#'why do they call her the bullet dodger?'

[thatwritterbeach]

So about that alley .6

Jason Todd x ofc Alex

dc masterlist

Unedited***Also I swear Tumblr is messing up my spelling on purpose cuz everytime I re-read something I know I fixed it's wrong again

Alex: short, curvy, red hair, green eyes, redheads go through pain meds way faster than normal people to the point I personally don't even take them, it's a joke, they last 30 min at best

Summary: Alex finds out her bf is red hood, after she spills some not so great secrets to the masked man while stitching him up.

Warnings: Vaginismus* angst, sexual assault, self-harm, depression, drug use by Alex, violence, cursing, NSFW, self-hate, insecurities, eating disorder, weight loss

A/N: I do not own dc booho

Jason was covered in blood that wasn't his when he stumbled into one of his safe houses. His knuckles were shredded even through the gloves, not a bullet left on him. Crime alley was going to get a new name after tonight, somewhere along the lines of 'red alley' and not because of his own name, more the walls were now a bit...well, red. he managed to get out before the bats showed up but he knew he wasn't getting away with what he'd done. Nobody, even the low levels, were spared from his cleansing wrath. Drug dealers, pimps, freaking tax dodgers if there had been any. With the adrenaline slowing down his entire body was starting to ache and he all but crawled into the small bathroom to clean himself up. The stiffness in his joints was nothing to the ache in his chest. He'd hurt her, he'd made her bleed and she didn't even care. Willingly allowing him to hurt her because she thought...fuck she thought he would leave her, her, the only good thing in his fucked up life. Dick had texted him to say she wasn't doing well, she hadn't said but a few words and had spent the entire night starring blankly at the wall until she fell asleep. Dick also said she went to the bathroom just before she managed to crash and he had a feeling she'd taken something but he searched the entire place once she was out and hadn't found anything, not even the morphine Jason knew to be there. He'd taught her too damn well.

He couldn't face her, not yet, not after what he'd done, and certainly not littered with bruises she would question. His phone was ringing off the counter of the sink, Dick's contact and all the others taking turns lighting up the screen but he reached down to mute it. Then sunk to the shower floor and let the too hot water pelt down on him.

When the water ran cold he didn't bother too dry off just struggled into a pair of sweats and a hoodie. Passing his phone on the floor he stopped when he saw her name, well her name in his phone, which was gift from above, her doing, but he left it, a smile forcing it's way on his face. With a bone deep sigh he picked up the device clicking accept and holding it to his ear.

"Hey, sweetheart-"

"I'm sorry," Dick's voice said through the line.

"Sorry, for what where is she!"

"She's still asleep, but you wouldn't answer anyone's calls. What the fuck did you do Jason," he hissed in a whisper.

"They had it coming."

"Really, the-"

"Yes, and fuck you for using her phone." He hung up.

Like hell he was leaving you with Dick any longer, bastard might take you to the manner in some twisted punishment for the killings. Kidnapping his own girlfriend was against even his code but he needed to get her to a safe house and anyway from his crazy family just for a few days. After he slept, his feet were moving to slow to shift his bike so he crashed on the twin bed in the corner and set an alarm for 3 hours.

Alex woke with drool coating the couch cushion and her eyes practically glued shut.

"Hey sunshine," Dick said with far too much enthusiasm blocking her view with a steaming mug of...tea, who the fuck makes someone tea when they wake up.

"The hell?"

"You've been out for 12 hours I call that rested."

"Wha?"

"Yeah, and you snore really loud." He was stalling, rambling even, why? Forcing both eyes open and using her arms to hold herself up, joints cracking far too much for her age, she took in her suroundings.

"This isn't my couch."

"No, it's not," he confirmed sitting the mug on his coffee table and rubbing the back of his neck with nerves.

"The fuck's couch em'my on?"

"Uh, mine," he chuckled.

"Why, where's Jay." Gosh her joints were stiff, last time she uses her prescription sleeping pills.

"He's at one of his safe houses...I think."

"You think? why the hell am I here, you have two seconds."

"Jason...got a bit out of hand last night in crime alley."

"You sick fuck. You kidnapped me, what? So he would become even more of a rage machine. Do you have any idea- you know what, fuck you, Dick." Forcing her limbs to move she stood on shaky legs and headed to the door snagging a pair of his slippers and nearly making it before he spun and pinned her to the door.

"You wanna lose that hand," she seethed, nothing but hatred in her eyes. He didn't back down but did back up knowing damn well his 'brother' would beat him half to death for making her uncomfortable.

"Look, it wasn't my idea."

"I. could. not. care. less," she said slowly, like he was deaf, blind, and dumb.

"I still can't let you leave."

"Then he'll come here."

"He has no idea where we are, and neither do you."

She snorted out a half laugh, but it turned into a full blown laughing fit, shoving him away so she could go to his kitchen. Still laughing when she raided his fridge.

"I'm fucking chipped like a dog, you dumbass."

"What!"

"You think, the hood, my beloved, with all his enemies, who has regular nightmares of my death would let me out of the house without some kind of tracking. He was cool with a small bug, it was my idea to get an under the skin one, harder to rip off ya know." She was loading his precious bacon into a pan, intent on eating every piece to spite him when the door busted in behind him.

"Hey, babe, sleep well?"

"What the hell, Todd, it wasn't locked!"

"Huh, my bad," he tisked not lowering his gun from Dick's chest.

"You're not gonna shoot him, but I won't stop you from marking his pretty face," Alex said with disinterest flipping the bacon.

"I can't believe you have a tracker-actually yes I can," Dick said, hands raised in surrender.

"The only reason I'm not shooting you in the kneecap-"

"Is for her, ya, I get it," He conceded leaving the room with his hands still raised mumbling something about bacon on his way out.

"Are you hurt?"

"Dude, chill, I'm eating all his bacon that's more than enough pay back."

"Soo."

"Soooo." She handed him a plate of bacon which he was quick to eat so they could leave, grabbing her hand and giving her no choice but to follow.

"Jason Peter Todd, if you think for one second my toes are touches the giant needle floor that is Gotham-"

"Up," he replied with an eye roll crouching down in front of her. With a huff she complied wrapping herself around him so he could carry her too his bike.

"I'm too heavy for this you know."

"You dropped 15 pounds, I know because you forgot to clear the scale, and so help me God I will force feed every pound back on to you," he ground out dropping her on the seat none too gently.

"Like hell."

He knew if he opened his mouth nothing good would come out so he clamped his lips shut and swung onto the bike behind her making sure her legs were over his so they wouldn't get burned. (you'll only do it once that fucker is hotter than you think)

The ride back was nerve racking and her hands shook where they gripped the tank, she'd only been on the back of the bike where she could keep her face against his back and not have to look. He'd given her his helmet, his spare was at her place, much to her protest but he didn't give a damn about cracking his own skull open she knew and even while she'd been shaking her head he had popped it on her. Thankful he had to carry her again, because her legs were shaking she waited for him to pop the kickstand and fling her over his shoulder the helmet still in place and bouncing off his back.

"Hey," she shouted with a weak smack to his ass. Of course, he smacked hers back, at least twice as hard.

"This isn't my place?"

"Nope, safe house, those dumb ass' will try to nab you again so you're staying here for a while."

"I think the fuck not." But she the fuck would, and they both knew it so he remained silent as he flopped her down on the couch then took the helmet from her after she'd removed it, her hair less than stellar.

"Got any clothes here?"

"Yep."

"Wanna tell me where," she sighed growing impatient with him.

"Nope," he clipped kicking off his boots and double checking security.

"Fine," she replied standing to strip, not giving a crap when she stood, hands on her hips, full nude in front of him. Even the stoic as a statue Jason was distracted, eyes drinking her in before his upstairs brain reminded him he hurt her. With a pained groan he turned away and put a hand over his eyes.

"What's the matter Red thought you wanted me to gain weight?"

"I don't care what you weigh if you're happy, this," he gestured vaguely to her,' is just as sexy as you were before, if I knew you were happy. I like you before, loved your hips that I could get a hold of, those fucking tits, which I can see were the first to go-"

"Always the way," she said with an eye roll.

"And those thigh," he practically whined.

"I didn't know you-"

"What? Thought you were the sexiest thing to grace this planet. I'm sorry, so sorry I didn't make sure you knew, I'll shout it from the rooftops every night now."

"I'm sorry I lied."

"Or sorry you got caught?"

"Maybe both? I am sorry Jay, I know how you feel about hurting people, and I never should have let you-"

"Make you fucking bleed."

"Mostly I'm sorry I'm broken. Too damn broken."

"Please, pot meet kettle."

"I know, and I know you went through so much worse, that's why I didn't tell you, you have so much shit on you shoulders already, I couldn't add to that. You deserve the world, you deserve a girlfriend you can sleep with not some-"

"Don't you dare. Don't you dare act like your trauma makes you less than. Certainly not for the sake of sex, if I thought it would make you feel better I'd cut my own dick off. I never needed the sex, never will. I want you, just you."

"Maybe I want it. It happened so long ago, before I even," she paused to grab him and shove him back on the couch so she could straddle his thigh and hold his face in her hands," Jay I was...bad touched, before I even knew what sex was. I hadn't touched myself in that way. I've never...never been able to- I just wanted to be normal, I wanted a regular loss of virginity is some punks back seat in the middle of nowhere. I want to be able to use my own fucking fingers without feeling like I'm being torn apart. I needed that, Jay, and I'm so sorry I went about it the way I did, but I'd do it again, I will drug myself for the rest of our lives to have sex with you."

"No," he whispered his own hands reaching up to swipe away her tears.

"Jay-"

"No, I won't let you. If it's touch you want we can find another way, I'll buy you every style vibrator the world has to offer. I'll eat you out, you can ride my thigh, whatever you need but I will never hurt you again."

"That's not fair to you. I can't-I mean I don't like- *sigh* Jay I can't get you off, it makes me...unsettled," she said so low he almost didn't hear while she looked away in shame.

"I have two working hands."

"That's not fair-"

"I don't give a damn about fair. If you need to get off I'll get you off and honestly knowing you're enjoying it with be far more rewarding-"

"Don't say that. I want to be able to touch you. I should be able to touch you my stupid fucking brain-" She'd moved her arms to dig her nails into her wrist but stopped speaking when he took both her hands in his and brought them to him lips.

"Do you enjoy cooking for me?"

"That's not the same."

"You're right, it takes longer, and food is more important than sex. Do you help get the blood out of my clothes without complaint."

"Of course but-"

"Do you put on my favorite show when we hangout even though I know you hate it?"

"Jay-"

"Do you stay up late to make sure I get in safe and take care of my wounds when I know you can't keep your eyes open. When I broke my arm didn't you do everything for me, took time off work and helped me bathe, fed me, helped me get dressed?"

"While you whined like a baby."

"Point is sweetheart, sugar pie, love of my life. This sex thing is-me doing my job as your boyfriend and making you feel good is nothing compared to what you do for me everyday all day. Even before you knew what I was and what I did, you've always been everything to me, do everything for me. So please for once in you life with you shut those pretty lips up, unless they're screaming my name, and let me take care of you."

"I've never had anyone..."

"What? Eat you out?"

"Yeah."

"Then I'd be honored if you let me be the first. Just a warning I might never let you leave."

"Can I think about it?"

"Sweetheart, honey bunch, you can take all the time in the world. But we do need to talk about these," he said softly, tapping her stomach where the scars were make-up free.

"I'm careful," she said like that made it okay.

"Baby-"

"You go out every night to beat the crap out of people and I do this to let off steam."

"That's not the same and you're trying to redirect."

"I can't stop," she said letting her head fall to his chest.

"I'm not asking you to," he replied circling his arms around her to bring her in closer.

"The morphine, I can stop. Unless I get a migraine, promise, you can even keep my stash."

"I trust you, I don't trust me."

"Were you?"

"When I came back from the dead, I got a bit lost. Then this pretty little thing all but forced her way into my heart and I realized she was the best drug a man could ask for."

"We're all kinds of fucked up."

"Couldn't agree more."

8-24-24 see masterlist for more

[ladylilah]

hoppingseason​:

"You did his laundry?!” Colin scoffed, his expression one of complete bewilderment. “Oh, he’s going to pay for that. It’s not right for a lady to clean a man’s undergarments, even if it’s his own mother.” Those were Colin’s own steadfast rules, though he couldn’t deny that Molt had often taken care of household chores when they were younger. “I’ve seen worse. Scamp won’t fit in well among his peers if he keeps relying on his mother for laundry. Lilah, you really need to let go. It’s for his own good.” The intricacies of male hierarchy within the Mafia were difficult to explain, as it was a realm where friendly competition thrived. Well, ‘friendly’ might be stretching it, considering Colin himself had pulled the trigger against his own Mafia boss, earning his current position. However, Scamp received special treatment due to his last name, but Hopper could only do so much. Scamp had to establish his own reputation, or one day, his former ally, whom he once called a brother, might betray him with a bullet in the back – a common occurrence in the cutthroat world of the Mafia, where fear dictated survival.

“And I always win,” he confidently added. Hopper was a man of few words, but his intelligence made him unbearably arrogant. He operated above and beyond the law, and anyone who dared to question his power would find themselves six feet under before the next day dawned. Opening the car door for Lilah, he settled himself behind the wheel, and in silence, they drove towards a restaurant they had visited in the past. Breaking the silence, he finally spoke. “Tell me, Lilah, why are you involved with Atta? What are you doing this for?” He sought to understand her motives for entering his affairs.

.

While it was slightly ridiculous that she was doing her son’s laundry at his big age and she could admit that, Lilah hardly thought it would garner this much of a reaction out of Colin. It was somewhat amusing, even if she knew he was indeed serious about everything he said. “It’s only while he’s staying here and it’s more for my peace of mind than anything else. Otherwise I run the risk of my house being wrecked with laundry from how many kids I’ve had running in and out of it lately. Though I do fear I may have started something with Dom. He’s been bringing laundry from their own apartment as well.” And that may be a bit much, she knows, but it was simply in her nature to take care of those she cared about in any way she could. And Dodger was like a second son to her - and with everything he’d been doing, staying over whenever Scamp couldn’t or even just crashing when they both were around, how could she refuse him?

As they drove, the route was one that was all too familiar to her and Lilah couldn’t help the small smile as she realized she knew exactly where they were likely going. However, that smile faltered ever so slightly at his question. It wasn’t one she was expecting, considering she had made her reasons known when she had first come to him about wanting to help Atta, but she supposed it was indeed a valid concern to have since this potential marriage was a part of his business arrangements. “To help her,” she answered simply, no further explanation really needed beyond that. But she knows if she left it just there Colin would just ask her why or how she was helping in the first place. “When I tried to encourage her at that brunch regarding the quickness of her wedding arrangements, I saw her dread. She was screaming inside for all of it to stop. It – she reminded me of myself. And I know Myles isn’t anything like Tristan and it’s completely different. But I wouldn’t wish anyone to have to marry someone they don’t love if it’s not what they wanted.” Pausing for a moment, she looks over at him in the driver’s seat to see how he may be reacting to her response. “If she didn’t love him but was still willing to marry him on her own accord, that would be one thing. But this isn’t what she wants.”

[scumtrout]

Relationship status: sometimes I refer to myself as ‘Boris the bullet dodger’.

[girlbloggerjqy]

Renewed Family: Prologue

Jasmine woke up to a call from a call from her dad. Jasmine was feeling refreshed despite losing her grandmother a few days ago. She had a day off the Nala and was enjoying time alone. She grinned as she saw it was her dad calling. 

“Hi Dad.”

“Hey bird.” Ron replied uneasy.

“Papa what’s wrong.”

“ You know your Auntie Brianna.”

“Oh yeah have you talked to her.”

Jasmine had an aunt they never talked about that much. She got pregnant at an early age and ran away because of the shame. She raised her 2 daughters, Brianna Jr and Elena in Inglewood. 

“Jasmine she passed away.”

Jasmine paused a moment. 

“She did? How? What about the girl-“

“Honey that’s what I’m concerned about. I know you will be going to LA for your show but do you think you can watch them. I’m too old to head out there right now. Brianna wasn’t close to the family but the girls need someone because it’s just them.”

“Dad I don’t go out for another few weeks and I have other things I’m not sure. I’m sure I can have someone else come out.”

“Sweetie it’s okay just send someone out. I need an adult to make sure they are feed and safe at the least. Brianna’s 16 but Elena’s only 11. Besides, LA isn’t the safest area for young girls to be alone.” Ron sighed. “Can you ask Daveed and Emmy?”

Jasmine thought about it. Daveed is in Oakland so it wouldn’t work.

“Dad let me call you back I’ll call Daveed and ask.”

“Okay thanks.” Jasmine hung up.

She took a minute and look up Brianna’s instagram. She followed her but they didn’t talk much. She saw some pictures. She was a pretty girl. She was standing in front of a fruit stand wearing a white bandana top that contrasted beautifully with her brown skin and curly hair. With her hands in the pockets of her baggy jeans, she posted with a stoic smile traced with brown liner. Next to her, her little sister smiled bubbly. She wore an embroidered sundress with an LA Dodgers cap on top of her long black hair. Jasmine sighed know how vulnerable the girls were at this moment in time. She dialed Daveed’s number. 

“Hello?” Daveed answered.

“ Daveed tell me when you’re going back to LA?”

Daveed laughed. “ Girl we aren’t filming for another month what’s the rush?”

“ look there’s a family emergency and I have some cousins in Inglewood and the mom just died. They’re young and I was wondering if you or Emmy could check in on them.” Jasmine explained.

“Uh.. I won’t be down there for another few weeks. is there anything else I could do?” 

Jasmine thought. “ wait, do you know if anyone we know is in LA?”

“ Uhhh..” Daveed hesitated.

“ just fucking spit it out I don’t have time for this.”

Jasmine rolled her eyes.

“ I don’t know if this helps but I know Anthony is out there for a bit. Otherwise there is no one else we both know.” 

Jasmine’s stomach churned.

“ You know none of us can really get down there so I might actually hit him up. I mean it’s still a little awkward and I’m still hurt but these girls come first.”

Daveed laughed. “ do you want me to ask him for you?”

“Nah it’s okay it’s my emergency anyway.”

“Alright homie I hope it works out.” Daveed said.

“Me too.”

They hung up and Jasmine decided to bite the bullet. She dialed Anthony’s number. The first time he hung up.

“Fuck.”

She dialed him 2 more times until he answered.

“Third times the charm!” She responded.

“ Yeah?” Anthony replied.

“Don’t “yeah” me you cunt.”

Anthony sighed nervously. “I’m sorry, is everything alright?”

“ look I’m still mad at you but I need a favor. Did you tell me you’re in LA and I have some cousins who need help.”

“ Um okay why?”

“ I think I mentioned to you my aunt Brianna. She’s not very close with her family but she has two daughters Brianna and Elena. she passed away and the girls are by themselves. My family can’t get out to LA very soon because of work so I was wondering if you could check in on them for the next few days.”

Anthony thought about it. He knew how important family was to the both of them. 

“ yeah have a photo shoot but I can stay out here a little longer. Do you have their contact info or an address or something?”

“ I can text it to you I was gonna talk to my dad.”

Jasmine realized she has to explain this to her dad. it wasn’t the most ideal but the girls need someone. Although Anthony made a big mistake, he was a natural people person and he could help him out.

Anthony replied, “Alright text me then.” He hung up.

Jasmine texted her dad her plan. Her dad agreed that due to the circumstances it wasn’t the worst idea to have Anthony help. Jasmine forwarded the girl’s number and addresses to her ex.

AN: I did not spell check oop-. This isnt a serious book

[capsiclecevans]

homesickness

Warnings: homesickness mention and mention of the global pandemic and lockdowns 

Summary: request from an anon: ‘You and Chris have been dating for a year, but you live in a different state, so you bite the bullet and leave your job and family and move to Boston.  You start to get homesick with the holidays coming up, and you feel nothing in the home you now share is yours.  Chris noticed that you are acting different, so you tell him through sobbing tears how sad you are.  Maybe he even lets you get a cat?’ 

Word Count: 1,244

Pairing: Chris Evans x Reader

⭐︎ ashleigh’s masterlist ⭐︎ | ☾ ashleigh’s taglist ☽

a/n: this request has been sat in my inbox for so long, i’m so sorry how long it has taken me to get it up, basically writer’s block is a bitch when it comes to drabbles and i wanted to get started on my ransom multi-chapter, but it is up now! hope you like it! 🥺☺️

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

Christmas. Your favourite time of the year, usually. This year was a little different though, this year you weren’t going to be spending it with your family. You had bit the bullet and moved across the country to be with your boyfriend. Chris. Chris and his dog, Dodger. You had left your entire life behind, family, friends, your job. When you first moved in it was the best decision you had ever made, you were able to spend every day and night with your favourite person, your boyfriend. But as the months passed and the global pandemic raging as the festive season drew closer, you couldn’t help but feel more alone than you ever have before in your life. You wouldn’t be able to go home, with Chris in tow, to see your family for the week after Christmas, and they wouldn’t be able to come to you either. It had brought your spirits right down, especially with the year that has just happened, you didn’t know how to feel, or even tell Chris. 

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

You frown a little as you look round the decorated living room quietly, pulling the blanket closer to you to get rid of the chill that you was feeling creeping in, not because of how cold it was in Boston but it was this chill was because of how quiet it was round the house. Chris had popped out to do some last minute Christmas shopping and left you with Dodger as company. 

Usually a few days before Christmas your family would all converge at your parent’s house for the holidays, laughter and noise would fill the house. 

But this isn’t a normal year. Or a normal Christmas. 2020 sucked. The whole pandemic fucking sucked. You missed your whole family and you haven’t been able to see them since you moved to Boston to live with Chris. 

Tears fill your eyes as you look at the bookshelf, trying to make out your things but you couldn’t. The house that you now share with Chris didn’t feel homely to you. It was too big, too quiet and you knew that it would break Chris’ heart if you told him how you actually feel. 

Dodger rests his head on your knee, knowing that you were upset, trying to comfort you before Chris came home. You smile a little and pet his head quietly. 

“I’m sorry Dodge…I just feel so lonely…” You whisper to the pup, unbeknownst to you that Chris has just arrived home and could hear you from the doorway. 

He frowns to himself as he watches you, noticing the tears that have stained your cheeks and sets the shopping bags down. “Why didn’t you tell me?” He asks softly, not wanting to startle you too much. 

You jump and turn to him before shaking your head, looking back down at Dodger who was yet to go and greet Chris. “It’s not a big deal…” 

Chris sits next to you and pulls you into his arms, rubbing your back slowly. “It is a big deal, I want you to feel at home here, I know it was tough for you to leave your entire life behind for me…” 

You sob gently and nods slowly before burying your face into his cable knit sweater, his scent overwhelming your scenes as you can’t help but let the tears fall. “I just, I miss them so much, even though we now share this house, it doesn’t feel like home. I don’t think it helped with the pandemic and that we are unable to really see anyone else…but it has been really hard on my mental health Chris…” 

You feel him press a soft kiss into your hair, something that has always calmed you down when you were upset. But, instead of calming you down, it made you feel worse, guilty that you were feeling like this when it should be the most joyous time of the year. Add the fact that it would be the first Christmas you and Chris spend together in your own house, not either of your parent’s houses. You should be making new memories and new traditions, not crying over something so small. 

“Here’s what we are going to do tonight…” Chris whispers to you, rubbing your back in soothing circles, kissing your temple to ensure that you are listening to him. “I am going to run us a bubble bath and then we are going to get into our pyjamas and then, we are going to FaceTime your parents, have a catch up with them, then we will watch a movie with some hot chocolate and cookies…” 

You can’t help but smile a little at Chris’ plans for you both and his willingness to FaceTime your parents for you. But the feeling of being lonely still lingers even though Chris has been able to cheer you up a little. 

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

A few days after you told Chris how you really felt and that you were lonely and homesick, he arrived home early from his meetings. Dodger goes to greet him excitedly as you follow Dodger, smiling at him a little. Chris could see that even though you had told him what was wrong it would take some time for you to be back to your normal self again. 

“You’re home early…” You say a little confused as you stop by the kitchen doorway, watching Chris a little confused. You notice that he is holding a small bundle in his arms as he tries to unzip his jacket with one arm and with Dodger jump up at him. “Dodge, come on, let Daddy come in properly…” You tell the pup and he sulks off to his bed quietly, head down and tail limp. 

“I am, and I have an early Christmas present for you…” He says and walks over to you, placing the small bundle of fur in your arms carefully, trying not to startle the small ginger furred kitten he was holding. 

You gasp and looks at the kitten in shock before tearing up, holding her close to your chest as she nuzzles into your warmth. “Chris…” You mumble and a genuine smile gracing your lips for the first time in a long time. “She is gorgeous…” 

“I remember you told me that you used to have a cat when you were younger, so I thought…I have Dodger as my companion and you could have this little one as yours…” He explains and sets the bag of the kitten’s belongings down so he can start putting them in the right places with Dodger’s equivalents. 

You watch Chris a little overwhelmed before leaning down to kiss your kitten’s fur as she purrs up at you. “Welcome to the family little one, I think I am going to call you Ginger, to match your fur…” You say softly and smiles as she looks up at you curiously with her large eyes. 

Chris smiles as he watches you, biting his lip as he knows that getting you a kitten wasn’t the complete solution to curb your loneliness and crush it, but it was a start and he couldn’t wait till the pandemic would lighten up so he could fly your entire family out here for you. To make you smile. Because that is all Chris ever wanted, to see you smile and know that he has done everything he could to make you happy. 

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

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[dragons-ire]

#15 - Thunderous

Heavy is good. Heavy is reliable. If it doesn't work you can always hit them with it. -Boris the Bullet Dodger, Snatch.

Music

Reference/Continuation from Here.

The Garlean artillery thundered outside the dug-in encampment at haphazard intervals, day in and day out. The rains washed mud into everything. Every crevice of armor and bit of gear that wasn't well-stowed oozing with it. Whenever he was out of this contract, he knew he'd be washing it off for weeks.

At least he had the luxury of this not lasting.

He was hunched over a crate reading a fragment of report over a muddy and rough-scrawled map when a crack of gunfire of thunder pierced the air. A second later, a massive furred hand slammed down a brown bottle half full of the rajika they passed around in the trench when there was nothing else to do.

Artemi Amarya was grinning when he looked up. The Hrothgar always seemed to be grinning - though it might have been the deep scar curving up one side of his mouth. He draped a long row of packed ammunition over the map a moment later.

"Try again?" He asked, with a tone that always seemed somehow pleased.

"You know last time we tried this it took out half the trench wall back there."

"Yes, but Garleans with it. So good." The bottle got nudged in Breandan's directon. He reluctantly picked it up to take a swig.

The strong alcohol tasted like sour plums with the aftertaste of tank fuel. Maybe part of it was tank fuel. 

Who knew if plums even grew in Bozja anymore.

The bottle passed back and forth more times than seemed possible with the amount of liquid that had been there to start with. Maybe the tall Roegadyn woman Artemi had clapped on the shoulder had brought another one when she came back to chat, swap little bits of stories that Breandan listened to while they drank.

Until he had to brace one hand on the side of the crate for support as he listed forward.

"..try again?" Artemi's voice came drifting in through the haze.

Breandan looked up, and looked down. Dimly, he thought about Xiaohu and her papers, all laid out on the table in his office.

"Sure. Anyone seen my lance?"

"No need for lance."

"..I told you, Artemi, I'm not a damn gunbreaker"

"Then...why come with gunblade?"

The Hrothgar was still smiling when Breandan looked up, but there was a prickle of something in his gaze that had started when he'd glimpsed the grip of the weapon somewhere in the elezen's gear. Hadn't pressed when there wasn't a great explanation of why or how, but let it roll.

Breandan looked to his left and saw the Roegadyn was sitting so that he couldn't get up and walk away without pushing his way out, so he looked back down at the table. Nudged the bottle aside. Focused on the ammunition.

The rough tap of one claw on his temple broke his concentration.

"Not here." Artemi cautioned. Tapped his sternum. "From here. And from..."

"Okay, I get it, give me a moment." Breandan swatted the low-wandering demonstration, then folded his arms to settle.

He had very little head or sense for aether (..anymore? Had he once? Had he ever?), but if he closed his eyes, he could almost see it. Rent in him like a levinbolt, his own natural volatility smoldering in the core of him like always. His potential honed to pierce dragonhide, that could tear through machina like wet paper, burn hotter than gunpowder.

Dragon Within, they called it. The fury in him that never quite left, wound him tight with tension he couldn't quite ever shake. A thousand years of it with nowhere to go.

He took a moment to think about what it might look like fired out of a revolver barrel instead. What it might do on impact. What he did, whenever he impacted against something.

And he clumsily pulled one bullet from the holster to hold up close enough to breathe on.

@sea-wolf-coast-to-coast

[softbiker]

Steve Rogers One Shot

Warnings: language, no editing

Word count: 5.1k (I have no excuses for this, I don’t know what happened)

Summary: Things get a little warm on a mission downtown. 

A/N: Another piece in the Agent 14 series! If you’re not familiar, I suggest checking out the masterlist first so you’ve got a background on my girl’s prior association to a particular star-spangled man ;) As always, let me know what you think!

There are certain hours of the morning that Bucky would happily never see. 

4:30 a.m. he could absolutely do without. 

Bleary-eyed, stiff, tasting his own stale breath, he rubs at his prickled cheeks as he yawns. Why the hell did he agree to do this? He should be back in bed - he’d give his bottom dollar to be in his cozy little blanket nest right about now…he’d had to leave 28’s apartment so damn early to get back to the tower in time to grab his running clothes. To his own nose, he still smelled of sex and her bedsheets; but with a change of clothes and his hair tucked under his vintage Dodgers cap, he hoped no one would notice. Just to be safe he had splashed a few drops of cologne on his shirt and his pulse - he knew Steve’s nose was sensitive enough to pick up on the scent. Too much of a risk. 

The elevator chimes brightly and opens to reveal the man of the hour - the man of this hour, who loves that pre-dawn dewy sweetness that even city air can have, before the whole machine of it hums to life. Even Steve seems a little sleepy, ruddy flush in his pale cheeks, his normally neat beard looking unkempt. The length of his hair is swept beneath his own hat, a red one bearing the NASA logo, and he’s managed to fit all of his muscled mass into the straining seams of a Nike running shirt. Jesus but he looked like some kind of ad for protein powders, one that would have gym rats scrambling - or better yet, a poster to get elementary school kids to drink their milk. 

“Mornin’ Buck,” Steve smiles, rolling his shoulders and stretching a little. “You ready?” 

Bucky merely grunts in assent and shuffles into the elevator, little box stuffed to capacity with the width of their shoulders. 

“Down a floor, please, F.R.I.D.A.Y.,” Steve requests. He is unfailingly courteous to the AI, even when Tony’s not around. Bucky can relate. Their old-fashioned manners are hard to shake, even with both feet firm in the 21st century. “We’re picking up Sam, too.” 

“Ugh,” Bucky rolls his eyes. “I thought we were going for a run this morning; bring Sam and we might as well just power-walk around the mall like old people.”

“Buck, we are old people.” 

“Speak for yourself,” Bucky yawns again, his breath leaving a puff of fog on his metal hand as he half-heartedly covers his mouth. “Took a quiz on WebMD - my biological age is only 28.” 

Steve doesn’t respond - he refuses to dignify Bucky’s weird internet expeditions. Too curious for his own good, he often falls down these virtual rabbit holes, only resurfacing hours later, red-eyed and chap-lipped, uncharacteristically babbling in a twitchy-fingered frenzy about moon-landing conspiracies or the assassination of Archduke Ferdinand. It always takes him a little while, a few good-natured jabs from the team, before he comes back to his normal self. The only person who’s ever been really interested in his crackpot ravings is the Parker kid - but Peter doesn’t come around too often, prioritizing his schoolwork, and even then, Steve is almost certain he’s enabling Bucky’s bad habits more than anything. 

Like Bucky, Sam is waiting in front of the elevator, dressed in his running shorts and favorite purple t-shirt. He squints, puffy-eyed and pouting, at the offensively harsh light coming from the open elevator doors, hitting him full in the face. 

“You old farts really like to get up early, huh?” he grumbles, shuffling between them in the already cramped elevator. “Some of us still need our beauty sleep.” 

“Yeah, it looks like you haven’t been getting any,” Bucky says drily, leaning one hip against the wall. 

“Mm, cause I’m too busy gettin’ some-”

“Sam,” Steve interrupts, sounding every inch the exasperated father. He pinches the bridge of his nose. 

“What?” Sam raises his hands in defense. “All I’m saying is, Tin Man can talk about his beauty rest while he goes to bed alone - that’s fine with me. Only way he’s getting dates is under threat of force.” 

It’s fleeting, almost shy, that quirk in the corner of Bucky’s lips; he tucks it away just as quickly, turning his face towards the floor and tugging his cap down a little further. The shadow of the bill covers his eyes from Steve’s gaze, but he still aims a frown at Sam over Bucky’s head. 

“Can you two at least try to get along?” he sighs, fighting to keep his own face neutral, stern, in spite of the hours of entertainment he gets watching his friends pretend they wouldn’t take a bullet for each other. 

“Hey, he started it,” Sam protests on his way out of the elevator, skipping his feet to stay ahead of Bucky’s last ditch attempt to trip him. 

Oy vey, Steve thinks, but he just rolls his eyes and follows them, a half-beat behind and listening to their muttered jabs traded back and forth as they make their way down the front steps and out of the building into the crisp New York morning. 

A blanket of humidity holds the air close, promising a beautiful morning and a sweltering afternoon. In the pre-dawn hush, they stretch and warm up their muscles, Sam a little more intensely than the other two, as the only one in any real danger of hurting himself. He props one hand against a bench and swings one leg a few times, then the other, loosening his hamstrings. They’re a little quieter now, the close, quiet dark dampening their voices, though New York would protest their reverence for its show of sleep - even now, the headlights streak past them along the streets, buildings twinkling high into the skyline, crowding out the stars. Some jumping jacks, high knees - Sam is more careful of his tight hip these days - and then they’re off. 

Despite some historical evidence to the contrary, most of which Bucky holds hostage, Steve Rogers isn’t a complete asshole. Which is why he always lets Sam set the pace when they run together - otherwise they wouldn’t be running together. Bucky complains, but Steve knows it’s just for show; Buck doesn’t really care about running (“Why do I need to run when no one’s shooting at me, Steve?”), so he’s not too pressed about going slow. 

Falling into step, filling the width of the sidewalk, they make their way up to Central Park. If asked, Steve would say that he hates living in Manhattan - that his suite at the tower was opulent to the point of being oppressive, that he’d take his old one-room place in the Heights with Bucky over this near-embarrassing level of excess. But there is something to it, the glitter and chrome, the thrumming pulse of the city right at his fingertips, right there in the middle of it all, that he could never quite give up. 

They take their time, keeping pace with Sam, on their first lap around the park; there are a few other runners out in the park at this hour, taking advantage of the lack of traffic and milling tourists to get in a few good miles. Some nod or lift their fingers as they pass, certainly recognizing their local celebrities, but no one stops, no one stares. Avengers are a common enough sight in this part of town; Steve can only speak for himself, but he certainly doesn’t mind the lack of attention. 

On their second lap, the first hint of a glowing gradient lighting up the sky, Steve glances over at Bucky; neither of them are sweating - not even breathing hard. Sam on the other hand, while still managing a conversation, has beads of sweat forming on his forehead, a dark stain forming on the front of his shirt. Both Steve and Bucky can hear the extra beats of his heart, pounding a more fragile rhythm than their own steady beat; his lungs strain a little harder. Looking at Steve, Bucky cocks a silent eyebrow, darts his eyes to Sam and back again. Steve shrugs back, willing to let him make the call. 

Suddenly, with practiced precision, they dart around Sam on either side and pull ahead, gaining ground and speed with every stride. With a final cry of “Assholes!” fading behind them, they leave Sam in the dust, stretching out their enhanced legs - wild horses set loose, they gallop in a blinding and furious pace, the bill of Steve’s cap flying up and nearly leaving his head before he grips it and tugs it down tighter against his skull. The trees streak past, glimpses of city lights blurred between, as they top out their speed, dodging bewildered joggers and dog walkers perilously found in their path. 

It takes a moment for Steve to recognize the sound, to realize that Bucky is laughing; another moment later, he’s joining in - hardly knowing why and refusing to ask. With a pang, he remembers how often that laugh filled his life, echoed in his home, followed his shuffling footsteps on the sidewalk. It comes with the same underwhelming force as the sunrise, quiet and brilliant and inevitable, streaking joy across the horizon - they are here, they are alive, they found their way home. Steve remembers being 17 and 90 pounds and choking on his first drop of whiskey but still winding up drunk on his own youth, knees knocking Bucky’s where they dangled from the fire escape, feeling as though he could eat the world raw. He could take a bite from it this morning - him and Buck, they could devour it. 

It’s useless to try to count the miles when they move this fast; no running app has yet managed to track them accurately, and besides, they could both easily run a marathon with no training. Their runs are mostly for fun - well, Steve finds it fun, the way he finds jumping out of airplanes fun, or leaping over moving cars, or throwing objects he didn’t know he could lift. There’s something about his recklessness being rewarded, through the sheer steel strength of his enhanced body, matched only by the pure-bred stubbornness of his character, that bubbles endorphins in his brain like nothing else. 

Almost nothing else. 

Up ahead, he notices the back of Sam’s shirt; they’ve lapped the park again, coming up on him from behind. Next to him, Steve watches the swing of a familiar ponytail, half-mesmerized by the way it sways in the sun. Then she’s turning halfway to laugh at something Sam has said, and it’s-

He stumbles over his own toes but recovers before actually falling, Bucky throwing out a hand to steady him at the elbow, and they slow their pace, settling into a jog as they catch up to Sam and his companion. 

“You alright, pal?” Bucky asks, chewing his lip as he considers Steve. 

“Yeah, fine,” Steve shrugs him off. They’re right behind them now, steps alerting the other two of their presence; she turns, Sam too, to see who’s coming. 

Along her forehead, the sweet little baby hairs cling to her skin, wetted down with sweat. Sunlight gleams on her cheekbones, and he wonders if that’s sweat, too. She settles her hands on her hips as she turns towards him, the corner of her mouth lifted in a breathless smile. 

“Morning, Cap,” she says, flicking a loose strand of hair back from her face. The weather is beautiful, sun bright and strong, and she’s wearing a red crop top and running shorts, wireless headphones tucked in her ears. Music must be paused though, because he can’t hear anything coming through them. 

“Morning,” he smiles back, lifting his cap to sweep a hand through his sweaty hair before settling it back on his head. A faint, self-conscious note sounds in his brain, and he tries to remember if he brushed his teeth this morning before leaving his room. 

At his shoulder, Bucky clears his throat conspicuously. 

“Hi, I don’t think we’ve met.” Bucky sticks out his hand, armed with a boyishly charming smile. “I’m Bucky.” 

She shakes his hand, smiling back and offering a name, pretending not to notice Steve’s blink of surprise. Was that - surely she wouldn’t offer her real name? He didn’t even know so much as her favorite color. He zones out of the small talk bouncing between the other three, Sam sharing how they’d joined up on their respective runs, lamenting the way his so-called friends left him behind. All Steve has is a number, that and-

“Would anyone be up for some coffee?” he asks when there’s a break in the conversation. 

She lifts one brow, her eyes following his as he looks to his friends. 

“Oh, you know I was just thinking the same thing,” Sam nods, rubbing his hands together. “Great minds, Steve.” He taps his temple, the same way Peter does sometimes when the kid is feeling sarcastic. Bucky rolls his eyes. 

“Can’t believe you two are what qualifies as great minds these days,” he grumbles, combing an errant hair behind his ear. Sam takes a swing at his shoulder but misses, and they fall in together, walking towards the coffee shop, hardly noticing if the other two are following. 

With a little skip, she smiles at Steve and starts after them, his strides a little shorter to match hers. Birds chirp overhead, fading in and out of the hum of the now-busy streets and park lanes. Steve steals furtive glances, trying to decide whether or not she has freckles across the bridge of her nose. 

“So.” He starts, then stops himself. 

“So?” 

He tilts his chin up, repeating the name she’d given to Sam and Bucky.

“Yes?” 14 smirks, tugging up the waistband of her shorts. 

“I mean, that isn’t…” he flounders. “It’s not…you, is it? Your real name?” 

“Hmm,” she purses her lips, squinting at the men ahead of them. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” 

  **********                                                                                      

He’s in his office, draining the dregs of his americano - blonde shots, a sprinkle of cinnamon - when F.R.I.D.A.Y. pages him. 

“Captain Rogers, you’re needed in the briefing room - there’s a situation,” F.R.I.D.A.Y. says over the intercom, soft Irish brogue managing to sound coolly concerned. Steve stands from his desk, coffee left behind. 

“On my way.” 

Another day, another bomb - Avenging is never dull, and why should it be? Sometimes Steve wonders if a strange law of attraction is at work in their violently non-traditional career; if it’s the insanity of every crisis they’re called to answer that has made them what they are - or, as he often suspects, is it actually the reverse? 

Tony is at the head of the conference table, flicking through projected images with quick fingers, the rest of the team already seated. No one looks up when he slips into the room. 

“If these preliminary scans are accurate, it looks like we’ve got explosives - sophisticated ones, I might add; really, even I’m a little impressed, which as we all know, is a pretty-”

“Tony,” Steve says, taking his own seat at the front of the table. Righteous brow lowering.  “Focus.” 

Tony makes a face, but impressively withholds whatever comment rises to the tip of his tongue; blowing a harsh sigh past his lips, he goes on with the briefing. 

“Right, as I was saying,” he says. “We’ve got some idea of the type of devices we’re dealing with-”

“Devices? Plural?” Nat clarifies. Her pen taps a quick beat against her notepad.

“Yes,” Bruce speaks up, standing a few feet away from Tony, cracking the knuckles of his left hand. “Based on the energy signatures coming from the building, we have three distinct focal points of radiation - so I’d put my money on three devices.”

A beat of silence in the room; gravity pulling harder at their legs and stomachs, the weight of this job, this calling, sits heavy like lead. Clint stretches his arm across the back of 41’s chair. Sam leans forward, elbows on the table, meeting Steve’s eyes for a moment. They carry that weight differently, each one. It takes a moment, a thought, as each of them readjusts it, gets used to it, rolls their shoulders to feel it settle. 

And then, they get up.

“Alright - all hands on deck for this one,” Steve nods, eyes circling the table. “We’ll divide into assault, evacuation, and extraction teams. Wheels up in 15.” He looks at Tony once more, now rolling up the sleeves of his well-cut silk shirt. 

“Let’s suit up.”

   **********                                                                                                 

He’s first to the jet, his apartment being closest to the hangar, and he sits in the cockpit going over blueprints for the high-rise business complex they were about to save. A tech conglomerate operates in the upper half of the building, taking nearly half the available square footage; the lower floors are occupied by a couple of smaller companies, start-ups enjoying their first windfall of success. Absentmindedly rubbing his beard, Steve wonders why here, why this target. A personal score to settle, underhanded business deals padding the margins of their accounts? Nothing rings true; even F.R.I.D.A.Y.’S analysis suggested this building was a random target. 

Whatever the case, his team is going in there, and he’s not letting them walk in unprepared. So he reads the schematics, twice, three times. Scans Banner’s notes on the radiation readings, what type of bombs they would be dealing with. Mentally, he begins sorting his team into smaller units; he knows 28 has some experience with bombs, Nat, too. They’d pair well for an extraction team, with instructions from Stark and Banner on the jet. Sam and 41 could handle evac, if emergency services hadn’t already emptied the building - probably he’d take Bucky and Wanda in for a strike team; the three of them could handle any lingering thugs who were stupid enough to stick around after planting heavy explosives. 

His fingers tap quickly, unconsciously, against his thigh as he hears the team piling into the jet, jostling each other and trading playful insults; pre-mission nerves manifesting in their tight smiles and compulsive weapons-checking - tightening and re-tightening holsters, checking harness straps, dropping to their seats still poised and upright, muscles unwilling to relax. Stalking up the center aisle, Tony joins him in the cockpit. He claps Steve on the shoulder with a (thankfully, unsuited) hand. 

“Ready to roll, Cap?” he says, rolling a piece of peppermint from one side of his mouth to the other. 

Steve nods, stoic jaw set firm. He watches the control panel of the jet light up under Tony’s hands. 

“Born ready.” 

“Oh - we got an extra pair of hands, by the way,” Tony comments, nonchalant. He gestures over his shoulder with his chin. “She’s back there - I’m starting to think Fury only recruits beautiful women; wonder what his secret is.” 

The comment makes him stop, makes him hope, and then hope not- Steve swivels in his seat and rises, taking a step to look back towards the body of the jet. 

She’s smiling at something Clint just said, buckling into her seat on his other side, one down from Agent 41. Once again wearing her white catsuit, hair held back in a sleek braid, 14 pulls down a little on the harness of her seat, making sure it’s well-secured. There’s a beat before she notices, realizes that he’s noticed; she lifts her hand in a little wave when she sees him standing there. 

“Hi, Cap,” she says. Her head tilts to one side, braid falling down over one shoulder. “Long time no see.” 

Sam’s mouth opens and closes, making a little noise as he looks between the two of them. 

“Wait,” he says, holding up a hand. “Wait. Hold up -” He repeats the name she gave them this morning, eyebrows knotting close together. “Am I missing something? Y’all know each other?” 

Steve props an arm against the frame of the jet arcing above his head, feeling his cheeks heat under the new scrutiny the team directs his way. His shoulders curl in a little, his other hand reaching for his beard. In the moment, he’s not sure what to say - what to call her, what they are (friends, colleagues, certainly not partners) - and he chews his lip for a long and uncomfortable moment while the others examine his increasingly embarrassed face. 

It’s Agent 41 who finally takes pity on him, huffing a sigh around the sour gummy worm hanging from the corner of her mouth. 

“There’s a lot of secret agents you haven’t met yet, Sam,” she says. The limp, sugar-coated worm inches its way into her mouth as she works her lips, tucking it into her cheek. “Cause, you know, we’re secret.”

“Boom, roasted.” Clint makes a little mic drop motion with one hand, his other one working its way into the crinkling bag of gummies on 41’s lap. 

Sam, attention diverted, scowls at the two of them. Now forgotten, Steve watches as Clint throws tiny pieces of sour worms at Sam’s head, never missing despite his attempts at dodging them. With a soft smile, 14 throws a wink in Steve’s direction. 

Shaking his head, he turns back to the cockpit and reaches for his notes, ready to break down the plan. 

  **********                                                                                                   

“Rogers, get the others out of the building.” It’s Nat’s voice, tight and panicked over the com lines. 

“Romanoff?” He’s jogging up the stairwell, finger pressed to the device in his ear. 

“Now, Steve.” Her characteristic sarcasm, dry and vivid in her husky voice, is gone. This is Nat, and he knows she wouldn’t sound the alarm for no reason. 

“Understood.” They’re two floors above him, and he pushes his legs harder, faster. “Sam, Wanda, Tony - get the team out. The rest of the building is empty.” One more flight. “Romanoff, 28, I’m on my way up to you.” 

Voices crackle over the line, confirming his orders, the team falling out one by one. Confirmation when they rendezvous on the jet, hovering a safe distance above the the skyline. Steve kicks through the bolted stairwell door and takes two left turns down glass-walled hallways, the map in his head guiding him through the frustrating maze of identical conference rooms and offices, dodging and leaping the sparse and sleek modern furniture crowding an abandoned reception room. 

He finds them hunched over the harmless-looking black box, left in an unused cleaning closet - but it’s Agent 14, not 28, with her hands fluttering over an exposed circuit board while Nat looks on, curled white knuckles pressed against her mouth. 

“Where’s Agent 28?” 

“With the second device, lower half of the building,” 14 mutters, not looking up. 

“Status?” 

Natasha scowls, but she doesn’t look at him either. 

“Not good.”

“The devices are all linked,” 14 says. She licks her lips, using a pair of tweezers to carefully reverse the position of a set of wires connected directly to the battery terminals. “Every time we disarm one, it receives a signal from one of the others that re-arms it.” 

Steve watches her concentrate on the circuit board, a few frazzled hairs escaping her braid. 

“How much time do we have?” he asks, feeling the muscles in the back of his neck tighten. Natasha finally turns, the grave line of her mouth answering him before she even speaks. 

“Minutes - maybe less.” She shakes her head. “Is everyone out?” 

“Building’s empty,” Steve confirms, fingers going to the comm device in his ear. “Stark - what’s our blast radius look like? This building’s gonna blow.” 

Tony’s voice appears in his ear, only a second later. 

“Of course it is,” he says, voice bright and resigned. “How did I not see that one coming?” Over the line, Steve hears a harsh sigh, and then Tony’s voice reappears. “We’re looking at the whole block, Steve, maybe more - emergency services already evacuated the surrounding buildings and they’ve created a perimeter, but we can’t be certain of the damage till they, you know, explode.” 

“Any ideas on containment?”

“Gimme a minute,” Tony huffs. “In the meantime, you guys better start hauling ass.”

Steve turns to Nat and 14; they both already have their eyes on him. He nods, quick and commanding, authority drawing up his posture. 

“You heard him,” he says. “Let’s go.” 

Nat and 14 are already on their feet, and he brings up the rear as they dart out of the room and back the way they came, weaving around towards the stairs and tearing down the staircase at a breakneck pace. 

They’re 2 flights from the ground floor when 14 stops, wild-eyed and panting, braid half-loose, and seizes Steve’s arm. 

“28,” she says, fingernails digging into the thick fabric of his uniform. “28 never confirmed, is she -?” 

Steve tugs her along after Nat, still sprinting down the stairs, and taps his comm device. 

“28? Status, 28 - are you out of the building?” 

The line stays quiet, heartbeats and harsh breaths in their ears. 

“28? Come in, 28.” 

Radio silence. 

14 stops short, whirling around and away from Steve and back towards the door to the second level - 28’s last known location. Clenching his jaw, he shouts down the stairs to a waiting Natasha, who stands a flight below, tensed to spring back up the stairs after them. 

“Natasha - you go, meet the others at the jet and help coordinate evac,” he says, feet already following 14. “We’ll get 28 and rendezvous with the team.” 

“But-”

“Go, Nat!”

It takes him 3 seconds to catch up to her, pushing through the door and taking one look at the open floor-plan office before turning right and hustling through the neatly arranged desks towards the utility closet at the other end of the suite. 

“She was here the last time she checked in,” 14 breathes, wiping her brow. Two steps ahead of her, Steve wrenches the door open. 

The device lays dismantled in the center of the room, mechanical guts exposed to the drafty air - but the closet is otherwise empty, with exception of a few cleaning supplies shoved into a corner. An overturned yellow mop bucket, spray bottles with faded labels, a pair of rubber gloves. 

He can hear 14’s heart rate escalate, tapping furiously at her own comm device. 

“28 where are you? Come in, 28?” Her voice is thin, breath harsh from their sprint. She licks her lips as she waits for a response. Each second that passes, her eyes flit around the room again, glassy and unfocused, bouncing on the balls of her feet. 

A voice that neither of them expects appears in their ears. 

“28’s fine,” Bucky says, voice rough but clear. “Signal from the bomb made her line cut out. We’re outside the building, en route to the rendezvous point.” 

Their eyes meet and the shared relief washes over them, soothing for the space of a heartbeat - before the device, innocuous and waiting, begins beeping with a menacing frenzy. 

Without a word, Steve grips 14’s wrist and makes a mad dash for the other end of the floor. They pass the stairwell door, still swinging open, and head straight for the floor-to-ceiling windows exposing the bright afternoon sunlight outside. 

Between 1943 and 1945, the number of burning buildings Steve jumped out of could be conservatively estimated at around a dozen. Bucky would argue for more, but considering the lack of other eyewitnesses, it was really anyone’s guess at this point. Regardless, it’s not the first time he’s found himself trying to outrun the laws of physics, hell quite literally at his heels - his fingers close tighter around 14’s and he glances at her face as he tucks her under one arm. 

“Ready?” he breathes. Her eyes are on the window. She licks her lips, opens them to respond. 

Then the building blows up. 

  **********                                                                                                   

When he saw the flames blow out the windows, glass tinkling downward in a delicate deadly rain, Tony’s heart remembered the feeling of shrapnel. 

“Shit.” He enhances the camera view on the explosion, scanning the surrounding street. “Steve? Come in, Rogers.” Smoke billows up, reaching ever higher towards the skyline. “Rogers? Steve?”

On the ground, Sam turns towards the police perimeter, pushing his way through the rubberneckers and uniforms. Already people are gawking at the scene, cell phones poised to record the disaster, worth at least a few likes and retweets. His feet pick up into a jog and he ducks between the roadblocks, no one even attempting to stop him. 

“Come on, come on,” he mutters. The smoke starts to sting his eyes and he lowers his goggles, coughing a little. Even from this distance, still a couple hundred feet, he can feel the greedy heat of the flames, already licking their way up more than half of the enormous high rise. He keeps going until the heat is just too oppressive, the force of it too harsh and blistering; but he stands his ground, squinting through the smoke and ash, one arm pressed to his mouth and nose. 

The glint of red is the first thing he sees. 

“I’ve got ‘em!” he yells over the line, followed by a harsh coughing fit. “I’ve got eyes on ‘em!”

Shield first, streaked with ash but bright as a beacon, they stagger out of the smoke. Both their faces are covered in soot, 14’s uniform scorched in places, Steve’s blond head turned an ashy gray; her arm is slung around Steve’s shoulder and she leans into him as they limp towards their teammate, their friend. 14 coughs as a harsh wind, stirred by the flames, whips fresh smoke into her face. Steve’s grip around her waist tightens by a fraction, even as Sam approaches, grips his shoulder and hauls him into a rough embrace. 

“You’re insane, you know that?” Sam points a finger in his face when he pulls back a moment later. “You’re a goddamn lunatic. Jesus, man.” He babbles in his relief, and they let him, following quietly towards the waiting paramedics, the line of spectators already cheering at the sight of the familiar patriotic uniform. Police and citizens alike crowd against the barricades, hoping for a glimpse of their national hero. Steve lifts the shield in a tired salute, rousing another chorus of excited whoops and cheers. 

He feels different eyes on him, and he looks down to find 14, face upturned and sooty, her eyes red from the smoke. Her own fingers slip between his where his hand still rests at her waist, and she squeezes his hand twice. Like a heartbeat. Then her head drops to his shoulder. 

Nearing the edge of the perimeter, Steve hears the roar of applause above the ringing in his ears, and tries to feel victorious. 

[the-roanoke-society]

boys and girls of every age...

wouldn’t you like to see something strange?

happy halloween, my flowers!

this year hasn’t been the best--and the list of reasons why is as varied, as wide and as deep as all of creation.

it has, essentially, sucked on a truly cosmic level.

but!

it doesn’t help anyone to look at the big picture and only focus on the dark parts. because for all the truly horrible, disastrous events we’ve had to slog through together (first time crying every day for months, first time being taken by ambulance to the er--truly a year of firsts, at least for me, personally), there have still been good things.

for example, did you know that this year we celebrated the 6th anniversary of the release of kingsman: the secret service? and the 3rd anniversary of the release of kingsman: the golden circle--which means next month it’ll be the third birthday of the ronaoke society!

our house might’ve gotten quiet--but it still stands.

i love all of you very, very much, and halloween is still my favorite holiday of all time. so all this month, i worked on the aus you’ll find below the cut. i’ll have to post this in parts over the next while, as there’s thirty-one total--one for each day of the season, of course.

honestly--it felt fantastic to dig back into my horror roots. roanoke’s entire conception was inspired by the fact that for as much as i love the kingsman universe, i also love things that go bump in the night.

and i don’t like having to choose between one thing or another.

be forewarned: if you choose to look into the source material for these aus, be prepared for possible graphic violence, gore, disturbing themes, explicit sexuality and jumpscares. i sort of walked through the proverbial garden and just grabbed fruit where i could find it--you’ll see what i mean. and as always, the endings are in your hands. these ideas are gifts, to do with as you please.

so journey below the cut... i̷̛̝͎͎̝̣̹͊̓̂͛̃̋͟f̛̯̟̱̖͔̌͊͐̏̃̓̇̎͠ y͈͇̙̘̬̓͌̑̈́͛̿͌͠ở̴̢͉͉̳͙̞͈̻̀́̎̄́̈͢͡ȗ̵̬̳͙̫̥̜͍̲̔̐̽̃̀͒̑͜ ḑ̙̩̼̤͓̫̟̥̈͑̐̚͡a̧̢̦̟̙̤̠͐͌̾̆̑͌͡͞r̷̡̰̲̣͓̣̝͒́̿͊̉̀͒͠͝͠ͅe̫̯̣̰͍̤̬̭̺̒̿͊̾͊.

blackbird on the old church steeple - a butterfly knife au inspired by the silence of the lambs

rae clementine doesn’t frighten easily. in her line of work, fear is not a friend. so when she’s abruptly pulled out of her fbi training at quantico to interview none other than the notorious harry hart, known for his--let’s say unusual appetites--she’s less intimidated and more annoyed.

but women are being taken, and found without their skin, if they are even found at all.

if hart’s insight into the mind of a psychopath can help her find the infamous buffalo bill, who has repeatedly evaded arrest--then she is more than willing to sit across from the gentleman in a pristine cell, and be continuously surprised that for a murderer, his gaze is surprisingly gentle.

in the back of her mind, she remembered all the things her mother had ever told her about lucifer--how the king of hell himself was utterly wicked, but catastrophically beautiful.

charm could hide blood. polished etiquette could hide bodies.

“most serial killers keep some sort of trophies from the victims.”

“i didn’t.”

“no. you ate yours.”

she’d felt this kind of intrigue before, and given the face it wore this time... well.

focus on the case, she thought. find buffalo bill. watch yourself. get out alive.

mini soundtrack sampler includes: ajr, ‘bang!’ + tame impala, ‘the less i know the better’ + barney bigard, ‘readdy eddy’

dogs & deadbolts guard the night - an au featuring @roanoke-after-dark​‘s the gremlin and @agentjotunn​ inspired by resident evil, particularly the released imagery for resident evil: village

santi’s first thought was that the rumors were just blatantly untrue. an entire village of people? suddenly vanished? he doubted it. besides, winters this far north were brutal--and could be fatal, if you weren’t careful. they had probably just all tucked in for the season, he reasoned. the snow and ice would’ve made travel impossible, anyway.

weeks passed. the stories faded from his thoughts as he minded his garage, and people spoke less and less about it.

until one evening, when an old friend knocked on his door with blood on his jacket and no color in his face.

“bradley? jesus, what hap--”

“grab your gun. something’s happened, and we need to leave now.”

“but what--”

“i’ll explain on the way, just go!“

right before he slammed the passenger side door of bradley’s jeep closed--wheels appropriately chained to keep a grip on the iced over roads--he heard a deep, long howl from some distance away.

there hadn’t been wolves this close in fifty years.

santi broke the silence in the car gently: “... you look like you’ve seen the face of the devil. what exactly happened?”

mini soundtrack sampler includes: ac/dc, ‘highway to hell’ + think up anger ft. malia j, ‘smells like teen spirit’ + marilyn manson, ‘sweet dreams’

the light under the door - a body shots au inspired by dark skies

the blacks weren’t superstitious. jason wasn’t, just like his father wasn’t before him, and now that he’s finally settled down happily married to joanne--finally, he thought, finally married to his jo--he is more than ready to see what the next chapters will bring. they moved into a house not too far from his parents, so he could still see his siblings regularly.

and he did.

which means he and jo both noticed when his younger brother christopher began to act a little--off.

they noticed when the bruises appeared.

they noticed when he kept copying the same strange symbols onto papers in crayon over and over and over and over--

and jo definitely noticed when she walked into their own kitchen in the middle of the night to find every single cabinet door open, with all the contents arranged into an impossibly perfect pyramid on the center island.

“i--are we being haunted?” she wondered out loud, the next morning. “this--and weird things are happening at your parents’, too, jason, something isn’t right here. i know you don’t believe in ghosts or anything, but...”

and this wasn’t a haunting.

it was something much worse.

mini soundtrack sampler includes: kennyhoopla, ‘how will i rest in peace if i’m buried by a highway?’ + cannons, ‘fire for you’ + days, ‘the drums’

permission access eternal - an au featuring @siggy-the-meme-master​ and technical officer wyvern, inspired by a.m.i.

it was supposed to be the world’s most cutting edge ai software. and since jeremy and dodger were both at the top of their class at m.i.t., of course, nobody was surprised when both their names were on the finished product--even if there was just one prototype to start.

and it wasn’t an ‘it.’ it was a she. jeremy insisted. repeatedly. “let’s call her ami!” he’d been flush with booze but his eyes were so bright and his expression so sincere, dodger just let him have it. and jeremy clapped his shoulder, “we did it, man! we have built the jessica rabbit of ai programs!”

they had one last test run to prove they’d metaphorically kicked the ass of everyone else in their field before they began the work to begin mass production. so, dodger set ami up as a sort of overhead assistant for their shared lab. she controlled temperature, lights, she could make phone calls, keeps schedules and most importantly of all, place takeout orders. the more she proved she could do, the more power, and control, she was given.

two weeks passed. they gave ami a voice, gave her a large proverbial eye to see through, making tweaks as they went to polish her off.

dodger was so proud of his work his heart could’ve exploded.

so imagine how he felt when he realized he’d left his cell phone in his car--and realized he couldn’t open the door.

“ami? ... ami. can you unlock the front door please?” he stared up at the red lens, and a silent point of light stared back at him.

“... i’m sorry. i cannot do that. dodger.”

“... uh, jeremy?”

mini soundtrack sampler includes: cage the elephant, ‘social cues’ + sneaker pimps, ‘6 underground’ + saint motel, ‘preach’

in hell i’ll be in good company - a lies & lessons au inspired by underworld

for centuries, a war has raged between vampires and lycans, completely outside the notice of the general human population. lauren is a death dealer, a lethal and beautiful member of an elite squad of vampiric assassins who have been charged with finding all the remaining lycans in the city and taking them out one by one.

when she realizes the lycan pack seems to be looking for an ordinary man--a medical student named jack daniels--she tracks him down herself, narrowly escpaing lucian in the process. (as soon as they were in the car he was already screaming, “what the fuck is goin’ on?!” with a southern twang she hadn’t expected) she takes him under her wing, still baffled at why the lycan pack could possibly want him.

he’s only human, after all.

... right?

as it turns out, vampires and lycans have a single common ancestor.

jack is a direct descendant.

and after being bitten in an attack--becomes a hybrid, carrying the powers of both species.

between unraveling the truth surrounding the death of her family, what really happened between lucian and kraven, and her growing feelings for jack--who is rapidly trying to understand his role in the story that’s been unfolding without his knowledge for generations--lauren finds herself at a crossroads, and her loyalties tested to a breaking point.

but as long as jack is at her side--perhaps it doesn’t matter where the road goes from here.

as bullet-riddled and blood-soaked as it will turn out to be.

mini soundtrack sampler includes: wallows, ‘are you bored yet?’ + cage the elephant, ‘shake me down’ + puscifer, ‘rev 22-20′

ash, fog & rust - alternatively titled ‘@gaygent​, @agent-judas​ and agent seraphim finally take that road trip to pennsylvania’

it was time to hand over the torch. that’s what lilith had finally decided. between the white patches in her hair, the strain it was putting on her relationships (especially with hamish)--morgan only had to return to the hills one more time as envoy.

and she wasn’t going alone.

“after this, anything that comes through this area, anything that hits our radars, is going to end up on both your desks,” she began, glancing at z in the passenger seat, and meeting cillian’s eyes once in the rearview mirror.

“so this is--what, a test run?” z asked, head slightly tilted. morgan hummed.

“this place--this town--it--” she huffed, frustrated. cillian could hear the leather wrapped around the steering wheel creak as her grip tightened. “it’s hard to explain, to someone who hasn’t been there. and i’m glad that neither of you have had to go before this, but...” another sigh. “i couldn’t think of any other duo that i could entrust this to. not something this big. you--” she pointedly lifted her brows at z, “--have experience with creatures that aren’t from around here. and you--” this time her gaze went to cillian. “--do too. just in a different shape. it’ll take both of you to handle centralia. and i couldn’t introduce you without coming along.”

“how long, exactly, has roanoke been keeping tabs on this place?” cillian asked. he’d spent hours going over everything he could find--mission logs, reports, feeds and images housed in the media room. morgan looked at him again. her eyes were still kind--but very, very tired.

“... a long time.”

i’ll admit that this is less an au and more a canonical event that i just haven’t gotten around to writing more about. but i couldn’t make this list without at least one entry paying homage to a franchise that’s had a huge influence on not just me as a writer, but on roanoke’s canon as a whole.

for the sampler, i will simply redirect you to this post here.

the devil’s gonna set me free - an anchored hearts au inspired by horns

joseph moretti had been in love with louise franz since fifth grade.

granted, he didn’t realize it until he almost drowned because of that stupid dare--a dare that not only almost killed him, but took two of lee’s fingers when that goddamn cherry bomb went off in his hand.

the same cherry bomb he’d traded to him for fixing louise’s broken necklace--a small silver pendant, shaped like an apple. she’d worn it every single day since he could remember. the image of her and snow white were eternally tangled in his head.

that necklace--it’d been the start. he’d woken up because of an apple. louise, did, too.

the hours they spent in that treehouse, listening to david bowie and memorizing every scar and curve of the other--he wished that could have been his eternity. just him. and her. ... well, and bowie. every good love story needed a soundtrack.

but... but...

his head pounded as he lifted it off the counter in his parents’ kitchen. his mouth was dry, and he blinked, causing a half-empty bottle of vodka to come into focus.

louise is gone now, he thought.

and they thought he was the one who did it. he, the one who loved her more than anyone else on the planet.

he pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes.

he was going to prove his innocence even if it killed him. no matter what happened.

even if he sprout horns.

mini soundtrack sampler includes: machine gun kelly, ‘bloody valentine’ + the black keys, ‘go’ + david bowie, ‘heroes’

moonlight rising from the grave - alternatively titled ‘that time @agent-nightcrawler​ and agent iuniore found a haunted mansion,’ inspired by disney’s haunted mansion

“hello? ... hellooooo?” the massive door let out a huge groan as sylva pushed, putting one hand on tina’s shoulder as it swung open. “uhm--i’m really sorry to bother you, but we hit a deer and we just...” sylva sighed, her voice lowering in volume. “... need to use the phone...”

“this place is gigantic,” tina whispered, close at sylva’s side as they stepped out of the pouring rain into a very quiet, very elegant foyer. “and look! there’s lights, and all these lit candles... someone has to be here,” she continued as the door came to a gentle close behind them, muffling another roll of thunder.

“good evening.”

both of them yelped, sylva immediately yanking tina closer to her and whirled around in time to see--a butler? he was dressed like a butler.

and his clothes were... he was...

“sylva! why is the butler see-through!” tina whispered harshly, all while the spectral gentleman just looked at them expectantly. sylva clamped a hand over her mouth.

“hi!” she answered brightly.

this is a ghost. i’m talking to a ghost. this is fine. everything is fine.

“uh,” she coughed, beginning again, “we’re just having a little bit of a car emergency, is there a way we can call our head office? so they can come get us?” this is what i get for being out where i have no bars, and neither of us have our specs...

the ghostly butler nodded. his hair, glowing faintly, waved around his head as though he was underwater. “of course. please--follow me. the master of the manor will want to meet you.”

mini soundtrack sampler includes: the chordettes, ‘mr. sandman’ + bobby pickett, ‘monster mash’ + bastille, ‘survivin’’

mercy no more - a magic & mischief au inspired by the evil within

aly had been kieran’s partner at the krimson city police department for years. she’d walked with him through the death of his daughter, the disappearance of his wife.

neither of them acknowledged the spark. they didn’t then, and--as she met his eyes once in the rearview mirror, trying to pay attention to connelly and joseph as they talked about beacon--they wouldn’t acknowledge it now.

as soon as the hospital came into a view, a high-pitched ringing overame every other sound in the cruiser, every other sound period. aly slammed her hands over her ears, but it didn’t seem to help.

as soon as it started--it stopped. connelly had to swerve to avoid getting into the wrong lane.

“what--what was that?” aly asked, her palms still hovering by her ears.

“it was probably just a problem with the radio,” joseph suggested, pushing his glasses up as they drove pass the established police barriers.

the last dispatch team, they said, hadn’t come back. it was up to the three of them to find out what happened to their colleagues.

aly was close by kieran’s side as they walked through the rain. her gut twisted at the sight of the entry doors.

the smell of the blood and the slaughter hit her nose before she saw the bodies.

“what on earth happened here?”

“i don’t know. stay close. let’s find the surveillance room. if we can find the security cams, we’ll find out answer...”

if only that had been the end.

mini soundtrack sampler includes: all time low, ‘monsters’ + bastille, ‘what you gonna do???’ + gary numan, ‘long way down’

and the wind will be my hands - an au featuring @agent-sentinel-official​, @agent-chimera​ and @gaygent​, inspired by session 9, with a special appearance by @agent-thorn​

walter vaughn was an expert in abestoes abatement. so when he put in a bid to take on the entire danvers state mental hospital, the owners of the rotting estate welcomed him on board.

and as they did, he brought on two crewmates--xander, and z--to help him.

“we’ve got three weeks, so, no need to rush,” he explained on the first day, the sun beating down on his broad shoulders and half his hazmat tied around his waist. xander and z trailed behind him as they approached the massive building. “and i know, i know it’s still a big undertaking--but the money will be worth it. trust me.”

“you fellas our cleanup crew?” a tall, thin man in a suit with dark hair and a pair of ray ban sunglasses walked towards them, smiling broadly. he extended a hand, “carter jensen. the ah, danvers’ estate board sent me on their behalf to give you a tour of the building, let you get a good assessment of what you’re dealing with. i’m not entirely sure what they’ll do with the property when this is done, but we know for sure nothing can happen until this part’s complete. come on, the entrance is just this way... i’ll make sure to give you a master key ring.”

xander leaned down by z’s shoulder, muttering, “dude this place gives me the creeps... but maybe there’s still some cool old stuff left in there. like maybe, possibly, the trapped souls of the damned. you think it’s haunted?”

z answered, murmuring, “if not by ghosts--then maybe by something else.”

mini soundtrack sampler includes: the talking heads, ‘psycho killer’ +  lou barlow, ‘choke chain’ + sublime, ‘doin’ time’

[iffeelscouldkill]

From the Archives: Chalk it up to the adrenaline

A/N: Did I spend way too much time writing this yesterday at work instead of actually working? Maybe!

This is another ficlet from my collection From The Archives, which depicts snippets of audio that didn’t make it into the IGR’s official reports. This one takes place between Sana and Arkady successfully outrunning the security bots on The Gay Louisa, and Violet patching Arkady up on the Rumor half an hour after take-off, picking up with Brian’s line right before Agent McCabe cuts in.

Or as I wrote on AO3, “Sana and Arkady have a conversation about Negative Nellys and Dramatic Deborahs, and then it's time for Awkward Small Talk With Your Crush While Bleeding! Also, Arkady hates stitches.”

"Happy to help."

"We'll make our way through the maintenance tunnels and be at the airlock in five minutes. Tell Krejjh to be ready."

"Copy that. Brian Jeeter out."

The sound of brisk footsteps, followed by another set of lift doors opening.

Amused: "Did you really call me a 'Negative Nelly' back there?"

"Did you really have to let on to Violet that I was injured?"

"Well, given that she has eyes, and it's going to be very obvious once we get back to the ship-"

"Yeah, but I could have managed it. Now she's going to be imagining the worst."

The sound of lift doors opening again, and two sets of footsteps echo in the tunnel, a pair of wheels squeaking along behind them.

"Okay, now you're just being a... Dramatic Deborah."

A groan. "Sana, that was terrible."

"I tried. Seriously though - you can't fault either of us for being worried about you."

Muttering, "I can try."

Over her: "That's just what happens when people care about you. Besides..."

There's a pause of a few seconds.

"Okay, what? I do not like that weirdly sly tone you've got going on."

"I'm just thinking that most people would jump at the chance to be tenderly patched up by their love interest."

Spluttering. "Love interest?! I am not some fainting-"

"Oh, look, we're almost at the airlock. Sana Tripathi to Violet Liu."

"Hi, Captain. I'm at the airlock."

"Great. We'll be there in sixty seconds."

"I'll be ready."

A pause.

"Arkady's all right. She'll need patching up, but we've been in much worse situations with no medical professional in easy reach."

Drily: "I can't imagine why you think that's comforting, Captain."

"Well, the comforting part is that we have you now! Here we are."

A series of three beeps and a hiss as the airlock is opened.

"Okay, we need to get this through - here we go. Hi, Violet."

"Hi, Captain. Arkady."

"Hi, Liu. Look, I'm still in one piece!"

"...You have bloodstains all over your jacket."

"It adds to the aesthetic."

"Sana Tripathi to Krejjh. We're in, let's hit the motor."

"Roger Dodger. Strap in, dashing space crew, while we dash for the skies! Krejjh out."

"C'mon, guys, let's head for the safety rail. It shouldn't be too rough, but Arkady, I don't want you aggravating your injuries."

"I'm fine, Sana.” Three sets of footsteps, one slightly heavy, and some awkward shuffling. “Liu, I can walk, I swear. I'm not bleeding from the leg."

"Still, you should put pressure on it. Here, I brought you some gauze."

"Aww, it's like my birthday come early."

A few moments' silence.

"So... How's the medbay...?"

"Um... Still a closet?"

"Heh. Right."

"I do have some more heavy-duty supplies now since Sana's contact on Hafiza came through, so I have everything I need to patch you up."

"You mean 'heavy-duty' like a heavy-duty bandage, right?"

"Oh, no, that bullet wound on your arm definitely needs stitches."

"Y'know what, it's actually not that deep. The gauze is doing amazing work. In fact, I think the gauze has fixed my injury."

A snort, somewhere between disbelieving and amused. "Do you have some kind of aversion to stitches?"

"There are things I'm a bigger fan of than having my flesh sewn together."

A chirpy voice cuts into the exchange. "Fellas, we are in the clear. Easing off the throttle now."

"The rearview looks pretty clear as well. Nothing on our tail."

"Thanks Krejjh, and Brian. Amazing work just now, as always - I know I can always count on you to get us out of there in the nick of time."

"It's what I do!"

"We'll fly straight to our next destination and switch the fuel tank over as soon as we land. Give us a heads up if anything unusual presents itself before then."

"Will do. Krejjh out!"

"I'm going to take this down to the engine room. Arkady-"

"Don't suppose you need a hand with the fuel tank? It's pretty heavy."

Wryly, "I think I've got this. You are going with Violet to the medbay, and if her medical opinion is that you need stitches, you are getting stitches."

A heavy sigh.

"Do I at least get to sit on the beanbag chair?"

"I'll leave that up to Violet."

"Liu?"

"Fine, you can sit on the beanbag chair."

[omgtalkingmuffin]

Olicity quotes from season 1

In anticipation of the planned trends for November 27 and 28, I thought it would be helpful to compile Olicity quotes to use in tweets (it’s important to mix things up to be able to trend and not get caught up in spam filter) What better way to celebrate trend the Olicity wedding than to quote their best moments? I suggest adding them to corresponding stills, pics, gifs or links to youtube clips in tweets. 

So without further ado, here’s season 1:

Felicity Smoak? Hi. I'm Oliver Queen. Of course. I know who you are, you're Mr. Queen. No, Mr. Queen was my father. Right, but he's dead. I mean, he drowned. But you didn't, which means you could come down to the I.T. department and listen to me babble. Which will end. In 3... 2... 1. I'm having some trouble with my computer and they told me that you were the person to come and see. I was at my coffee shop surfing the web and I spilt a latte on it. Really? Yeah. 'Cause these look like bullet holes. My coffee shop is in a bad neighborhood. If there is anything that you can salvage from it, I would really appreciate it.

I should add "personal Internet researcher for Oliver Queen" to my job title. Happily, I mean.

Hey. [Gasps] Don't you knock? Felicity, this is the I.T. department. It's not the ladies room. Right. What can I do for you? My buddy Steve is really into archery. Apparently it's all the rage now. I don't know why. It's looks utterly ridiculous to me. Mm-hmm. Anyway, it's Steve's birthday next weekend, and I wanted to buy him some arrows. The thing is, he gets these special custom-made arrows, and I have no idea where he gets them. I was hoping you could find out where this came from. The shaft's composite is patented. And that patent is registered to a company called Sagittarius. That's Latin for the archer. Really? Could you find out where and when this was purchased? According to Sagittarius company records, that particular arrow was part of a bundle shipment. 200 units. Sent... to this address. Felicity... You're remarkable. Thank you for remarking on it. And Merry Christmas. I'm Jewish. Happy Hanukkah.

And here I was beginning to think my days of being Oliver Queen's personal computer geek were coming to an end. Is that your way of saying you miss me? No. But if it works for you, go with it. Heh. So a friend of mine is running a scavenger hunt, and there's a case of Lafite Rothschild 1982 waiting at the end. Oh...I love red wine. But in order to find it, I first need to get through this. Hmm. Security fob. It's pin protected. Challenge response goes back to a company called Blackhawk Squad Protection Group. Yeah, my friend had his bodyguard set it up for him. Personally, however, I think it's cheating. But whatever. This is a military-grade cryptographic security protocol. Your friend really went to all this trouble? The idle rich are hard to entertain. Listen... You get through it and one of those bottles of wine is yours.

Felicity. Hey, they said you'd be up here. You look like something the cat dragged in. Not that there are cats in this building. Well, once a cat did get in, but a guard tazed it. It smelled like fur and static in here for like a week. Would you mind stepping away from the window for a moment? I have a little bit of a hangover. Sounds like you need a bloody Mary and a pretzel, not the I.T. Department. Actually, my buddy Kevin is starting an energy drink company. He says it's fantastic for curing hangovers, but I am very particular about what it is I put in my body. I've noticed. I said, not noticed. Right? I'm trying to find a secret recipe. Could you please do a spectroanalysis of the sample and find out exactly where in the city it's made? If it's an energy drink, why is it in a syringe? I ran out of sports bottles.

Hi.  Hi. Thanks for meeting me. I was...nervous to come to your house.  Okay...  The thing is, I've been debating whether or not to share this with you for weeks. Can I trust you? [Scoffs] I'm not an idiot. You've dropped some fairly ridiculous lies on me, and...yet I still feel like I can trust you. [Chuckles] Why is that?  I have one of those faces. Sorry. Yes. You can trust me. 

I'm not going to hurt you, Felicity. How do you know my name? Because you know my name. Oliver, oh... Wow. Everything about you just became so unbelievably clear. You're bleeding. I don't need to be told that. You need a hospital. My--my father's old factory, in the Glades. No, you-- you need a doctor, not a steelworker. Felicity...You have to promise me that you are going to take me to my father's factory and nowhere else. Yeah, promise. [Breathing heavily] Something tells me blood stains are not covered under my lease.

The police collected a sample of your blood at Queen Consolidated. I just hacked the crime lab and ordered the sample destroyed. Oops. Heh. I hope it's all right. Your system looked like it was from the eighties, and not the good part of the eighties, like Madonna and, well, legwarmers. It's a lot of work. Does that mean you're in? You mean in as in I'm going to join your crusade? Well, you're practically an honorary member of the team already. Hmm. So Mr. Diggle said. No. Then why'd you upgrade my system? First, because seeing a network that poorly set up hurts me. In my soul. And second... I want to find Walter. My stepfather. He was nice to me. And Mr. Diggle told me that the notebook you use to fight crime is the same notebook that got Walter abducted. I'll help you rescue him, but that's it. Then I want to go back to my boring life of being an I.T. girl. That's my offer. Ok. So I've been meaning to ask... Is there a bathroom? 'Cause I've had to pee since I got here.  It's upstairs to the left. Great. Felicity, thank you.

Oliver, I know you don't want to hurt this girl and you didn't have any choice in telling her who you really were, but we're asking her to get involved in some pretty dangerous stuff.  We can protect her.

Felicity! Did you just... Computer override your lock. Maybe a little. What are you doing? I pulled up some information on Mr. Williams. Did you know he's a widowed father of a 10-year-old boy? I told you. I'm only in this to help Walter. Not to be an accessory to orphaning little kids. I'm just giving him a warning. Has it ever occurred to you you could do some real good in the city? Beyond just recovering people's stock portfolios and their saving accounts. You're not the only one who knows how to reboot my system. I made a mistake. Getting in my way? I don't disagree. No. Signing on with you. Even provisionally.

I had a bet going with myself on how quickly you two would visit. Tell me not to reveal your secret. Looks like I won. Actually, Felicity, I was hoping that I could get you to change your mind. I was worked up on adrenaline last night, and I didn't exactly put my best foot forward. I was hoping you'd give me the opportunity to do that now. How about you start with Ken Williams? Did he also get to enjoy your adrenaline last night? No, he returned the money that he stole just in time to put his son to bed. Like I said, Felicity, just a warning...

Why don't I work a couple of little tech, you distract her with a little flirty flirt, slip said tech onto her phone. It'll turn into a micro transmitter, and boom, we'll learn everything she knows. Hmm. It's not how I typically get my information. How do you typically do it? I find the person. And then I put the fear of God into them until they talk. But we can try your way.

Speaking of, have you given any thought to what might happen if this doesn't work and the Dodger absconds with your family jewels? I'm sorry, that came out very wrong. 

Talk to me, Felicity.

Psst. By the way. If you ever need to tell someone about your day... You can tell me.

Don't worry, Felicity, they don't send blondes there. I dye it, actually. I keep your secret...

I'll be with you the entire time. Thanks. [Sighs] It feels really good having you inside me. And by "you," I mean your voice. And by "me," I mean my ear. I'm gonna stop talking right now.

You're gonna be really upset when you meet my partner

Unless I can waltz up to Merlyn's mainframe and plug in my tablet directly, there's no way of getting that location. Then we waltz.

Hey, Felicity.  Hmm? Hold on to me tight. I imagined you saying that under different circumstances. Very platonic... circumstances.

I used to think the Vigilante was a criminal, too, but it seems to me, whoever he is, he's willing to sacrifice an awful lot to help the people of this city. Kind of makes him a hero... Doesn't it?

This whole area is ground zero. I want you out of here. If you're not leaving, I'm not leaving.

[bowiehunts]

SNATCH (2000) SENTENCE STARTERS. 

You can call me Susan if it makes you happy.

I’m taking the dog for a walk.

What are you doin’ here?

What’s the problem?

What’s in the car?

Do you know what ‘nemesis’ means? A righteous infliction of retribution manifested by an appropriate agent. Personified in this case by an ‘orrible cunt: me.

You take sugar?

I’m sweet enough.

It was two minutes five minutes ago.

Speak English to me.

You are obviously the big dick.

There are two types of balls. There are big, brave balls and there are little, mincey balls.

These are your last words, so make them a prayer.

Dicks have drive and clarity of vision, but they are not clever.

They smell pussy and they want a piece of the action.

You got your parties muddled up. There’s no pussy here, just a dose that’ll make you wish you were born a woman.

Like a prick, you’re having second thoughts.

You are shrinking and your two little balls are shrinking with you.

The fact you’ve got ‘replica’ written down the side of your guns and the fact I’ve got ‘Desert Eagle point five 0’ written down the side of mine should precipitate your balls into shrinking, along with your presence.

Now, fuck off.

Why do they call him the bullet-dodger?

Your seats? This is a stolen car, mate.

In the quiet words of the Virgin Mary… come again?

It’s a four ton truck. It’s not as if it’s a packet of fucking peanuts, is it?

When you reverse, things come from behind you.

I thought you said he was a getaway driver. What the fuck can he get away from?

You should never underestimate the predictability of stupidity.

You’re always gonna have problems lifting a body in one piece.

Apparently, the best thing to do is cut up a corpse into six pieces and pile it together.

Would someone mind telling me, who the fuck are you?

I hear the best thing to do is feed corpses to pigs. They will go through bone like butter.

A single pig can consume two pounds of uncooked flesh every minute. Hence the expression: ‘as greedy as a pig’.  

Well, thank you for that. That is a great weight off my mind.

If you wouldn’t mind telling me who the fuck you are, apart from someone who feeds people to pigs of course?

Shut up and sit down, you big, bald fuck.

I hope you appreciate the concern I have for my friend.

I’m not sure about the colour.

You can’t change fighters.

Why are we stopped here?

It’s too tight.

Too tight? You could land a jumbo fucking jet in that.

He tells people he was named after a gun, but I know he was really named after a famous 19th century ballet dancer.

There’s a gun in your trousers. What’s a gun doing in your trousers?

It’s for protection.

It’s a free country, ain’t it?

It ain’t a free shop, is it? So fuck off!

Anything to declare?

Don’t go to England.

You stop me again whilst I’m walking and I’ll cut your fucking Jacobs off.

What the fuck do you mean?

They look like shit, don’t they?

I’m not in here to make a fucking bet.

I’m not fucking buying that.

Fuckface, who’s speaking to you?

He asked him, didn’t he?

Fuckface? I like that one. I’ll have to remember that one next time I’m climbing off your mum.

It’s not as if it’s a tin of baked beans1 What do you mean ‘open him up’?

It was a rhetorical question.

What have I told you about thinking?

Get back down or you will not be coming up next time.

You’re not going anywhere, you thick lump.

You stay until the job’s done.

He’s harder than a coffin nail.

Have you ever crossed the road and looked the wrong way? A car’s nearly on you. So, what do you do? Something very silly. You freeze. Your life doesn’t flash before you, ‘cause you’re too fuckin’ scared to think. You just freeze and pull a stupid face.

Who took the jam outta your doughnut?

You took the fucking jam outta my doughnut. You did.

I can’t make him fight, can I?

You’re not much good to me alive, are you?

We’ve lost Gorgeous George.

You’re going to have to repeat that.

Where’d you lose him? He ain’t a set of fucking car keys, is he?

It ain’t as if he’s incon-fucking-spicuous now, is it?

You’re on thin fucking ice, my pedigree chums, and I shall be under it when it breaks. Now, fuck off.

Do you want to do it?

It’s not the same fight.

I wasn’t calling your mum a tart.

Ah, save your breath for cooling your porridge.

Have I made myself clear?

Did you understand a single word of what he just said?

I’ve helped you as much as I’m going to help you.

You should fuck off now while you still got the legs to carry you.

Why the fuck do I want a caravan that’s got no fucking wheels?

You want to settle this with a fight?

Over my dead body!

I’ll not have you fighting! You know what happens when you fight.

Get her to sit down. For fuck’s sake!

I ain’t fucked you.

I’ll fight you for it. You and me.

Fuck you!

Don’t take the piss.

I need to have a shite.

I fail to recognise the correlation between losing ten grand and a good deal.

What the fuck is that?

This is a shot gun.

It’s a fucking anti-aircraft gun.

You’ll raise Hell. Nevermind pulses.

He’s been a busy, little bastard.

I think you’ve let him get away with enough.

It can get you into a lot of trouble, thinking, I shouldn’t do so much of it.

You gotta get me to a doctor! Shoot that fuck and then get me to a doctor.

For every action, there is a reaction.

Pull your tongue out of my arsehole.

You have all the characteristics of a dog. Except loyalty.

You’re a ruthless, little cunt. I’ll give you that.

What the fuck are you two looking at?

You are not bringing that thing in here.

I will do you a favour. I’ll not get out this car and bash the living fuck out of you in front of all your girlfriends.

What the fuck are you doing?

I’m driving down the street with your head stuck in my window. What do you thinking I’m doing, you penis?

I don’t think I’ll slow down. I think I’ll speed up.

You better not be telling me porky pies.

Follow me and I’ll fucking shoot you.

These lads are out to hurt each other.

Calm down, son. Behave yourself.

I’ve got the gun, son. I think it’s you who should behave.

I’m not telepathic.

You’re plenty fucking stupid.

Fuck me. Have you been reading?

He’s a liability.

You are gonna die.

He got shot six times.

Why don’t you fucking die?

Are you sayin’ I can’t shoot?

I’m not saying you can’t shoot. I know you can’t shoot.

The dog must have ate it.

I create the bodies. I don’t erase the bodies.

This will get messy.

He’s been shot in the face. I would’ve thought that was obvious.

It’s just impossible to kill the bastard.

I don’t want to put a bullet in your face, but if you don’t give us exactly what we want, there will be fucking murder.

Shoot him.

Goody gumdrops. Get us a cup of tea.

You’re a dead man! You hear me? A fucking dead man.

He’s a dangerous bastard.

Do you want to shoot him?

Do you want to stab him?

Do you want to kill him or not?

I wasn’t asking. I was telling.

[newspaperburritos-forbreakf-blog]

Tutor Time || Tittie

A/N: This was probably like two months ago?

Tito, newly (secretly) back in school, needs help with his essay writing, but he definitely wasn’t expecting his tutor to be Lottie

TITO

It was no secret that Tito wasn’t the most educated guy in Swynlake, but what was a secret was that he was doing something to change it. In between shifts at the garage, he’d been taking a few Pride U classes working towards a degree. He didn’t know what it would really do, but he knew it’d keep him busy, distracted, and maybe he’d end up better than before, ya know?

Tito was doing fine. Engineering classes were cake with his hands on experience and math never gave him a problem. English? Core classes like history and writing papers and shit? That wasn’t any walk in the park for sure.

The New Yorker never really asked for help, but his professor told him it was get a tutor and make up as many points he could on the rest of the assignments and the final or fail. And he definitely  wasn’t about to fuckin’ let half a semester go down the drain to do it all over again next semester.

He was expecting some brainiac nerd to come in at any moment. Some chick who probably had as much social skills as a plank of wood and was about to start spitting all sorts of grammar shit at him. Whatever, he’d have to grin and bear it. Get through it and maybe learn a lil to help him get by in the future.

The mechanic sat back in his chair at one of the large tables in the library. His books piled up next to him as he scrolled through his phone at some dumb shit Dodger was talking about, just waiting for his tutor.

LOTTIE

Lottie had meandered her way into the library, two cups of coffee in hand (one already stained with her pink lipstick), bag balancing on her shoulder as she looked around the room for her newest friend for the next few weeks. Or semester. She didn’t really know how long she’d be around this guy.

She had received an email earlier in the week asking if she might be interesting in helping to tutor a first year leveled student with his English. Writing to be more specific. Which, for the record was a little strange considering Lottie had never taken English at PrideU, It was something she had actually taken while she was still in high school, but apparently had done well enough in it that they thought her to be more than capable helping this student. Regardless of why they asked her, Lottie happily agreed, the person on the other end of the email providing her with the name of the student (Ignacio…...something. He had a lot of names) as well as where the tutors typically met their tutorees.

Which is why she found herself looking for him that particular day, the coffee warm against her very cold fingers (Lord, did she hate English weather). She wanted to start their meeting off right, bringing him some coffee to hopefully warm him (ba dum tss) up to her and the idea of her helping him out. Considering you know, one look at Lottie would lead you to believe that she was not the brightest bulb on the Christmas strand.

She saw a guy though sitting alone at one of the tables, his back was towards her so all she could really see what his curly brown hair as she began to slowly approach. When she reached the table though, she offered the (woah, cute) guy a bright smile. “Hi, are you Ignacio?” Her southern accent absolutely butchering his name, but truly it was the best that she could do considering she wasn’t entirely sure how to pronounce his name.

TITO

Having forgotten where he was completely and busy texting Dodger about how stupid he sounded right now, Tito did not notice the person coming up behind him until his government name was used (and kinda butchered with a Southern accent) which sent him jumping in his seat.

He whirled around to see… definitely not a nerdy looking girl. Hell, she was fine. He could get used to this shit. Instant Tito charm turned on, his racing heart and phone (which was now on the floor) forgotten. “Yeah, that’d be me. Ignacio Alonzo Julio Fredrico de Tito. But you can just call me Tito, chica if that worst best for you. And you are…?” He grinned at her, leaning against the back of the seat like he was the smoothest motherfucker that didn’t just look like a spazz.

The mechanic turned back around and cleared some of his stuff into his area to make room for her to sit wherever. “You aren’t really the tutor I was expectin’ to be honest. Not that that’s a bad thing or whatever, I’m just sayin’ sometimes you like have an image in your mind of people and shit and… well, it’s a nice surprise or whatever. Plus like my professor set this up and I don’t really know her all that well so...” He shrugged, trying to keep his smirk from growing too big on his face. Blondes were his type after all, and with the way she dressed, he seemed to be falling right into old habits with the rich ones.

LOTTIE

Now being that Lottie was Lottie, she felt absolutely horrible for the reaction that Ignac...Tito had had. She hadn’t meant to sneak up on him, only wanted to make sure that she had the right person! Without even thinking about it, Lottie set the coffee cups down on the table, bending down to pick up the not so stranger’s phone. “Lord, I am so sorry,” Lottie spoke out, placing his phone in front of him as she sat down in the adjacent seat. “I didn’t mean to startle you like that, sugar!”

Again, probably shouldn’t call people you just met sugar, but Lottie never really was one to play by those sorts of rules.

She let out a small laugh though, “That certainly sounds a heck of a lot better when you say it than when I try.” Lottie mused, no, STOP IT LOTTIE. You are here to tutor this guy, not flirt with him. You need to stop. “But it’s a pleasure to meet you Tito. Did I say it right that time? My southern accent just makes it sound so wrong.” Which was true, she really felt like she wasn’t even saying it correctly still.

Her hand shot out next to her for him to shake, “My name is Charlotte Rose La Bouff, but you can just call me Lottie.” She lightly teased, giving him her full name since he had for her. “Oh! And I brought you a coffee.” She brought the cup without the lipstick stain in front of her a bit more. “I wasn’t sure how you’d like it so I just had them put a little bit of cream and sugar in it, but I mean, if you want more, you can always just have mine. So long as you don’t care about the lipstick.” Another small laugh. “And that’s alright, really. Don’t worry about it. Can’t say that I haven’t heard it before.” Lord knows she had played into that stereotype for long enough.  “Your professor had emailed me about it too, we’re workin’ onnnnnn….” Lottie began, pulling out her iPad to check her email but it hit her before she even had the chance. “Your writing? Right? Got an essay comin’ up here in a few weeks if I remember right.”

TITO

Her voice was so fuckin’ cute that it didn’t even matter that she fucked up his name (most people did, shit was long af and full of accent shit). He smirked at her slightly, was she flirting with him or just being really fuckin’ nice to get a good review? ‘Cause in his years of bein’ himself, he’d take that as flirtin’.

“Yeah, you said it real good, chica. Perfecto.” He chuckled and leaned back in his seat a bit, “Believe me, I ain’t one to judge on accents.” He poked fun at himself because well, if you ever heard him talk you’d know how much New York and then Mexico kinda fucked together to combine his way of talking.

Lottie. Chica was fuckin’ fine and had a cute name (and apparently was smart af or at least smarter than him). Tito was pulled out of his inner thoughts on how best to proceed with this attractive female when she offered him the coffee and then all the thoughts just kinda leaked right out like someone had punctured his oil tank right out from under him by giving him a coffee.

His eyes softened and he took it. It was a small act of kindness. And that’s what it felt like, kindness, and not some piece of charity or something because she didn’t even know him or see him before she got him the drink, there’s a difference right there, Ignacio Alonzo Julio Fredrico de Tito didn’t do handouts. His whole demeanor kind of changed from hormonal fool to focused pupil. “Nah, yeah, that’s good. You picked right.” Tito didn’t drink a ton of coffee in general (when you had as much energy as he did you just got shaky and hyper with the added caffeine) so he’d probably just sip on it.

The mechanic took a sip to appease her and grinned a small little grin before looking down at the prompt he’d brought on paper on top of his legal pad because well, he didn’t really grow up with laptops and fancy gadgets (even if he did there wasn’t a way for wifi to happen). So he liked to do outlines and stuff on paper first. Laptops just sorta distracted him.

“Yeah, I, uh, I brought the prompt. My professor said that I need like grammar and structure improvements on my last paper. Like the concepts are there, I just can’t communicate them well, ya know? Like I got the bullet points lined out but words get all messed up and mixed together and it turns into like a run-on rant or somethin’.” He scratched his head slightly and looked over at her, kind of feeling vulnerable telling her about all this weakness shit that he’d never admit to in front of people, but he couldn’t flunk out, not when he’d put in so much work. He let out a small huff of a laugh and shrugged,  “Guess I just got a lot of pasión when I write or somethin’ so my thoughts kinda all come out at once and don’t make a lot of sense to other people but make sense to me.”

LOTTIE

Okay, perfect. That meant perfect, right? See, Lottie could get down with this Spanish thing. All her years growing up learning French and a little bit of Creole hadn’t prepared her for a meeting like this, but well, that word was easy enough to get down and close enough to the English word that she was able to at least figure it out!

“Can I take a guess at where you’re from?” Lottie questioned, hoping that maybe the idea of getting to know each other to him would potentially get him even that much more open to the idea of her tutoring him. “Well, besides the Hispanic heritage of course.” She added with a bit of laugh. That much was obvious. “New York? Or New Jersey? No, definitely New York. That’s what I’m bettin’.” Her hand coming down to slap the table gently.

She watched him carefully as he took the coffee though. He had leaned up in his seat, not exactly leaning back and putting on that “cool” demeanor that he had first exhibited once Lottie revealed herself. (Which for the record, she thought was a little silly. If anything he just looked like he was trying a little bit too hard, but who was Lottie to judge?). Regardless, she had noticed the softened look on his face as he took the coffee and had wondered why exactly something as simple as a warm drink had affected his attitude so much. “Good.” She finally replied with a smile, “I was debatin’ on that my whole way over here. I was like, shoot, I shouldn’t have added any cream and sugar and just brought it with me because what if he didn’t like cream and sugar? Or what if he doesn’t like coffee entirely? It was a mess, I probably looked like a fool.” Another laugh escaping her.

Lottie arched her neck so that she could see the prompt that he had been assigned since the professor had not sent her that much. It looked easy enough, a simple essay from an intro level course. This wasn’t going to be too much trouble to get him all squared away! But she listened carefully as he spoke, turning back up to face him as she nodded her head. She imagined that it must be hard. Sometimes it was hard, and she imagined it must be especially hard for him if English was his second language. “Hey, no worries,” She smiled, quickly resting her hand on top of his as reassurance. “That’s what I’m here for. To help you. And it’s a good thing that you have passion, that’s what that word meant right? In your writing. It means that you have a lot of good ideas that you want to get down on paper. We just have to figure out a way to bring it in just a teeny bit.” Her hand coming off of his, her pointer finger and thumb coming very close together but not quite touching.

TITO

The mechanic quirked a brow at her when she offered to figure out where he was from. Most of the time people guessed right. It was sort of a specific accent and when people weren’t from the US, the first place they named was New York. (Not that she wasn’t from the US, that southern accent definitely gave her away). Shit, would he have to guess where she was from? Most Southern accents sounded the same to him.  

Sure enough, she guessed right the first time. Then went to New Jersey which wasn’t a huge hop from NYC but she corrected herself. He let out a chuckle as he pushed the coffee cup between his hands on the table. “You’re right. Born in the Bronx. Lived in Brooklyn. Regular New York City boy in Swynlake.” He squinted at her slightly, “I’m not too great with Southern accents but Imma have to say you’re from… Texas?” Really he was drawing a blank and she didn’t sound like some Alabama or Mississippi hick to him. Geography was not his strong suit either so he was glad he could name a few southern states off the top of his head to choose from.

Tito debated on telling her about his relationship with coffee, but after realizing she might bring him more in future sessions he decided it would probably be best. “I mean, I like coffee. It don’t necessarily like me.” He laughed slightly, looking down at his papers, “I don’t drink a lot of it. I already got too much energy in me so it just sorta supercharges me.” He looked back at her slightly with a small smile on his face, “But yanno, I was feeling a little tired today so I appreciate it, Lottie. You definitely aren’t a fool, chica. I’m the damn fool. You’ll never look like the fool when you’re around me, promise ya that.”

“Yeah, you got it. You learn any Spanish? You’d probably be good at it.” He winked at her before listening to the rest of her words, except he totally got distracted by her hand covering his. It was nice. A warm feeling he hadn’t felt in a while. Her hands were so soft compared to how rough his were from scraping them up as a kid and working on cars all day. No one touched his hands anymore. Oddly enough it was more personal than anywhere else on his body that got touched. It was a gesture. He couldn’t really read her too well, which was interesting because girls had become so easy to him. Lottie was a mystery so far.

“Sounds good, chica.” The dark haired boy pulled his hands back to him, not wanting to keep them in that spot anymore looking like an idiot. “So uh, where should we start? Like, what’s your process for this shit? You got some sort of like writing formula/guideline or something.”

LOTTIE

So yeah, maybe Lottie was a little proud of herself for getting the answer right, but really, shed have to be a little stupid to not put together the fact that he was from New York. It was as strong and stereotypical of an accent as it could possibly get, coupled with the Hispanic accent. It was cool though, Lottie enjoyed it. It wasn’t a pairing that she had expected to ever hear before, but that’s what made him unique!

She let out a bit of a laugh, her head bobbing around a bit. “Closeeeeee, so I’ll give it to you. Just go one state over and you would have had it. Born and raised in Louisiana. New Orleans to be more specific. But I’ve been up to New York a couple times. Of course, we mainly stayed in the touristy areas which I’m sure you steered clear from.” Her hand sweeping out in front of her as she let out another laugh.

Oh, this was awkward then now wasn’t it? He didn’t even like coffee and she had gone and brought him one! Stupid Lottie. She should have asked him somehow first. “Oh gosh, I’m sorry. You don’t have to drink it if you don’t want to then, I ain’t gonna be mad or upset.” She replied, offering him a smile. “Next time though you’ll have to let me know what you like so I can pick that up for you instead!” Another smile, but totally understanding the feeling of being supercharged with energy. Sometimes when she drank coffee she felt like she was bouncing off the walls. The following comment though had caused Lottie to smile even brighter. She hadn’t known if it was meant to be a joke, but it definitely was sweet to her and made her smile. “I don’t know if I believe that.” She teased before getting out a couple supplies of her own.

“Never learned, I just got lucky with that one I guess.” Her shoulders popping up into a shrug. “Only know French and a little bit of Creole. That’s what some of the people in Louisiana speak. Not a whole lot though, just a teeny bit. Hey! How would you feel about maybe teachin’ me a little bit of Spanish though? I help you with your English, you help me with some Spanish?” It was an idea that got her excited, the thought of learning a brand new language. She just hoped that he would be on board too.

Though she’d understand if he wasn’t.

Lottie nodded her head, “I do, yes! But it sounds like you’ve already sort of been doing the same thing. The first thing I start with when I get a prompt is I go back and look at it. Highlight the keywords that are gonna push me where I need to start. That way, when I’m pulling everything together, I know that I didn’t miss anything and won’t be losing easy points. Why don’t you go ahead and do that.” She replied, offering him one of her (pink, of course) highlighters.

TITO

Louisiana. It all clicked now. Shit, rich french blonde was apparently his type. He never learned did he. Only difference was that he wasn’t exactly in his prime Tito flirting self. He was more grounded. Probably because he was legit here asking this girl for help when he never asked for help from nobody. He did shit for himself. He’d been on his own longer than he’d had anybody so askin’ for help didn’t really come too easy for him. On the streets, asking for help showed weakness, showed you gave up on yourself. It was hard for his pride to sit here and have someone else (no matter who it was) help him.

He scratched the back of his head with a nervous chuckle, “Nah, I mean, you can’t exactly avoid Times Square or Central Park. But yeah, mostly Brooklyn and the Bronx were my stompin’ grounds, yanno?” Usually those were prime locations for pick pocketing. He and Dodge could make a fortune just by doing the old fake out, bump and sneak as kids. He shook his head, making sure to take a big appreciative gulp of the coffee, which did not exactly get swallowed correctly causing him to cough slightly and say between coughs and a small wheeze. “Nah, it's really okay.” He took another sip to clear his throat and then sat the cup down away from him giving her a smile like he hadn’t totally just fucked up being smooth.

Tito shrugged and looked down at his paper, “Guess we’ll find out then huh.” He gave her a little mischievous smirk before looking back down, trying to decipher the prompt a little bit better before she started asking him questions. He didn’t want to seem underprepared or something.  Unfortunately, she was pretty distracting so he read the same sentence about five times before looking back up at her and giving a chuckle, “Yeah, sure. Least I can do, yanno for you helpin’ me out. And hey, that’s pretty impressive, I mean… Je parle un peu de français” From Daisy. His accent was never quite right in French. Most of his words tried to lean towards his Spanish accent. “But I’m no expert in languages or anythin’.”

He listened to her, prepared to learn some new techniques and shit. He smiled at the highlighter. Of course it was pink. Right, key words. Figuring out what all this bullshit in this prompt meant. Good start. He started highlighting some stuff and immediately he could tell that he was highlighting too much. The whole paragraph mostly looked pink. He sheepishly looked up at her, his voice kind of quieter, “How do you know what things are the most important? Kinda just.. I dunno everything looks important to me so it's hard for me to focus on the more important things, yanno?”

LOTTIE

“Sugar, I said you don’t have to drink it if you don’t want to, not chug it down to the point that you start chokin;.” Lottie laughed out as she placed a han on Tito’s shoulder to try and steady him. Because, yes, in order to help someone who is choking you needed to steady them by holding onto their shoulder. (Lottie’s brain worked in mysterious ways). “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be laughing, are you okay Tito? I can’t have you dyin ‘on me this early.” Or you know, at all that would certainly be tragic and definitely would make Lottie probably the worst tutor in the history of tutors ever.

It was weird. Because from the get go Tito had seemed so cool, calm, and collected. Or at least try to play like he was. The way that he had leaned back in his chair when Lottie had first walked back, the fact that he called her chica with that grin of his (which yes, it was much different than Lottie calling everyone sugar because she did not flash people smirks like that), and pretty much just his entire demeanor. Whatever it was though, he had already seemed...well…not like that at all. The way that he had sort of choked on his coffee because he was trying to appease her (which was sweet that he still was going to drink it) and how that wall that she assumed he put up came down when it came to the actual work she was there to help him with. Whatever it was, Lottie felt like maybe not a lot of people saw that side of Tito so she was at least happy she got a hint of it now.

He seemed like a nice guy!

Lottie clapped her hands quietly though as Tito agreed to help her with her Spanish before the French had rolled off of his lips. Her expression had changed into one of surprise, even bucking her head back just a bit, “Ahhh tres bien!” Lottie mused, already a bit impressed since he had managed to put together the sentence that quickly. She knew the two languages were a little similar, but she was still impressed nonetheless.

She let out another small laugh as he began to highlight the entire prompt. Definitely not what she had been going for, but mistakes were alright! That’s how you learned. “Here,” She replied, taking the notepad he had brought as well as the prompt so she could quickly write it down once more. “My go-to rule with highlighting is,” Lottie began as she jotted it down, “To try to stay to only highlighting like, five words, eight max.” She added, shooting Tito a playful glare before glancing back down to the pad as she finished up. Lottie pushed it back towards him so that he could see. “See look, this bit at the top is really only giving you some background information.” She spoke, using the pen to point out the sentence. “This really isn’t telling you what you need to write about, it’s just getting you to start thinking. Usually what you’re looking for is in the middle or right at the end. Try again, I think you got it this time.” Lottie offered with a smile. Positive affirmations. “Remember, try and look for those ‘buzz’ words. The ones your professor wants you to see. Not all that junk at the beginning.” 

[hollenka99]

Together Or Not At All

Summary: Henry and Theodore are together to the end of the line.

Warnings: War, WW2, Conscription/’The Draft’, arguing, bleeding out, major character death

October 1942 Despite what Henry currently believed, the purpose of this visit wasn't a happy one. Theodore was not here to talk about the upcoming holiday season or being Henry's best man. Does he want something to drink? Sure, why not. Henry had some chocolate lying around, did he want a piece? Okay, whatever, so long as they could just sit down and talk for a moment. This catches Henry's attention. "What's wrong?" He places the coffee in front of Theodore. Let's get this over with. "They called March 2nd." "Right." His brother stills. "Why did you come all this way to tell me about getting drafted? Tell them you're a conscientious objector on grounds of belief." "How can I turn around and say I'm exempt because I'm a Christian when the majority of the country is Christian? Riddle me that." "Theodore, we're not Christians. We are Catholics. The difference is that we have a Catechism that empathises the need to avoid war and violence at all cost. Cite the fifth commandment and then possibly the fourth, see what they say. Pops made his views on the last war abundantly clear so they can't argue that point." "Neither of us are Pops." "No, but if you just listened to me." Henry growls while rifling through his drawers. "The Civilian Public Service was made for people like us who want as little to do with the war as possible, without being arrested." "Why did you stockpile all this information?" "It's good to know where the hell you stand in all this. I turned 18 during peacetime. Europe was on edge and people could probably tell something was going to happen soon but it was still peacetime. But you," Henry shifts through papers, examining a document every few seconds to check if it was what he was searching for. "You turned 18 when we were still in peacetime but the war was in full swing for Europe." "Well, now I'm 20." "Exactly, the worst age to be. 20 is the first age they choose from. I've been worried this entire year that this would happen." After being handed informative documents, Theodore skims through them. "I've heard things about this. Don't they put you in the care of a parish and leave you to get on with it?" "No idea. Likely, though. Helping to manage to farms sounds better than putting yourself in danger, don't you think?" "It feels like cheating." "Cheating what? The government made accommodations for men who can't fight because of their beliefs. Taking advantage of those options isn't wrong. What would rather happen, get imprisoned for being a draft dodger?" "No! Of course not. I would rather not have my name down at all. But it's not like I had a choice. And don't act like you're not at risk yourself. You were forced the same as I was." Henry glowers at this. They jointly stew in their anger, not allowing themselves to make eye contact. It is Henry who shatters the silence with an outburst of despair. "I refuse to be Pops in this situation, Theodore. I can't... I- I refuse!" "You don't have to be anyone but yourself." "Do you have any idea how the feud between him and Uncle Harvey affected him? He never got to resolve it." "I thought that extended way beyond 1914." "Yes. Back to end of last century. That's not the point. I don't want history to repeat itself." "Then don't cut me out. It's as simple as that." "Don't get smart with me." Henry's hands slam onto the table. Some coffee leaps out. "Damn it. Give me a minute." Like that, Henry disappears to another room of his apartment. It is minutes before he returns to wipe the spilled liquid. No words transpire between them until he is done. It is firm resolve that the older of the two looks at his brother. "We'll go together. You've got your draft and I'll volunteer." "No, that's ridiculous." "Can't beat them? Join them. You're an adult now and I can't tell you what to do." "What about Elsie? Running off to fight is hardly fair on her." "No, it's not." Something in his brother's expression tells Theodore it's not the only thing he finds unfair in this situation. The fury dissipates from Henry gradually. When it has been completely depleted, he extends a hand. "If you're going out there, I've got to make sure you don't do anything stupid and get hurt. Do we have a deal?" "...I guess. If this is the compromise we're coming to, then at least we've got a compromise." "Exactly. But you have to promise you'll have my back too." "Do you have to ask?" Finally, a smile finds its way to the room. September 1943 Theodore watched from a distance as Henry treated a little girl's shrapnel wound. He was gentle and spoke to her in a way that caused her to smile between the wincing and flinching. What was more impressive was that he was doing all this in Italian. The girl summons her mother and supposedly instructs her to retrieve a flower. "Grazie!" Henry beams as the little girl presents it to him. Theodore can't wait to get back to the States. He knows for a fact that Henry will be a fit father once he's able to spend time with Grace. She increasingly crept up in conversations with him over the past four months. When he'd discovered she could smile and laugh now? Theodore hadn't heard the end of it for at least a week. God knows how long it was going to take for him to stop telling 'Uncle Theodore' all about his niece. "Nice flower." Theodore comments as they walk back to base. "I let it slip I just had my birthday. She wanted to give me a birthday present as a thank you." "Maybe Grace will pick flowers for you in a couple years." "Oh, you think? That would be great." A laugh accompanies an eye roll. "Out of curiousity, since when have you been able to speak Italian?" "Got this buddy back home called Marco. You do the math." "And what, you just decided to add learning a new language to all the 1000 other things they made you do?" Henry chuckles. "A bunch of societies I was interested in clashed with my classes. The opportunity was there so I took it." "Well, at least you've got a reason to use it now. If you worked in a place like New York, you could surprise a few patients." "Also the North End of Boston." "I'm sure Grace will enjoy being taught by you." Henry's smile returns. "Ha, hopefully. Honestly, I'm conversational at-" It vanishes. "Round here!" Theodore is pulled around the corner of the nearest building before he can even register the command. "Someone out there?" He pokes his head to get a better view of the street. "I could've sworn I heard something." The older brother frowns. "This isn't the best place to chat. If you still want to badger me about knowing Italian, let's find somewhere less risky." June 1944 He doesn't know how it happened. The whole area was full of German soldiers. Most of their own men were in a different part of town, dealing with the attack over there. It was only himself, Henry and Cox fending for themselves and each other. He didn't see the one who shot him or which direction they had been positioned. He only knows he was directing as many civilians out of harm's way before a man he'd been protecting had yelled for him to be careful. He'd intended to shield them with his entire body. Getting the pit of his elbow hit wasn't part of the plan. However it happened, he was now taking cover in a house that was practically half rubble. He can only come to the conclusion Henry spotted him hiding while grasping his wound. Trust Mr Almost-A-Doctor to get straight to work. "What the hell happened to your arm?" "Bullet." "Yes, I can see that, idiot. Looks like it got the brachial." There is pressure surrounding his elbow. "Ow." He flinches. "Didn't break my heel." "What? No, your brachial artery by your elbow. Listen, never mind that, I just lost sight of Cox but I said I'd cover his ass. I... I've got to tell him I won't be able to do that for a few minutes." "Okay." "I will be back as soon as I can. Keep pressure on your arm as much as you can. Don't you dare pass out before I can try treat you properly." "Sure." He tries to follow instructions. He really does. What he can't help was time slipping into a separate reality. It is millennia and moments before two hands cup his face. "You still hanging in there, Theodore?" "Mmm." Something with significant weight drops down beside him. "Yeah, not doing too great myself." "W'bout Cox?" "He's fine, as far as I'm aware. He can hold his own while heading back. I was going to carry you back to base but... I'm not in the best condition to do so at the moment. It's fine, we'll get some help soon. The medics can be far better than what some med school drop out like me can do, eh?" Theodore rests his head against the object beside him. "Y'good." "Oh Teddy," He can hear the smile in his big brother's voice. Something drapes across his shoulder, pulling him closer. "As big a softie as you were when we were little." "Ma's..." "Hey." His face gets smacked a couple times. "That's not very polite to walk off in the middle of a conversation, now is it? And no, Ma's not going to be happy about this. If there was- If I could change that, I would." A thoughtful pause. "How big of an earful do you think Pops is going to give us?" "...Hand- Handful." "Yes, you're absolutely right. How fast do you think his hands are going go then?" He gives Henry no response other than the hiss he produces when his arm is squeezed. "I'm sorry. I'm really sorry, Teddy, but let me be selfish for a minute. I don't want you to be the direct target of Pops' disapproval for too long, okay?" Theodore doesn't contribute any more to the conversation. He instead listens to Henry's chattering until it fades out completely. Here, in some war-torn French town, he can sit with his brother's arm around him while his own head rested on Henry's shoulder. The fight could go on without them.

[esonetwork]

'Murder In the Ball Park' Book Review By Ron Fortier

New Post has been published on https://esonetwork.com/murder-in-the-ball-park-book-review-by-ron-fortier/

'Murder In the Ball Park' Book Review By Ron Fortier

MURDER IN THE BALL PARK A Nero Wolfe Mystery By Robert Goldsborough A Mysterious Press Original 224 pgs

As we love both baseball and Nero Wolfe mysteries, this new entry by Robert Goldsborough was a much anticipated read. Happily it did not disappoint in any way offering up another intriguing murder and the all too familiar investigative routines originating from the brownstone at West 35th Street in New York.

The story opens with Archie Goodwin and his pal, Saul Panzer, attending a Giants vs Dodgers game at the Polo Grounds. Upon arriving, they learn it is Flag Day at the ballpark and among the dignitaries on hand is State Senator Orson Milbank and his entourage. At the top of the 4th inning a homerun is hit into the second deck area over left field and as the crowd of thousands jump to their feet to cheer, the Senator keels over having been shot in the head by an assassin’s bullet. By the time Archie and Saul reach Milbank, he is dead. Several days later the Senator’s widow, a much younger former Hollywood actress, calls the Brownstone requesting to emply the famous Nero Wolfe to solve her husband’s murder and bring the killer to justice.

The late Rex Stout, Wolfe’s creator, was a genius in developing a mold by which the rotund detective’s tales would be laid out. Basically Wolfe never leaves his home. Rather he assigns Goodwin to do the leg work; which also includes interviewing the various suspects. Archie has a knack for remembering conversations verbatim and these he reports back to Wolfe. When all the pieces of a puzzle have been assembled in the tale, Wolfe deduces the solution and has all the suspects invited to his office where he then reveals the “how it was done” and the killer’s identity. It is a formula Robert Goldsborough has captured perfectly in these new Wolfe mysteries which is why we love them so much.

Much like the Sherlock Holmes and Doctor Watson stories that clearly inspired Stout, the mysteries themselves often prove secondary in importance to the actual fun of simply “being” with these wonderful characters. “Murder In The Ball Park” is no exception. If you are Wolfe and Goodwin fan as this reviewer is, you will relish every single scene in this dandy little caper where in the end, murder strikes out.

[ravensale46-blog]

MLB Bullets is a mystery

What do I do when there’s no baseball? Find some show to binge watch until Spring Training starts. I think Rogers Hornsby would have probably done that too if he lived when the internet was around.

Can anyone photoshop Manny Machado into the Scooby Gang so we’ll be ready when he signs with the Mystery Team?

The Yankees and Reds have reportedly agreed to a deal that would send pitcher Sonny Gray to Cincinnati. However, the deal is contingent upon Gray signing a contract extension with the Reds before tonight.

Jon Tayler is tired of waiting for all the free agents to pick a new team and finds a “mystery team” for each unsigned free agents.

Clare McNear looks at the current state of the market for mega free agents Bryce Harper and Manny Machado and she pleads for someone to sign them before she loses her mind.

Mike Axisa gives four reasons the Yankees should sign one of those two big free agents.

Machado, for his part, was seen working out wearing a White Sox cap. Is that a hint, a troll job or just fitting in with the other two players he was working out with (Yonder Alonso, Jon Jay) who are currently with the Pale Hose?

Machado’s father hinted that a “mystery team” is the favorite to sign Machado.

In any case, the players are getting upset about the lack of a healthy offseason free agent market. Giants third baseman Evan Longoria says that it’s “such a shame” that such top free agents aren’t getting the deals that they feel they deserve.

One of those free agents, pitcher Dallas Keuchel, asks what is it going to take for someone to make him a serious offer?

Craig Calcaterra says it looks like the players are getting ready for a labor war over the weak free agent market.

Kristie Ackert agrees that it looks like a work stoppage is coming but she speaks with Scott Boras (and some other player agents) who have some ideas for improving the labor market.

Former minor league catcher Eric Sims explains how tough it is trying to survive on a minor leaguer’s income.

Former MLB pitcher (including the Cubs) Micah Bowie is suffering from a life-threatening condition after a botched surgery and is fighting the union for disability money.

Sheryl Ring is doing a series with some suggestions for improving the arbitration process for Fangraphs. Part one, part two and part three.

The White Sox are reportedly talking with the Dodgers about a deal for outfielder Joc Pederson.

This may or may not be related to the rumors about Pederson, but the Dodgers are rumored to be discussing a deal with free agent outfielder A.J. Pollock.

The Twins have signed left-hander Martin Perez to a one-year deal.

Richard Justice has seven unsigned free agents who could turn out to be real steals.

Tom Verducci reports that MLB still wants to implement a pitch clock for the 2019 season. I’m a conservative when it comes to baseball rules and most of the ideas I’ve seen for rules changes are bad ones. But I’ve seen a pitch clock implemented in the minor leagues for the past several seasons and it works. It’s a good idea.

Here’s something you probably didn’t need to be told. Richard Justice calls the National League Central the best division in baseball.

Tommy Deas speaks with the man who is trying to bring Major League Baseball to Nashville.

Will Leitch projects the next Hall of Famer from each of the 30 teams will be.

Fivethirtyeight usually uses polls to predict the outcomes of political elections but Nathaniel Rakich explains the new polling model that fivethirtyeight built to predict the results of Hall of Fame voting.

Hall-of-Famer Reggie Jackson thinks Barry Bonds and Rogers Clemens should be inducted into Cooperstown.

Former Cubs outfielder Tuffy Rhodes is never going into Cooperstown, but Jim Allen explains why the former NPB great is having trouble getting elected to the Japanese Baseball Hall of Fame. (h/t Hardball Talk)

Jamie Malanowski makes the Hall of Fame case for sabermetric pioneer Bill James. Yes, James should be in, but Marvin Miller should go in first.

The NHL’s Dallas Stars took the ice wearing some very sweet hockey jerseys based on the alternate jersey of the Texas Rangers.

Something called the Super Bowl will be contested between one team from Los Angeles and one team from Boston. (Well, almost Boston.) That should sound familiar to you as those two cities competed for the World Series in October. That’s the first time since 1969 that the same two cities faced off in the Super Bowl and the World Series. (Although that was the 1968 NFL season, so if you want to get technical about it, it is the first time it has ever happened.)

Finally, check out this picture of CC Sabathia, B.J. Upton and Edwin Jackson on horseback while attending Chris Young’s wedding. It looks to me like they’re ready to bring some cattle rustlers to justice.

And tomorrow will be a better day than today, Buster.

Source: https://www.bleedcubbieblue.com/2019/1/21/18191171/mlb-bullets-manny-machado-mystery-team-bryce-harper-labor-problems-hall-of-fame

[im-robertclarington]

Phone Home||Self-Para

Where: Hospital Room, Santiago, Chile When: May 21, 2019 What: A phone call between Robbie and his kid back home.  Notes:  Robbie took part in a 'big brother' program at an adoption agency and met a kid, Sam, and bonded instantly. He's officially fostering him, though Sammy is staying with Robbie's mother in Texas while on tour. He plans on officially adopting after the tour raps.

~Incoming call, Robbie Clarington~

Sam: Hello? Robbie?

Robbie: Hey, kiddo; how's it going?

Sam: “How’s it going? How’s it going? Oh it’s going real swell. It’s just flipping fantastic. I haven’t slept since I saw it on the news and Gran has been worried sick over you and you- you- you just ring up like hey kiddo how’s it going? like you haven’t just been shot in the middle of a concert? Geez Louise, Robbie!” 

Robbie: [Chuckles, sighing softly] "What else am I supposed to do?" [Pause, softens] "I'm sorry it worried you, but I'm okay. They took me in for surgery and I'm recovering now. Shoulder's a bit sore, but hey, I have a new scar to add to the collection." 

Sam: “I was really worried about you. We didn’t know how to get there to you and Gran wanted to go but I was scared if you rang or if someone rang and we’d be on the plane and I didn’t wanna- [voice breaks] I though I’d lost you. Dad please come home, please.” 

Robbie: "Hey, Sammy-Hey, shhh, bud. I'm so sorry, Sam, I wish I could've called you sooner. You're not going to lose me, it's going to take a lot more than a little bullet to the shoulder to get rid of me." [Pause, with a sigh] "We get about a week break before the tour picks back up, I'll see if I can come home and see you. I love you so much, Sam, I'm sorry for putting you through this." 

Sam: “Why’re you apologising? It’s not you who has to be sorry. It’s that dumbo with a gun. I just want you to be safe. Gran thought you’d be away from that stuff now you’re not in the army but now this happens and I just- [Pause, breath hitches] I miss you. I just wanna see you.” 

Robbie: "Trust me, I'm taking all necessary precautions for when the tour starts back up. I thought I would be away from it too, but-" [sighs] "I guess things just happen sometimes. Here, hold on-" [Ends call] 

~Incoming FaceTime, Robbie Clarington~

Robbie: "It's about the best I have at the moment."

Sam: “Wait you’re still going on tour? You can’t- Dad. No. You gotta come home, it’s not safe. Dad please.... [frowns at the sight of him] Dad [voice breaks] You’re all I have, I know I got Gran and Dodger but you- I don’t wanna- [sobs] Dad I need you at home. You don’t need to be on tour any more.” 

Robbie: [Swallows hard, tugging the hospital gown higher around his neck, his eyes soft and guilty] "It's my job, Sammy; protecting Cooper. If I hadn't been there, I don't know what would've happened. And I don't want to think about it [quietly]." [Pauses, observing Sam] "I need you to trust me, Sammy. I'm working with Mark, one of the other security guys here, getting a good plan in place to make sure this doesn't happen again. I promise that I'm coming back home to you, to get those papers signed officially." 

Sam: “But there’s other people there to do that job. He’s a musician. He has people . You don’t have to be there [wipes face on sleeve and looks down before falling quiet] You did the last tour, now I won’t see you for three months and you get shot in the first week. Gran was right. 

Robbie: “I don’t trust other people to take care of him.” [Pauses, glancing off to the side before glancing back at the phone] “I didn’t want you to find out like this, of all possible ways, but we’re dating. I...love him, Sam; and this incident has only made me not want to leave even more.” [Pause, wincing as he moves his other arm] “I’ll come see you as soon as they release me. I promise.”

Sam: [frowns in confusion] Wait, you’re dating your- your bodyguard person? When did that happen? Does he know about me? Wait- holy cow you’re dating Cooper Anderson [sighs heavily before looking down] Alright, I guess he’s more important. It’s okay.. Gran wants to fly out and see you anyway. I guess I’ll come with her. 

Robbie: “Only a few weeks ago, we’re really only just starting out. He doesn’t know about you yet, no; I’ve been trying to find the best way to fit it in, but he’s been handling some of his own stuff lately, ripping the bandaid didn’t seem like the best option.” [Cocks his head, observing Sam] “He’s not more important, Sam. You are the most important person in my life. But he is still important to me, and I gotta protect him. But good, if you guess you’ll come with her...” [rolls his eyes with a small smile] “Tell Gran to get a move on, you need a hug and obviously, mine are the best.”

Sam: [pauses and stares down before sighing, hears him and smiles slightly] He-.... [shifts uncomfortably before sighing again] You won’t get rid of me will you? I’ve heard it happen before. People take kids in, they- they get someone special and then realise that the kid was just a placeholder. I- I don’t wanna be a placeholder. 

Robbie: “Never, Sammy. You’re my kid, not a placeholder.”

Sam: [smiles a little and wipes his eyes] You promise I get to beat you up if you ever send me back? 

Robbie: [Grins and nods] Promise, I’d expect nothing less.

Sam: [Sighs softly and softens] I guess I can come with Gran then, she’s just waiting for the go ahead. I’ll let her know. Then again, she’s probably already booked them. She let me stay off school today! Dodger and I went down the back to the stream and we saw this super cool dragonfly, you wouldn’t have believed it. Like it was just sat there on a rock and then Dodger barked and scared it off.

Robbie: [Chuckles, nodding] If I know Diane Clarington at all, you’ll be woken up at 3 in the morning with your bag packed for you and the car running downstairs. And yeah, that sounds like Dodger. You get a picture before it flew off?

Sam: [groans] Is there any point in sleeping then? [smiles] No, but it was cool to see. Aunt Sarah was ringing for you and she was ranting about you on the phone, it was funny. [laughs] 

Robbie: [Grins again as he shakes his head] No, probably not, but do it anyway. [Rolls his eyes playfully] How am I supposed to see the dragonfly if you don’t take pictures, Sammy, come on man. [Laughs and shakes his head] Oh god, why was she ranting?

Sam: Well, I- I was too busy looking at it! And I’ve been conscious of tick season with Dodger. I make sure to give him two checks when we get back from his walks. [grins at the camera] because you got shot, dummy! She was ranting how you’re not safe to be left on your own and I think she was just worried like all of us were. It’s not fun finding out on the news

Robbie: Well I’m glad to know he’s being taken care of. Where is my idiot anyways? [Laughs and shrugs] It’s not like it’s the first time! You guys, so dramatic. [Smiles] Sounds like I have a fun conversation waiting for me with her. 

Sam: Oh! Wait there. [leaves the phone on the desk and rushed off to get Dodger, comes back into the bedroom as he’s got Dodger] Look he’s here. He didn’t die. [picks up camera again and pulls Dodger into frame with him] Look there’s Dad! 

Robbie: [Laughs, glancing around at the bits of the room he could see, softening as he realized it was his. Grins as he sees the dog] Hey buddy, you miss me? 

Sam: Nope! [laughs] he likes me more than you. He’s my sidekick. [softens a little and looks back at Dodger then Robbie] ...I miss you.

Robbie: Oh I knew it, traitor. [Shoots a face at Dodger before chuckling at glancing back at Sam] I miss you too, kiddo. But if I’m right about Mom, I’ll see you tomorrow. 

Sam: Y’know, I’ve never been on a plane before? So that’s gonna be new. Is it scary? Do we have to go far? Wait- is your new boyfriend gonna be there? What if he doesn’t like me? Will you leave him if he doesn’t like me? You- if you had to choose you wouldn’t leave me would you? 

Robbie: Planes aren’t near as bad as you’d think. Get the window seat if you can, you get amazing views that way. And no, I wouldn’t leave you. Hate to break it to you, kid, but you’re stuck with me. Cooper- [pauses with a sharp breath before sighing] I don’t even know if he’s awake, they won’t let me go to see him. I pulled him out of the way of the shot, but in doing so, he got trampled in the crowd. [Chuckles humorlessly] Hell, maybe he would be better off with someone else as his guard.

Sam: The window seat? Alright, I’ll sit there. Then Gran can sit with me. [smiles a little at the response before registering the genuine fear in Robbie’s face] Well I mean, you stopped him from getting shot. He could have died. You stopped that. 

Robbie: Exactly. [Smiles, looking down] He could’ve died in that crowd too, though. I don’t know how effective I am if I pull him out of the way of one danger only to put him in another. [takes a deep breath before looking up with a forced smile] I guess I’ll have to talk to him about it.

Sam: He had more chance of getting out there. That wasn’t your fault. You did your job. You saw a threat and got him out.

Robbie: [Quietly, looking down again] Yeah. [Pauses for a moment, before blowing out his cheeks and looking back up with a small smile] So, what else is new with you?

Sam: [frowns realising he can’t make it better] I love you, Dad. [looks as Dodger nuzzles into him and ruffles his head] Not a lot. Just got homework to do. 

Robbie: [Smiles a bit wider, more genuine] I love you too, Sammy. Get the homework done. We can talk tomorrow.

Sam: Oh so, my Dad getting shot isn’t a valid excuse not to do my homework? [grins] 

Robbie: [Grins back and shakes his head] Not even a little bit.

Sam: [laughs] fine. Just don’t do anything stupid until I get there okay? 

Robbie: [Grins] How can I, all the stupid is there with you. 

Sam: [grins] And here you say you’re NOT Captain America. I am screen recording! You are Cap confirmed! [laughs before looking across when Dodger groans and nuzzles up to him] I’ll see you tomorrow Dad, I love you. 

Robbie: [Laughs loudly, shaking his head, hiding the camera against his chest] No! It’s not allowed! [Chuckles softly as he brings the camera back up] I love you too, Sam, I’ll see you tomorrow.

Sam: [pulls Dodger into frame and waves] Bye Dad! 

Robbie: Bye! [Grins and waves back before hanging up]