reach the door? (@lizzie-bennetdarcy) “This is everything you could ask for in a one shot: sweet, hot, funny, tropey (in the best way) plus David escaping down a fire escape!”

I’ve never known anyone quite like you before (orphan_account) “I'm not even sure how to describe this piece. It's just so fucking beautiful. It's a different style but it's a masterpiece in 250 words. I beg you to read it.”

Keeping us tied and true (@whetherwoman) “This fic was a huge surprise for me - there's not much omegaverse in this Fandom and I was quite wary of it but the tags won me over - it is very different from what you might be expecting from a standard omegaverse fic and I was so glad I gave it a try. It's tender and *very* hot and beautifully written. Plus did I mention also: fake relationship and only one bed. What more could you ask for?”

Music moves him (@smallumbrella369) “Wow. Listen to this music and read this fic of Patrick trying to tell David what he meant by "slow", and how he makes him feel, like music under his skin. Phew!”

Polaris (strangeluvz) “This is a super-angsty, post-breakup David/ Patrick fic, and it’s just so perfectly on point in tone, characterization, and atmosphere. I can’t get it out of my head!”

The start of something good (@khughes830) “It's sweet, and I love the way they gravitate towards each other from the very beginning. It's the knowing that they both carry. Also, everybody gets involved and it makes it fun. Cora Brewer and Ellie Mullens are such good fun!”

Time until the end of time (@ships-to-sail, @yourbuttervoicedbeau)

“absolute perfection. iconic. unparalleled.”

“I honestly don't understand how this isn't being recc'ed everywhere by everyone?? It is stunning and heartbreaking and perfect and I feel like everyone is sleeping on it. Every single new chapter blew me away and the ending...I won't spoil it but the authors absolutely knocked it out of the park.”

“It was so beautifully written and so unique and creative. A very different way for our David and Patrick to meet and fall in love, and also an exploration of one’s life and a look at how we have affected people in our life. Even if we don’t realize it until it’s examined. Sometimes too late but to still know the love is there.”

“Everything. Such a creative concept. So much love and care was put into it. It’s a beautiful exploration of how David became the person he is, seen through the eyes of current David (looking back at himself, how he felt then and how he feels now about it) and Patrick. Every chapter was an emotional whirlwind in the best way. It was all just so, so beautifully done. I am in awe.“

#friends of farm witches #friends of farm witches fic recs #FOFW Friday Recs #sc fic rec #sc fanfic #schitts creek fic #SC fic #david x patrick #David Rose #Patrick Brewer #mutt schitt

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fictionkinfessions · 1 month

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canon deets!!

dave's love language was very much physical touch. it was kinda funny because i was not a touchy person at all meanwhile every time we slept in the same bed down in vegas (which was. every night, basically) he'd curl around me completely. but for the first few nights i just laid there completely stiff. eventually i got used to it and started actually cuddling with him instead of just letting him cuddle me

his fashion sense was also very much like. scene style, which is funny because i don't think that came into style until like, the 2000s

he had a fuckin terrible diet. every night was buffalo wings and pizza. and he had the NERVE to tell me I had bad taste in food the HEATHEN/silly

all of his teeth were really sharp, he also had a split in his lip and the outside of his ear

he covered up his scars with foundation like i did, but he typically didn't whenever we were just staying in

he was actually really good with kids! there was one time i remember where i walked by one of the party rooms and he was sitting on the floor, he wasn't in his spring bonnie suit, but he was reading to a bunch of kids who were kinda crowded around him. he didn't even seem to mind whenever they climbed on him. he was really good at entertaining them

he liked picking me up and holding me, i think there was at least once when i came back into the flipside and he picked me up and spun me around

he put a lot of effort into his appearance! he liked painting his nails, he had a full skincare and haircare routine, i think he specifically made sure to style himself in a way that made him look disheveled but still good

his handwriting was surprisingly neat when he put effort into writing

he was good at helping with overstimulation and panic attacks and stuff

there's. so much i remember about him but this is really long and i'm way too gay i think so i'll leave it off here. love my husband <33

-jack kennedy (dsaf), #☀🌵🎭

#fictionkinfessions #fictionkin #☀🌵🎭#jackkennedykin #dsafkin #gamrep #canon deets #food cw #mod party cat

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novoaa1writes · 1 year

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demonology

pairing(s): wanda maximoff x f!reader, natasha romanoff & f!reader, yelena belova & f!reader

summary:

A voice you know but shouldn’t says your name, all soft and reverent like it’s something holy, and your stomach curdles as you’re wrenched back into yourself with the force of a battering ram.

Your head spins. Your lungs burn. You can hardly breathe.

She—Wanda—is standing close. Too close. How did she get that close? How did you let her?

She’s got freckles, a faint smattering of them beneath her eyes and across her nose. Did she always have those?

You don’t know where you are. You don’t know what you’re doing.

cross-posted on ao3.

word count: ~6,900

rating: teen audiences and up

warnings: a good amount of blood and violence. brainwashing, swearing, guns, knives, general head-fuckery, etc. pretty much all the warnings from previous installments apply

notes: LMAO. hello how is everyone doing. life can be brutal but i finally managed to get out the next installment! i realized that while i was writing it, i’ll definitely need another one (at least) to wrap up the final climactic action scenes, and hten probably another one after that to tie up loose ends and the like. i’ll do me best, and a huge thank you to everyone who’s stuck around this far. seriously, that is insane to me, and i know i am not a terribly consistent writer with a posting schedule, so it means a whole freakin’ bunch

anywho!

— —

PREVIOUS PART: THE BEST LAID PLANS...

— —

Plan B goes to hell in a handbasket in both spectacularly poor fashion and record time.

It’s almost impressive, really.

One second, things are (relatively) under control:

Two’s crumpled form lies listless at your feet, twitching and shuddering atop age-weathered wood. Not completely down for the count, but effectively neutralized for the time being. A handful of strides out stands a shrewd-looking Hawkeye, a single well-honed arrow nocked and leveled at your chest.

Drama queen.

Beside him, his… tenderfooted charge. The Maximoff girl. Crimson luminescence flickers betwixt her hands, reflecting off spotless silver bands on willowy fingers; and despite your better instincts, you are loath to look anywhere else.

A second later sees Iron Man plummeting down through the ceiling overhead with a hair-raising CRASH; and just like that, the spell is broken. Shouts ring out, explosions sound, and the entire ground floor devolves into a truly histrionic spectacle of unmitigated chaos.

While your concentration may be a hair short of compromised, years of training ensures you’re already in motion—stowing away the knife, then launching yourself back into a flawless backwards handspring through shrouds of darkness which fall in on you from every side. You’re aiming for the doorless entryway of the adjoining room, which you sail cleanly back through without error.

Once inside, you’re quick to dart over to the left and out of sight. Scan your surroundings—no one here. Draw both Steyr TMPs, check them over once more—safeties off, mags attached, suppressors screwed on tight.

A high-pitched whirr sounds off followed posthaste by an explosion two floors up that rocks the entire foundation of the building—again. If this keeps up, you estimate it’s only a matter of time before the entire infrastructure collapses in on itself in a hail of cement and splintered wood and a volatile mélange of deadly chemical fallout.

You haven’t caught so much as a whiff of rotten eggs (gaseous hydrogen sulfide’s distinguishing characteristic), fortunately, so you’ve got some time to figure out how to neutralize any ignition sources in the meantime. Stark’s laser beams, for one. The repulsors shouldn’t be a problem, from what you understand about his particular take on muon-catalyzed fusion. He’s taken great lengths to ensure they don’t release anywhere near the amount of energy (read: heat) required to fuel the earlier models. You’ve studied the logs yourself. Of course, those aren’t the only tools in his arsenal, but, you figure, they’re the ones you’re most likely to be dealing with here. Perhaps a younger Tony Stark would be brash enough to barge into an unfamiliar place slinging plasma from both palms, but he’s endured far too much to succumb to such senselessness now.

At least, in theory.

You make a mental note to keep an eye out, and remain poised for intervention as needed.

Beyond that, any Semtex or functional hand-grenade is out of the question, too. If the average grenade filler burns at somewhere over 2500 ℃ (~4500 ℉), even one could easily send the whole place up in flames.

Thankfully, gunfire is a little less questionable. The scope of the operation combined with the fact that most every operative’s primary (and secondary) armaments are semi-automatics constitute a glaring pitfall that Black Room technicians would have to have been blind or brainless not to consider: If bullets go off at a temperature around or over 260 ℃ (500 ℉), then even a single shot could send the whole place up in flames.

Black Room technicians are not, nor have ever been, so irrationally short-sighted. They would have altered the substance accordingly.

It makes sense, now, why the armory was suspiciously devoid of explosive weaponry.

Guns loaded, you inch back over and peer around the door frame.

Iron Man lies floor-bound amidst a mess of splintered wood and uprooted floorboard, silver-and-red armor (that which is characteristic of the Mark XLVII, if you’re not mistaken) reflecting beams of scattered moonlight from overhead.

(The particular make and model of Stark’s illustrious armament sparks some measure of intrigue within you.

Unlike the greater majority of his precious iron ensembles, Stark’s Mark XLVII—an earlier model of the Iron Man suit—includes a built-in feature which allows remote control access. Thus, it’s not at all unlikely to postulate that the suit you see is empty and under the remote control of F.R.I.D.A.Y., his quick-witted AI, while Stark himself is elsewhere.

You tuck that information away for later.)

Atop him, the woman you know as One bashes fist-shaped craters into the polished armor with her bare fists.

She wears a Kevlar vest over a wife-beater-style tank top, combat boots, and army-green pants. A thin sheen of perspiration coats her ridiculously built arms, muscles tensing and bulging obscenely beneath the scattered moonlight with every savage punch.

Clang! Knuckles hammer against metal. Clang! Clang! Clang!

Yikes.

A split second later, there comes a series of clicks and whirs, followed by the soles of Iron Man’s armored boots setting themselves alight—full-throttle. Twin flares set the entire entry hall alight in blaze of luminescent brilliance as the XLVII shoots directly out from under One, ejecting her off and down—through the floorboards, into the crawl space lying just below with startling haste and a deafening crash.

The Man of Iron torpedoes upward, then, gunning for the gaping hole in the ceiling that still rains debris and plaster down onto the ground floor—

Just before he can get there, a dark figure jumps straight through, crashing into the airborne suit with an audible clunk!—meeting him halfway. Stark—or the Mark XLVII—lurches violently beneath the sudden addition of weight on his plated shoulders, armored legs flailing, thrusters whining audibly beneath the strain.

Meanwhile, on the ground floor, Barton’s hard at work—bow angled upward, loosing arrow after arrow through the gaping breach overhead in a flurry of movement, stubborn determination marring his lined features.

Beside him stands the young clairvoyant, slender hands aloft and clouded in scarlet mist; her lurid red eyes fixed unwaveringly upon the freshly-formed crater in the ground floor foundation from which a truly murderous-looking One is re-emerging. She doesn’t appear to be terribly injured—One, that is—save for a nasty-looking gash just over her hairline that stains her left temple with rivulets of freshly-spilt blood. Then again, much like yourself, her tolerance for pain and bodily affliction is something obscene. Nothing less than a fatal blow will deter her from completing the mission objectives; you know that better than anyone.

She leaps out from the crawl space and onto the ground floor, landing her full weight with a hollow thud! that makes the floorboards groan. Her determination hasn’t abated at all as she prowls forth, cutting a beeline straight for the Maximoff girl, close-cropped blonde hair soaked through with blood and sweat; if anything, it’s only intensified a thousand fold. You don’t have to see her face to know the expression she’s wearing—beady brown eyes alight with mutiny, jaw clenched tight, thin lips curled into a foul-mannered scowl.

You run the calculations in your head. Skill, agility, brute force… Maximoff—Wanda—can hold her off, at least for the moment. There’ll be no guarantees for an extended conflict, however, and the fact remains that even the mere sight of One drawing near her makes your stomach turn for reasons you’re loath to examine.

Hell, you’ve half a mind to just shoot her dead and be done with it, consequences be damned.

You almost do it, too.

Your split hesitation costs you, though, and instead of pumping One full of lead before the ‘roided-up brute can lay a single hand on the likes of Wanda Maximoff, you’ve got your hands full with an entirely new problem:

It presents subtly, at first—nothing more than a whisper in the darkness at your six o’clock—but, what is that old saying?

“This is the way the world ends. Not with a bang, but a whimper.” T.S. Eliot. American-born, but an Englishman at heart.

You whirl around just in time to feel the air shift around your cheek and—

Fuck.

A bone-jarring punch whips your head violently to one side, cool metal stamping an instant bruise (and possible hairline fracture) into your right cheekbone with borderline inhuman force that rocks you to your core.

It’s a damn miracle you manage to stumble off to one side, shaky on your feet as you grit your teeth and right your balance with a considerable amount of effort.

Your cheek feels like it’s been through an industrial-strength press (though you suppose it’s some consolation to note that your attacker didn’t batter the same one Madame did), and the reopened bullet wound in your left shoulder—relatively old as it may be—feels like a step drill bit cleaving through your mutilated flesh anew.

Jesus—fuck—

It’s pure instinct that has you reacting well in time to catch the second blow—a vicious downwards jab with a needle-point blade that would’ve otherwise skewered directly through your uninjured shoulder.

“Brass knuckles? Really? ” you hiss in strained Russian, shoving your assailant off with no small measure of force and a sharp huff. Christ, but they’re heavy—far heavier than their compact, willowy form would imply.

They relent without stumbling, which you suppose is something—quick and balanced on their feet as they retreat back an arm’s length… then two.

You narrow your gaze, peering out through the darkness to see—

Of course. S-shaped brows, raven-black hair piled up into a neat bun… cerulean-blue eyes that glint like polished gems through the cover of night.

Madame’s taciturn second-in-command. The one who dutifully stood watch over her at the initial mission briefing, wordlessly cataloguing everything like a silent sentinel.

She’s a graduate of the program, whether Red Room or Black Room, you do not know. (You think, judging by her age, it’s probably the former). If you hadn’t known it before, it’d be impossible to miss now.

As for what she’s doing here, well. Your guess is as good as anyone’s. Mission parameters constituted seven operatives—no more, no less. Then again, Black Room protocol has never shied away from layering one mission atop another, compartmentalizing the overlap and writing off the difference.

The part that most unsettles you, though, is not the broad assortment of throwing knives stashed away in her belt, nor the black rucksack slung over both narrow shoulders (that which connotes a decidedly more sinister motive). No, it’s the utter lack of firearms (visible or otherwise) on her figure combined with the fact that you can’t catch the barest glimpse of brass knuckles which you’d thought responsible for clobbering you into next week.

Erskine’s serum aside, that old adage rings forever true—you don’t bring a knife to a gun fight.

So, why would she?

Not to mention—that hit was hard. You think it a wonder your cheekbone isn’t fractured.

“You’re weak, Angel,” she growls—the first you’ve heard her speak. Interestingly enough, the quality of her voice is mild, sonorous… almost pleasant; even as the words themselves are nothing short of acerbic.

“And you’re not supposed to be here,” you retort mildly, to—

Thwack! You duck just in time to miss the black-bladed kunai whizzing through the air in an impossibly high-speed blur, seeking to bury itself directly between your eyes.

It lodges in the wooden wall a step behind you instead, its handle quivering with the residual force of impact.

Feisty, you speculate, rising warily back up to your full height. You tuck away one of the Steyrs as you do, freeing up your aching hand to brandish the I.C.E.R. pistol instead. (Christ. You and your non-lethal options today.)

“What is your purpose here? ” you try again, brain working overtime to analyze and approximate her alignment (i.e., how deep her loyalty to the Madame truly runs, and consequently, exactly how big a pain in your ass she’s wont to be).

“Insurance.”

“I don’t wish for us to fight,” you tell her. It is the truth, and though it burns, you do not shy away from it. “I have no reason to.”

A slow, chilling grin stretches its way across her angular features. When she speaks, sadistic mirth underlies her brisk intonation: “And I cannot let you leave here alive.”

Gamely suppressing a sigh, you shift back into a fighting stance—feet a shoulder’s width apart, knees bent, guns drawn.

You have one last thought as she’s barreling toward you, and you’re bracing yourself for impact: I should really get started on that early retirement plan.

— —

So, here’s the thing about serving as second-in-command to the Black Room Madame—you don’t arrive there without first selling your soul.

You’re a little more preoccupied than usual—thoughts a little scrambled, brain a tad freezer-burned—so it takes you longer than it should to discern what you’re working with here.

Nonetheless, you do... though, not before enduring a blow. Or five.

Cracked sternum—courtesy of a violent palm strike to the chest which sends you careening back through the drywall. Bone bruising in both ulnas—acquired when you blocked a bone-realigning roundhouse kick with your forearms. Three broken fingers (pinky and ring)—your penance for getting the grand idea to clip her diamond-cut jaw with a well-aimed punch.

Yeah. It doesn’t take a genius to tell: you’re not going toe-to-toe with just another classmate of Natalia’s.

(Natalia…

The moment the thought surfaces, you do away with it. The sentiment—tempting as it is to re-examine—will only live on so long as you do, and at the current moment, that prospect is looking shaky at best.)

She—whoever she is—is enhanced, sure. A recipient of some unidentified variant on Erskine’s serum? Unclear.

The serum—though it bolsters muscle mass accordingly on any given subject—doesn’t make a combatant weigh in at 200 kilos (~440lbs). Hell, even Rogers was only weighing in at just over 135 (~300lbs) post-injection—and the batch that he received had been the most advanced variant known to man. More on that: it doesn’t give you a gleaming-silver exoskeleton of impenetrable steel beneath your skin, and it certainly doesn’t mean you can take a bullet between the brows and only be out of commission for two minutes flat.

Whatever she’s on, it goes far deeper than anything Erskine ever cooked up.

Granted you can manage to make it out of this alive (a quixotic hypothetical that appears to grow increasingly more improbable by the second), you make a mental note to look into this later on, at length. If you know the mind of an overzealous scientist—and, considering your lab-rat background, you’re quite sure that you do—they didn’t stop (or start) with her.

For the moment, though, you’ll just have to settle for taking things slow—one steel-gloved hit at a time.

You duck another punch and throw yourself shoulder-first down onto the ground, directly forth into a hurried roll across the groaning hardwood. It buys you about a half a second of time and less than a foot of space, but it’s better than nothing while your mind works overtime to come up with a new strategy for incapacitating your assailant—preferably one that doesn’t involve any more broken bones.

The syringes are out; that much is clear. Their flimsy steel needles won’t stand a chance at puncturing her wrought-iron skin. With knives, you’re met with the same issue. Guns? No, you tried that already. I.C.E.R.? Forget it.

You’re gonna need a lot more firepower—firepower you don’t currently have on hand—to neutralize her. Though, you know what—or who, rather—just might?

Stark.

All this runs through your head in the blink of an eye as you rise to your full height and the lieutenant whirls around to clock you, bringing with her a vicious backwards elbow that makes you duck right back down to avoid getting clobbered.

You catch the knee-strike she throws next with both hands, though the sheer force of it sends your crouched figure sprawling backwards ass-first onto the wooden floors with little grace and an audible thunk!

A boot races towards your face, then, though you’re quick to fall back and twist away. At the tail end of one full rotation, you level a kick at her ankle that sees her bounding back a full half-step to dodge, allowing you time to scramble up onto your feet and break away.

Ice slithers its way up your spine as you break out into a full sprint, back turned… exposed.

(Never let an opponent at your unprotected back, Angel. Never. )

Last you checked, she hadn’t any knives on hand (most of them littered across the floor or sunken into the drywall), but it’s a risk all the same.

You huff out a noiseless sigh of relief when you manage to barge through into the next room and dive off to the side even as a throwing knife—this one silver rather than black—goes whizzing through the entryway where you once stood about half a second later.

You come up on your feet and launch forth into an explosive run, gunning for the east central stairwell two rooms over.

New mission objective: find Iron Man.

— —

You burst onto the fourth-floor landing—TMP-I.C.E.R. combo drawn and looking for trouble.

And damn it all, but you get it.

The moment you hear it—faint crackling sounds from a procession of dated black speaker-horns mounted up in corners of every room, static and sputters to signal the intercom system coming to life—

You know you’re fucked.

“Она провиденье искушала.”

[Ona providen’ye iskushala.]

A cool, brittle voice. Feminine; familiar.

Madame E.

This can’t be a live feed… can it? No, she’d never risk it. A recording, then?

But whose finger is on the ‘Play’ button?

And those words…

“Она звала прекрасное мечтою.”

[Ona zvala prekrasnoye mechtoyu.]

Your breath catches in your throat. Saliva turns to smoky ash on your tongue.

Your tenebrous surroundings fall away, and you fall with them—down, down, down… You barely feel the impact when your knees hit the floor, guns trembling in rigid fists.

No…

“Она вдохновенье презирала.”

[Ona vdokhnoven’ye priyezirala.]

The voice is cool, calm… unrelenting. Every word it utters, every letter feels as though it’s branding itself into your bare flesh.

And the scariest part? Some indispensable, deep-down part of you—one that seems to swell and stretch by the second, growing like a sentient thing—is responding to it. Coaxed forth by its urging… compelled in a way you know there’s no coming back from.

“Не верила она любви, свободе.”

[Ni verilla ona lyubvi, cvobodye.]

She had faith in neither love nor freedom…

You know her. You know the girl of whom they speak. Don’t you?

A sharp ache builds in the back of your skull. You bite your lip hard as if to clear it.

“На жизнь насмешливо глядела…”

[Na szhizn nasmeshliva glyadyela…]

Looked on life with ridicule…

“И ничего во всей природе…”

[I nichevo vo vsey prirodye…]

And in the whole of nature…

You clap your hands over both ears to block out the noise, gritting your teeth hard until your jaw creaks… but it’s too late for that, and you know it. The words are too loud, and they’re screaming in your brain, and you cannot help but soak them up like a blooming sunflower might the afternoon sun on a balmy springtime afternoon.

The last line of the poem—because it’s a poem, you’re sure, and one you think some ever-nearing piece of you might know—is the final nail in a coffin of your handlers’ design.

“Благословить она не хотела.”

[Blagoslovit’ ona nye khotela.]

She did not wish to praise a single thing.

White explodes across your spotty vision; a shrill, high-pitched noise shrieks deafeningly in your ears… there is pain, flashes of red, the distant sound of someone screaming—

… And then, there is nothing.

Nothing but silence. Silence, bloodlust, and a single phrase to shatter what precious little remains holding you back—one you’ve still yet to hear.

“Встань, ангел смерти.”

[Vstan’, angol smyerti.]

Bingo.

— —

You awaken in a strange, dark place—an older building that creaks and groans, its bowels teeming with shadows. Judging by the interior design—modeled to constitute a later motif of the Byzantine Revival—the structure had been built anywhere from the mid-19th century to the late 1900s. Reasonably meritorious upkeep. Doorless inlets formed by tall, rounded archways. Nicked hardwood floors, their once polished veneers a thing of the faraway past. The scent of lingering gunsmoke, how it tickles your nostrils. A brisk chill in the thin, damp air…

Focus, you rebuke yourself.

You’re hunched down, on your knees… staring at the floor.

There’s a voice in your ear… but you have no comm.

There’s someone there with you.

“... hear me?” a deep, masculine-sounding voice cleaves through your clouded awareness like the first stroke of thunder in an oncoming storm. American. “Hey, are you alright?” You recognize it, you think… recognize him. Maybe from on television? “Don’t worry; you’re safe now. We’re here to help.”

It’s coming from closer, now…

He’s right beside you.

You can feel the heat of his body crowding yours… huge, well-muscled, quick on his feet. It’s not until you feel his hand on your shoulder, though—Big mistake—that the heavy fog which addles your mind seems to dissipate, and in its wake, a singular motive reigns absolute:

Fight.

You twist sharply, jerking back and away from the man’s touch. Simultaneously you’re raising your arm, snaking it over and around his own such that your limbs are twined steadfastly around each other like braided rope—his wrist beneath your armpit and palm pressed against your shoulder blade; your forearm around his bulging tricep and knuckles digging into the iron of his brachialis. The position is awkward (significantly more so for him than for you), forcing his arm to lock in a position that borders on overextension with every bit of added pressure you apply. Of course, he resists.

Christ, but he’s strong. It’s exhausting to hold him still for even a second or two.

There, with a split second’s worth of borrowed time, you get your first real glimpse of him—sharp jawline; gritted teeth… a chauvinistic kevlar-padded uniform with the most obnoxious, God-awful design you’ve seen in your entire life: a conspicuous blend of proud American red, white, and blues; a navy blue helmet that fits snugly around his cranium like a bald cap; a perfectly-circular shield the size of a large supper platter secured to his other forearm with a series of worn leather straps.

Steve Rogers. Codename: Captain America.

Designation: Unfriendly. Threat Assessment: Deadly.

(‘Stevie’... )

There’s a kind of calm, if distant, recognition in his blue-eyed gaze as you peer up at him, and he looks down at you. He knows you… somehow. You haven’t the time to ponder how that could possibly be.

A beat passes. He sweeps your feet out from underneath you with a well-placed kick, and the moment is broken.

You go down, down, down without a fight—your arm disentangling from his, your vision tilting upside-down. A calculated twist of your hips increases your momentum in a pinch, and, when your upper back hits the ground, it’s all too natural to further drive that propulsion feet-first into an improvised backwards roll off one shoulder, a move that’ll earn you about three steps’ length in additional space. In no time at all, you’re back on your feet—half-knelt in a crouched position and peering up at your opponent, twin knives drawn.

“Stand down, Y/N,” he orders calmly, shield-clad arm resting innocuously at his side. He doesn’t even sound winded.

“I do not answer to you,” you say flatly.

It’s nothing but a testament to his arrogance that he would think otherwise—or, at the very least, feign it.

“This isn’t you,” he continues on, his words ripe with priggish well-meaning and maddening self-importance. You disfavor it on principle.

Overhead, there’s the telltale crackle of static from the intercom, followed by an indisputable command:

“Eliminate the intruders.”

You aren’t really supposed to have opinions (at all), particularly where it concerns orders coming from higher up the food chain. You’re not sure if it’s a flaw in your conditioning, or some indispensable defect of character, but that particular ordinance never quite seemed to take with you. Regardless, all orders are not created equal. (A matter of personal opinion, granted.) Some are ill-advised and inflammatory. Some are tedious, yet tolerable. Some are nothing short of condemnable.

You’d place this particular instance in the ‘tedious, yet tolerable’ category. If you were the type of person to have friends, Captain America would not be one of them.

You twirl your knives in either hand and lunge explosively forth, seeking blood with both blades raised—poised to strike.

You get a shield instead. Impenetrable vibranium strikes your upraised forearms with considerable force and a metallic thud to boot… but you’re expecting it. (Even if the impact makes your battered forearms smart like a bitch.)

Palming the handles of either knife, you manage to grip the shield’s top edge with your fingertips (sans the thumbs); and, using that hold as a grapnel, swing your momentum forward, boots first, to deliver a solid two-footed kick directly into the armor-padded gut of Captain America.

Pained grunts from overhead constitute your reward—one when the soles of your boots strike his gut, and another when you employ that perch as something of a makeshift springboard; pushing off his firm stomach with both feet, setting an angled course for the ground below.

You catch yourself there with both hands, the impact flattening both knife handles into either palm such that you’re sure they’ll sport impressive bruises come dawn. As your weight transfers to your hands, straining your bent elbows something ridiculous, you clock Steve Rogers at your 12 o’clock, stumbling backwards and righting himself just within arm’s reach. From there, your momentum takes you the rest of the way, and a forceful shove against groaning hardwood does the rest. In a matter of seconds—which see you neatly executing the tail-end of an improvised back-handspring—you’re up on your feet again in a fighting stance with a solid metre’s worth of space between you and your opponent.

“This isn’t you,” he grits out, sounding rather winded.

You shrug, like his claim does not irk you. (It does.) “You talk too much.”

And, without further ado, you launch yourself forth.

— —

Steve Rogers—honorable and masochistic as he is—fights like a ‘roided-out street boxer. His footwork is just barely on the better side of decent; and, despite bouncing dutifully on the balls of his feet all throughout, he’s somehow the most flat-footed fighter you’ve ever seen. He never moves any more than a step or two in any direction, as though his lower half is encased in concrete and he doesn’t fancy moving any time soon. Any blocking comes few and far between, allowing opportunity for unobstructed attacks at every turn. You get four solid hits to his face—the third of which sees his nose broken and gushing blood—before he adjusts and starts dodging them.

He’s good with the shield; you’ll give him that.

There are also the faintest undertones of something more refined—and familiar—beneath his brawler fight pattern. Another influence; a guiding hand, of sorts. It’s got Natalia written all over it.

He should listen to Natalia more, you think. Spar with her more often.

The moment the thought registers—

A sharp pain behind your eye, making you falter mid-block.

You take a bone-jarring right hook to the jaw for that one. The force of it whips your head to the side, makes your teeth clamp down hard on your tongue. Warm, coppery blood fills your mouth as you stagger back on the heels of your feet.

You catch yourself on the second step, and recover your balance by the third.

Steve Rogers is looking at you like he’s sorry, like he regrets it.

You hold his gaze as you gather the blood in your mouth and swallow it down, jaw clenched.

“I don’t want to fight,” he tells you, his words jagged with exertion. His lower lip is split. The gusher of a bloody nose has slowed to a trickle. “You’re just a kid.”

You note a flicker of movement over his left shoulder as he speaks; barely there, and yet, unmistakable to someone with your training.

Simultaneously: a shift in the air just behind you, and to the right.

“Down!” a woman yells in heavily-accented English.

Steve Rogers—ever the soldier—doesn’t question the order. He drops like a stone, hitting the deck just in time to dodge the throwing knife that comes whizzing through the air not half a second later. It comes for you, next, making you to twist slightly to avoid it—

A flash of blonde hair is all the warning you get before a shoulder rams you in the gut, tackling you, flinging you both down the nearby staircase with breathtaking momentum.

You barely register the thunk! from overhead as the throwing knife buries itself in lath-covered plaster, too busy holding onto the golden-haired assailant with all your might as the pair of you tumble down a half-case of stairs, directly into a lath-and-plaster wall on the intermediary landing with an audible thud!

You settle in a tangle of limbs, heartbeat thundering in your ears, sandwiched between creaky hardwood flooring and your newest opponent. It’s a geometric staircase, the intermediary landing of which constitutes a pivot point for a full 180-degree turn. A classic design. You absorb all of this in the blink of an eye as your attacker—who hasn’t so much as a weapon in their hands—hastens to disentangle themselves and rise to their feet.

You let them—her. A Widow, like you.

Designation: Unclear. Threat Assessment: Deadly.

Straw-blonde hair, hazel eyes. Pouty lips. Button nose.

Your shoulder aches. Your nose does, too.

Yelena?

The name comes to you like a knife to the gut, but you’re already in motion: Lunging forth, head down, shoulder first; nailing her with a tackle to the gut that makes all the air leave her lungs in a strangled gasp and sends the pair of you sprawling down the remaining steps in a tangle of limbs.

You take the first impact to your shoulder—the uninjured one, thankfully—about halfway down the steps. You think it a miracle your combined weights and barreling momentum don’t snap your clavicle.

The next—and last—one is a joint effort, cushioned by her left hip and your right knee; you on top, her underneath.

It’s something like a miracle when the pair of you spill out onto the second-story landing; tumbling over once, twice, before lurching to a decisive halt at the other end of the floor, pressed up against a rickety wooden balustrade. You’re on your sides, chest to chest; your leg slung around her waist, her face pressed into your armpit.

You make to disentangle yourself, but she beats you to it: viciously shoving you off with both hands and a muttered curse.

It’s a concerted effort to keep from retaliating, but you do it; skidding back across the hardwood without a fight, slowing to a stop with just short of an arm’s length of space between you. Your forehead is damp, beaded with cold sweat. Your chest heaves. The Widow—Yelena, you think—is not much better off.

After a moment, she wheezes out, “You’re an idiot.” Her gaze is absolutely murderous, her jaw clenched tightly enough to border on painful. She doesn’t sound at all like she means it.

You eye her with shrewd interest.

Kill the intruders. But Yelena is no intruder.

“I don’t need to kill you, but I will,” you tell her plainly, having caught your breath.

You want to say more. You can’t. You won’t.

Why do you want to say more?

“Trigger words are flimsy,” Yelena ventures, forcing herself up into a sitting position. “An inexact science.” Huffing out a sigh, she hauls herself up onto her feet. You do the same. “You broke them before.”

“I have orders.” You don’t know why you’re humoring this. Humoring her.

“Right now, there’s no time for the chair,” she continues on, like she doesn’t hear. You feel a twinge of… something at her mention of the chair. Discomfort? Dislike? Impossible. You are not permitted such frivolous sentiments. “So, they pull a poem out of their asses. They think—hope—that it will collar you. They’re wrong.”

You quirk a brow. Skeptical. “A poem? ”

Yelena huffs out another sigh.

You get the feeling you’ve had this conversation before. You get the feeling she’s tired of repeating it.

“Yours is Pushkin,” she recounts, sounding almost bored. Aleksandr Sergejevich. Born 1799… died 1837. “A verse they call ‘Demon.’” She rolls her eyes at that. “They think themselves quite clever for that one.”

You frown. “Because I’m…”

“An angel, I suppose. Heaven’s soldier.” She pauses, there. “Or assassin, as it were.”

You want to kill her. You want to punch in those prim, porcelain features until you reach bone. Even more than that, you want to listen.

“Mine was Mandel’shtam,” she grits out slowly, almost unwittingly, her features contorted into a grimace. The gravity of such a confession is not lost on you. She is a fool for sharing it. “‘Sisters.’”

Thorns in your chest. Fluid fills your lungs. Sisters… “You had a sister, once,” you hear yourself say in a coarse, tinny voice—as if from under leagues of ocean water.

She flinches like you’ve struck her. (You haven’t.) “So they tell me.” Loosely-curled fists spasm at her sides like she wants to strike you. (She doesn’t.)

“A Widow.” It’s hardly a question.

Yelena shrugs, smoothing her features out into something harder, colder… marble. “We have what we have when we have it.”

The words scald you like fire on a salted wound. Bile rises in your throat. Crimson colors your vision, so deep and dark and red, red, red—

Stop. Breathe.

Fear serves no purpose. Pain will be compartmentalized.

“Whose words are those?” you demand in a voice that does not tremble, for you will it not to.

Yelena appraises you for a moment, a contemplative look in her eye. Then, without a word, she turns on her heel and sprints into the darkness.

— —

Yelena is not running out of cowardice. You may not know terribly much right now (—honestly, you don’t much care to); but you know that.

She is you, and you are her. The tick in her jaw, the fury in her eyes; the blood that dribbles down your chin. A mirror’s echo, even if wrung and wrought and warped beyond all comparison. You would not know your own face in a crowd, you think. But Yelena’s… you couldn’t miss hers if you tried. Natalia’s, either.

Tearing after her is second nature. You see… narrow streets. Taxi cabs. A church, carved from volcanic stone. A glimpse of blonde hair amidst the sparse crowd of Independence Plaza.

You sprint out onto the third-floor landing—a different one, this time—in a house of shadows. Floorboards creak beneath your boots. Voronezh. You halt yourself in place for a spell, listening for—

Bootsteps plodding down stairs. Too loud.

She wants you to follow her.

You vault the nearby balustrade, surrender yourself to the short drop that follows.

You’re not alone when you land. There’s another, Yelena notwithstanding; though, theatric that she is, she’s quick to reassert her presence with a bone-jarring tackle that meets you like a speeding bullet train, shoulder to stomach, the second your boots touch solid ground. All the air shoves out from your lungs in a painful, burning rush as the pair of you go sprawling to the floor—again.

Relentless.

You’re no better.

This time, though, is different.

This time—

A flare of scarlet—red.

“Get off of her,” comes a heavily-accented voice that is cold and scared and just the wrong kind of familiar—

It happens before you can blink: Yelena is lifted bodily off of you in a nebulous mist of carmine-red, suspended midair for half a breath, then jerked sharply back—launched into the nearest wall. You barely register the thud! her body makes when it collides with the wall, the muffled curse that leaves her lips, the ensuing crash! when she tumbles down onto the floor in a haze of dissipating scarlet.

All you see are pale hands and silver rings and eyes that burn red, red, red.

You scramble to your feet in a daze, eyes locked on hers as they fade from florid red to a bluish-green. You wait for them to reignite. They don’t.

Instead, she comes closer.

“Don’t,” Yelena’s voice warns her, and for once, you agree.

It’s as though she does not hear—drawn to you like a moth to an open flame.

She’ll burn if she touches you. Doesn’t she know that?

When she speaks, it’s quiet. Almost reverent. Just a word—your name.

She’s within an arm’s length, now. Your fingers twitch at your sides, itching for a gun, a knife, anything. Yelena is… too quiet. Peripherally, you recall a shuffle of clothing behind you, a shift in the air as she righted herself, but now—nothing.

You should reorient yourself. Any moment now, Yelena will—

Red sparks itself alight in the witch’s eyes.

“Fuck !” Yelena curses bitterly behind you.

You whip around to see her suspended midair in a mist of nebulous red, again. For a split second, the pair of you lock eyes, and in hers, you see… a curious mix of disappointment and righteous fury. It’s there one moment, and gone another as her body is launched unceremoniously across the landing and through the wooden balustrade—which splinters and gives way with a sickening crunch!—and she goes sprawling off the landing.

It’s a one-story drop to the bottom. Maybe a little more, if you count the gaping hole in the ground floor.

Yelena will be fine. Maybe a broken bone or two, but—fine. Alive. You don’t know why you care.

A voice you know but shouldn’t says your name, all soft and reverent like it’s something holy, and your stomach curdles as you’re wrenched back into yourself with the force of a battering ram.

Your head spins. Your lungs burn. You can hardly breathe.

She—Wanda—is standing close. Too close. How did she get that close? How did you let her?

She’s got freckles, a faint smattering of them beneath her eyes and across her nose. Did she always have those?

You don’t know where you are. You don’t know what you’re doing.

But her hand grazes yours, and muscle memory does the rest.

It’s a blur of motion—you’re a blur of motion—as you spin the pair of you around, draw a knife, bully her backwards. She winces when she hits the wall, when you slam her against it. Your forearm traps her shoulders, your blade is at her throat, and she… does nothing.

Her breath is warm against the tip of your nose. Steady.

“I will kill you,” you tell her in a voice that’s perhaps a little louder than strictly necessary. The blade trembles in your tightly-clenched fist. Your chest heaves; you can’t get your breathing under control. “Do you know that? I will kill you!” You’re almost shouting, now, or as close as you ever get to it, for the furor you feel is beyond imagining. It aches, it swells, it burns in your chest like something molten, something alive, something that’ll kill you trying to claw its way out.

A survivor. A cornered dog. You.

“Then do it,” Wanda’s strained voice cleaves swiftly through the noise, and it’s with a start that you realize she’s crying. Her cheeks are wet with it. “I will forgive you,” she whispers, wheezes; meeting your feverish gaze with a watery, desperate one of her own. “Do you understand? I will forgive you.”

Every word is a boulder in your throat, a brand upon your skin; a jagged blade splits your chest. You stumble back clutching your sternum, scrabbling for purchase, clawing to staunch the blood that pours out like water from a freshly-burst dam. You scarcely register the dull clatter of the knife when it falls from your grip, the solidness of the floor that breaks your fall.

There’s just so much of it. It oozes between your fingers. So wet, and warm, and red, red, red.

Natalia was red. Wanda, too.

Hair, eyes, jacket.

Jacket? How strange.

You hear—a name. You think it might belong to you.

A foolish thought.

There’s just so much blood.

It’s not yours. Is it?

You blink. A face looms over you, cast in darkness. Young, pretty.

So much blood. So much red.

Another face joins hers—green eyes, fiery-red hair.

Natalia.

She does not hesitate: grabs you by the throat. Yanks you up, slams you back down.

The other one screams. Her eyes flash red, and Natalia is gone—torn away from you in a blur of motion.

Fuck, that hurt.

Your skull aches. Blackness clouds your vision.

Is this what dying feels like?

— —

sources (do not tease me for this i stg. i go down rabbit holes with my little ‘puter sometimes. mind your business about it):

встань, ангел смерти | vstan’, angel smerti | stand, angel of death

mark xlvii | the forty-seventh iron man suit of armor constructed by tony stark. built after the mark xlvi sustained considerable damage in a conflict with captain america at a HYDRA base in siberia (captain america: civil war). appears in spider-man: homecoming.

staircase construction | exactly what it sounds like. we are moving on now.

russian architecture | overview of russian architecture through the ages.

russian revival architecture | overview of russian revival architecture movement (mid-19th to early 20th century).

more russian architecture | russian architecture and its byzantine origins.

hydrogen sulfide (pdf) | hydrogen sulfide material safety data sheet, which includes information such as auto-ignition temperature and related facts and figures that i know you all care very much about.

aleksandr sergeyevich pushkin | born 1799, died 1837. russian poet, novelist, dramatist, writer of short stories. largely considered to be the country's greatest poet, and the father of its modern literature.

демон/demon | poem written by pushkin. includes russian text as well as english translation.

osip emilyevich mandelshtam | born 1891, died 1938. major figure in russian poetry, prose, and literary essay composition.

сёстры/sisters | poem by mandel’shtam. includes russian text as well as english translation.

— —

tagging:

[series]: @herecomesthewriterwitch @madamevirgo @tomy5girls @avengerstanforlife @steamhead15

[marvel]: @yelenabelovasgf

— —

end notes: okay. confession time. i did change pushkin’s wording slightly for the lines of ‘demon’ that i used here, but only inasmuch that pronouns were swapped, and the relevant past-tense verb endings were adjusted also to agree with the pronoun change (’he’ to ‘she’), becuase russian language says that they have to agree.

also i’m pretty sure i forgot to make an actual taglist, ever, so i’m tagging the people that i tagged on the last post, and if i’ve forgotten anyone, i’m truly sorry!!

thank you all for sticking with me thus far; it means more to me than i am able to put into words <3

link to masterlist

#stuff i wrote #natasha romanoff & reader #natasha romanoff & f!reader #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x f!reader #yelena belova & reader #yelena belova & f!reader #reader-insert #f!reader

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