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tom-holland-stuff · 3 months

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Displeasing Encounters & Passionate Debates // Chapter 2

My Masterlist

// Chapter 1 // Chapter 2 - mood-board // Chapter 3 //

Pairing: Coriolanus Snow x Fem!reader

Summery: After returning form district 12 Coriolanus snow has had everything handed to him on a silver platter. Wealth, status, power, he's got it all. What happens when he discovers that Dr Gaul, his mentor, has taken on a new assistant.

Warning: SFW - for now. Swearing. (let me know if i forgot any)

A/N: Hey Hey everyone, i'm so beyond glad that you all like chapter 1!! I honestly couldn't wait to share this next part with you all and i hope you enjoy it just as much if not more. Chapter 3 is actually already done, i just have to proof read and let me just say things will be gettin spicy...

Word Count: 2.3K

The past week has been less than manageable for Coriolanus. Around this time of year the capital enters into a season of continuous social events. From opulent galas to extravagant balls and leisurely brunches, every imaginable type of festivity adorned the calendar. Not that the capital is known for anything less than a good time, but at this time of the year it seems to be occasion after occasion.

Yet, for Coriolanus, these events were more burdensome than enjoyable, especially since the war. There was a time when his family flourished in these festivities, but even with his new found riches and elitist status, Coryo has not developed a likeness for these such things.

To compound matters, the university's exam period loomed over him like a menacing spectre, casting a shadow over his already overwhelmed schedule.

Buried under a mountain of study materials and invitations, Coriolanus finally found a momentary respite as he made his way to visit his mentor, Dr. Gaul. His interactions with her have been limited to brief consultations after her office hours or clandestine meetings in the university's labs, where time for anything beyond academic pursuits was a luxury he couldn't afford. Needless to say, Coryo is keen to return to the lab and commence working with Dr. Gaul.

He makes his way down the sleek hallways of the Citadel. Being a weekday in office hours the building is busier than he is used to seeing it. People clad in white coats smoothly streamline through the halls at a steady pace.

Within no time he is approaching the all too familiar doors to the main lab. The surroundings jog memories from the past few weeks when he has attended brisque meetings with the professor,

because no matter how brief his meeting may have been he always managed to run it her.

Y/n would always be seated in the same position as she was when they first met, and every-time he would walk past they would acknowledge each other with a harsh stare. If Coriolanus didn't know any better he would think her resting face was a constant look of utter displeasure.

What a waste of a pretty face.

He quickly shakes his head, disgusted with the fact that he even conjured those words in his mind.

The distasteful thought prompts him to look to his side ready to engage in the brief - displeasing interaction. But to his surprise, the desk is empty.

A wave of relief washes over him, mingled with a tinge of curiosity..

He tries to affirm to himself that he is relieved to not have to see her face today, but he can’t help but wonder why y/n is not seated in her usual station.

His relief, however, was short-lived, replaced by a sense of unease as he collided with something—or rather, someone—unexpectedly.

It makes a disgruntled huff, causing Coryo to look down in the direction of where his body made impact. There he sees y/n. Kneeling on the floor in front of him…

She scrambles to pick up the papers and folders that are now in a heap on the floor.

Coriolanus makes no attempt to help her, rather he watches in amusement. As she struggles to regain her composure, he couldn't shake the feeling that something was amiss.

He crosses his arms and looks down on her.

Once she has pulled herself together and neatly stacked her paperwork, y/n looks up at Coryo with a piercing gaze, still kneeling at his feet.

His smirk drops as an unfamiliar feeling rushes over him, far to aware of the site he finds himself in. The position he and y/n found themselves in went from funny to…. to….

He can’t think of a word to describe it. (or he'd rather not think of it)

He takes a step back to give her some space to stand, her eyes never leaving his.

“How kind of you to offer me help'' she states, words dripping in sarcasm. Seemingly unaffected the same way he was.

Coriolanus quickly straightens himself and plasters that dumb smirk back on his face.

“You're very welcome,” he grins, matching her tone.

With that, y/n huffs and rolls her eyes, making her way back to her desk.

Coriolanus takes this as his cue to continue his venture into the lab, but he can’t help but look back and examine y/n as she annoyedly rummages through her now disorganised papers. He can’t seem to shake that odd feeling he experienced before. So rather he focuses on how her current displeasure brings him joy.

As the days passed, Coriolanus's encounters with Y/n grew increasingly frequent, each interaction punctuated by a palpable sense of discord. Whether it was their chance collisions in the university halls or their confrontations in Dr. Gaul's lectures, their dynamic seemed fraught with unresolved tension.

That brings us to the present moment. Coryo was attending university, walking through the halls with his fellow peers when he once again hit something hard as he turned a corner

For god's sake, he thinks.

And then he looks down...

For fuck's sake

One the ground once again is y/n scrambling to pick up the papers she had dropped… once again.

“Are you following me?” he asks semi-demandingly, annoyance hidden in the back of his throat.

y/n Stands up and quickly straightens her self “for me to have been following you would require me to watch where you're going, and based off our collision i would say no” she says matter of factly, barely even looking at him as she flicks through her papers to make sure they are all in order.

Coriolanus gives her a once over. Y/n is not dressed in her typical business attire, instead she adorns a crisp white lab coat and red scrub like top and pants.

Before he is able to say anything else, y/n squeezes between Coriolanus and his friends in the direction of Dr. Gauls office he assumes. As she moves she brushes past him, the contact making his nostrils flare in annoyance.

And He Prays that he doesn't have to see her aggravating face again… for at last a while

Coriolanus is not a religious person, but he is certain now if there is a god they definitely do not faver him. Not even a few hours later he is entering one of the university's lecture halls for Dr. Gauls tutorial in (think of a name for a subject that discusses the ethics of the hunger games) and there she is, Y/n, standing in the centre of the room taking notes as Dr. Gaul speaks to her.

The lecture hall is shaped like an amphitheater of sorts. Levels of chairs with desks cascade down and around a flat space in the middle of the room, similar to a stage.

Coriolanus moves quickly to a seat not wanting to give y/n the satisfaction of his attention (not that she was looking anyway).

As the class settles and Dr. Gauls takes her place in the centre to address her eager students, y/n sits down at a small desk on the floor, its space occupied with what looks like an acrylic black box, its colour a stark difference to the rest of the room. Coryo now can’t help but stare now as y/n reaches into the box… no cage, and pulls out a white snake.

y/n holds it softly in her hands as it weaves around her expenditures. She lifts the snake above her head and places it around her neck, it looked to be maybe two feet long, it wrapped it's self easily around her shoulders.

He brings his attention back to Gaul as y/n’s head shoots up in his direction. Quickly settling his gaze away he tunes into what his professor is explaining.

“This new form of technology allows the wearer of the device, similar to a headband, to control their chosen mutt , making them do as they wish. The device scans and mimics the waves made by our brain and delivers them to the chip implanted in the mutt's nervous system through electromagnetic currents.”

Dr Gaul then turns in y/n’s direction, silently giving her a cue to demonstrate. Y/n looks at the snake and it pauses for a second, as if they are having a mental discussion, and then wraps itself around her torso, spiralling down her frame until it reaches the floor.

The reptile makes its way towards the stairs of the auditorium, swiftly slithering off the hardwood floor. Gasps and small squeals can be heard as the snake passes under Students feet, making its way higher and higher. Clemensia Dovecote lets out a blood curdling scream and stands on her table as the snake passes her bye. Unfazed the slithering creature makes a direct line for Coriolanus's table.

The Reptile wraps itself around Coryo’s leg, spiralling upwards until it lays atop his desk.

He is Tensing every muscle in his body, Coriolanus didn't hate snakes but he certainly wasn’t fond of them (not having a great history with them himself). The slithering creature lifts its body up until its face to face with Coryo.

Its stark black tongue darts out rhythmically as it tastes the air, The dark colour contrasts the unnaturally silky white scales that adorn its body.

Coriolanus scrunches his face in unpleasantness.

And then, as if it was able to register Coryo’s distaste for it, the snake let out a violent hiss, spreading its mouth open and flashing its fangs. He tries his best not to flinch, but he can’t help but lean back as the snake halls itself higher arching its body as if it was reading to strike.

“Thank you y/n” Dr Gaul’s voice echoes through the room and the snake freezes.

Coriolanus dosen’t let his gaze fall from the snake until it begins to move. He follows it with his eyes as it slithers away, noticing y/n now positioned directly in front of his desk. The snake curls around her arm and makes its way to her shoulders where it hangs comfortably.

“If i didn’t know any better i’d say you were afraid” Y/n taunts as she strokes the body of the reptilian creature.

“You must be mistaking me for Clemmy here” he deflects her comment and points notedly at his peer who still remains curled up in her chair shaking with her eyes closed.

y/n simply hums, and brings her attention back to the blonde haired boy in front of her.

Just as he thinks she is about to walk away the snake darts out, mere inches from Coriolanus's face. He only allows himself to get a glimpse of its sharp fangs before he screws his eyes shut.

Y/n chuckles deeply, the snakes behaviour clearly still under her command.

“Get that vile creature away from me before I turn into a belt myself” Coriolanus spits out, his words laced with venom.

“Now, now…” y/n tuts, slowly stroking the back of the snake as it resumes its position on her frame.

“... you should know better than to insult your own kind” she smirks.

y/n swiftly walks away before Coryo is able to get a last word in

The nerve on this bitch

He is barely able to focus on the rest of the lecture, far too riled up by the class's previous events. He sits rigid in his chair, nostrils flaring as he stares y/n down for the remainder of the class.

She however, never once looks back in his direction, but oh he knows she can feel his burning gaze by the way she shifts almost awkwardly, forcing herself to place her eyes anywhere other than him.

He barely even registers that the lecture is being dismissed until students begin to push past his desk. He reaches down for his bag and makes an effort to leave his chair, stopped by the sound of Dr. Gauls voice ringing through the almost empty hall.

“Mr. Snow, a moment” she beckons him.

He makes his way steadily down the stairs of the room. Reaching the lower level, he surveys the area quickly, eyes falling on y/n as she whispers something to the black box that now holds the reptilian mutt, eyes locking with his. He refuses to look away, attempting to assert some sort of superiority to her.

y/n narrows her eyes fiercely at him, picking up the cage and walks out of the room.

Coriolanus shifts his attention back to his mentor.

“In such fast paced times, one can only spread themselves so thin” Dr. Gaul plainly states. Unsure what she is vaguely referring too, Coriolanus offers her a curt nod in acknowledgment.

“I have a request,” she continues.

“In the next coming nights there is to be a gala of sorts and i require you to be in attendance”

Coriolanus holds himself higher, the flattery of the innovation overpowering his distaste for such events.

“Thank you, Dr. Gaul. i would be honoured” he asserts.

Dr. Gauls' already wicked grin grows wider, sinister even. She chuckles deeply, amused.

“How wonderful ... y/n and yourself will have the most splendid of times”

Are.

you.

Fucking.

Serious.

His jew clenches, he wishes he was able to protest. Instead he simply offers a strict nod in Dr. Gauls direction and races out of the room.

As he leaves the lecture hall, Coriolanus found himself consumed by a turbulent mix of emotions—anger, frustration, and a gnawing sense of unease.

His interactions with Y/n had left him unsettled, his usual facade of indifference crumbling in the face of their escalating conflict. The prospect of spending more time in her company filled him with a sense of dread, his resentment simmering beneath a veneer of polite acquiescence.

As he swiftly makes his way through the halls of the university, wishing nothing more than to forgot the events of today, he swears he can hear the echoing of Dr. Gauls amused laugh.

what a strange, strange women.

A/N: Soooooooo... what did we think?? what are your guy's thoughts on whats to happen next? please let me know if you have any suggestions ideas or ask me a question x you can do that here.

Also i don't give permission for my work to be posted without credit or whatever.

TAG LIST // Let me know if you want to be tagged!!!

@secretsicanthideanymore

#coryo snow #coriolanus snow #tom blyth #tbosas #coriolanus fanfiction #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus smut #coryo x reader #coriolanus snow x reader #coryo smut #coriolanus snow fanfiction #coriolanus x you #coriolanus snow smut

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stagefoureddiediaz · 13 days

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I am having a lot of thoughts about the Christopher of it all right now in light of this bts we got from Gavin!!!

Because - Mountains and rock climbers and forests!!!

Look I've already climbed onto the Eddie and mountains to climb train in this post here but I'm about to make it a Diaz boys have mountains to climb train!!!

So Eddie now has a photograph - in black and white - of Half Dome on his bedroom wall - right above his bed

And then he has a lone cowboy on a horse - on the opposite wall - a cowboy on a horse in a flat landscape (which is yellow/orange - and with the blue walls also therefore plays into yellow blue theory)...

...and there is just something about Eddie sitting in his bed - looking at a picture of what is essentially a lone ranger in a barren landscape, on a wall that Buck helped him repair, while behind him is this looming mountain that is notoriously difficult to climb - the thing he can see when he is having sex with M - upside down.

The rest is under the cut because being brief is not my wheelhouse!!

Something about playing into the idea that Eddie has been this lone ranger in a barren landscape - searching for something - an something about how that search in this barren landscape is hiding (happening) the holes in the wall that Buck helped him patch up - something about how he feels alone even though the help he needed and wanted is already there - just hidden out of sight.

How that mountain is looming behind him also out of sight. How Eddie is in t his good place right now, but there are still mountains for him to climb - how those mountains are connected to his past.

There is also something in the choice of black and white for the image - something about the thing Eddie needs to deal with - the mountain he needs to climb is black and white - Obvious - not a complex myriad of colour (something something about his catholic guilt being obvious - black and white - something about it being a part of him that is finite and defined and not changeable - something like being gay perhaps!!)

Then there is the fact that we can make a fair assumption, based on the fact that we were shown Buck helping him fix the holes, that Buck helped Eddie with all of the redecorating - that he helped him paint the room (and choose the lovely duck egg blue colour), helped him hang the pictures - helped him choose the artwork for his walls - implicitly tying Buck to that mountain - that his feelings etc tied to Buck are his mountain still to climb. The thing with this as a concept is that it also plays into the upside down on the bed with Marisol - things being wrong or upside down/ backwards with her - that the spectre of Buck looms large over their relationship.

The otehr thiing I'd like to point out is kind of the biggest thing of them all and plays into the two cut lines and red string of fate of it all. Because Half Dome has a permanent cable tether for climbers attempting to summit to use and the metaphor of that is fascinating to me. There is something in the idea of Eddie feeling untethered, but also in Eddie not fully trusting he has a tether. How Eddie still hasn't fully grasped the permanence of Buck in the Diaz family's life - in Eddies life. Eddie needs to scale that mountain and buck is metaphorically speaking the half dome permanent cable run. Eddie might've made him a permanent fixture from a legal perspective - but that was for Chris, not for him (and Chris has already figured out Bucks permanence if you ask me - he already ran to Buck and opens up to him in a way he can’t with his father) but Eddie still doesn’t fully trust that the support he has in his life through Buck is permanent rather than a temporary tether. Eddie is almost there - but not quite - it feels like there is something in Bucks coming out to him that will be the catalyst for him to figure that out (don't ask me what or how - I haven't figured that bit out yet but it has something to do with the whole nothing has changed between us and Eddies dawning realisation of that that gives him his own confidence to make changes in the same way Buck has!)and start his climb so he can explore the mountain (his queerness) safely.

But back to Christophers t-shirt and how it fits into everything. Christopher has his own mountains to climb - dealing with his feelings of being abandoned by his mom - by being abandoned by the women in his life - because we need to remember that Abuela is also now absent from his life as she is now back in Texas. How Ana also left and how we've very much not been shown Carla at all (or had mention on her I think) this season. we can even, by virtue of the relationship Chris and Buck share, include Taylor leaving (being kicked to the curb) as part of the list of women exiting his life in some way.

Bringing up Shannons letter and having Chris read it at the very start of the season, for me is a clear indicator that that is the arc he is going to go through this season - that while there are still elements of the Shannon of it all in Eddies story, it is actually Christopher who needs to let that ghost go and move forward, not Eddie.

911 loves to play with imagery - they excel at it in the Diaz house, and I talk about how the kids costuming on the show is always so deliberately chosen to reflect their arcs, Especially with Chris. So here we have Chris in a t-shirt with mountains, trees and climbers on - setting up the idea of exploring him climbing that mountain he has to climb, but also playing on the idea that he's a bit caught in a forest as well - cannot see the wood for the trees. It a great metaphor for his current abandonment issues - because he is still a bit too young to fully comprehend that some people are not meant to stay in your life in a permanent way or that sometimes, just because they are not physically present in a regular way, doesn't mean they have abandoned you. Hell that is a difficult thing for many adults to comprehend, so to ask a kid to - especially one who's hormones are starting to go crazy - is never going to be practical.

The fact they’ve very deliberately not shown him actually interacting with with Marisol before now - establishing her as existing in Christopher’s world but not actively being a part of it - really ensuring to set her apart and off to the side - apart form establishing the contrast between Shannon and Marisol, is so interesting and feels, to me at least, like it’s building up to possibly playing into some version of the idea of you’re not my mother etc etc. They've taken great care to establish Shannon as Christophers mother - that she is still a major presence in his life, even in her absence.

They're is also something in the way that the idea of Marisol being 'portrayed' (can't think of the right word but I hope you know what I mean) as essentially a babysitter - we've never been shown them interacting - just told that Eddie has been getting her to babysit and in tv show land if you want to tell the audience that two characters have a good relationship (of whatever form) - you show it - you don't allude to that relationship as existing - especially when you are developing a narrative around a child's fear of being abandoned by the women in his life - not showing her looking after Chris before this point, and after you have established said abandonment issue, just reenforces the nature of their relationship - that it is one Chris is not likely to be engaging in - because she's going to leave anyway so what is the point of getting attached.

Now this is interesting because it feeds into Eddies arc rather nicely - its an arc they have already established with the audience - his jumping in too quickly and without thinking things through properly. it also plays back into an already existing arc - the one where he does things for Christopher and not for himself. they are to all intents and purposes the same thing. Eddie lets Shannon back into his life - for Christopher, he re-proposes not for himself, but for Christopher and the second baby he thinks is coming, he starts dating Ana for Christopher not for himself, he Makes Buck Christophers legal guardian for Christopher (even though at this point we don't know if Chris knows this fact), yes a part of that id for himself as well, but it is predominately for Chris. Eddie asking Marisol to move in - almost immediately in the aftermath of Chris revealing to Buck that he feels abandoned by his mom and that is where his multiple girlfriends/ becoming a player is coming from - how it is having an impact on who he is becoming as a person (one who things women leave and therefore treats them as temporary), is Eddie doubling down on his relationship with Marisol as a way of giving Christopher a female who is present. The entire thing - Eddie - in therapy and healing and now in a place where he thinks his issues with Ana and becoming a ready made family etc are 'dealt with' and in the past - hearing Chris talk about Shannon that way and to then have his immediate response be to go one step further than he managed with Ana - to ask M to move in - to essentially create something permanent - the whole going with is gut - despite his own feelings and thoughts on the matter - boils down to him still doing things for Chris’s happiness and not his own feels kind of loud. Because that is what his gut tells him - double down and sacrifice yourself and your own happiness for Christopher.

on the subject of guts - its very clearly a major theme for the Diaz boys this season, the show has been using the Diaz house to great effect already on this front.

Christophers homework that he was doing in episode 1 - all aobut guts

we had him studying blood types and transfusions

the function of kidneys and the nephron (literal guts!!)

and then - when he's read Shannons letter - frog dissection - again literally looking at guts

then from up coming episodes - thanks to Jihanes bts content we know that the fridge has the following charts on it

All things related to the gut and gut health. something something about Eddies heart having been worked on and now his gut is next in line to be sorted out. Especially as catholic guilt is something that plays into the idea of being something you feel in your gut rather than heart or head - related.

And there is also something in relation to the catholic guilt of it all and Eddies gut and Chris feeling like women don’t stay thats in play with Eddies relationship with his mother - that she's stayed too present in his life and that she treated him is such a contradicting way - the juxtaposition of not letting him be a kid whilst he was a kid - needing him to be the man of the house in his fathers absence whilst then not letting him grow up/ treating him as a child when he became an adult - and dominating (or trying to) his life and how he (and Shannon) raised Christopher.

Because it is fair to assume that it was Helena who took Eddie to church every Sunday and who was predominately responsible for his religious up bringing (we don't know how long Ramon was away for but to me at least it feels implied that his business trips would be for several weeks or months at a time and then he would return home for a period before disappearing again) an therefore much of his catholic guilt is attached to her and how if they are going in the catholic guilt/queer repression direction it is Helenas forceful personality that kept him in the closet even if he managed to step back from Catholicism

Something something about hearts and guts and minds being concepts of the human condition that are so intricately intertwined and needing to be in balance - how Eddies heart has been looked at and worked on (his relationship with his father), how his gut needs to be worked on now (which is related to his mother) and then finally his mind - Eddie needing to learn to communicate and talk things through with people rather than burying it - something he cant do until he has worked through is catholic guilt and his letting his gut rule his decision making (even though it rarely pans out for him) - much like his mother has ruled over his life in one way or another until recently.

Something something about that being a mountain they are both climbing - but in different ways and therefore separately and it all comes back to them not talking - Eddie not talking to his son (he even had Buck have that initial conversation with him rather than do it himself) there is still so much misunderstanding between the Diaz boys!

Wow I did not mean for this to get long!!!! Hopefully it makes sense!!

it may just be the incoherent ramblings of a woman obsessed with the way they are picking a part Eddie and putting him back together - endlessly fascinating to me!!

#911 spoilers #Christopher Diaz #eddie diaz #long meta #The Diaz house #911 costume things #911 meta #911 spec #thinky thoughts #I have no idea how I ended up where I did from where I started but here we go #I am the James Acaster GBBO meme!!!!#911 abc

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feathered-yelloweye · 5 months

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About Kriemhild Gretchen

Madoka's witch, Kriemheld Gretchen, might be based on the Brockengespenst (Brocken spectre). This is an atmospheric optical phenomenon (presumably) first described on the Brocken, in which the greatly enlarged shadow of the observer can be seen on a fog or cloud bench. The head of the shadow is often surrounded by coloured rings. The cloud/fog wall not having a smooth surface and being in motion makes the shadow appear ghostly.

Source (of both the image and the explanation I vaguely translated)

Source (just image)

As you can see the "spectre" itself resembles Kriemhild Gretchen in appearance; additionally one could argue that a small, seemingly inconspicuous Magical Girl turning into the witch with the potential to "destroy the world in ten days" is representative of a regular person's shadow turning into something so huge and imposing.

It's also important to note that the Brocken is associated with witches. This was "perpetuated by Goethe who described the Brocken as a centre of witchcraft revelry in his Faust. One of his scenes is of Walpurgisnacht, (Walpurgis Night, 30th April) when witches meet on Brocken to hold revels with their gods, and there are still bonfires lit on the mountain to this day." (Source)

You probably recognise Walpurgisnacht as the name of the witch that acts as the antagonist for the main series, which further solidifies the connection. (If you want to read up on Walpurgisnacht itself, I like this article)

Now this last point is something most people already know but I'd like to mention it anyways, for completion's sake. Walpurgisnacht's and Kriemhild Gretchen's silhouettes on top of each other make up an hourglass.

Here, I think it's interesting that Walpurgisnacht makes up the top part. She's there first, signifying the beginning of the end of the world, in a way, as the sand trickles down from her part of the hourglass — Kriemhild Gretchen then, who is destined to come after her as "even if Walpurgisnacht is defeated, a stronger witch is destined to appear after her" and holds the power to "destroy the world in ten days" is the lower part and signifies the end of time.

There's also an entire possible tangent to get into about Kriemhild Gretchen's name itself, but I need to re-read the Nibelungenlied before I feel like I can say what needs to be said about it.

#puella magi madoka magica #madoka magica #madoka kaname #kriemhild gretchen #analysis #Walpurgisnacht madoka magica #text post #pmmm has an indescribable hold on me right now and I JUST remembered I can talk about it as much as I want #my rambles

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floweroflaurelin · 11 months

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So Pixlriffs’ finale is a masterpiece and I’m experiencing a lot of emotions right now ✨🌻✨

For my own reference I made a transcript of the monologue and thought I might as well share it! It's under the cut to avoid spoilers but the whole first 8ish minutes of his video are typed out. I recommend watching at least that much, if you haven’t yet, because it’s really something worth hearing.

We are not done.

Not yet.

Our stories do not begin here, and neither do they end. But before they fade into obscurity, as so many events do, there is one more story left to be told.

[It is the Story

the World.]

It’s important to remind ourselves that history is an account of events remembered—and there are so few left who remember, so it mingles with myth and hearsay, folklore and fireside stories. This is the account of just one man, and others may recall the tale differently. Others still may decide to change the narrative to suit their own ends. And this, it must be said, is no bad thing. So it goes.

[Sun setting

over

our Creation.]

—

In a long-lost age before records truly began, our world was built by Titans (or so it is said). The lands they created became home to people who would seek to emulate and even to surpass that act of creation, and that would eventually bring about their destruction. But destruction is simply part of a cycle. Nothing is ever truly lost.

Those who foresaw the destruction fled before it could bring the walls of their homes down around them. And many who had been downtrodden and overlooked saw it as their chance to find a new life for themselves.

Thus began a great migration, leaving behind the old nations of the world and striking out for somewhere new, a life untethered from the follies of their former state. And though the road was long and treacherous, and many fell behind in the wake of such an awful endeavour, new bonds were forged in the fires of adversity.

As time passed, and more joined the great caravan, the host became a nation of its own, a glorious congregation sharing one purpose, singing the same resolute song. Though the road was long, they were homeward bound.

And a home they found nestled in a mountainous landscape, one that might have been carved by the very bones of the gods themselves. There they planted roots, drank deep from the water, and continued to grow. The farmers sowed new fields and raised new flocks. The work of many hands turned to building a new city. And together the architects conceived a castle upon a great plateau that would stand as a monument to their past apart and their future together. To them, the castle itself would tell the Story of the World.

Stone-whisperers from Mythland and the Grimlands, well-versed in masonry of all kinds, sculpted its walls from the abundant rock of the nearby mountains quarried for the glory of their new capital. They wrought rock and iron, carved and timbered their great halls, and raised mighty towers to stand atop the grand cliff.

The mages of the Crystal Cliffs brought knowledge of magic and the beauty of gemstones, and theirs was the sanctum at the heart of the castle, ever-seated at the Ruler’s left hand: their shield and protector.

A tribute was raised to Gilded Helianthia, whose ruler was still revered in the hearts and minds of many, and in time she became their warden against the spectres of the past, carrying the twin burdens of light and shadow on her shoulders; a burden with which the people of Rivendell were all too familiar.

And below, far below, the engineers of Pixandria sought to reproduce the jewel of their empire. A mechanism that would surpass the work of the Copper King himself.

Not all who came to found the Ancient Capital remained for long. Like dandelion seeds, the people of the Overgrown were scattered on the wind, alighting on the mountaintops and valleys. The vast majority of them came to settle in the rolling meadows of Chromia, which was renowned for the richness and beauty of its dyes for lifetimes after.

In the absence of their king, the nation of Mezelea resettled in new badlands, establishing laws and ordinances of their own. Many of them had been armour stands before the king imbued them with life, and some found this a hard habit to shake.

The people of the Cod and Ocean empires, bereft of the waters that gave them life, took to diving in the rocky pools of vast caverns and their affinity for stone grew. Over many generations they adapted, becoming the green-skinned race that folk came to know as goblins—their pointed ears the only remaining vestige of the fins they had once had.

For the gnomes of the Undergrove, this was a homecoming! They had long dwelled here before their exodus through the Nether and the fairy circles of the Evermoore welcomed them with open arms.

And the villagers of the Lost Empire, hiding in plain sight amongst the caravan of peoples, sought to find a place where they would be unburdened by this facade of humanity, standing at last on their own two feet.

But the boundaries of this land were ever-changing, and the nations soon found the cataclysm they had left behind had weakened the walls between their world and others. Waters rose and fell unpredictably; incursions from other realms were possible, bringing chaos in their wake. The tide of history churned and rippled.

None now remember how the Capital fell, only that its remains have lasted: an epitaph to all they had achieved together.

And just like before, new nations would arise. The pirates of Eversea ruled the waters from their secret cove. The inventors of Cogsmeade arrived sailing in from the air on their skyships—only to find whole buildings floating in the golden kingdom of Stratos. Rumours abounded of a Sanctuary hidden in the deepest jungle for those who knew the way.

Their tales are better told by those who knew them well. Our stories do not begin here, and neither do they end. But for this tired historian, it is perhaps best to leave these things in the past and begin to look towards the future.

For whatever comes next, we who have sown the seeds can only hope for a bountiful harvest.

#empires smp #pixlriffs #empires spoilers #empiresblr #empires s2 #empires pixlriffs #transcript #CHILLS. ACTUAL CHILLS.#this set fireworks off my brain btw. I want to make all the things right now #im busy at the moment but I will make things! I will! I must!

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keegansgurl · 4 days

Text

Summary: The reader gets captured by Graves during his siege of Las Almas. And the commander has certain ideals about what's in store for her.

Warnings!! Gun violence, wounds, implied sexual content, Kidnapping, being held captive, 18+ themes

Thunder cracks in the distance as you step out of the hummer with Soap, Ghost, Alejandro, and Rudy. It's dusk, and the air is starting to get heavy with moisture as the thunderstorm in the mountains grows near.

"Is that Graves' guys posted up at the gate?" You nudge Ghost when you spot the armed guards standing at the gate leading into the base.

Alejandro and Rudy share a look before Alejandro steps forward toward the gate. You hang back with Soap and Ghost while the Colonel searches for answers as to why a bunch of hired guns are guarding his base.

"What's Graves doing?" You ask Ghost as you watch Alejandro get up in his face.

"I don't know." Ghost replies in a gruff and cautious tone. "But I've got a bad feeling." He adds.

You nod in agreement, your dominant hand hovering over the pistol holstered at your thigh. Alejandro and Graves continue to but heads until all hell breaks loose. Alejandro gets taken down swiftly by one of Graves' men. Shots begjn whizzing through the air and Ghost grabs your arm to pull you behind cover.

"It doesn't have to go down like this, Ghost!" Graves shouts from his spot in front of the base gate.

"We need to get out of here." You crouch down next to Ghost with urgency.

Ghost nods in agreement and begins coming up with an escape plan. Graves' men begin to fan out and come towards the group. You and Ghost make a break for it but one of Graves' men manages to clip you with a shot to the shoulder. A searing hot pain shoots up through your shoulder and you crumble into the dirt.

Ghost stops and turns around to pull you up, but you wave him off with the hand that isn't clutching at your shoulder.

"No! Ghost, go! Get out of here!" You shout at your commander, the sound of Graves's men closing in growing louder in your ears by the second.

Ghost nods in understanding and takes off before your enemies descend upon you. One of them trains his gun on you while the other one grabs you by the injured shoulder and hauls you up to your feet.

"Ah!" You yelp in pain from the contact to your bullet wound.

Graves' men drag you back toward the gate and right up to their commander. Graves cracks a smug grin as you are dumped into the dirt at his feet.

"Well well well, if it isn't the infamous Spectre of the 141." Graves leans down and grabs your chin harshly in his hand.

You glare up at him as Graves holds your chin in his calloused hand. You grit your teeth as he smiles down at you with a sinister look in his eye.

"Boy who'd of thought that such a pretty thing like you could have all that rage and violence locked up inside." Graves chuckles at you. "You know? I'm glad it was you that my boys managed to catch first. Means that I get to have a little fun before work." He grins and signals for his men to take you away.

"You won't get away with this, Graves!" You kick and shout as you're dragged away and into one of the buildings on base.

You get tossed into a small barren room harshly. Your knees scrape against the floor, head hitting the corner of the doorframe as you get tossed down to the floor. The door slams shut and you hear a click followed by the sound of heavy boots walking away from the door.

You suck in a breath and manuever yourself into a sitting posistion on the cold floor. Graves' boys secured your hands behind your back with zipties after they got you inside the builging, so your movement is severly limited.

"Fuck." You groan to yourself as you take a few deep breaths to calm yourself down.

You glance at your shoulder where you got shot. Blood has completely soaked through your shirt and beginning to dry into the fabric. The tendons in your shoulders burn with every little movement, making you wince in pain.

You scoot yourself over to the far corner of the room and lean against it. Graves's men pulled the zipties around your wrists pretty damn tight. But if you can somehow dislocate your thumb on one of your hand. Then you think that you can manage to slip your restraints.

You keep your back almost against the far corner of the room as you work to dislocate your thumb. While you work you keep your eyes fixed on the door on the other side of the room. You can hear footsteps and muffled voices on the other side of the door. Graves' men no doubt. But if you can pull this off then you'll be ready for them next time they come through that door.

"Come on. Come on!" You mumble to yourself as you work. "Fuck! Yes, that should do it." You wince quietly when your thumb grinds against bone and eventually clicks out of place.

Your hand aches now as well as your shoulder. But now there is just enough leverage for you to dig your hand free from your restraints. The zipties dig into your skin, scraping away at the first layer of your dermis as you go. But you've got to get free.

After some effort, your left hand finally manages to slip free. You breath a sigh of releif as you move your arms back into their normal posistion. Your wrists are rubbed raw and bleeding at this point. But you're free.

"Okay. Stay calm, YN." You calm yourself down now that you're free.

You tear a strip off the bottom of your shirt and wrap it around your shoulder into a makeshift sling. The sling takes some of the pressure off your shoulder and you allow yourself a little bit of time to rest and recover. You think about Soap and Ghost while you rest. Surely the two of them managed to get away and are coming up with a plan to come rescue you and Alejandro right now.

The heavy sound of footsteps approaching the door switches you out of relaxing mode. You quickly pull your arm out of the sling and wrench your hands behind your back again. If your captor doesnt know that you've free'd yourself. Then you've got the element of surprise.

The door creaks open and Graves steps into the room. He closes the door behind him and grin at you. "Well, aren't you a sigh for sore eyes, sweetheart? All hunched up in the corner, cowering in fear like a meek little bunny." He chuckles to himself and approaches you.

You watch Graves come towards you. You could spring on him right now and take him down. But you know that it's better if you wait until he's closer and more off guard to strike.

"Fuck you!" You growl at Graves with fire in your eyes and venom in your tone.

Graves comes to a stop a few feet in front of you. He smiles at you before gesturing for you to get up.

"Come on! Let's see it." Graves prompts you. "I'm not stupid, sweetheart. I know that you've found a way out of those retraints by now." He insists.

You grit your teeth and begruginly move your arms back in front of you. It'll be no use in trying to attack him now.

"Atta girl." Graves muses and reaches behind him. He pulls his arm back out in front of him with a bottle of water in hand and offers it to you. "Go on. Take it."

You scoff and turn your nose up at the offer. "I don't want shit from you, traitor." You spit at him.

"Suit yourself, sweetheart." Graves shrugs and pops the cap off of the bottle.

You watch Graves place the bottle to his lips and take a large swig of water from it. You become acutely aware of just how dry your mouth and throat are as you watch little droplets of precious water drio out of Graves' mouth and dribble down his chin.

"Ah!" Graves smirks and screws the cap back onto the now half-empty bottle. "Refreshing." He taunts you.

"If you're going to kill me, can you get it over with already?" You stare up at Graves with disdain written plainly on your face.

Graves laughs and crouches down to your level. "Kill you?" He scoffs. "Now why would I go and do something as stupid as that?" He asks you. "Shepard gave me a look at your file, you know?"

"General Shepard?" Your head snaps up to meet his gaze.

"Mhm." Graves grins. "You are quite the soldier. Long list of skills that could be useful for a man in my business." He adds. "And all wrapped up in an enticing package too."

You reel back as Graves reaches a hand out to caress your face. You breifly think about biting down on his hand as hard as you can. But you know that he'd just overpower you if you did.

"Come on, sargent." Graves coos at you. "Think about all the trouble we could get into if you teamed up with me, huh?" He paints a picture for you. "Think about all the fun we could have. All the money that we could make." Graves drones on.

"I'd rather die than ever work for a scumbag mercanary like you." You growl and turn your head away from him.

Graves doesn't seem to falter any at your harsh words. He steps forward again, backing you further into the corner. Both of you are standing up now. But Graves is at least half a foot taller than you are. He watches you with intense eyes as you try your best to turn away from him.

"Oh, don't be so dramatic, YN." Graves scoffs. "Don't think that I haven't noticed the way you've been looking at me these past few days." He reaches forward and tucks a stray hair behind your ear. "Hmm? All those stolen glances at breifings? Or that cute little smile being directed at me when your meathead 141 buddies aren't looking?" He teases you.

You turn your head in shame, knowing that everything Graves is saying is true. Graves chuckles and grabs your shoulder where you got shot. You gasp in pain and turn to look at Graves again.

"Let me go!" You huff a breath out at Graves and try to pull away from him.

Graves doesn't budge, and instead steps closer to you. His body traps you between himself and the wall and you can smell the mint on his breath as well as the cologne he wears wafting off of him.

"Come on sweetheart, just give in." Graves leans in, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispers in a husky tone to you.

Your breath hitches in your throat and you freeze in place. It's like your brain is short circuiting right now. All those dirty thoughts that popped into your head 24 hours ago when Graves first introduced himself come flooding back all at once. All those thoughts about how handsome Graves looks in his tactical gear. About how that damned Southern American accent ignited something inside of you when he introduced himself to the group.

Everything.

You could cut the tension in the room with a simple wave of the hand.

That tension is broken when a rapid knock sounds at the door. Graves step away from you with an annoyed grimace at being interupted. He backs up towards the door and offers you a wink and charming grin. "This conversation aint over sweetheart. I'll be right back." Graves assurs you before slipping out of the room.

Your heart thumps against your chest like it's due to burst at any moment. Your gaze stays transfixed on the door and you can hear Graves scolding whichever of his lackies dared interupt him just now.

Silence falls over the room again and you slide down the wall and back down to the floor.

"Oh fuck." You murmur to yourself, head in your hands as you try and regain your composure.

Somewhere outside, sirens start to blare throughout the compound as Ghost, Soap, and Rudy rally to take the base back. The trio locate where you and Alejandro are being held and begin their retrieval plan.

You are still sitting in the corner when the door swings open with force. You look up from your lap expecting to see Graves saunter in again but find Soap instead.

"YN!" Soap crosses the room in barely two strides.

"Soap!" You let out a shakey reply.

Soap leans down in front of you and helps you to your feet. He sets a hand on your shoulder and allows you a few seconds to calm yourself down.

"Are you alright? Did Graves do something to you?" Soap asks you.

"I'm okay, MacTavish." You shake your head and compose yourself. "Have you guys found Alejandro?" You ask him.

Soap nods, trusting that you wouldn't lie to him since the two of you have always been close. "Ghost and Rudy are getting him right now. Are you ready to go?" He asks, offering you a gun from the back of his vest.

"I'm good." You take the gun with a nod and prepare yourself for the fight to come.

A part of you wonders where Graves is at right now. You wonder if he's thinking about you at all. As delusional as that sounds.

Because it does sound delusional, right?

He's the enemy now.

Right?

Right.

#cod fanfic #cod fandom #tf 141 #call of duty #call of duty fanfic #call of duty fic #call of duty mw2 #phillip graves #phillip graves x reader #cod x reader #self insert #self indulgent #cod ghost #tf141 reader #military reader #syd's cod fics #roldofo para #john soap mactavish #alejandro vargas

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anika-ann · 5 months

Text

Back and Forth - part 2

Part 2 - Flashes Back

Type: series; agent!reader, inhuman!reader

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader Word Count: 8100

Chapter summary:

In which you have some time to reminisce and do so even when the time isn't right.

Series masterlist

Warnings: canon-typical violence, mention of gunshot wounds, hints of unhealthy relationship to pain, references to A+ parenting (bad bad parenting) and consequential unhealthy mindsets, a bit of angst

A/N: ALWAYS MIND THE WARNINGS; dividers by @firefly-graphics 💕; moodboard is for the vibes and does not necessarily reflect reader’s appearance

A/N2: As you might have gathered from the warnings and the title of the chapter, our ‘reader’ will be getting some backstory. My ‘readers’ in longfics always have them. To me, that allows for greater depth of the character and their behaviour. If that bothers you, this story might not be for you. Thank you for understanding and enjoy 💕

Steve Rogers’ idea of punishment for disobeying orders was not of the most appealing to many, but it sat quite well with you.

Naturally, it wasn’t that you adored going through mountains of documents with plenty of useless and a few useful words, nor you liked the idea of being benched and having to sit in a corner as if you had been bad when all you had tried to do was your job; that you did not like one bit. But conveniently, being assigned to paperwork also meant you got a reprieve from physically taxing missions. Given the fact that the first three days after having been shot – even if not – were always the most exhausting, particularly when having to hide the pain for long hours, you certainly welcomed it. To a point anyway.

Unsurprisingly, a week later, you were still feeling significant echoes of the ache in your stomach; and yet, you cherished every physical activity where you could feel the tugging on the edges of your spectre’s wound. You didn’t revel in the pain itself, but you welcomed its presence nevertheless, because being without pain was addicting; it was the sweetest calling many people would answer to happily. But you knew better; the withdrawals would have been brutal and unforgiving, and most of all, inevitable, once you’d return to the field.

You tried not to dwell on the luxury of resting you had been provided, but that didn’t mean you didn’t appreciate the assignment given.

Isolation, even when it whispered of being the persona non grata and with the invisible threat of never being chosen for another mission with the prestigious team hanging above your head, still offered some relief. Whether you deserved the reprieve was questionable, but you tried not to ponder over that too much, knowing that the direction the scales were tipping towards to was not in your favour.

Would you rather be in the centre of action, trying your best to fix what you had messed up? Absolutely. One hundred percent. But the punishment was convenient; so convenient for you that you would have even wondered whether Natasha blabbed on you, hadn’t your training schedule remained unchanged. You had a feeling that if she had revealed your secret, you wouldn’t be allowed to as much as throw a single punch. That and Mr. Captain America would have pulled a two-hundred-slide presentation about why not telling the team, fighting when not being entirely fit and being reckless in his eyes was a terrible idea. That was, if he would have even cared.

It did not look like he cared at all.

He certainly didn’t seem to care about the fact that you had missed the opportunity to retrieve intel about whatever fuckery Hydra had been working on to neutralise the all-things-American man – or at least he hadn’t confronted you about it. In fact, all of the Avengers seemed to shrug off the threat to Steve, as if it was just another Tuesday for them. You supposed such nonchalance came with years being an idol inspiring as much hate as adoration, but you couldn’t say that it helped you sleep easier at night.

In all fairness however, this nonchalance didn’t mean that your discovery was ignored completely.

You had had at least three sessions with Doctor Banner who attempted to make sense of the pieces of intel you had seen and was able to recall. You might have remembered barely anything, your brain too busy registering the sudden pain piercing your abdomen, but Banner’s genius was able to come up with options after you had shared the scraps, which in return helped you build on a little bit more, some of the graphics he constructed familiar. The most plausible option now seemed to be that the stupid Nazi worshippers had somehow got their filthy tentacles on Steve’s medical data and were on their way to develop an antiserum – a chemical compound with a to-be-known catalyst that would reverse the effect of Erskine original formula. Apparently, the lazy bastards had just given up on trying to replicate it – and deciding that when they couldn’t create, they’d at least destroy. Fucking typical.

You had no doubt Steve had been presented with this information; the whole of the Avengers probably had been. You were rather sure you had seen Barnes hover by Steve’s side a little more than usual, probably suspecting a leak of classified data from the Tower, thus seeing a potential traitor everywhere. Yet, no one came raining holy fire on your head for missing the golden opportunity to gather all the intel; least of all the man himself.

Steve Rogers, irritatingly enough, was being perfectly civil. Of course, he was; he was meant to be perfection personified, after all. He nodded in hello politely when he met you in the hallway. When you encountered him in training, he acted indifferent, treating you just like any other recruit who joined the Avengers ops with varying frequency. He fixed your stance quietly if needed, moving on as slowly or as quickly as with anyone else, no lingering angry or disappointed glares.

Steve Rogers was a damn master of a poker face. You wanted to scream; you wanted him to be angry with you. You wanted him to be pissed, to yell at you again and then give you the opportunity to fix your mistakes and prove that you were able to do better than you had. You wanted to get back to the field. You wanted to jab your index finger into that chest of his, looking so ridiculously firm, and do something. Anything.

Obviously, after the very public incident, you wouldn’t dare as much as to say a single word against his commands. The fact that you were terrified it would be the last drop to his tiny yet enormous goblet of patience with you and you’d be out for good played a significant role in that behaviour of course; but in all fairness, you hadn’t felt the need to speak up.

In the end, you accepted the creeping feeling of gratitude to him for just sweeping your screaming match and the failure itself under the rug, hoping it wouldn’t blow up the next time you would disagree. When he told everyone that they had done a good job after a training, meeting gazes of each recruit, he met yours the last. The sincerity in his eyes and words didn’t diminish as he did so.

Captain Rogers pulled you out of the time-out nine days after your colossal failure he himself had had a hand in; you learned as much from Natasha’s message inviting you to the grand meeting regarding the next dangerous op that was too much for the Avengers to handle alone. Why? Because they expected too many unpredictable unfriendlies: the children of New York.

The mid-May sunrays warmed your cheeks as you walked at steady pace, eyes vigilant in the face of laughter, squeals and endless chatter, colourful lights and rivers of people pouring over the lawn and paths of Central Park. The breeze already carried the heat of summer, but not unbearably so, a gentle touch on your skin and in your hair, along with the scent of water, blooming flowers and barbeque. For most people, the combination equalled the epitome of leisure, a nice weekend with family or friends. Good. That was what you assumed you had all aimed for today.

Today being The Avengers’ Day.

You had only known the basics of how this day had come to life. When senator whatshisname, trying to push his agenda and boost his campaign for re-election, had first came up with the idea, he had inspired as much approval as blatant hate among people, the controversy involved evident. The Avengers’ themselves didn’t shy away from the ambiguity of their work. Their statement regarding the suggestion – no doubt prepared with the aid of a whole team of publicists – spoke of gratitude and futility at once, of honour and accountability in one breath. It was the honesty, you supposed, what actually tipped the scales in the favour of naming a day after them after all – the acceptance of imperfection, the acknowledgement of destruction which was to some more visible than the heroism that every single one of them had displayed during the Battle of New York.

And so 16th May became The Avengers’ Day, a celebration of heroism and a way of giving back to those who believed in heroism the most, to those who regarded them with the least critical eye, too young to truly understand all implications of their work.

Since the eventual acceptance of the celebration could reek of narcissism, the Avengers had decided to spend the larger part of 24 hours by giving indeed. Children loved it, parents were grateful, and the Avengers got to see that despite some workdays dragging on for weeks, their work not only made a difference, but also inspired others to be better. Win-win-win.

The feast started in the morning and lasted till the sun started to set in late afternoon; and the generous time the heroes graced the public with was filled with games and fun, not unlike many events hosted on the World’s Children Day would have. Except this one had all the Avengers – original ones and associates – to join the party, spreading joy and hope.

The reason why you and tens of other agents walked the park through and through with alert gazes was simple: a joyful event like this came with its dark side. With as many high-profile targets in one place, the security measures were off the charts. Any agents working for the Avengers Initiative aligned with SHIELD who weren’t on the most time-sensitive mission was roaming the crowds, Stark’s drones were in service, and FRIDAY had been keeping an eye out for any chatter on the dark web and various forums months before the planning of the specific event even started. Anyone who was able to contribute did so; because frankly, the images Avengers made for were too precious to pass on.

Captain America playing frisbee with a group of kids as another fifty of those waited in line; Black Widow leading gymnastic class and offering to hold up guards for any brave-enough opponent to try and kick and punch, with enthusiastic fans for both parties; Thor teaching Asgardian minuet to anyone who was old enough to walk, a circle of children forming around him any time he started to hum a tune as old as time in a language that made children giggle and appealed to something ancient in the soul of every adult; Bruce performing so-called ‘science magic’, facing the sea of curious eyes with slightly uncomfortable smile but undeniable warmth; Hawkeye surrounded by targets with various non-threatening weapons, from foamy soft balls to arrows with suction cups at the end; Iron Man, mostly parading around in full armour – bless the man, he had to be so hot in it– in charge of the music, fireworks and all wonders of technical progress, capturing attentions of little brainiacs and admirers alike.

The newer additions to the official team didn’t stay behind either, with Winter Soldier handling waterguns battle, shy at first, but ecstatic at the squeals of joy from children running back and forth, with generous crowds of young male-attracted audience who were not blind to the fact that someone had the brilliant idea to put one of the supersoldiers in charge of water while he was wearing a thin t-shirt only; the Scarlet Witch entertaining crowds with her actual magic and no tricks; Vision, while thoroughly distracted by her, trying his best to explain riddles and puzzles to whoever had found their voice in the face of an actual humanoid slash artificial intelligence; the Falcon in charge of various monkey bars and improvised parkour playground, sometimes involuntarily becoming a monkey bar himself for several kids at once; the War Machine, bless his heart, handling the drawing competition in which there were only winners, because wow, doesn’t this look just like me if I had my armour repainted with flowers to blend in better?

Every single one of them made you smile despite your better judgement. Each of them had their own way of interaction with the little admirers, but all of them made it work somehow. With humour, gentleness, surprising humbleness – most of the time anyway – and an easy compliment or words of encouragement on their tongue, depending on whether their fans had done really well or not so much. There was enough of both – but they handled it with grace or at least with dign-

The sudden sniffle in the sea of laughter had you automatically snap your head to the right, just in time to see the first tears roll down the girl’s reddened cheeks. You remembered seeing her at Natasha’s station a few moments ago; she couldn’t be more than 7-8 years old, but she had been excellent, earning a first bump from the spy and a cherry flavoured lollipop when she had managed to touch her toes and had put her ankle on the high bar with ease.

By the looks of it, she hadn’t done so well at the shooting range, her arrows lying scattered all over, not one having stuck in the target.

It wasn’t your place to try to cheer her up, even as Clint was busy with another five children, you reasoned; but your gut twisted a bit at the sight, your feet having a mind of their own, lips arranging into as supportive smile as you were capable of.

A strong arm wrapping about the girl’s shoulder, words of comfort already spilling from the man’s lips – the father, you assumed – had you freeze mid-step barely seven feet from her.

The gentle timbre on his voice, the hug coming as a second nature, the little huff of quiet laugh without a single trace of malice. The large teary eyes, soon hidden in the man’s shirt as she squished her face into his shoulder, a little yelp with a tiny giggle as he lifted her off the ground with quite some effort, even as barely any showed on his face.

Your insides clenched tighter, nausea tugging at your stomach that had nothing to do with your injury over a week ago.

“Yeah, we’re gonna practise at home for next year, yeah? You’ll get the lollipop next time, I’m sure. You’ll be as great as the Eagle-eye himself!”

The girl let out another watery laugh, pulling softly at his ear. “It’s Hawk-eye, dad!”

The feigned confused expression on the dad’s face told everyone in the ten-mile radius he was very well aware and was only trying to cheer his daughter up, but she seemed oblivious. “Really? Wow. My memory… good thing I have you!”

“Yup!”

“So, I forgot… where were we heading next, can you remember?” he asked in all seriousness, confusion deepening and the enthusiastic high-pitched scream of “ICECREAM!” nearly ruptured your eardrums as the father walked past you, your feet having taken roots in the ground.

“That’s right!” you heard in reply, the sounds suddenly distant as your own breath and the pulsing on your own heart filled your ears.

It was wrong; it was so so wrong and you had no right and you had no time for that, because you had a job to do here, quite important job requiring your full attention, but the following cry of “MAMA!” flooded your veins with envy and pierced your heart through and through. The sun shone too bright all of sudden as your gaze unwittingly traced their path, the simple soothing kiss on the girl forehead sending a shiver through your body, goosebumps rising on your arms.

Potential enemies.You were supposed to scan the crowds for potential enemies and threats, not to watch happy families or let your mind wander. You weren’t supposed let yourself ponder over what it was like; loving arms and distractions awaiting even in the face of a failure instead of a cold shoulder and ignorance. A sweet smile and conspiratorial looks exchanged when fake-arguing about the acceptable number of scopes of ice-cream as a reward. Free affection given instead of a free lesson in the form of shattering the illusion of unconditional love. Living in the blissful ignorance, believing in the second biggest lie fairytales had fed us all, postponing the harsh encounter with reality. What was it like to believe in those lies at that age still, maybe even after that? Did it hurt more or less when reality came knocking later on?

The good did not always win.

And love and affection were earned.

They were earned through rivers of sweat and spitted and spilled blood, through swallowed tears and well-masked pain. And only, only when it all led to success. To perfection. To the impossible standard you all so desperately clawed at, unaware you clawed at your own flesh instead, passing the need to win the most important race of your lives on and on for generations.

Your own father hadn’t been perfect; he was far from it and perhaps that was why he was so appealing to your mother, the rising star of the biochemistry field. Too young, too foolish, too easily seduced by the idea of an average man who would simply reflect her blinding glow instead of overshadowing it.

Getting pregnant robbed her of the job opportunity of a lifetime; the chance at leading her own team in a prestigious laboratory at Harvard. With the pregnancy marked high-risk from the start, you sentenced her to turning down the offer; and another never came. She could have shined like a full-time mother instead and dedicated homemaker then, some would argue, since her goal in life was exceptional excellence in its very essence; except she had never got pregnant again, not for the lack of trying as you later learned. An average worker; an average mother. Her worst nightmare with one common denominator: a problematic daughter. How could she have pursued her career with having to deal with a child like that? The kid was always getting into trouble, leaving its mother to sacrifice everything.

It didn’t matter that your mother’s ‘extremely problematic daughter’ had the GPA of 3.91. It didn’t matter that the very same daughter regularly fought tooth and nail to compete in world championships in gymnastics and succeeded, had been enrolled in ballet class as soon as she could stand and walk straight, only having to switch to box and jiujitsu when she didn’t look soft and elegant enough during her performances. It didn’t matter that all the time her mother spent with her at home happened to take place in separate rooms. It didn’t matter that the daughter was, for a lack of a better term, much more of a daddy’s girl.

Because she was exactly that. You were. Mommy was always busy in her office or her lab and you soon understood that she didn’t like you; but daddy, daddy cared. He cared, he found time and a kind word and a warm hug, always celebrated your victories – a little strict and profoundly disappointed when you failed. But he was there for you despite his extremely important job at the agency protecting the whole world, protecting the whole universe even. SHIELD.

To make a part of such prestigious organization, one must work hard; the hardest, your dad had always said. But you had the potential. You had so much potential to help keep humanity safe. You only needed to avoid distractions. You only needed to drop dead weight in the shape of people who’d rather play and laughed over silly magazines and videos a little too often. You only needed to do well, so well it was the best. And so you did. A dedicated student; a dedicated sportsgirl. Like your dad liked best.

Some might ring alarm bells at that point, but you were a much happier child than some. You had a loving father. You had friends. You had a dog, a lovely border collie named Sadie, so smart and curious and so damn hyperactive it took you at least two hours a day of running to wear her out. Your dad adored her, always praising you for taking such good care of her.

Until your care for Sadie took up too much of your time. It had to, since you got a B. Or perhaps you had spent too much time with friends outside of the study room…. Whatever it was, it eventually led even to a C.

That was the last drop.

And the thing was, both basis of your failure had easy solutions, truly; you came home one day to a house without a single trace of a dog having ever lived there. You could run to keep fit without it, after all – such was her sole purpose, you had realized too late. You were eleven years old.

Grounded with no phone, you could focus fully on your studies to improve the horrendous GPA. SHIELD academy didn’t accept anyone with a GPA worse than 3.98 after all; your mother only nodded along to your father’s flat voice reminding you. Her disappointment was nothing new, but your father’s was. His warm hand on yours, gently squeezing, a sharp contrast to his clinically cold voice, was like a lifeline for you to grip at, even at the age of sweet thirteen. He knew you could do this, if you’d get your head straight – you had the potential. He was so sure of it, he had so much faith in you. You needed to make him proud. And after screaming bloody murder and crying your eyes out in the shower, after punching so hard your knuckles bled, you did.

You had only managed to improve to 3.96 by the time you were seventeen, but you enrolled to the academy still, one of the youngest students in history, with whispers following you for the first months of your father’s involvement nevertheless. What did he do for living that he had managed to sneak you in? Oh, right, just an ordinary analyst, one of hundreds. He got his wife a post as well, in one of the labs at The Hub no less, so one had to assumed he was good at rubbing elbows with the right people, they said. These whispers were silenced fast however. And you graduated with honours and a reputation and got hand-picked by Agents Coulson himself.

And yet…

Your father scoffed. Why not the Avengers? Whispers might have been that Coulson’s team was the A-team of SHIELD, but half of your accomplishment had surely been built on the fact that half of SHIELD revealed themselves to be actually HYDRA, thus paving your road to the prestigious team by eliminating the competition. The night you shared the news was the first time you cried in years, having been so excited to tell your parents, to prove yourself at last, only to be remade into a disappointment all over again.

But working on Coulson’s team brought you genuine joy and a sense of pride; and in a way, the underground base and the jet felt more like home than your own. You were not blind to the fact that the team was like a dysfunctional family in its own right, somehow still functioning better than your own. Coulson, the father; May, the mother; Daisy, the prodigal daughter, the beloved sister to all. Many nosy protective siblings and aunts and uncles. You weren’t sure how you fit into the picture, but you supposed that in a way, you did. A distant cousin perhaps.

“We protect our own. We protect everyone. We leave no one behind. We have the opportunity to be a part of something bigger and we take it.”

It did feel good to be a part of something bigger.

Then, terrigenesis.

The nightmare of alien genetic engineering crept up on you slowly and then hit you full force, even as your mother was fascinated by it. It was the irony of fate that the exact thing your mother had been researching tore your family ties all together. You and your father both had been in the lab where your mother worked, with her, when the Inhumans misled by Jiaying attacked, throwing terrigenesis crystals everywhere.

Adapt or die, whispered the mist from the broken enriched minerals: but it was up to your genes to make that decision, not up to your will. Your father’s genes weren’t compatible, the mist killing him. When you woke up on a stretcher, your mother dryly informed you of his passing with a hint of accusation in her voice.

And yes. How dared you to survive when he didn’t? It was funny, really, when the answer revealed itself to be written in the genes she had passed on you. You both survived thanks to her; except where your DNA merged seamlessly with the new macromolecules, hers didn’t, not truly. Just enough to let her live, not enough to give her powers – another embodiment of her worst nightmare of averageness, because there was a flaw in her code. It was a strange kind of healing that. Receiving a genetic prove there was a fault in her and not you, as you had been made to believe your whole life.

She cut all ties when it took over two weeks to figure out what your power was.

In the span fourteen days, you had your world turned upside down. Lost both your father and your mother. And while you had questioned at times whether you had actually ever had them, the pain of loss burned so sharp it left no doubt.

Yes, it was true that you never had what the cute girl with elaborate braids and dedicated parents had; but you had still once had a family. Once, you had joined a strange found family as well, if only for a few months.

What could you do but wonder, like many times before, about where did you fit now?

The sudden chill running up your spine had your hair standing on the end, snapping you from your musings, making you realize your cheeks were damp; but your tears mattered little now.

You had good instincts – you had to. One didn’t survive as long as you did in a business as insane and brutal as this without them. And that was how you knew.

Something was off. Something, somewhere, someone.

Your eyes subtly scanned the crowd as you continued walking, unmistakably landing on Sam’s station. The sight would have made you grin, three different kids climbing him as if he was a part of the monkey bars installation again, but something was amiss--- no.

Natasha’s station, right behind Sam’s, her attention on a cute redhead dressed in all black like the spy herself. A figure reaching to the back of his pants under his hoodie blindly, eyes trained on his price.

Your blood ran cold, your heart thundering.

Oh no you don’t.

He was too far from your reach. There was no choice to make. You squinted your eyes and took in as much as you could in the split second; the unforgiving pavement and soft mattresses, a flowerbed of peonies to the right, a group of teenagers to the left. The five feet eight man in jeans and an oversized khaki hoodie, piercing gaze settled on Natasha’s figure ten feet away.

You squeezed your eyes shut, opening them to the barrel of a gun with a whisper of a released breath.

The second-long shock in the man’s face was more than enough of time to grab after his wrist and twist it, gunshot ringing and the bullet whizzing by your leg. It lodged in the firm pavement by your feet instead, your ears echoing the loud noise that turned several heads.

Time seemed to slow down, the blur of faces with mouths open in screams registering faster than the screams themselves.

Your fingers curled around the handle of the gun firmly as you spun your back to the attacker and elbowed him in the face with a satisfying crack, his legs buckling when your foot in tactical boots collided with his knee.

A smudge of crimson and more screams, one pale face shockingly calm in the heart of chaos.

Another shooter.

The gun got knocked out of your hand in the split second you shouted ‘Sam’s three o’clock!’, the punch to your gut almost as powerful as the relief flooding your veins when you caught a glimpse of the suddenly child-free Sam lunging after the other perpetrator.

Even as you doubled over in pain, the man missing your spectre’s past injury by a whim of fortune, years of training drilled into your bones had you kick out and squeeze; your leg closed around the man’s neck, thigh and calf trapping his head, your hips twisting, full weight of your body pulling him down.

The encounter with the concrete was harsh, your abdomen pulled at with sharp pain, but it wasn’t nearly as harsh as for the man finding himself on the ground with his windpipe between your thighs, struggling for a single breath. Before his arms could swing after you, you were releasing him and elbowing him hard in the face again. Knee digging to his gut, you grabbed his arm and used his weight to roll him over, his wrist locked to his shoulder blade with a groan of curses that were not for polite company.

You panted as you straddled his hips, grasping after his other helplessly flapping arm and curling it to his back with notable effort; bastard was still trying to put up a fight, even if an aimless one, relying purely on his advantage in strength. Too bad for him; you had knowledge of physics and anatomy play in your favour.

“Stay down,” you hissed through your teeth, gaze quickly lifting to look for someone with more official power that came with handcuffs.

You didn’t have to wait long – three blue uniforms appeared in your field of vision, one with distinct red and white stripes that had nothing to do with NYPD. Great. This guy.

The mass under your legs moved with vigour, having you automatically turn your attention back; and to twist the man’s arm further.

“Aghhh--- you bitch-“

“Gun,” you pointed out flatly as one of the uniforms approached, a subtle nod in the direction towards where you remembered seeing it last when it had got knocked out of your hand. A pair of handcuffs were passed over, allowing you to ease some of the pressure and rise to your feet as another officer took over your responsibility and hauled the man up. “Thank you, Officer.”

“Agent,” he nodded at you before his attention turned to the Captain, addressing him as well – but Captain Steven Grant Rogers wasn’t looking at him.

Your stomach somersaulted as you met his eye; his lips were set in a firm line, a furrow to his brow, probably due to disappointment in humanity and concern for the civilians. But that wasn’t the reason for your unease – because that much you had expected. What took you aback was the smile briefly passing his lips as he utterly ignored his rank being called and instead kept looking at you – was that a hint of pride on his face?

“Good job, Spectre,” he said firmly. “Thank you.”

You only blinked, lips parting, breaths still quick from the slightly unexpected exercise – but from his words as well. It wasn’t that Steve Rogers never voiced appreciation where it was due, because he did. But a thank you? For doing your job, the literal reason why you were there?

The ‘thanks’ left your lips unwittingly, but your posture straightened with purpose as you finally escaped the trap that his gaze had seemed to set for you.

“Captain,” the officer insisted, Steve’s gaze flickering to the man, his frown returning, most likely at the sight of the bloody mess you had done on the attacker’s face.

You instinctively looked to your right, where a similar scene was taking place only a few feet over with the man’s accomplice, under Natasha’s and Sam’s watchful eye. A smile passed over your lips as well, as small as it was.

She was okay and so was he. Good. It was time to go.

“You’ve got this, Captain Rogers?” you asked, turning back to Steve.

He nodded, slight confusion twisting his face. Cringing internally, you realized it sounded like you doubted he could. Well. You weren’t perfect. What else was new.

“Good.”

Closing your eyes, you snapped back at last, the scene suddenly in a distance.

And as if you snapped your fingers, Rogers’ whole demeanour changed. His head whipped right and left, eyes searching the crowd almost frantically; the distain which you were no stranger to was back in his expression, his lips a thin line. Despite yourself – because it shouldn’t, it shouldn’t matter – you felt the spark of satisfaction and relief at the rescue die out in an instant. Rogers looked angry. Very, very angry, and as his eyes locked on you, he rose to his full height, body turning to you, looking ready to stalk to you and give you a piece of his mind.

You gulped, hand curling into fist on an instinct, nerves firing along with a flare of outrage. Was he angry because you projected in front of all those people? Was he disappointed in the amount of blood you drew in public indeed? But you-

A heavy metallic hand landed on his bicep from the front, stopping him in his tracks.

Rogers’ gaze snapped to his best friend, a deep frown spoiling his handsome face; Bucky’s expression, on the other hand, you couldn’t read, but whatever he said to Rogers had him frown harder.

Yet, he turned back to the officers handling the two perpetrators, having your shoulders sag in relief.

You had already got one scream-down in front of the SHIELD and the AI audience; you’d happily take avoiding hitting replay in front of the general public. You made a mental note to thank Barnes with a t-shirt with a nerdy pun he seemed so fond of wearing for trainings or something.

“Saved by Buckaroo it seems,” a voice hummed nonchalantly behind you, making you literally jump, your wildly pounding heart spasming in your chest in fright.

Your body acted on instinct, ready to neutralize the threat, muscle memory faster recognition – you spun on your heels, a round-house kick in full force aimed at the attacker’s head, fists up and ready to strike.

You hissed as your shin hit metal, the impact vibrating through your tibia as the barely covered bone met Tony’s glove mere inches from his surprised face.

Shit. That was going to bruise like hell.

“Easy, Casper! Was here to make sure your real form doesn’t get blasted while your head’s in the clouds, not to scare you to death,” he quipped, the surprise on his face quickly replaced by a smirk. “Huh. Guess I’m more efficient than Pepper keeps telling me. My job here is done.”

He released your foot, your hands falling to your sides as well, stance easing as you let the familiarity wash over you. Just Tony Stark. Billionaire, former playboy, philanthropist. An easy smirk to his lips, a joke on his tongue and… a faint trace of concern in his eyes.

It was the last emotion you registered that made you pause, realization slowly dawning to you.

He was there to protect you. He was there to keep you safe, because you didn’t have the time think about your own safety with the threat on Natasha and Sam being imminent. Tony was right, even if his truth was waved into a snarky remark; you could have easily been hurt while you were out of your body. Yes, you were used to it and the danger was likely minimal, but you hadn’t even had the time to think that through and do the calculations.

Someone could have taken your gun. Had anyone been interested in that – which, since you weren’t as high-profile of a target here as others, wasn’t all that likely, but still possible – you could have not only been hurt, but technically also killed.

And yet, this understanding didn’t stun you nearly as much as the next one.

Yes, you could have been killed – except that you couldn’t have and you weren’t. No one stood a chance. Because Tony had noticed the situation. He protected you; just like that, with a small curl to his lips, as if it was no biggie.

You were more than bewildered, thoughts whirling in your head over and over in a bizarre loop.

He had quite literally stood by you. He should have gone for Sam and Natasha – they were the real Avengers. They were his friends. They had been in danger, which was the reason why you left yourself vulnerable in the first place. But he went to you, because suddenly, you were the one exposed. He came to protect you.

Blinking and coming back to your senses much slower than an agent should, your gaze zeroed on Tony’s relaxed face with his smirk having blended into more of a smile.

You didn’t have time to examine the kind of Twilight Zone you had entered. Instead, you licked your lips, your words as sincere and unshaken as you managed them.

“Thank you, Tony. Really.”

He shrugged, his smirk making a grand return, even as his eyes remained warm. “No problem, Slimer.”

“Did you just compare me to a green slippery monster?” you blurted out before you could stop yourself, an involuntary grin tugging at your lips.

Tony’s eyebrows shot up before his mask clicked back into place, two shiny slits somehow watching you with similar amusement Tony was capable of.

“Honestly, I’m just shocked you know who Slimer is. What were you, minus fifteen years old when the movie came out?” he trailed off, disappearing to the crowd with several kids already following him, excitedly shouting for autographs.

You allowed yourself a brief moment to grin, a warm feeling – dangerously warm – curling in your chest. Most of Tony’s sympathies for you, when he showed them, probably stemmed from the fact that much like him, you were sometimes in opposition to Steve. But you’d take it. Just because he didn’t mean it in a particularly friendly manner, simply being this way with everyone, you couldn’t say it didn’t feel nice for a few moments to joke around as if you were friends indeed.

You should have known better; you did know better. Thinking like that was dangerous – a different kind of reckless than Captain Rogers had called you out on – but dangerous nevertheless. And yet, your lips stayed in a tiny smile as you shook your head and went to return to patrolling the park.

‘Went to’ with emphasis on never finishing your journey.

“Holy shit! That was so cool!”

You snapped your head to side to the girl’s voice, surprised to find a twelve-year-old – or a ten-year-old, or maybe fourteen, you had never been great at guessing once they got past a certain age – with a backpack on one shoulder looking at you with her mouth hanging open.

The image was so unfathomable you probably mirrored her expression despite your training to maintain a poker face in any situation.

“You can fly?!” she gasped, watching you with eyes so wide you would have worried if she was high had you had the capacity to worry.

“I--- uhm, technically, I can--- I can barely levitate-?” you stuttered, perplexed.

Hadn’t Iron Man, who could fly because he had literally built a suit in a cave just walked past? What was… why was she-

“And you glowed and then you were there kicking ass and then here—holy shit!” Language, your brain unhelpfully echoed, instead of aiding you to make sense of what was happening and to string together a full sentence in response. “I didn’t know any Avenger could do that!”

Was she distracting you? What was in that backpack? The easiest answer was schoolbooks, since The Avengers Day was a bit of a big deal but not enough to spare children a day at school, but what if it wasn’t—oh she was pulling it off her shoulder now. You straightened your posture, not having realized that you eased it and never fully returned to it after your encounter with Tony, fingers twitching towards your gun on instinct, nerves on fire.

Fuck, if they were recruiting children again-- what kind of an evil bastard you have to be to-

She pulled out a well-used notebook with various doodles on its cover, shoving it your way with an almost shy smile, a sharp contrast to her earlier vernacular.

“Can I get an autograph?”

For the second time in the past five minutes, your reaction was nowhere near as sharp and distinguished as an operative’s should be in the face of an unpredictable situation.

Get a damn grip, shouted a voice in the inside of your head, while the other one whispered this was some sort of a trick. How is this a trick?!

You forced a smile to your lips, trying to hide your uncertainty. Just a girlasking for an autograph. You faced aliens before for god’s sake. You had Kree macromolecules in your own damn DNA for crying out loud! You could handle a… fan?

“Sure, but… I don’t have a marker on me, I didn’t expect to--- give autographs,” you admitted, aiming for nonchalance and hopefully only missing by a half and a full mile.

“You kidding?!” the girl whisper-yelled incredulously, leafing through the notebook before shoving it into your hand and diving back into her backpack now sitting on the ground. You tensed briefly again, before she pulled out a black marker, holding it out as she shook her head. “Crazy… sorry, here.”

‘Crazy’ does not cover it, girl, believe me, you thought, wondering what the hell you should do. Should you just sign your name? Should you… write her name first? What was her name?

“Should I… write something like, for you, or…?”

“Yeah! That’s be cool! It’s… Daisy,” she said, slight annoyance creeping into her voice.

Despite your better judgement, one corner of your lips rose higher, this time sincerely.

“That’s real pretty name,” you commented as you wrote it down, earning a shrug.

“If you say so.”

“I have a… friend named Daisy. She’s pretty cool,” you hummed, swallowing against the lump in your throat as you called her a friend. Could you call her that?

“Can she fly or levitate too?” the girl asked, sounding a little snarky – ah. Definitely a teenager then.

Should try to make your name readable or scratchy, as you usually write? Actually, should you write your name or simply Spectre? Probably the latter. She wouldn’t even know your name, poor girl would probably be disappointed later.

You wrote your codename then, replying to her absently.

“I’d say, yeah. She controls vibrations with her hands-“

“You know Quake?!” Daisy cried out, making your gaze snap back to her, her eyes lighting up even more than before.

Despite the bite of jealousy – because of course she would adore Daisy Johnson, the Quake herself, many people did, hell, you admired her too – you had to supress a smile. For a teenager, Daisy was awfully open about her emotion. Cringe was dead to her – she let herself express her excitement freely and unwittingly added herself on the list of people you could admire and envy.

“Yeah, I know Daisy… Quake. She’s pretty great, huh?” you said, closing the marker and notebook at last, handing it to her, watching her put it away and shrug.

“Yeah, I guess… Can’t all be as cool as her, huh?”

The drop of sadness colouring her voice blue had something in your snap. Uh-huh, no. Not today. No unreachable standards for her. Not to mention that Quake’s coolness also came with a lot of crap. This was not happening, not on your watch.

This girl, this Daisy, was open in her emotion still – and it was beautiful. She was beautiful. She was so damn precious that the instinct to protect – the same oh no, you don’t – that had flared up upon seeing the attacker earlier lit up your chest and your brain finally caught up to being a damn grown-up as the girl shrugged her backpack back on.

“Hey… I know you probably hear that all the time, but even though you share a name with her, you can be awesome in a completely different and totally your own way.”

“Yeah, sure. Thanks for the autograph,” she said, a hint of a smile playing in the corner of her mouth. And not thanks for the unsolicited advice, you could practically hear her thoughts screaming. You just became another boring adult.

Well. You might as well do it properly – because this was important. Truly important.

“I just want to say that you really made my day, hell, probably my week, just by asking for an autograph. And by being nice,” you said, as sincerely as you could.

And you meant it – whatever had just happened felt like a fever dream. You had genuinely had no idea what she had wanted when she first addressed you. You had honestly believed it was some kind of a trick, another attack in making, as messed up as that was. She’d deserve an award for not saying whatever after your strange reaction. And another one for not turning on her heel when you realized you sounded like one Captain America a few moments later. Still standing there, listening to whatever crap you had to say to her.

“Sometimes you don’t need to have actual superpowers that can cause an earthquake to move Heavens and Earth. Just being a good person can make real miracles. And don’t let anyone tell you otherwise, okay?”

She watched you with an expression on her face that spoke clearly of just how unconvinced she was by your words – and how she was feeling the infamous teenage cringe now. But hey, you tried. Speaking of which.

“’cause they’re just full of bull,” you added.

Daisy snorted at last, one corner of her lips twitching up a bit, her irises sparkling in amusement and you called that a victory.

“Right. Thanks for the autograph. See ya ‘round.”

“Sure, Daisy. It was nice meeting you,” you replied as she beckoned her chin in a hi and spun on her heels, walking back into the sea of people without looking back, disappearing from your sight.

Shaking your head, wondering whether you actually got hit in the head before Tony got to your actual body to protect it and were now suffering a concussion and hallucinations, you finally stepped out, ready to roam through the park and continue monitoring for potential threats – because that was your purpose here. That was your task. The Avengers had theirs and you and other agents had your own. You were here to serve as a part of the security team managing this event; the Avengers were here to inspire. You were nowhere close to being an Avenger the same Steve, Tony, Natasha or Sam were. You weren’t a symbol.

And yet, it was… nice to feel like you almost could, at least for one person. The feeling was strange, doubts already creeping in, a voice telling you to me much humbler and more realistic, but still. It wasn’t an entirely unpleasant experience, not at entirely awful feeling. You weren’t exaggerating when you told Daisy she made your week.

As your attentive gaze scanned the crowd, tuned to more danger specifically, you overlooked the tall broad figure with his head slightly tilted to side still, as he had been focusing his enhanced hearing to your past conversation. You missed the little smile that curled Steve’s lips upon doing so too, blissfully ignorant of the lecture about self-preservation he had had on his tongue when he had originally made his way to you, but swallowed it in order to let you have your moment.

Reckless or not, you had saved lives today – he couldn’t argue with that. You saved lives of his friends. He wasn’t above being grateful; and he wasn’t entirely blind to the fact that besides reckless, you had also showed again that you were selfless, which appealed to him a lot more.

As he returned to his station, Natasha having dealt with the attackers’ transfer, he was still smiling, anger and worry having evaporated completely.

Next chapter

Series masterlist // S.R. masterlist

Thank you for reading 💕 This was a long one, but you made (me to you AND me)... let me know your thoughts 💕

I hope December had been kind to you 🥰

Sidenote: For those who haven't watched Agents of SHIELD and weren't satisfied with the amount of info in the chapter: The exposure to the Terrigen Mists, or Terrigenesis is a process allowing Earth Inhumans to inhale the Mists obtained from the use of the Terrigen Crystals, in order to activate their Inhuman genes and ascend as meta-humans. (https://marvel.fandom.com/wiki/Terrigenesis) Given the presence of the genes, onyl descendants of certain lineage are able to ascend; they are descendants of humans who were experimented on thousands of years ago by the Kree race visiting Earth and trying to create an army. Those without these genes present in their DNA are killed upon exposure.

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers x you #captain america x reader #captain america x you #captain america imagine #steve rogers #captain america #inhuman reader #shield agent reader #back and forth #anika ann

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