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twinklebitch · 3 years

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i hate that dsmp has breached containment thanks to constant twitter trends, so now some people on tumblr think we’re all supporters of horridly racist trump supporters when, if you actually look into any of it, that is… blatantly not true at all.

in reality we’re fans of regular people who play minecraft and are, shockingly, human like the rest of us. human enough in fact that they make mistakes sometimes. and the nature of the parasocial relationships you find cultivated on twitter means those mistakes are often perceived as incredibly personal and malicious slights that get scrutinized, miscommunicated about, spread like a game of telephone, and overall blown up.

i don’t think people understand that parasocial relationships aren’t just toxic positivity. there’s also toxic negativity. you can scream about how “they’re not your friend so you don’t have to feel bad about calling them out.” till the cows come home, but don’t pretend there’s not another side to it. the side that is “they’re not your friend and you don’t know them, but they are a person, and you have no idea what a mass attack campaign is doing to them behind the scenes.”

the reality of it is a 17 year old boy was trending negatively for 2 days straight and it affected his mental health so badly that he had to leave twitter and get a therapist. and when he did a stream to explain what was happening, he got trended even more.

and i hate having to pull my fucking minority card to get people to listen to me on these topics, but if that’s what i have to do then fine. as a black person, calling someone a white supremacist for a racially insensitive twitter comment is supremely unhelpful to any black people you’re claiming you’re trying to support, considering there are actually white supremacists on the platform actively tweeting racist bullshit and getting away with it. pretending that the fandom is full of a bunch of white kids who just want to ignore a racist cc is actively ignoring all of the fans of color working to make the fandom safer for each other. most of the time, when a cc does something wrong, we aren’t trying to cancel them, but hold them accountable - not in the often seen twitter version of holding someone accountable, where you actually just yell a bunch and think that will do something - but genuinely. and 9 times out of 10 it gets co opted by white saviors who turn it into what i said above, and no one gets to learn anything of substance. and then i guess those leftovers get regurgitated on tumblr.

so seeing random white kids on tumblr reblog dream “call out” posts that’s just a google doc with a bunch of out of context screenshots (and some that are just faked entirely. whoever faked a screenshot of him saying the n word, fuck you entirely) and misinformation and then don’t bother to look into more than that? y’all make me fucking exhausted. i’m not asking you to like the guy or any other cc on the dsmp. i don’t give a shit what you enjoy. but you don’t have to justify your dislike of them by calling them racist and the ignoring and fans of color that tell you otherwise. he’s by no means perfect, but he and the other ccs on the server have shown time and time again that they want to be called out anytime they say/do something offensive so they can learn and better themselves. so many of them are donating everything they make from streaming this month to the trevor project! (and that was somehow twisted to be wrong and performative?)

you can dislike something without having to find a reason to justify it. so leave the fucking black fans you’re lumping with so called “racist supporters” out of it.

white people don’t clown in the notes

#dream smp #mcyt #discourse #racism #dreamwastaken #im actually so tired like i never thought i’d be a fan that gets into arguments over this shot #tho this is technically a post and not a twitter argument #but like regardless here i am #i just want to watch these motherfuckers play minecraft! god! y’all make everything a fucking battle

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a-froger-epic · 3 years

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What are your top 5 favorite angst moments in fics by other people

Thanks for resending the ask! The original one seems to be stuck in Tumblr limbo.

This was so hard. I literally just spent 45min going through my bookmarks and I could point you to some people's entire fic catalogues or entire fics without being able to pic a single scene in particular because they have so much delicious angst. (Yeah, I'm looking at you @aboutnothingness and @freddieofhearts and @i-lay-my-life-before-queen's Omegaverse Froger, or also @immistermercury's Jimercury ballet!Freddie epic and really several oneshots by some of my favourite authors in their entirety.)

But. I had to choose. So here are, in no particular order, some scenes:

---

Princes of the Universe by @tikiniki

Sci-fi AU. John saves Prince Freddie's life. 😰

Then, through the screams and gunfire, John heard Roger’s voice.

“John, Freddie! Watch out!”

And John spun around, just in time to see Roger throw himself towards Kassius, Kassius who had his gun raised and aimed at Freddie’s back.

His breath caught in John’s chest. Roger wouldn’t be fast enough.

He wasn’t.

The release of the bullet from Kassius’s gun disappeared in the rest of the noise. John acted on instinct.

He was barely conscious of moving at all. He barely noticed shoving Freddie to the side as hard as he could. He didn’t hear the surprised outcry leaving Freddie’s mouth.

But he felt it. Felt when the bullet pierced his chest.

The force of the bullet made him stumble back. He tried to draw a breath, tried to make a sound, but all was white-hot pain. The next second the guards were upon them. John was shoved in the chaos, his knees buckling beneath his weight.

Unable to catch himself, he fell over the edge of the pool.

Just before he breached the surface, he heard it.

The sound of voices crying out his name.

He smiled as he hit the water.

---

Aftercare by @bisexualroger

Freddie got mugged. 🥺

There’s an alien quality to the mirror, despite the fact that Freddie uses it every day and has done for months now. Perhaps it’s not the object itself that’s unfamiliar, but rather what it’s reflecting, the offending image subsequently contaminating the rest of the room with its strangeness. Lucky for him though; if the face in front of him registered as his own it might be too much for him to handle. Today’s been difficult enough without having to fully acknowledge the physical consequences of his earlier misfortune.

Freddie leans closer to the glass. The sight makes his lip tremble and his hands shake, but he swallows down his distress and reminds himself to view it objectively. It’s not his face, just a problem that needs to be fixed.

Taking another deep breath he tries again to go in with the cotton wool pad. Slippery with alcohol the cheap fabric desperately wants to slide out of his hand, but he keeps his grip steady as he brings it to his face. Immediately though the burning sting has him wincing. He tries to hold his nerve but the pain only intensifies, making his eyes prickle so he can no longer see what he’s doing. With a stifled cry of frustration he tosses the wool down into the sink and slides to the floor.

Once there his first instinct is to curl in on himself, but the pain in his ribs prevents him from doing so, which only makes matters worse. He’s been at this for fifteen bloody minutes, and much as he wants to shout and rage at the unfairness of it all his anger is infuriatingly manifesting itself through tears rather than determination. For goodness sake all he wants to do is have a hot shower and forget the entirety of this awful day, but he can’t until he’s dealt with this. It’s so agonisingly unjust.

---

The Path of Nevermore by @plainxte

Things are complicated. *sings* Give me one night only, one night only... 😭

"Yeah. I should probably head out," Roger said, looking around him. He was sure there was somewhere that he had promised to be that day.

"Please, Rog," Freddie said. "Don't go. Don't leave me alone. I mean. Don't send me to the path," Freddie said.

Roger turned to him with a smile. It quickly faded when he studied the look on Freddie's face: he was completely serious, and there was no hint of amusement in his eyes. He meant it, Roger realised. When Freddie said nothing more, just continued to look at him, it finally hit him what Freddie was saying. The seriousness of what he was asking.

"Of course I won't leave you," Roger whispered. "You know that. I wouldn't. But you know I can't, I can't – "

Freddie carefully lifted one hand, putting it hesitantly on his cheek, only just touching. His fingertips ghosted over Roger's cheekbone. "I know," he said. "And that's not what I meant. And I can't, either. But just for now. Please don't go. Please."

Roger took a breath. His thoughts were getting no clearer; if anything, his whole head seemed to be in a fog. He wasn't thinking; he couldn't think. He could only nod. Freddie leaned closer, and Roger closed his eyes. After what seemed like an age, he felt soft lips touch his. He reached up his own hand to Freddie's face, skimming over his jaw to come to a rest in his hair.

"And about time, too," he breathed.

---

Sobering Up by... oh whoops, it seems their tumblr was deleted or changed names. Well, nevermind, I still love this fic so much.

Roger and Freddie don't know how to deal. 💔

They lie there afterwards, stewing in a pregnant silence. Normally, sex put Roger right to sleep but this… he was unable to wrap his head around any of it.

He rolled over to lie on his stomach away from Freddie. He took a pillow and clenched it tightly in his arms, pressing his face deeply into it. Some animal instinct was telling him if he squeezed hard enough then the painful sickening swirl of emotions in his chest might ebb away.

Freddie softly cleared his throat. “Rog,”

“Hm?” Roger feigned sleepiness. He didn’t feel like having any kind of pillow talk.

“What…” Freddie faltered. “What do you think the future has in store for us?” Roger felt his heart seize up.

“What’d you mean ‘us’?” His voice was muffled in his pillow, but it didn’t mask the cracking on the last syllable. He heard Freddie make a sharp intake of breath.

“Queen.” He said. “What do you think we’ll be like in the future? D’you think we’ll make it?”

Roger was quiet at first. Freddie wasn’t the type to avoid the elephant in the room like this.

“Dunno,” Roger sighed, still clinging tightly to his pillow. “But I won’t stick around if there are better places to be.”

“Are there better places to be?” Freddie’s feigned curiosity did nothing to hide the anxiety in his voice. And it dawned on Roger that they weren’t going to talk about the sex. They were never going to talk about it. It had happened and that was all. It was too big, much too big, for either of them to face. This was Freddie’s way of asking if Roger was okay with that.

Roger didn’t exactly feel relief at this revelation. Somehow he felt like he had given Freddie a much more intimate part of himself than he had given any other partner. And the seriousness of that weighed heavily on him. Nothing would be the same for him again. But it had to be.

---

On the side of a hill, a sprinkling of leaves by @quirkysubject

Freddie falls in a puddle and can't get up (also this scene is way too long to quote all of it, but like THIS WHOLE SCENE MAN 😭💕)

“Jesus, Fred, are you alright?” Hands are on his back, his shoulders, trying to urge him up. Oh, how Freddie wishes Roger would just leave him alone (liar, the warm and tiny and inextinguishable gleam of hope inside him whispers).

“Fine,” he mumbles as he lies face down in the mud, waiting, praying for the earth to swallow him up.

“Freddie, come on, get up.” The hands tug a little harder. And then, when Freddie just shakes his head, Roger’s hands slide under his armpits, and he is hauled upright with a frustrated, “What the hell’s the matter with you?”

It’s this that does it. All ability to contain himself evaporates.

“I hate this so much!”

The words explode out of him. He can hear how his voice sounds, shrill, pathetic, whiny. Useless. But he can’t stop himself. “I hate everything about this. My ankle hurts and my arm hurts and I want proper tea with milk, and a bath, and my bed, and Tom and Jerry, and a slice of toast that is actually toasted and I… I just want to go home.”

It’s a small mercy that he can blame any wetness on his cheeks on the rain. Not that it will do him much good. He is throwing a tantrum at the worst possible moment, and Roger is going to do what he always does when Freddie is being unreasonable - walk out, have a smoke, come back an hour or two later when the storm has blown over.

Only if he leaves now, Freddie will melt into the ground and never come up again.

---

A special mention goes to a Doctor Who fic which is probably my favourite angsty fic of all time, because even though I'm not active in the Who fandom right now, I'm still Doctor/Master trash. And Locked in Orbit by @nicolauda (I think this is yours? Correct me if wrong) is one of the best goddamn pieces of writing with that ship that exist for me.

#Fic recs #Angsty moments #ask response #Phew that was hard

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lalainajanes · 6 years

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More Trope X Trope! 1 Historical AU + 43 Dance of Romance requested via Tumblr messenger.

Situated as she is, on the upper level that overlooks the ballroom, Caroline has a clear view of everything below.

Her friend Katherine dances scandalously close to her new husband. That he allows such a breach of decorum has ceased to surprise Caroline. She’d thought them an odd match when she’d heard of it - Elijah Mikaelson’s reputation for stuffiness was well known and well earned - but seeing them together has soothed her doubts. He dotes on Katherine and Kat’s enthralled of him, an impressive feat given how easily Kat had dismissed her scores her suitors over the years.

She’s happy for them though Katherine’s love match has resulted in some unforeseen consequences for Caroline.

If one could call a person such a thing.

Her eyes find Klaus, her consequence, easily and she’s unsurprised to find him conversing with one of her footmen. Nor does she shy away when he looks up, his gaze locking on to her and a pleased smile curving his generous mouth. He says one more thing and the footman bows slightly, handing off a tray of champagne.

Caroline sighs as Klaus takes it and skirts the room. She’s had the staircases hidden, spent a fortune on silks and hothouse blooms to construct pretty blockades, but Klaus ducks behind one of the structures, disappearing from sight.

She’s just tugging her gloves back on when he reappears, having straightened from her appallingly casual posture. His eyes light up when he sees her and her sets the tray down on table, picking up one of the flutes. She’s just about to chastise him (not the first time she’s had to, undoubtedly not the last).

Honestly, had she known he’d be interested in marrying her she never would have agreed to a tryst. Though she cannot bring herself to regret that she had.

The end of Caroline’s mourning period had coincided with the end of last year’s season. Coming to town this year she’s been eager to enjoy the freedom being a widow offered, had been prepared to be a bit scandalous.

The title she’d married into, the great piles of money her father willingly supplied, Father’s business interests attaching his shipping company to several notable members of the ton, all would protect her from being publicly scorned. And Caroline didn’t much care what spiteful gossip got bandied about when her back was turned.

She’d been introduced to Mr. Klaus Mikaelson at the second ball she’d attended. He’d been the only man she’d spoken to be more interested in her breasts than in the obscenely large emeralds that had draped over them.

He’d also been a lovely dancer, graceful, with sure hands, and he’d lingered in her mind as her maid had combed out her hair.

And later, one the maid had been dismissed and the candles snuffed, Caroline had let her fingertips skim under her nightgown and wondered how dark the blue of his eyes would be when he was aroused.

She’d taken to looking for him whenever she’d entered a social event and he’d always asked her to dance when they were at the same gathering. Whirling about the floor with him, flirting and laughing, had become the highlight of her evenings.

She’d endured leading questions from several of London’s matrons, some disaproving - a third son, one who had a rocky relationship with his father was not considered a catch. The bawdier types, the ones Caroline preferred, made sly jokes and pointed comments about home comely Klaus was, how his attentiveness to her in public spoke well of his prowess in private.

Caroline had batted the comments away, insisted she wasn’t interested in another marriage. Still, she hadn’t been able to stop speculating at night, once her bed’s draperies were closed.

So, when Kat had asked if a few of Elijah’s siblings might come to the small house party Caroline was throwing, she hadn’t hesitated to say yes.

Caroline, a lifelong believer in the power of planning ahead, had arranged for Klaus to stay in one of the rooms with a secret door. Should she wish to, if he’d been amenable, she’d be able to slip from the Duchess’ chambers, through the narrow hidden corridors, and into his room without being seen.

At the party, Klaus has made excuse after excuse to speak to her, to tuck her hand into the crook of his arm and draw her away, she hadn’t stopped him. When his hands had lingered on her each morning when he assisted her on and off her horse, Caroline hadn’t protested.

When he’d mentioned that he liked to select a book from the library before retiring, Caroline had taken the invitation.

That first kiss against the bookshelves, heated and bruising and messy, had been the best of her life.

One kiss had melted into two, two into dozens. Her hands had shaken as she’d tugged his clothes aside, greedy to feel the heat of his skin. Klaus had been the one to slow them, to rasp that he wanted more than a frantic coupling against the bookshelves.

She’d assumed he’d just meant a bed.

Because while Klaus had taken her in his borrowed bed (and hers, along with over her dressing table and in her private bath, once she’d explained how to navigate the hidden hallways) he hasn’t been content with just enjoying her body.

Caroline’s first marriage had been cordial, not passionate, her husband two decades older. He’d been fond of drink behind closed doors, more and more as the years passed. He’d stopped moving about in society, they'd stopped going to town or entertaining their neighbors, and Caroline had been awfully lonely at their country estate.

She’d had no desire to be shackled to a man once more.

Caroline had explained as much to Klaus, kept her reasoning vague because, for all her husband’s faults, she could have done far worse. She thinks he’s guessed much of what she’d not voiced, that he gleaned more from her face and voice than she meant him to.

When they first returned to town she’d been cool, had refused his offers to dance. Klaus had been persistent, even when she’d turned cutting. If anything he found her sharpness amusing, his eyes dancing as he returned her quips easily, using their bickering as an excuse to crowd closer, to set her blood to heating with brief touches and suggestive glances.

She’d snapped not three weeks into their little war, had hissed that he could let himself in through the servants entrance of her townhouse after the ball.

Thankfully, her servings were paid well, and in a timely fashion, and were exceedingly loyal.

The dress she’d worn that night, a dazzling confection of ice blue silk and fine French lace, had ended up tattered beyond compare, tiny buttons scattered to every corner of her bed chambers.

She’d awoken sore and sticky and fantastically well-rested. Klaus’ hand had lain heavy on her belly and his breath even and deep against her shoulder. She’d never slept with a man before, had found that she’d liked it.

Fairly terrifying, as far as revelations went. Any panic she might have felt had been easily chased away as Klaus had stirred, his hand delving lower, between her thighs.

That he could bring her such pleasure, with just his fingertips and hushed words, was hardly fair.

She’s done her best to keep Klaus at arm’s length, continued to refuse to dance with him, to avoid him in public as much as she can. His pursuit remains remarkably dogged. He shows up at whatever event she’s attending - Caroline suspects her butler is playing matchmaker. He’s in her bed most nights, stays to enjoy the papers and steal sips of the chocolate and bites of the buttered scones her maid brings her in the morning. April’s ceased being scandalized, doesn’t even blink at Klaus’ near nude form when she bustles in. She’s offered to bring an extra tray. So far, Caroline’s refused.

He’ll take whatever she’ll allow, he’s said, and Caroline knows her defences against him are weakening, that she might actually believe him when he claims he can make her happy. Klaus seems well aware that he’s winning, that his prods and pushes are entrenching him deeper and deeper into her heart and mind. He’s intelligent enough to keep his smugness contained.

Caroline’s well aware that’s likely temporary. She expects he’ll be unable to resist crowing a bit when she shows him the marriage settlement papers she’s had her solicitors draw up.

He passes behind her, pausing to brush a fleeting kiss over her bared shoulder. Caroline checks the crush of people below out of habit and, as expected, no one’s aware of her and Klaus above them. “Need help with your glove?” he asks.

The buttons are giving her trouble and Caroline sighs, offering him her arm. “If you wouldn’t mind?”

“I’d rather take them off, of course.” Nevertheless Klaus leans in, squinting at the tiny buttons and even tinier loops of fabric they must go through.

“These are new and I’d rather not have them destroyed so I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

His thumb strokes down her forearm and it’s silly that she shivers, that she reacts so strongly to a caress blunted by two layers of fabrics. Klaus smiles softly, pleased, “Then you’d best remove them before you retire.”

Caroline blinks in surprise, “I didn’t think you’d want to come tonight.”

His eyes flit up hers, “I hadn’t planned on leaving. Thought I’d send my carriage away when the first guests trickle away, and slip round the back.”

“I’ll likely be late,” Caroline says, “and tired. Too tired to…” she trails off, letting her gaze drift down Klaus’ form. He looks delectable and tempting in sleek black evening clothes, so much so that Caroline wishes they had more privacy. Hosting a party is significantly more taxing than merely attending, the last time she’d had a ball here, back when she’d still been married, the sun had been rising by the time she’d found her bed and she’d been asleep before her head hit the pillow.

Klaus scoffs, expression hardening, “I’d assumed we’d just sleep, love. Or are you hinting that you have no need of me tonight?”

She’s a bit ashamed in the face of his derision but somehow elated too. “As it happens, I sleep better with you beside me.

Klaus doesn’t react with pleasure, his head shaking as he returns to his task, “Perhaps you should consider why that is,” he mutters.

Caroline laughs but it’s strangled, “I haven’t done much else lately.”

Klaus’ eyes widen and Caroline savors that she’s taken him off guard. She grabs the glass of champagne he’d brought her, taking a sip to soothe her nerves. Klaus slips between her and the railing, leaning back and using his fingertips to tip her chin up. “And have you come to any conclusions?” he asks, deceptively light given how hopeful he appears.

She tries a joke, “If you’re truly only interested in my money now is the time to confess.”

Klaus’ eyes narrow, his hands coming up to frame her face, “I don’t want your money.

Caroline knows that, of course. She wouldn’t be standing here otherwise. She smiles, tremulous, resting her free hand on his chest. “You’ll have my dowry, of course, that’s only proper. But my monthly allowance…”

His mouth stems her words as he yanks her into them, the kiss a frantic clash. He groans when she invites him in, his tongue tasting hers eagerly. Caroline regrets that she’d bothered with gloves when her hand delves into his hair, tangling in the curls at the back of his neck.

She makes a noise of protest when Klaus pulls back, grinding her hips into his when he lays his mouth over her throat. His teeth scrape and a hint of suction leave her knees weakening, her hands grappling at his shoulders. It’s a too brief sensation, Klaus setting her away from him after a moment. He kisses her cheek affectionately, “Your ring won’t be ready until next week.”

Caroline shakes her head, biting down on her lip before giving in and smiling, “Presumptuous,” she accuses.

“I was going to tempt you with the passage I’ve booked to Italy,” Klaus informs her, without even a hint of shame. “You’ll love it and it just isn’t seemly for a young, pretty widow to travel alone.”

“So gallant,” Caroline says, feigning exasperation. “Marrying me just to keep up appearances.”

He moves quickly, walking forward until she’s forced a few steps back, deeper into the shadows. Her champagne glass falls from her hand, forgotten. “Appearances,” Klaus grumbles, fighting with the layers of her skirts, “can hang.”

Later, when they dance amongst friends and acquaintances, her dress is crumpled and her hair’s disheveled. Klaus’ neck cloth is lopsided and neither of them tries to maintain a respectable distance between their bodies. Dozens of pairs of eyes stare at them shamelessly, whispers fill the room, giggles, but Caroline doesn’t mind.

She’d wanted to be scandalous, hadn’t she? Mission accomplished. With Klaus murmuring to her, listing the reasons - some of them very naughty - that he wants to marry her, causing a stir feels better than she’d imagined.

#klaroline #klaroline drabbles #so nice to indulge my deep and forever love of historical aus lol

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itbethatwaysometime · 7 years

Text

Uncharted - Part 7

Word Count : 2.5k

Warnings: Mild swearing.

A/n: VERY IMPORTANT MESSAGE PLEASE READ

I have been having the absolute shittiest time, in life, in time, in fucking everything right now. The fucking wifi at the hospital was possibly the worst thing in the entire world and for some reason the Tumblr HTML wasn’t working. And tbh nothing was working. I do have chapters already written, but I hope the content is still going to be up to par.

I’ve been feeling like shit lately, so I hope that can be an explanation to why I’ve been coming up with 0 content and not posting regularly....

Part 6

“Me? Why?” You ask him. If anything, you’d think he’d have chosen someone Bucky has met, which is everyone but you.

“Because he’s never met you before and I know you don’t like to hear it, but you look a little less threatening than Natasha when she’s in Widow mode or when Tony’s in his suit. He might trust you a little more. And I know you’ve volunteered with Sam at the VA, so you know how to deal with people with fragile minds.,” His voice goes quiet, “Look, Bucky, right now, is dangerous, but he’s all I have left. I only have one shot at this, and it needs to be right.”

You look at him with a calculating gaze. Steve talked about Bucky a lot, only with you though. He told you stories about all the trouble they’d get into when they were just little boys. You could see straight away how much this man meant to Steve.

“Alright. I will. But how’s this going to work? Fury already wants me on backup, and I’m pretty sure the guy’s on the ground need it.” You still had to make a good first impression.

“I’ve thought about that. Fury already talked me through the major details. You’re supposed to be backup only until the team breaches the second line of defence of the base and that’s quite early on. Once you’re done there, you’ll join me. I’ll give you my locations over the comms.”

“Ok, then.” You give him a small smile and reach up to your tippy toes for a hug, your arms up around his neck and his around your waist. A hug from Captain America is exactly like you’d think it’d be. You’re physically being wrapped around a thick layer of warmth and muscle, it’s a feeling of safety and comfort. “Everything’s going to be fine. I’m going to go check on Tony.”

You let go and flash him a comforting smile. On your way to the workshop, you grab the case with your new suit and your very first mission manila folder.

The moment you enter your favourite room in the Tower, you sense something off. Some tension lingering in the air. Even Dum-E is quiet for once. Maybe Tony’s in a bad mood. He seemed pretty ok before.

You see Tony shoulders hunched over some metal part with a magnifying lens barely an inch away from his eye. His brow is furrowed and his neck his tense.

“Hey Tony, everything okay here?” You ask packing your things on a desk. “You disappeared from the conference room pretty quickly, I couldn’t catch you on your way out.” You slowly approach him at his work station. He’s upset. “Hey, come on Stark, don’t pout.” You try and lighten the mood, failing miserably.

“Is Rogers taking you to get James?” He says quietly, with barely contained anger. It surprises you, you’ve only ever talked to him when he’s joking around or teasing. Maybe serious a couple of times, but not like this.

“Yes, he is.” You state simply. You flinch back as he abruptly stands up and runs a frantic hand through his messy hair.

“You can’t”

“What?”

“You can’t go with Rogers to get Barnes.” Now you were just confused. Why wouldn’t he want you to go? This was honestly, a fairly simple mission with many possibilities for things to go wrong, but that’s with every mission, whether it was a simple file extraction or to eliminate a threat.

“Because he’s dangerous, that’s why.” You knew that wherever this was coming from, spouted from the incidents in Berlin. You knew little about the relationship between Tony and Bucky, just that it wasn't pretty.

“I know he is, but it’s part of the job. The goal is to get him out and if Steve needs me for that, then so be it.” You cross your arms over your chest and look him straight in the eyes.

“Ya but-“

“No but’s. I’m an Avenger now, and I’m not backing away.” He rings his hands stressfully and gives you a good look.

“OK, but if Barnes so much as lays a finger on you, so help me God he will not live another day.” A small smile tugged at your lips because a more fatherly, protective side of Tony peaked through.

“Come here.”He lifts his arms up. You happily skip towards him and hug him.You’re not sure how long it lasts, but after awhile he suggests that you and him go over the mission and memories the floor plans.

---------------------------------------------------

20 minutes until dawn

“You ready?” Steve asks you through the entrance of your apartment. You lace up your heavy duty boots and tightly adjust your wrist supports making sure the little gap between your fingers were snug. You nod and he gently leads you towards the hangar.

Sam and Wanda were talking quietly at the bottom ramp as you approached Natasha to ask her a few questions.

“Is this always how it’s going to be?” You ask, almost all of you were on board, we were only missing Pietro who was injured from the last mission.

“Most of the time, we only send half the team in, but the situation is quite fragile, I think Fury feels a bit vulnerable right now but he’s not one to do anything rash.” You nod your head and join the others in the Quinjet.

Clint and Tony were in the cockpit, Dr. Banner talking discreetly on the phone with Dr.Cho, Thor was casually sitting in the right wing talking with Sam.

“Alright, Avengers,” Cap interrupts the banter with his authoritative and not to mention slightly (very) intimidating voice, “2 minutes till take off.”

Everyone scurries off to their respective seats, you’re wedged between Steve and Sam. Two impressive hunks of muscle despite Sam not being full of serum.

“You nervous?” Sam asks, his eyes narrowing at your tightly clasped hands. You chuckle slightly, forcing yourself to lay your sweaty palms flat against your thighs. “Just a bit.” He smiles reassuringly and tells you it's normal, but you’ll get a hang of it. Tony walks out of the cockpit and hands everyone their earpiece.

“New tech, don’t break it. It’s off for now, but it’ll automatically turn on once we are in range of the base.” He drops the tiny piece of genius engineering into your hand. It’s barely a centimetre in width. You gently drop it into your ear and feel it expand snugly into the crevices without being uncomfortable.

Over the sounds of the engines revving for takeoff, Clint announces the flight time, 3 hours and 22 minutes. During the three hours you talk about nothing and everything with everyone.

Somehow you ended up alone with Steve in the left wing while everyone else discussed what take out they wanted when they returned to the base. You could hear them arguing in the background.

“I vote Thai Express!” You hear Sam say.

“I think that Shawarma is way more fitting for post-mission meals.” Tony argues.

“God! We always have Shawarma!” Everyone groans in unison.

“I heard that there’s a nice Italian restaurant that just opened.” Vision suggests.

“Dude, you don’t even eat.” Clint retorts. You weren’t sure if synthetic beings had feelings, but you sure as hell saw the insulted look on Vision’s face.

“Sorry, Vision” You giggle at their childishness, to be honest you were partial to either Thai Express, pizza or Mcdonald’s.

“Do they always fight about what they’ll eat after a mission?” You wonder inquisitively.

“Pretty much. That and what movie to watch on movie night.” You laugh again. But, there’s something off about Steve, his baby blue eyes aren’t giving off that happy shine he always has.

“You’re worried about Bucky.” You say, it was more of a statement than a question. He nods looking down at an old photo of them. Arms linked around his shoulders, pre-serum Steve was smiling hard at Bucky who looked like he was the happiest boy on earth, sporting the youthful glee you only got from being happy your whole life.

“I read up on your last encounter with him. It stated that he recognized you, called you Steve. I think he’s still in there. And I also believe that if we do this gently and coax him into recognition, this is going to be a success. But, what we need to be careful about, is how we act once we have him. He’s fragile, he’s broken, but he’s hella strong.” You lay a gentle hand on your best friend’s shoulder, giving it a reassuring shrug.

“We’ve got this alright?”

A small smile tugs at his lips before he goes back into Captain America mode when Clint announce 20 minutes until landing.

“Suit up! First group is down in 15. Iron man, you need to dismantle those defences before we get anywhere close to that base.”

“Copy that Capsicle!”

“Clint go high up and Thor I need you to conjure up a mighty storm over the base.”

“Of course Captain Rogers, they shan’t see what’s coming.” He booms.

“(Y/n) you know what to do.” He sets his intense gaze on you. “ Let’s head out.”

Clint expertly lands the jet and opens the gate. First group immediately heads out as you and the rest of back up wait a few minutes. Over the comms you can hear a few grunts and gunshots but nothing too worrying.

“Defences down. OW! Shit!”

“Language” The entire team says in unison.

“Alright, Team Two head out.” You run out, adrenaline pumping through your veins, the first line of defence has already been taken care of but the second seemed to be holding up quite well.

Once you get there, three Hydra agents leap at you, you block their punches and send one through a portal, you land a swift kick to his sternum only to have another one yank your hair. You yelp and grab his wrists flipping him over, and render him unconscious. The last one points a gun at you but before he could fire you open a portal behind his ankle, you yank hard and send him flying. You’re breathing hard feeling the burn of your muscles and the sound of gunshots ring in your ears. You assist the team throughout the next half hour until finally breaking through.

“Ok, Natasha you’re up, Sam and Vision took care of the first two decks you should be clear.”

“Copy that” You see her disappear in a swirl of menacing kicks and red hair.

“(Y/n), meet me behind the base,” he grunts out, you could here the mechanical click of his shield reattaching itself to his forearm,” Bucky’s in a warehouse about a mile from here. I’m pretty sure he’s caught wind of what’s happening up here so he’ll be gone soon.”

“Got it.”

“Hey Tones�� you think I can get a lift？” You ask through the comms, you’d get there impossibly faster which would help with the whole, Barnes getting away situation. You bat away a few other Hydra agents while waiting for a response. You were definitely feeling the burn in your tired muscles and you knew that your body would be littered in bruises for the next week.

“Sure thing ,dear.” You heard the loud whizzing of the suit’s propulsers; you lift one hand straight up and in seconds you’re snatched up and flying through the air. You weren’t terribly fond of heights but you trusted Tony.

“Where to?” You hear the machine like voice that filters Tony’s own.

“The back of the base, Cap’s waiting.” You flew up and across the battlefield and before you knew it, he gently placed you back on the ground a few feet away from Cap impatiently waiting for you on his motorcycle.

You turn to Tony when he says,” Be careful.” You smile one last time before turning and leaping onto the vehicle, gripping Steve tightly around the waist.

He revves the engine once then twice before speeding off onto a gravel road surrounded only by trees with snowy tops. You bury your face into his back, shielding yourself from the harsh wind. He the takes a sharp right turn and abruptly pivots and stops.

“We’re here.” You swing your legs off the bike and place your hands up in front of you ready to attack. You decide not to pull out your hand gun just yet, again, he was unstable. His reactions were unpredictable and you couldn't imagine what he’d be like if you showed any sign of violence.

The warehouse was a two-story broken building, clearly abandoned and very old. Rust touched every metal surface and cracks buried itself through the concrete. You and Steve cautiously approached the building, using his shield, he snaps the lock in half. You both quietly walk in, checking your blind spots and for anyone else present. For now, everything was silent.

The first room you entered practically took up the entire warehouse. There were a few rickety chairs and machines you thought could've dated from back in the 50’s.

That’s when you heard a metal-on-metal whine followed by a pained groan. Your head shot up and you stole a glance at Cap who tensed up. You pointed towards a metal door to your right, indicating that the sound came from in there. He nodded and cautiously walked over.

He gently gripped the handle and mouthed:” 3…2…1” He pulled the door open and rushed in. The sight before you….

There he was.

A lone, broken man sitting on an old wooden chair. His body bowed down in defeat with dirty, greasy brown hair casting shadows over his face. He curled in on himself when hearing the harsh noise. His ratty jeans were mud streaked and his red sweater was torn in a few places.

But, what shocked you the most was his mechanic arm clamped down between two giant metal plates, as if he was trying to contain himself.

You saddened at the sight. He really didn’t want to hurt anyone, the man practically trapped himself.

He limply grasps the metal box and shifts his legs a bit. From watching all the videos of him fighting and then seeing him in real life, like this, was truly heartbreaking.

“Steve.” He rasps, his voice, rough as sandpaper, cuts through the tension filled air. His gaze landing immediately on his long lost best friend.

“Which Bucky am I talking to?” Steve replies in an emotionless tone. He lifts his head up slowly and lays a long hard stare on Steve. Then shifts his intense gaze on you. Your (e/c) meet his and you’re momentarily out of breath. His eyes were these steely blue whirlpools of pain and sorrow. His long lashes cast shadows over the sapphire glaze and green hues that were burning holes through you.

You remained calm and met his glower with just as much tenacity. He took in a deep breath and turned towards Steve. For some reason, you had one distinct thought in mind, the rest just blended in with the mindless chatter over the comms.

You wanted those eyes to lay upon you once more.

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