#I also firmly believe that Bail is the last person you want to make mad and if he gets mad you should be very scared

[varpusvaras]

Bail: *reading something for the Senate at his desk*

Fox: *comes slogging in*

Bail: Oh, hello love

Fox, faceplanting onto the couch: Helourhhghhhhdjdhfjgfh

Bail: Rough day at work?

Fox: Uhhhggghhgg, I don't even know where to start. First we get one suspect in and then the Jedi want to come and interrogate her, and then we get the Jedi murdering the suspect on tape, and then of course she is Skywalker's Padawan, and he comes in after Tarkin has been there-

Bail: *reaching for the comlink to ask Padmé if she has heard anything more*

Fox: - and he starts demanding to be let in because 'that's his Padawan' and he doesn't stop when I tell him that Tarkin said no, and then he gets mad and starts to threaten me if I'm not letting him in-

Bail: *eye twitching* what

Fox: - who does the think he is, who does he think I am? I cannot just jump from one order to another, if I did what he told me to then Tarkin would get mad and I would get hurt anyway, and now three of my troopers are dead and my head hurts and I want to slam it to a wall or something-

Bail: No, no, don't do that. I'm going to get you some water and painkillers, do you want a hug?

Fox: UughhhfhhfhhfhhhhHHHHHH yes

Bail: Of course, I'll just send this message

Bail: Padmé, I'll let you know that Anakin is not invited to our Garden Parties anymore until he stops being a Karen and starts respecting people who do unpaid labor. I'll sic Breha on him if he doesn't

Bail: Alright, c'mere

[flying-nightwing]

Sing Me to Sleep

Haha I’m legit crying good luck with this one if you cry easily like me. So basically this is me evacuating stress by writing a god damn tragedy once again. Don’t worry tho I gave you a little break at the end so you don’t think I’m cruel. Anyway Siri play Quit Playing Games with my Heart by the Backstreet Boys.

Masterlist in bio // pinned post

Pairing: siblings Jason x reader

Word count: 2547

Warnings: dealing with death/grief, language

Summary: You’ve taken so much with you // but left the worst with me (insp.)

You knew something was wrong when Bruce came back from patrol without Jason. His head was low, and he refused to meet your eyes. In fact, he had avoided you altogether. You were kindly but firmly escorted out of the cave by Alfred as the Bat came back, and that confirmed that the night had definitely gone awry. You waited, waited and waited, biting your nails, pulling your hair, until the sun came up and took its place well up in the sky. You were tired and sleepless, but you couldn’t close your eyes. You were nervous, not knowing what was going on. A thousand scenarios ran into your mind, yet none of them prepared you for the solemn expression that was painted over Bruce’s face when he finally came up the batcave later in the morning. He had dark circles under his eyes, contrasting over the red around his iris. You stopped breathing. 

Bruce wasn’t the one to express emotion, so it was bad. Even without words, especially without words, it told you everything you needed to know. He placed a hand on your shoulder, squeezing lightly, and your heart sank.

“No” You muttered, trying to catch his glance. He wouldn’t let you in. “That’s impossible”

“I’m sorry kid” His voice cracked, but was quickly covered with a clearing of his throat. 

“That can’t be…”

He walked away. Your legs shaked, and you had to hold on the wall not to fall. You couldn’t let yourself believe anything bad happened to Jason. He was your big brother, the one person you looked up the most to. Your vision blurred with tears. He couldn’t be gone, no, he always came through. He was strong and resilient, and you still believed it was just a terrible, terrible nightmare. But unfortunately, you were still aware and no amount of pinching your skin and biting your cheek to draw blood could change that. 

You let yourself fall on the ground, right beside the piano. Your chest heaved, the tightness restricting your lungs from expanding enough to give you air. You recognized the symptoms of a panic attack, but you couldn’t stop it. Usually, Jason would be there to help you calm down. He would always be there to do breathing exercises with you, or distract you from your spiralling down. He was good at that, he understood you better than anyone here in the manor. 

You had a similar story, so there was no surprise at all you bonded so quickly. Dick was almost jealous of the relationship you had with Jason. Bruce adopted you after your trip to juvie for shoplifting instant noodles and gatorade for the third time. You were only fourteen back then, and Bruce bailing you out saved your life. There were a lot of things you didn’t expect from this life, but what you truly didn’t see coming was to have someone who related to you in this new life. From day one, you got along with Jason. You were angsty and brooding and confrontational, and instead of frowning at you, he gave you tips on how to make it all even more effective. In a matter of weeks, he became your best friend. He taught you everything he knew about the Manor, about how to navigate the life of a Wayne. You used to sneak outside during galas and functions to smoke cigarettes he never told you where he got, bitching on the guests and on how ridiculous it all was. You would be miserable together at some points, but it was better than being miserable alone. 

At least he understood. 

You thought about the last words you exchanged before he went on patrol last night. Could you even remember what you said? It was something banal, you knew it. Probably a dumb joke, or words that didn’t matter at all. What if it was the last thing you said to him? Ever? It couldn’t be it. 

“Miss (Y/N)?” 

You looked up to Alfred, who was standing in front of you with a concerned frown. His eyes held an infinite amount of sadness, but he was doing his best to stay strong. 

“He’ll come back, won’t he?” You asked, still hopeful. You had to be.

“Master Todd--” For a second there he threatened to come undone, but he composed himself, for your sake probably. “The Joker was involved. He… There was an explosion”

You felt a hot tear roll down your cheek. Alfred looked away.

“There was nothing Master Wayne could do” He shook his head, his voice slightly higher than usual. “I am so sorry, Miss (Y/N)”

You tried, god knows you tried to stay strong. That’s what he would have told you, to hold your head up and battle through it all. But you weren’t him and now he was gone for real. The dam made of denial you had put up to hold the emotions at bay broke in a thousand pieces, suddenly flooding you with the sharpest pain you ever felt. 

Bruce would never tell you, but the cry of agony you let out at that moment made his own tears fall off in cascades again.

---

The funeral had been kept small and away from prying eyes. 

The last thing Bruce wanted was for the paparazzi to show up and turn it into a tabloid. He had been very pragmatic in the last days, almost like nothing had happened. But you knew. He was just better at hiding his grief. You hadn’t talked to anybody ever since that night, not even Alfred despite knowing he didn’t deserve your silence. He was hurting too, but your pain was crippling. The only reason you even got out of bed and showered was to pay your last respects to Jason. Not even to him, to a closed casket and a headstone. Was there even enough left of him to bury a body? You had no idea. Bruce didn’t speak about it. You didn’t want to know either. 

The sky had opened minutes after the burial ceremony. You stood at the back of the small crowd composed of Bruce, Alfred and Dick, far enough so they couldn’t be tempted to look at you with pity, or worse, ask you to say some words. The black headstone in the manor’s backyard was taunting you, reminding you you were once again all alone. 

Here rests Jason Todd

Loving son and brother

It wasn’t fair. You wanted to scream and the sky, so loud you would make the thunder seem like a whisper. It wasn’t fair. You had never felt such pain before, not when your mother bailed, not when you learned your father was found dead in his car. Your adopted brother was the closest family you had, you loved him so much and now he was gone, just like that.

You tore your eyes from the gravestone when you heard your name being spoken close to you. You hadn’t even noticed Dick approaching, let alone him stopping that close you, his black umbrella overlapping yours. His eyes were red and puffy, and he didn’t even try to hide it. You had forgotten Jason was his brother too. 

“You should come back inside” His voice was wavering, hiccuping here and there. Only then you noticed everybody else was gone. “You’ll catch a cold”

You shook your head. 

“I need time alone with…” You couldn’t finish your sentence. But he understood. He simply walked away, leaving you under the rain to give one last formal goodbye. 

You walked to the foot of the still open hole in the ground, staring at the dark wooden coffin laying at the bottom that remained undisturbed by the cold of the morning. For a while you didn’t talk, because you didn’t want to but also because you couldn’t. There was this lump in your throat that stole from you your restrain on your emotion. You couldn’t even start to describe what you were feeling, as everything was spinning so fast in your head. You were dizzy and wanted off, but unfortunately, you had no control on anything. You had little else choice than to be a victim of your own inability to process the death of a loved one. So when you could finally speak, you were surprised, but not really, that what came out was anger.

“Fuck you Jason” It came off weaker out loud than how you felt it inside, like a tidal wave crashing on a rock before it could reach the shore. “Why did you leave me alone?”

Your tears joined the pouring rain in their symphony. 

“You knew how much you meant to me, you knew!” You flexed your frozen fingers on the handle of the umbrella. “And you still left me. I hate you!”

Your words fueled your sobbing. Your hand flew to your mouth, regretting instantly what you said. Jason didn’t deserve those harsh words you didn’t mean, but your chest was heavy and it was the only thing that would come out. You felt restricted even in the large field, like you were in the coffin instead of him. Maybe you should have been. Maybe if you had accepted Bruce’s offer to join the vigilante life, maybe you would have been with him, maybe you could have even saved him. He didn’t leave you, you left him. It was your fault, not his. Why did you say you hated him? Now you hated yourself.

“I’m so sorry Jason” You couldn’t even hear the words you were saying, but you felt the urge to speak them anyway. “I’m so sorry. I don’t, I don’t hate you. I just miss you so fucking much. I don’t know what I’ll do without you around. You’ve taken everything good in this world with you, and left the worst out here with me. You’re gone, and I’m still here. You always told me to be strong, but I can’t, not without you. I’m not sure I can do this, Jason. I could have learned so much more from you, but what’s left now? I just wished I could talk to you one more time, tell you how much you changed my life for the better. Just give you one more hug, even though you pretended you hated it because that's how a brother acts. Learn one more dumb self defense move. Steal your snacks one more time, so you can be mad at me but still make sure you buy extra for me. You thought I didn’t know you were never really mad. How can I steal your snacks now, if you’re not there to catch me in the act?”

You paused to breathe, the action now a little easier. Your tears had stopped and so did the rain, leaving a thick, cold mist hanging above the dewy grass. His absence was a permanent ache on your side, his soul felt so far away even though his body was right in front of you. The lid of the coffin acted as the veil in between the living and the dead, a veil you couldn’t see through. You wondered if he was on the other side, and if he was, whether or not he was as lost and scared as you, searching for a familiar face in all this fog. The best you could hope now was for him to be at peace. 

“I know you had a hard time believing anybody could love you” You sighed, calmer now. “But I did. I’ve looked up to you from the moment I met you. You were my hero. I guess… I guess I just wanted you to know that. I’m sorry I never told you out loud, I should have but now it’s too late. I just hope you knew that you were the most important person to me, and that I will miss you every remaining day of my life. Thank you Jason, for everything you gave me. I wish I had the time to repay the favour while I still had the time. I’m so sorry”

You stayed there until sundown.

---

Every morning for five years you visited Jason’s grave, every morning but this one. You woke up late for a final, barely having the time to dress up and steal a bagel from the kitchen. You told yourself you would visit it tonight, that it was no big deal. Dick barely went anymore, and Bruce liked to ignore it was even there. Still, you knew he thought about it from time to time, by how he looked through the windows on rainy days. But still, it felt wrong not to go talk to him even just a little bit. I stayed at the back of your mind for the entire duration of the final. 

The smog provided a thick blanket over gotham, but the sun, ever so resilient, managed to peek through the yellow-ish cover to warm the concrete jungle that was Gotham. Your exam was your only appointment of the day, so you allowed yourself to read a book in the metro that brought you back to the outskirts of the city. Coincidently, it was one of Jason’s favourites. You had already gotten through his entire collection, but this was the one that stuck out the most to you. The wagon was only half full, so you sat next to the window to take advantage of the rare golden light that seemed to only increase the farther you got from the inner city.

Without tearing your eyes from the words in front of you, you got off at the last stop and jogged down the platform’s stairs until you reached your car. Only then you put the book aside and drove back the short way to the manor. You picked the book again when you got off, slowly walking around the house, drinking the words like water in the desert. Your feet walked on their own the way to the small Wayne graveyard, a way they already knew without needing your guidance. However, they stopped when you noticed a tall figure standing exactly where you usually would. Your eyes left the page, squinting at the stranger. It wasn’t Bruce, and it wasn’t Dick, despite the similar black hair. He had heard you coming, you recognized the subtle shift in the posture you observed your vigilante family do countless times. 

“Hello?” You decided to call. “Can I help you?”

He froze. You didn’t understand why, until he turned his shoulder and stared at you with wide, hopeful eyes. You held your breath as you searched his familiar features. It wasn’t the face you remembered, and his eyes didn’t hold the same wonder they did before, but you could still recognize the character in them anytime. At first you didn’t believe it, you pinched yourself a hundred times over in a minute, bit the inside of your cheek until it bled, but he was still standing there, baffled as you were, searching your face for familiarity just as you did him. 

“Jason?”

He gave you a half smile, but it was all you needed. Your eyes teared up as you chuckled in disbelief, pushing aside the questions you had for him and running into his arms.

[kenzieam]

Not Happening, Doll - Chapter Seven (Bucky X Levi)

Rating: M (language, violence, eventual smut, angst, slow burn)

Genre: Drama/Angst

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*****************************************************************************

Well, Bucky is back, but is it too late? Levi gave him her heart once, will she again?

****************************************************************************

Bucky paced agitatedly, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, in his room; fists clenching and unclenching. His emotions were such a conflicting stew that he couldn’t even focus on one, swinging wildly between devastation, rage, shame and ice-cold fear.

He’d fucked up, big time… like Titanic big.

The best thing he’d ever had in his life, his mixed-up, drawn out, tormented life, and he’d lost it… no, he’d thrown it away.

Levi had loved him. And he’d tossed that away in a mad dash to escape…. what? Eternal love? Happiness?

You don’t deserve her.

Fuck that. He’d decided a long time ago, when he’d clung to Levi that first night when his walls had finally crashed down that he didn’t care anymore whether or not he deserved her, he wanted her and what’s more, he needed her.

And what had he done? At their first major test? He’d abandoned her, spent the next six months mooning over himself like a total asshole.

Shit, whether he needed Levi or not now, he certainly didn’t deserve her. Not anymore.

Every razor blade drag of sorrow and shame across his tender skin was earned, justified and deserved.

He should never have come back, it was too late, he’d messed up too badly to ever repair this damage.

Levi had moved on, like she had every right to do. Seeing her tonight on the couch with Steve had confirmed that. He’d had her first, and he’d been there when Bucky had bailed.

Leave; let Levi live her life.

But he couldn’t, his heart and soul were no longer his; he’d given them to Levi a long time ago and spent the last six months looking for them, trying to find them when he already knew deep down where they were.

He had to do something, anything¸ at this point.

He needed to hurt something, unload some of the pain in his soul onto something or someone else. On autopilot he stripped, changed mechanically into gym clothes; compression leggings, basketball shorts and a t-shirt and left the room, arrowing straight for the training center.

He slowed as he reached the doors, hearing noises and movement inside. But the draw to expel some of his pent-up energy overruled any urge to turn around and hide again. He sidled closer and looked through the door’s tempered glass window; his breath catching when he saw her.

Levi was inside, his lethal ballerina; elegant and deadly in simple capris and a tank top. A weight belt circled her waist and she was adjusting leather gauntlet gloves on her hands, flexing her fingers for the perfect fit. Her arms were toned and muscular, in fact, apart from her prosthetic leg, she looked exactly the same as Bucky remembered; even her hair was back to its unique auburn shade, grown out from that ridiculous bob. And Bucky found himself transfixed by her new limb. Shuri had obviously had some hand in its development, it was vibranium and just as sleekly beautiful as Bucky’s arm. Levi balanced perfectly on it, with no trace of a limp or favoritism, in truth, it rapidly faded away; Levi looked so natural and comfortable with it; it didn’t stand out or hold her back in any way.

Bucky watched, his heart in his throat and pride welling up in his eyes as Levi continued her workout, stepping into the squat rack with a look of calm determination on her face. A quick glance told him that Levi had 500 pounds on the bar, the same weight she’d been able to squat before their mission, before the accident.

His breath caught and held as Levi gripped the bar and slowly dropped into a squat. Her eyes were fixed straight ahead in concentration; this weight was nearing the top of her range, but Levi stood easily, dropping into another smooth set, then another and another until she hit twenty and set the bar back onto the rack with a clang.

She was reaching for a towel to wipe across her beautiful face when Bucky took a deep breath and stepped inside. Levi looked up at the sound of the door, the smile beginning to pull at her lips dying a quick death when she saw who it was.

Bucky struggled to find something to say before finally blurting, “500 pounds? Just like before.” He’d meant to tell her how damn beautiful she looked, how smoking hot she was, but of course, this albatross tumbled out instead.

A shadow crossed Levi’s face. “I’m still the same person I was, Bucky. I’m not defective now. Missing my leg doesn’t make me less than I was.” Anger flashed in her eyes. “Is that why you left, huh? Because I’m damaged? Because I lost a leg? I’m not beautiful anymore?” Her eyes bored into his as she marched towards him and Bucky struggled for words.

Why? Why could Bucky never seem to speak to Levi without firmly jamming his foot in his mouth first?

“What? No- “ He began but Levi punched him solidly in the face, not holding back and Bucky staggered before falling to one knee, his ears ringing and blood pouring freely from his shattered nose. One hand went to his face while the other hit the floor, trying to keep him balanced enough to not fall all the way down. His ears were filled with a dull roar, but he heard Levi’s next words to him crystal-clear, if only because she snarled them with such venom.

“Fuck you, asshole. Whatever we had between us was obviously a mistake, one I won’t make again.”

“L- “ Bucky struggled to speak, but his head was throbbing so hard, his world knocked completely off its axis and not totally due to Levi’s punch, but also because of her words. “Please- “

The slamming door was his only answer.

Levi’s heart raced; her jaw clenched as she held in a scream of rage.

What. The. Fuck?

What the everlasting FUCK?

That had been Bucky’s problem, why he’d left her six months ago to piece her life back together alone? Because she was damaged? She was no longer perfect in his eyes? Wasn’t that ironic. A man missing his entire arm rejects the woman he claimed to love because she now too misses a limb.

If she wasn’t so heart-broken and shocked, the rage boiling in her veins might lead to do something really frickin’ stupid. Bucky was enhanced but he damn sure wasn’t immortal, and he could die just like any other man.

Her skin burned and she was no doubt red as a tomato as she stormed back to her room. She didn’t even notice Steve chasing her, calling her name until he physically touched her and then she whirled with her fist raised, ready to brain the idiot fool enough to touch her right now.

“Hey, whoa!” He squawked, stumbling backwards, his arms raised defensively. “Easy, Tyson!”

Levi sagged, dropping her fist, her face flushing even harder. “Steve, I’m sorry- “

“What the hell, Lev?” He demanded, daring to step close again. This time Levi let him, and he cautiously circled his arms around her, hugging her stiff form.

“Bucky.” She spat.

Foreboding ran cold through Steve’s veins. “What did he do?”

Levi’s voice hissed with fury as she recounted what had happened and by the time she finished Steve was standing apart from her, his hands on his hips and eyes wide with shock. He could only gape for a few beats like a fish before he swallowed hard and scrubbed a hand over his face.

“What…. “ he trailed off. “Are you sure that’s what he meant?”

“What else could he mean, Steve? He looked shocked, like he’d completely written me off as some… fucking reject!”

Steve shook his head, doubt clouding his eyes. “Lev, I… I mean Bucky’s a lot of things, but- “

“It doesn’t matter.” Levi stated abruptly. “We’re done anyway, he made that clear six months ago. I was a fool to believe he actually gave a shit about me.” She pushed past Steve and stormed the rest of the way to her room, slamming the second door in the last ten minutes behind herself.

Steve stared at her closed door for a beat, then turned and strode down the hallway. He needed to solve this. The Bucky he’d seen earlier was dejected and broken and Steve knew he always punished himself harder than anyone else ever could. No doubt he had completely bypassed the medical lab and gone straight to his room, not believing himself worthy of any help. Steve reached the elevator and went up two floors, pausing before continuing down the hallway to the end. He had to knock four times, louder each time, before a voice muttered from the other side.

“Yeah?”

“Bucky? Open up.”

The door flew open and Steve was temporarily stunned by the sight before him. Both of Bucky’s eyes were black, making him look like a racoon and his nose was swollen; he’d not yet cleaned all the blood off his face and his white t-shirt looked like Jackson Pollack’s Red Painting 5. “What?” He spat. “I’m Bucky again now? Or are you just here to loosen a few of my teeth?” He slammed the door, or tried to, but Steve jammed his arm in the way, wincing as it hit his bicep, hard, and stepped inside; following Bucky who’d stormed away and was now in his bathroom, patting delicately around his nose with a blood-stained washcloth. The sink below him looked like a sacrificial alter. Bucky’s eyes flicked to Steve as he leaned against the doorframe, but he didn’t speak any further, preferring instead to scowl at the mirror.

“What did you say to her?” Steve finally asked.

Bucky threw the washcloth into the basin and set his hands on the counter, leaning forwards, his head hanging. Blood pattered slowly into the sink, a metronome strangely in tune with the hammering of both of their hearts. “What did she say I said?”

“You questioned her… her ability to squat what she could before, like you didn’t think she could ever do it again- “

Bucky pushed away from the sink with a growl, shoving past Steve and into the main room. He yanked his shirt off with a harsh movement, tearing the fabric then wadded it and pressed it gingerly to his nose. “I didn’t know what to say, okay? I saw her, standing there, looking just as fucking beautiful as before and I choked. I wasn’t questioning her abilities, I was just… fuck, I can’t think straight around her, I never could.”

“So, you don’t think she’s damaged, or what was it she said… defective?”

“No! I don’t! I never did, she’s perfect! She always has been- “ With a groan Bucky sat heavily on the bed, running a shaking hand through his hair, hair that had gone back to its original brown and grown out into shaggy, unkempt, chin-length mop. He drew in a unsteady breath through his mouth, his nose now freely bleeding again into his torn shirt. “She’s perfect, Steve; and I always seem to screw up with her- “

“Do you love her?” Steve asked quietly, standing a half-dozen feet away.

“It doesn’t matter anymore.”

“What do you mean? Of course, it matters. Do you love her?”

“It doesn’t matter!” Bucky hissed, raising his head, eyes wild in his blood-stained face. “She’s chosen you!”

Steve took a full step back, throwing his hands up in shock. “What?!”

“She chose you.” Bucky repeated vehemently, launching to his feet and starting to pace again. “You hooked up at the safe house, and you drove it home tonight on the couch.”

Steve shook his head, eyeing Bucky like he’d suddenly begun making fart noises with his armpits. “You got it all wrong, man.”

“No, I don’t think so. But go ahead, you deserve her far more than I do- “

“For fuck’s sake, Bucky!” Steve barked suddenly, lunging at Bucky. Grabbing the other man’s shoulders, he slammed him back against the nearest wall, a low growl escaping his clenched jaw. “Why do you keep saying that?! What the hell are you talking about?!”

Bucky shoved at Steve, but the man was immoveable, and they glared daggers at each other for a few tense heartbeats before Bucky sagged in defeat, leaning back against the wall. “You’re good for her, better than me- “

“We’re not together! We never have been!” Steve shouted; eyes boring into Bucky’s. “Where the fuck did you get that idea?”

Bucky opened his mouth to answer, then closed it again, eyes searching Steve’s with a kind of dawning desperation. “You’re… you’re not?”

“No, you dumb shit!” Steve pushed away from Bucky with a groan. “You’ve been thinking that… all this time?”

“So… you didn’t?”

“Didn’t what?”

“Sleep with Levi!” Bucky snapped, a crazy type of wildness building in his chest.

“Sleep with? No!” Steve shivered. “She’s like a sister to me!”

“What about at the safe house?”

Steve’s shoulders sagged and he groaned, forcing a hand through his hair. “We… kissed and we…. almost did- “

Bucky growled, turning to stalk away but Steve grabbed his shoulder. “Almost! But we stopped because it felt… wrong.”

“So, you never have?”

“No! Jesus Christ, Buck! All this time you’ve been thinking that? Why didn’t you say something?”

Bucky eyes were wild, and he shrugged off Steve’s arm, resuming his mad pacing. Steve watched him incredulously, hands on his hips. “Why didn’t you say something?!” He barked when Bucky didn’t answer.

Bucky stopped, his back to Steve, shoulders rising and falling with heavy breaths. After a pause, Steve moved to his side and waited, then elbowed Bucky gently. “Go talk to her… God, man… you’ve got this all screwed up.”

Bucky exhaled heavily, brokenly and Steve shifted his weight, waiting. After a long, taut pause, he raised his head, his mouth pulled into a weak smile. “Never heard you swear like that before.”

Steve scoffed, slapping a hand on Bucky’s shoulder, a crazy sense of relief crashing over him. “Well… Jesus, man. I didn’t know you could be that damn stupid. That was always my job.”

Bucky chuckled weakly and wiped a hand across his face, grimacing when it came away streaked with fresh blood.

“Look at me.” Steve commanded and, when Bucky complied and raised his head, scrutinized him. “She really nailed you, didn’t she?”

Bucky grunted.

“Your nose is crooked; you should go see Bruce- “

“Nah, just do it here.”

“Really?” At Bucky’s nod, he sighed and wiped his hands on his jeans then reached up, gingerly gripping the bridge of Bucky’s nose with one hand, grabbing his jaw to hold his head still with the other.  “One- “

“Just do it- “ Bucky grunted, then winced with a flurry of muttered curses as Steve did, snapping Bucky’s nose smartly back into place. Steve let go and Bucky reared back, pawing delicately at his face like a big, confused bear suddenly stung by the bees he was raiding honey from.

“Asshole.” He grumbled.

“Right back at you,” Steve replied easily. “Now go have a shower, you look like hell.”

Bucky hesitated, a shadow of trepidation in his eyes; he continued to fiddle with his nose, clearly stalling and Steve grinned.

“You’re the deadliest assassin of the last century and one of the most hardcore warriors on this team and you’re standing there shaking, thinking about just talking to Levi?” Steve teased lightly.

“Clearly, you’ve never felt her wrath.” Bucky quipped, then glanced at his watch. “It’s almost midnight, she’ll be asleep.”

“I doubt it, she was mad as a hornet.” Steve replied, lips quirked in apology. “She’s still awake, I’d bet you my shield.”

Bucky sighed and took a deep breath, rolling his head back on his shoulders with his hands on his hips; after a long exhale, he nodded, wiping his hand on his shorts and extended it to Steve. “Thanks, Steve.”

Steve scoffed, smacking aside Bucky’s hand and pulling him into a hug; Bucky stiffened for a moment, then relaxed and embraced him back, a desperate, starving edge in his touch and it hit Steve right in the chest; Bucky missed him, missed them all, and he’d been punishing himself more severely than anyone else ever could these last months, starving himself of the very thing he’d grown to need after seventy plus years of neglect and exploitation. “Just talk to her, Buck. Tell her what you told me.”

Bucky nodded solemnly, pulling back and dropping his head. After a beat, he raised it again and turned, striding to the bathroom. Steve watched him go then turned and let himself out, shutting the door behind him.

Bucky’s hand actually shook as he reached up to knock on Levi’s door and he pulled back, clenching his fist and taking a deep, girding breath. Before he could chicken completely out, he rapped his knuckles on the door and waited, his heart hammering in his chest.

The door opened a crack and Levi glowered balefully out. “What do you want?”

Bucky felt a totally new wave of fear, there was a chilling lack of emotion in her voice, as if she’d already written them off. He swallowed hard, wishing he was facing off against a whole legion of HYDRA operatives right now instead of one pissed off Levka Riel. “Please, ba- … can we talk, please?” He almost slipped, almost called her the tender pet name he’d murmured countless times against her skin as they’d made love, the name he’d whispered in her ear as he’d trailed gentle kisses along her throat, trying to convey the depths of his feelings for her.

Levi caught the slip and danger flashed in her violet eyes. But Bucky looked so damn pathetic, so hangdog and pitiful that, instead of slamming the door in his face, she sighed and yanked it open wider, stepping back and gesturing brusquely. “Say what you need to say, I want to go to bed.”

Fuck baby, I want to go to your bed, too. Helpless desire flared hot and heavy in his body and he bit back a groan. Before she could reconsider, Bucky hurried past and turned to face Levi as she shut the door behind him and whirled, leaning her back against it, crossing her ankles and her arms over her chest, one eyebrow raised.

Bucky stuttered; his tongue suddenly dead in his mouth. Sweat broke out on his brow and his nose throbbed in time with his accelerating heartbeat.

“Nice shiners.” Levi offered, but there was less satisfaction in her face than before.

Sharp pain shot through Bucky’s lip as he bit it convulsively, but it finally spurred his tongue to sluggish life. “Levi, I’m sorry. That’s not what I meant to say, I don’t think that at all.”

“Then what did you mean, James?” Levi tilted her head.

Bucky thrust his hands through his hair. “Fuck, baby… what I meant to say was how goddamn beautiful you look, how having a prosthetic leg doesn’t hold you back at all, but I fucking choked, I always do around you.” He blurted, staring at Levi with desperation, begging her to see the truth of his words.

Levi pushed away from the door and approached him. He held his breath, straightening uneasily as Levi stopped within right hook range again. “So… “ she paused, her amethyst stare boring into his eyes, studying his pale, sweaty face. “You didn’t mean to imply that I’m damaged?”

“No! Jesus Christ, Levi. I never thought you would be.”

“Then why did you leave me?” There was a dangerous undercurrent in her voice, a warning. The wrong word from Bucky right now would be the last she’d be willing to hear from him ever again.

Bucky sagged under her scrutiny and stumbled on weakened legs to sit heavily on her bed. Levi stepped closer but didn’t sit beside him. “Because… “ he drifted off, fighting a sob. “I broke my promise to you. I promised I’d keep you safe.”

Levi frowned in confusion. “What do you mean? You did. I’m alive, Bucky.” She closed the distance between them and sighed in distress. “But that’s not the one. You said you loved me, and you’d never leave me. That’s the promise you broke.” Her voice cracked and she slumped beside him, eyes shiny. She stared at him as tears began to trail down her cheeks and Bucky ached to brush them away. “You laid beside me all those times and held me and told me you’d never leave! And then you did! I needed you, Bucky!”

“I don’t deserve you, Levi!” Bucky burst out, his voice breaking too. “I never did, and I was a fool to ever think so! I’ve done so many horrible things in my life, the last thing I should be is happy and that’s what I was with you. I was happy! I was so goddamn happy I was scared shitless, like the universe was going to notice one day and say ‘hell no, give it back.” Tear-filled, wild eyes searched hers desperately as he confessed his deepest shame and fear.

Levi stared at him in shock, swallowing a few times before she could speak. Bucky waited with his heart in his throat, head lowered, and eyes fixed on the floor. Here it was, the moment when Levi nodded and said, ‘You’re right. You don’t deserve me; you don’t deserve to be happy, get the fuck out.’ Instead, she sighed. “I… I understand what you’re saying, but I don’t agree, Bucky. I’ve told you this before, you do deserve happiness, you do deserve good things. Why can’t you believe that?”

Bucky shook his head slowly. He was tired of explaining it, tired of repeating it, didn’t everybody else see it? It was so obvious; he was a monster and he’d never be able to repent fully for that. Levi represented heaven to him, and not all dogs went to heaven.

“It breaks my heart, Bucky.” Levi murmured. “This… hatred you have for yourself. Nobody thinks that about you, nobody.” He saw her pick nervously at her fingernails as she continued. “I… I can’t just get over this, though. I can’t just get rid of this hurt. You hurt me and I need time. I need time to think about whether or not I can ever trust you with my heart again.”

A riot of emotions coursed through him. Relief, disappointment, shame and burgeoning hope. Time, she needed time. He would give her that, if it meant there was a possibility he’d have another chance with her, another opportunity to show her just how deep he was trapped in her.

He was a moth and her his flame.

Levi stood then and walked wearily to the door. It creaked as it opened, a sharp sound in the silence. Bucky raised his head and studied Levi’s face for a moment. He’d get no more from her tonight, she’d already taken and given him so much.  The hard lump in his throat nearly choked him but he nodded slowly and stood, shuffling towards her; he paused as he reached Levi’s side, fighting not to touch her, to reach towards her and beg for even a hint of affection or tenderness. Then he dropped his head and passed, swallowing convulsively on a sob as the door shut behind him.

[dontknowmyname215]

Title: His Welfare is my Concern (1/2)

Warnings: spoilers for 14x17... I needed more hurt!Sam.

Beta: Huge shoutout to @the--blackdahlia for helping me out!

Summary: The sirens moved closer and Dean turned his eyes from his brother for the first time since he arrived back at the car.

Twenty minutes seemed like a lifetime and Dean was fairly certain they didn’t have twenty minutes to spare. Unfortunately, they didn’t have any other options either. He stared down at his brother before him, the younger man barely able to keep his eyes open, if you could even call them opened.

What little Dean could see of Sam’s eyes spoke volumes of the pain his brother was experiencing. Head wounds were never good and lord knows Sam has had his fair share. They always bled a lot and you never knew just what other damage could have been caused. The lightest hit in just the right spot could be such a devastating injury.

Just as Dean is beginning to consider drastic measures, he hears the flap of angelic wings. There’s no need to look up. He knows right away who it is and honestly doesn’t care at this point.

Within seconds of their names being spoken, Jack is right in front of them, his fingers pressed against Sam’s forehead. Something nagged at Dean, telling him this wasn’t right, but the louder voice was praying to a God he knew personally.

Dean saw the moment Sam’s rattled brain began to comprehend what was happening. The barely conscious man threw his shaky arms up, breaking Jack’s contact and trying to push himself up before Dean intervened.

“You gotta stay still, Sammy,” Dean had one hand pressed firmly to Sam’s chest and the other returned to the slightly healed injury.

“You’re okay. I can heal you.” Jack said, obviously confused by Sam’s reaction. “Let me help.”

Sam shook his head and Dean could tell he regretted that decision instantly. As much as he didn’t want to move Sam, he also didn’t want his brother to asphyxiate either. He carefully grabbed Sam’s shoulder and turned him on his side, gently brushing Sam’s bloody hair from his face and supporting the younger man’s head.

In the distance, Dean could hear the sirens and he wondered if they should just bail before the medics arrived, but he needed to know Sam was okay. Jack had given Sam the strength to hold his own, but while the blood had stopped dripping down the side of Sam’s face, his pupils were still the size of pennies.

When Dean was sure that Sam wasn’t going to lose anymore of his stomach contents, he carefully returned Sam to his back. The kid— yes, he said kid, because Sam will always be Dean’s kid— shut his eyes tightly and raised a shaky hand to his face.

“Can we just go home?” He reached for the wound but Dean quickly stopped his hand, squeezing tightly and silently conveying his own emotions.

Dean nodded at Jack as he started to pull Sam into a seating position, indicating for Jack to get behind for support. Once they had Sam seated against the Impala, Dean studied his brother even closer. Taking in the slight tremors, pale skin and dilated pupils. He was thankful Sam was more alert, but things were certainly not okay.

“Not yet, little brother.” Dean cupped the side of Sam’s neck and gave his best reassuring smile. “You either wait it out for the ambulance or you let the kid heal you. Pick your poison.”

“I’m fine though.” Sam started slipping sideways as Dean removed his hand just to make a point.

“Sure you are.” In seconds, Dean’s hand was right back to where it belonged, supporting Sam physically as well as emotionally. “For my sanity, I need you to pick one. Okay?”

Sam started to nod, but seemed to quickly remembered what happened last time and just continued to blink his eyes slowly instead. The younger man let his head fall forward, telling Dean all he needed to know.

“Jack, take Donatello back to Mom and get Nick on lock down.” Dean’s tone suddenly went from 0 to 60, spitting venom so dangerously. “I’ll handle him once Sam’s taken care of.”

It took Jack a second to respond, obviously wishing to protest, but deciding against it quickly. He hadn’t been around all that long, but Dean knew the boy was smart enough not to challenge him right now. Before Dean could say anything else, Donatello and Jack were gone leaving only the sound of approaching sirens in their wake.

From what Dean could tell the ambulance was less than 5 miles away now. He hadn’t even had time to come up with a story yet. They were currently on private property with two dead guys inside. To make things worse, Dean had two bruised and bloody knuckles to match the deceased, which would give anyone enough reason to believe he went mad and smashed in his own brother’s head.

“Hey, Sammy,” Dean slapped Sam’s pale cheek lightly until his eyes met Dean’s. “The ambulance should be here soon. We’re going to have to do what we do best and lie about our little situation here.”

“Car broke down?”

“That explains why we’re here, but not that rock sized gash.”

The sirens moved closer and Dean turned his eyes from his brother for the first time since he arrived back at the car. Through the thin line of trees, Dean could see the flashing lights making their way down the main road.

Sam tried to move his shaky hand to his back pocket, but Dean wasn’t having it. He snapped his fingers right in front of Sam’s face, concerned by the slow reaction time.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Wallet,” Sam tried again to reach his back pocket but he gave up before Dean even jumped in to stop him this time.

“The ambulance ride is Mr. Phillips’ treat.” Dean referenced their current aliases assigned to their insurance cards and mentally prepared himself for the onslaught of questions about to come his way.

“Make it look like a robbery,” Sam’s eyes slipped closed again and his head fell sideways onto his shoulder. Leave it to his geek brother to still be thinking quick even with what Dean assumes was a nasty concussion.

As much as Sam hated lying, he was always the most creative one in the family. He’d let John and Dean take the lead, but typically Sam was the genius behind their elaborate cover stories. Dean wasn’t about to break that trend now.

He carefully reached behind Sam and slipped the wallet out of his brother’s back pocket. Making sure Sam wouldn’t fall right over, Dean snatched the bills out and stuffed them in his own pocket before throwing the wallet haphazardly to his left. He didn’t even try to hide his shudder when the wallet landed near the bloody rock.

“You’ll give it back,” Sam squinted at Dean, a small smile twitching at his lips.

“Like hell,” Dean laughed and raised his voice just a bit as the ambulance approached. “Consider it emotional restitution.”

The sirens stopped abruptly, but the engine still rumbled as the emergency vehicle came to a stop just a few feet from the brothers. A tall, scruffy looking medic climbed out of the passenger seat with a bag slung over his shoulder.

He gave the brothers a quick once over before falling to his knees beside Dean. Of course Dean stayed exactly where he was, his hand still resting on Sam’s shoulder.

“Sir, I’m going to need you to back up.” Dean almost told the scruffy guy where to shove it, but he didn’t want to get in the way of helping Sam.

He didn’t move far at all. Dean simply stood up, running a rough hand over his face as he watched the medic do everything Dean had already done. It took every ounce of self control for Dean not to holler at the guy probing Sammy’s head.

“How long as he been like this?”

At least 30 minutes considering how long it took you to get here... was what Dean really wanted to say, he decided against it. It wouldn’t make this go any quicker.

“About 30 minutes,” Dean finally answered, moving to the other side so he could easily see Sam’s face for any signs of unnecessary discomfort.

“While his reaction is slow,” The medic explained as he moved the pin light from one side to the other, “He seems surprisingly alert.”

Thanks to angel magic, Dean thought. He listened as the female paramedic began asking Sam personal questions, nodding in confirmation. It was as if his body was running on autopilot, the stress finally sinking in along with relief all at the same time. He ran his hand through his hair and snapped his attention back to Sam the second he heard his name.

“Are you okay?” Sam stared, his eyes squinting painfully, but still had the nerve to worry about Dean. His brother turned to the medic, Sam’s puppy dog eyes seem even more powerful when they’re in pain. “Please check my brother. He won’t admit if something’s wrong.”

“Damnit, Sam,” Dean growled and waved off the medics concern. “I’m fine, really. I wasn’t even here when it happened. Went into the woods to uhhh… to relieve myself. Heard him holler and rushed back to find him on the ground.”

“You didn’t see what happened?” The female medic asked.

Dean shook his head and shrugged his shoulders, not sure what else there was to say. He really didn’t have the patience for these stupid questions. Oddly enough, all he could think about was getting Sam back to the bunker for game night. Why was that too much to ask?

“Does he need stitches?” Dean pointed toward Sam’s head, just now noticing the scruffy medic’s confusion.

“I don’t even know where all this blood came from,” He admitted, lifting a small patch of Sam’s matted hair. “I think we’re looking at a concussion here, but I can’t explain the rest.”

“Sammy’s always been a quick healer.” Dean chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Well, he’s going to be a bit uncomfortable and may even feel confused for awhile,” This time the female spoke up, turning toward Dean. “We recommend a trip to the hospital to rule out any further injury to the brain.”

“You think he has a brain injured?” His eyes go wide and he tried to cover the shiver than ran through his body. Sam didn’t even respond to that realization, which concerned him even more.

“No,” She corrected. “I’m simply telling you what is recommended in any case like this.”

“No, hospital,” Sam didn’t even bother to open his eyes. “Home, please.”

Dean watched the medics nod, the one that had been treating Sam stood up and backed away slightly. He wanted to argue. To tell them not to listen, but he knew that it was ultimately Sam’s decision.

As if sensing his uncertainty, the female medic turned back toward Dean with a sympathetic smile. “Just keep a close eye on him for the next 48 hrs.” She reaches her hand out to Dean, waiting for him to take it. “If you notice any unusual behavior or sudden mood changes, take him to the hospital without asking any questions.”

“I can do that,” Dean shook the medic’s hand and nodded in agreement. “Thank you!” He moved forward, back into his rightful spot next to Sam. “You ready to go home, Sasquatch?”

Dean couldn’t help the side smile that spread across his face when Sam’s eyes opened completely for the first time in what felt like hours. In reality it had only been about 40 minutes. Not that it mattered, any amount of time spent with an injured Sam was too many.

He would make sure his little brother took it easy for awhile, but he certainly wasn’t going to let Sam off easy. Injured or not, Dean was ready to get Sam back to the bunker with a blanket wrapped around him, a cup of warm liquid in front of him and stack of board games all ready for Dean to win.

[andiesmu-archive]

WHAT DOESN’T KILL YOU MAKES YOU STRONGER ➝ VEELEN

TAGGING ➝ Vienna Cortez, Valencia Cortez.

LOCATION ➝ Vienna’s Apartment.

TIME FRAME ➝ 2/22. Afternoon.

WARNINGS ➝ Mentions of abuse. Mentions of violence. Mentions of SIDS. 

NOTES ➝ Len goes to Vee’s house to be with her sister during a hard time, but has to explain the bruise on her face. 

VALENCIA

It wasn't a great time of year for her sister. Not that it was a walk in the park for her, the whole time surrounding this week was always hard for Len as well, but she knew it was infinitely worse for Vee, and she always tried her best to be there for her sister, to just be positive when she should for her. Which meant not wanting to tell her about the other night, but not telling her would also mean avoiding her, since the evidence was literally written on her face. Len let herself into the other girl's apartment, looking around for the other girl, and then bracing herself when she finally found her. "Hi," She said softly, not sure of what she should even say to her. She didn't want to make this about her, but she knew Vee would want to know what had happened.

VIENNA

Vienna really wasn’t one for moping, at least not for a good majority of the year. She’d always been a pretty positive person, it was just unfortunate — incredibly unfortunate — that some pretty terrible things had happened to her, and while she would like to say she was happy one hundred percent of the time, that really wasn’t the case. Just like she did every year, she’d taken off work the whole week, with her bosses completely understanding of the fact, and had taken up residence on her couch, where she planned to stay for the foreseeable. Sweats, an old tank, scraped back hair and an old blanket were her items of choice, and Vee watched in disgust as Abducted In Plain Sight played out on the television screen in front of her, not even bothering to look up when she heard the door opening. Her sister’s presence in the living room of course finally caught her attention, though, and the moment she laid eyes on her, her jaw dropped in horror. “What the fuck?” She questioned, sitting upright. It was always instinct, no matter how she was feeling in herself, for her to protect her siblings, but especially Len; she was the baby, after all. Vee hopped up from the couch, making her way over to the younger girl and gently taking her chin between her thumb and pointer to get a better look at her face. “Len, what happened? Are you okay?”

VALENCIA

Len sighed as Vee got out of her seat and came towards her. She allowed her to look at the bruise on her face and then pulled away gently, nodding her head. "I'm fine, honestly. I really am." She assured her, and then bit her lip, but released it right away when she felt a sting from where it was split. "I was out the other night and I ran into Josh, apparently he's out of jail." She frowned and then shrugged a shoulder, "I guess he's still bitter about me not bailing him out." She shrugged. "I would have told you sooner, but I just didn't want you to be worried with everything going on right now. But I went to Clark's afterwards, and he had the cops out looking for him and they picked him up, so there's really nothing to worry about."  She tried to reassure her sister, though she didn't really know what that would do. She had a feeling it really wasn't a solution to the problem, but at least neither of them had to worry about it at the moment, and the last thing she wanted was for Vee to be worrying about it.

VIENNA

Her sister’s ex should’ve probably been the first person to spring to mind when she’d seen the state of her face, but for some reason, he hadn’t. Vee had been more concerned with making sure Len was okay than with pointing the blame at anybody, but she felt her entire body fill with rage as the younger girl explained. “So, he did this to you? He put his hands on you?” She asked, brows raising, though not in a surprised way. It was kind of accusatory, toward Josh not her sister. Finally releasing Len’s chin, Vee shook her head, settling her hands on the younger girl’s arms. “How are you going to tell me your ex boyfriend did this to you, and then tell me it’s nothing to worry about? What actually happened? I want the whole story.”

VALENCIA

Len let her sister speak, not wanting to cause drama by telling her to back off, she knew she had the right to be concerned. "There's nothing to worry about because he got arrested the same night, what's he going to do from jail?" She asked, shrugging a shoulder, "I was just out with some friends and I saw him at the bar where we were drinking. As soon as I saw him, I left, I didn't think he saw me, so I figured I could just slip out and avoid the drama of it all. But I guess he saw me and he followed me out. He was yelling about how I never bailed him out and all this shit." She shrugged again, Len moved to the couch, sitting herself down now, "He says I owe him the money, and he was just trying to scare me. But I'm really fine, it's okay." She said, hoping her sister would believe her.

VIENNA

“No, you’re not understanding me here,” Vee shook her head, voice a little irritated. She wasn’t mad at her sister, she was mad at the situation. And maybe a little annoyed that Len seemed to be acting like it was no big deal. “I’m glad he was arrested. I’m worried because he actually did this to you. Nobody should ever feel like they have any right to put their hands on you, Valencia.” She spoke in a stern tone, looking her sister in the eye. Watching the younger girl for a moment, Vee sighed as she followed her over to the couch, plopping back down where she’d previously been sitting before her sister’s arrival. “Did you tell the police all of this? That he did it because he thinks you owe him money?” The idea made her angry. “How much does he think you owe him? We’re going to give it to him, and not because you owe him anything, but because I don’t want this happening again.”

VALENCIA

Len's nostrils flared at her sister's words, not because she was angry with her, but the because she was angry with the very idea of paying Josh anything. "I told Clark about it." She said, deciding that that meant yes, but she just shook her head as the girl continued. "I'm not paying him anything, Vee. He thinks I owe him $30,000. Fifteen for the bail and the other fifteen in interest. Do you have an extra thirty grand sitting around? Because I don't, and even if I did, I still wouldn't pay him anything. What's to stop him from coming back and saying oooh actually it was $60,000. He doesn't think I'll actually pay him, he just thinks he can freak me out, or get me to do something for him, and I'm not doing it. I'm not playing that game. I appreciate you wanting to protect me, but trust me, paying him isn't going to do a thing."

VIENNA

The last thing Vienna wanted to do here was show any hostility towards her sister, but she’d always been very protective of her, she was never just going to sit around and accept something like this. “That’s not what I asked.” She was glad that Len had Clark, even more so knowing what his job was, but that wasn’t the same as her divulging everything to the police and actually pressing charges, right? She sighed as she listened to the other girl, the large figure knocking back any plans she may have had to pay off the non-debt herself. “Alright, no, I don’t have that,” she grumbled, pulling her feet up onto the couch and resting her chin on her knees. She wrapped her arms around her legs, looking over at her sister. “I don’t like any of this, Len. We should get a restraining order, at the very least.”

VALENCIA

Len ignored the point that it wasn't what she'd asked, and instead just leaned back against the couch, listening to her sister's concerns. "Okay, there's something else," She said softly, biting her lip as she looked back at her sister. "When it all happened, he started looking through my purse for cash, and I think he saw my license, so I think he knows where my apartment is, that's the part that scares me more than anything. I don't want him to know where I live," she sighed and then shrugged a shoulder, "But that's also why I don't want a restraining order, because if I get one, then he'll definitely have my address, because he has to know where he's not allowed to go, and I just don't know that I'm comfortable with a piece of paper being what's supposed to protect me."

VIENNA

Her little sister was sitting beside her with a bruised face and a split lip, and Vee really believed that that was everything. Even that was too much. So for Len to continue, for her to say there was more, it had Vee’s heart sinking. “Ay dios mío,” she muttered under her breath, hand coming up to pinch the bridge of her nose. “Okay, well, I don’t really want you being at your apartment then, at least not alone.” Vee knew her sister, she knew what an independent person she was, but she wasn’t about to just sit around and let her be in any kind of danger. “You can come and stay with me. Or if there’s someone else you’d rather stay with, then okay, that’s also fine. But I don’t want you at your apartment anymore, Len. I realize I'm not Mom, I can't tell you what to do, but I'm asking you to please not stay there anymore.”

VALENCIA

Len out a small laugh at her words, not because anything she was saying was a joke, she knew that really it was good advice, "You say that like I'd listen to Mom more than I would listen to you," She grinned, hoping to lighten the mood just a bit and then sighed. "I don't want to leave my apartment." She said firmly and then shrugged, "It's my home, it's where I feel safe, and I don't want to give that up. I don't want him to take that away from me, he doesn't get to win like that." She said, and then looked around, "Maybe I'll have someone come stay with me for a while, will that help?" She asked, raising an eyebrow, "Not you, because if anything happened to you because of me I would never forgive myself, but I'll ask someone. If I can't find anyone, then I'll come stay here. Okay?"

VIENNA

Although she didn’t feel very much like smiling, considering firstly what week it was, and secondly that she was still trying to process what had happened to her sister, Vee couldn’t help the small laugh her sister pulled from her, eyes rolling playfully. Her serious face returned as she listened to what the other girl had to say, though, and Vee sighed, but she got it. “Fine. As long as someone stays with you,” she agreed, glancing over at the younger girl. “But until you find someone, will you please stay here? Even if it’s just tonight, or the next couple days or so. I’m not going to be comfortable if I know you’re in your apartment alone.”

VALENCIA

Len nodded at her sister, a small smile forming on her own face as she leaned over to pull her into a hug. “I already put a bag with some clothes for tomorrow in my car, I wasn’t planning on going anywhere but here tonight.” She said softly, and that was partly because she didn’t want her sister to be alone, but it was also because she needed her sister. They needed each other right now, they always did, but especially this time of the year. This situation just added to it, and while she didn’t love that this would make two nights that she’d been out of her apartment since this had happened, she knew it was necessary.

[sl-walker]

Ship Manifesto: Bail x Maul

I threatened it, so here it is.  Since I have to go to work and I actually got some sleep last night.

When I went and remixed Wild Space for Witness me, I suspected that those two would hit it off, just based on their personalities.  And while ten years of being a prisoner definitely took the sharp edges off of Maul and five years of being with Obi-Wan had taught him some (badly needed) interpersonal skills, more than he became even in canon TCW he’s still as inherently himself as he was when he went to Theed.  Just-- a somewhat healthier self, hard as that might sometimes be to believe when he’s in the middle of a flashback and actually displaying his damage.

BUT ANYWAY.  My guys.  My ridiculously opposite, beautiful guys.  Their first meeting had them both grinning and within two seconds bantering and within like five minutes, evoking solidarity against Obi-Wan’s bullheadedness, and then it just kept getting better.

Since this is a ship manifesto -- as in romantic ship -- I won’t spend too much time on their bromance, but I will say that whether or not you add the kissing and such, both versions of that relationship are fiercely mutual.  And now, for the why:

Bail Organa in Canon/Legends:  Genuine good guy.  In a Republic rife with corruption, Bail not only manages to navigate it effectively, gaining the esteem even of some of his enemies, but he never lets go of his morals.  He’s willing to play fast and loose with the rules, but every single time he does, it’s with his heart firmly in the right place.  Any selfishness Bail has tends to manifest itself in wistfulness, not action; he wants to go home, he wants to be with Breha, he wants to not deal with all this, he wants the children they were going to have.  Nonetheless, he stays on Coruscant.  Faithfully serving his post, his Queen, his world, his Republic.

He’s an idealist.  And an optimist.  He has a draw to support the underdog.  He has sharp edges because he’s also realistic.  He rights wrongs when he can, using his cleverness and political acumen; he can read a crowd and often win them over to at least liking him, even when they don’t agree with him.  He’s disarming and people admire him for his stand-up guy nature.  He’s also brave; he’s willing to put himself under siege on Christophsis, and when everything else in the world is crumbling, the Jedi are being slaughtered, he was the only one with the courage to go and try to see what was happening at the Temple, then turn around and try to save what Jedi he could personally.  He’ll pick up a blaster and follow Padmé into the streets.  He’ll demand to go to Zigoola, citing his right to put skin in the game as the reason to.  He’s incredibly loyal.

He’s not perfect.  He leans a bit more on the booze than healthy.  He’s got serious problems with his work/life balance; he works far too hard because Bail thinks -- unfortunately rightly, often -- that if he just lets it go, no one else will care enough or gain enough to do the work.  Bail’s service-mindedness goes well beyond healthy; it’s painfully easy for him to get into the idea that he has to fix things, especially for people he cares for, and he’ll throw himself against the wall of that and beat himself bloody if he can’t.  And while this genuine love and esteem can be a good trait, it also can become self-destructive.  He can get snappish and churlish, but usually only when he’s provoked into it (hello Obi-Wan); still, once you do get his blood up, Bail can dish it out as well as he can take it.

But really, Bail has no problem with positive regard.  There’s no evidence that the man carries any prejudices based on species or class.  He’s honorable; when he says he’s going to do something, he does his very best to do it.  He believes in honesty, even if he’s willing to lie by omission; still, his heart is always in the right place, and damned if I can find a single piece of canon or Legends evidence that his heart is anything but pure gold.

Maul in canon/Legends: Undeniably abused.  Badly.  Consistently.  Has the social skills of a rancor with a tooth ache.  Psychological minefield of paranoia and can’t trust anyone or anything, sometimes not even himself, in terms of recollection/etc.  If you want to know all about how bad Maul is messed up, you can go through his tag on my blog; there’s a lot there.  So, let’s go into the relevant points.

He’s lonely.  Painfully, desperately lonely, and he doesn’t even know how to quantify it, but it bleeds through his actions.  He’s desperate for approval -- mostly his Master’s, but also Kilindi’s and Trezza’s and even the damn Jedi, if you dig far enough.  Sure, he wants to kill them, but he wants to do it fairly and honorably because he doesn’t want his victory to be cheap or stolen and he wants them to know that they’re fighting an honorable foe.

He’s highly intelligent, but his ability to make proper use of it has suffered for his abuse; he struggles to grasp a lot of concepts, like creativity and philosophy.  He struggles to understand politics.  He struggles to understand the very galaxy; like, they literally said that, that Maul doesn’t quite get how it all works.  Still, he is sharp and very adaptable and malleable, especially when he’s younger.

He understands and believes in fairness and honor, even if both of those are skewed by his upbringing.  He’s agonizingly, painfully loyal, and it takes being abandoned to go mad, after finding out that Sidious might have lied to him about his future as a Sith Lord, before he even stops being loyal.  But the moment Savage comes into the picture, Maul’s again loyal, this time to someone who actually deserves it; enough to abandon battle with Obi-Wan Kenobi for the sake of his brother.

He has chinks in his hard, fucked up armor.  He absolutely respects a clever, honorable foe, enough to stand between them and death (Komari Vosa), or get pissed off at someone maybe killing an ally who stood with him enough to take revenge (Eogan); he tries to reassure Patch Bruit even as he’s advancing on the man with a lightsaber, in his hella awkward earnest way.  He responds to offers of friendship -- Kilindi, sadly Deenine (one of his own damned abusers) -- with an almost painful need, and while he’s not given opportunity once he’s older, somewhere all that lurks, because he’s still naming droids and bikes.

There lies a wellspring of patience in him, even when he’s young, especially towards his droids (or even other peoples’ droids); his ability and willingness to teach is built somewhere with this as a brick when he’s older and teaching his brother.

He often reflects his treatment; how you treat him does inform how he would treat you.  This is delicate, obviously, you can’t just walk up to him, throw arms around him and sob (though I definitely relate to the desire to), but someone good at reading people could very likely strike the right note to reach him without putting him too far on the defensive.

And Maul can perceive truthfulness.  He can sense when someone’s being honest or lying, if they aren’t shielding their intentions.

Why they work:  Leaving aside the logistics issue, and just focusing on their personalities--

Bail has a thing for the underdog; they don’t get much more underdog than Maul.

Maul is desperately lonely; having the honest, positive regard of anyone would be novel enough it might even short out his brain.  But even if it didn’t, it would absolutely throw him off balance.

Both of them are honorable and believe in fairness.  Both of them build a giant chunk of themselves around that.

Both of them are loyal, and once you have that loyalty, it takes so terribly much to break it.

Bail is innately kind.  Maul absolutely responds to kindness; he wouldn’t know what to do with it, it would make him uneasy probably at first, but boy, plant that seed and he’d keep bending towards it like a plant to water.

Bail’s purity of purpose -- to serve, to do good -- would resonate with Maul, because he also does the same!  He serves his master and tries desperately to gain his approval -- to do good in Sidious’s eyes.

Neither of them are cowards; both are willing to put their lives on the line for an objective.  For Bail, this is usually missions of mercy; for Maul, it’s usually in service to his Master, but either way, they’re both brave and determined.

While Maul doesn’t have much chance in canon or Legends to show his sense of humor, what tiny flickers we get of it shows a dry wit.  Bail would get that and play to it.

Neither of them are innately selfish.  Maul’s idea of selfishness is wanting acknowledged for doing good -- and if that’s not painful to think about, he also mentally beats himself up for just wanting that -- and Bail’s is to be wistful for a less heavy burden to carry.

There are more -- obviously -- but those are more than enough drydock to build a ship in.

Just aesthetically?  They’re both gorgeous, sheesh.  Take the snarl away, and Maul’s absolutely his own kind of beautiful, and Bail-- well.  Frankly, if you don’t think he’s hot, I don’t even know how you’re breathing, maybe you’re not, maybe we should check your pulse.  (Joking.  Mostly.)  Bail’s a head taller and overall just big, but Maul’s definitely no wilting little violet; he’s small (or smaul), but he has muscle, agility and grace.

Scenarios it could work in canon (adjust for Queen Breha as needed, because I absolutely love her, too):

GoT:A, obviously.  Heh.  There, Maul gets tossed into prison at age twelve (preceding poor Boba having the same done to him), Bail sees him on a tour when Maul’s fifteen and decides, “Nope, I’m not leaving him there.”  Takes him home, gives him stability and infinite patience and kindness and waits out the psychological damage manifesting itself, and does not realize that three years after that first sighting, Maul will be desperately, achingly pining for him, and in another two, will finally steel up enough to take a huge risk and kiss him.

Literally any scenario where Maul’s cut loose in some way Bail can encounter him, pre-Theed, in canon.  If you throw that kid into the wind at that age, he’s so ill-prepared to deal with the galaxy that he’d eventually grab hold with drowning desperation to any kind of purpose or direction.  Extra easy if Sidious is somehow dead.

Orsis gets raided.

Maul actually gets fucked up enough on some mission to land in a reputable hospital and can’t make an easy escape for whatever reason, injury or illness.

Sidious sends his apprentice before he’s ready to take a hit out on Bail and Maul flubs it somehow, thus landing himself in custody.

Post-Theed, but Maul gets captured before Lotho Minor; somehow, the Jedi don’t keep custody of him, and he ends up again imprisoned by the Republic.  His plight’s so bad there that when Bail finds out that he exists and what he’s had to live like, he starts doing something about it.

Rebellion-era: man, you could mine this one like gold.  Maul wants to hurt his master, Bail needs every skilled rebel he can get his hands on.  They work together for years.

Radical AU scenarios:

Anything.  Their chemistry is such that could make anything work with enough thought and care.

In conclusion: They have the exact kind of personalities to dovetail.  Bail has the kind of decency and kindness and honor that it wouldn’t take much for Maul to want to live up to expectations for him.  And Maul has his odd, guileless charm and a sweet streak that might get buried as he gets older, but that Bail would just find, dig out and nurture.  Maul would be a fierce protector of Bail; Bail would be the support and steady love and patience Maul really needs to reach his best possible self.  They would bring out a lot of each others’ best traits easily.  Maul would lean on Bail to work less and live more; Bail would encourage Maul to take a chance on trying new things, talking to new people.  They would likely have a very kind relationship with each other, and man, both of them could use all the kindness in the galaxy.

So, what are you waiting for?  XD Go write some.  Or I’ll just keep writing it (and begging for more).

[hypotheticalother]

it's gonna be okay, baby

Hey, you.

I think the last time I wrote anything to you, about you, I was 19, and I thought your name was S. I didn't know yet how right I was, at least for a while - I can't figure out how to access a version of that post that shows the datestamp (oh, tumblr) but it was clearly in February, and we didn't admit we were in love and start dating until March 5th. But we managed it, somehow. For the first time ever, it worked out. That's probably why I quit posting on this blog around then.

For two years, she was you, and I was so happy. I was posting on main today how I think the best time in my life so far, mental health-wise, was when I was with her. For the time when it was working, anyway, cause of course eventually it stopped working so well, our lives went in different direction, so we went our separate ways. I don't really miss her - there's no need to. We're still friends, though we've continued to diverge and definitely wouldn't work now the way we did then. Still, it was good. I learned so much, grew so much, gained so many of those experiences I spent all that time writing to you lamenting not having had. Having sex. Being loved. Feeling at home and okay in my body, at least for a while.

It's funny reading back my old letters to you - journal entries, basically - and seeing how much I feel like I've come full circle since then. A lot of things have changed. Half the people in those letters are getting misgendered when I read them now, including sort of me. I've spent a lot of time with my therapist talking about how mad I was at that version of myself, for a long time, for not realizing she was queer sooner - if the affection and compassion I feel for my younger self, reading back, is any indication, I think we were successful at moving me past that - so it's interesting to look back and remember it wasn't as much of a snap realization as it feels like in hindsight. It feels so obvious now, and it's honestly kind of funny to read some passages that could be straight (ha) out of an encyclopedia entry on compulsory heterosexuality.

but back then, I had thought I was straight and was slowly but surely figuring out I wasn't, even as I was lonely and longing to be loved but unable to find it or feel it yet. now I'm lonely and longing to be loved and unable to find it or feel it lately, and back at the questioning drawing board a little as I work out gender and whether I might actually like men after all, after years of firmly believing I don't, just in a gay way that it feels completely impossible to practically achieve in the body I live in. but I still love women in a gay way, in the body I have, and maybe that's enough, cause it's not like there's anything I can do to change that. not in the exact way I want. which is how I felt about everyone, when I was 19 and hadn't experienced being loved and desired while fat at all yet! maybe it's all obvious egg behavior from the outside looking in. maybe I'll read this back in another 6 years and say oh honey, how wrong you were. let's manifest that, maybe. I don't know.

there've been a lot of people in between who weren't you. no more sexual experience, frustratingly - that 20 years of pent-up sexual frustration I mentioned in one of those letters is now 25 years, minus, like, maybe 2 weeks' worth of total days (I can't remember how many times S and I had sex, I didn't keep track past that wonderful week in Michigan when I was 21 and got eaten out daily), of sexual frustration, so I look forward to figuring that out with you - but at least thanks to a different S (definitely not you, but very hot) I know there would have been if not for the pandemic. let's not talk about the pandemic. I don't want to talk about the pandemic. I kind of think I won't be able to find you, or the next version of you, anyway, until after it's over, and I also kind of think it will never end, because that's how it feels right now, so here I am again writing to you crying alone in my room instead of doing homework. at least it's a room to myself with a queen-size bed now. if I do find you, we'll have enough space.

there was K (who shared my pre-high school name, if not the formal one). we went on three dates, she was the second person I ever kissed, I was maybe going to go hang out at her apartment one night but she panicked and cancelled and at the time I didn't fully understand what was going on but now I think she assumed hanging out at someone's apartment definitely meant sex and she just wasn't ready for that commitment and you know, that's fine. she was cool. veering a little close to queer twin dating, not to mention the name thing, but she was great. she moved to New York, and as far as I know, didn't experiment with communism - but almost certainly went down on a girl, since she got into a relationship with one within months of moving there. I don't know if they're still together, but I'm happy for her. the timing just wasn't right.

there was C. I can't talk about C right now, or maybe ever. I'm so happy for her that she's so happy with the nice transmasc guy she's living with and their cats. timing is such a motherfucker. alexa play the one that got away by katy perry. I could have said anything, ever, but I didn't, because I was moving away. god I just don't know. they're moving here right as I'm leaving. that's probably for the best. fuck timing. I miss her so much.

there was N. we only made it two dates before we both bailed on each other and blamed it on being too busy, though I'll never know if that really was it. it's fine. never kissed her. she kissed my cheek. didn't really think she was probably you, but she was cool, and maybe if I hadn't been an overwhelmed mess adjusting to law school she could have been.

there was S, the second. I was never going to fall in love with her, we weren't enough alike, not on the same wavelength - I haven't found anyone since the first (well, second) S who felt like we were on the same wavelength at all, and maybe the fallout is now I know that's the problem, and it's what I'm looking for, and I'll know it when I feel it, I just can't find you. the next you. I don't know that I believe in there only being one you anymore, but I want to find the version of you that I'll be willing to put in the work to keep that way, and you'll be willing to love me like that back. point is, S was not you. but we were on the same wavelength when it came to sex for once - I wanted it, I think she wanted it too (she said she did), we just couldn't make it work out. because of the pandemic, which we're not talking about. the 20s and my 20s had better be even more roaring than the last, is all I'm saying. we're all pretty much fucked, no matter what S (the very first, one of those people getting misgendered in the old entries, sorry S, we didn't know then) says; I'm open to being pleasantly surprised, of course, but I feel like I know enough to know the broad outline of what's coming and I just want to get fucked really good by someone other than me before it all gets too fucked up. I don't know if that'll be you. wish it could've been S. we did make out in my car for like 2 hours, so at least there was that, and talked through the logistics of meeting up to spend just one night together, maybe, until we ran into too many roadblocks. again with the timing.

most recently, there was E. I'm still mad at her - she's clearly not you, because I'm old enough and tired enough now not to give someone with that many hardline opinions about mundane things that differ that deeply from mine 2 years of my life, let alone more than a month. I adore cats even though I'm allergic and someone aggressively hating them is a huge red flag to me, and my favorite food revolves around onions, and I don't actually think it's cute to joke that by the fourth date, someone should be willing to change their name for you because it reminds them of their ex. but I'm mad because I did like her, even if we aren't compatible, and I got to know her over that month - we texted almost every day, which is maybe why I let it carry on for a while, cause it was like that with S too; wonderful fun over text, then always rougher around the edges face to face - and then when I said I wasn't interested in dating but would like to be friends, she never replied. ghosted me. she's older than me, even though I guess in dating years she's kind of younger - since she didn't start dating until 22 or 23, as I recall. but for fuck's sake, if you were American you wouldn't be on your parents' health insurance anymore. you could at least have the maturity, the decency to respond to a very polite breakup text, at a stage of the relationship where it's reasonable to break up that way (especially in, again, the pandemic), from someone who goes to grad school on the same campus as you, even if we're thankfully at opposite corners. I hate her and also I keep wanting to text her Twilight memes now that she's finally watched them all and there's nothing I can do about it because she made this choice, not me, and I can take a fucking hint.

I just wish I'd found you by now. maybe picking this up again is me trying to manifest that a little, since the last time I wrote angstily in my online sadness diary here, one autumn, I had found a version of you by spring. but now I think my problem is I feel like I don't understand how. people talk about knowing right away, and I guess maybe I did too, with S, I just didn't know that was what it was yet - I remember thinking, that winter, that it was strange and confusing to have met this person and have bonded so fast but to not know how to fit her into the scheme of my life, because all my real friends were people I'd spent at least a year and mostly many bonding with before we all moved to different places, but here she was. and there you were, for a while. so maybe when I know, I will know. but I don't think I'm going to know any time soon, cause now I'm in a stage of education where most people who aren't fucking unbearable are already happily partnered.

and you know, I'd say I hope I find you again soon, but - there's that bitch timing again, because this time, by summer, the plan is I'm moving away. so I think I just need to be patient, and plan to work harder at finding you where I land. but - *little women saoirse ronan voice* I am so lonely.

I can't really relate to almost any of Katie Gavin's songs, and I think that's healthy for me, in the big picture. but I sure do read back those things I wrote to you when I was - not a kid, but definitely not as much of an adult as I am now - and the one thing I think is,

it's gonna be okay, baby. it's gonna be okay.

Love,

Me.

[imjustthemechanic]

The French Mistake

Part 1/? - A Visitor Part 2/? - The Kulturhistorisk Museum Heist Part 3/? - Cutscene Part 4/? - The Marvel Cinematic Universe Part 5/? - Breathless Part 6/? - Escape at Last Part 7/? - Fox in Socks Part 8/? - Things Go Wrong Part 9/? - Downey and Out

Steve and Nat are rescued by the most unlikely person imaginable.  A lengthy and embarrassing misunderstanding ensues.

Steve stared.  He would never have thought Tony Stark would show up to rescue him – and if he had, he might have thought he’d refuse to be rescued.  Under the circumstances, however, he would take what he could get, even if it came with the Dorito joke.

That didn’t make it less of a surprise, though. “What are you doing here?” Steve asked.

“Bailing you out,” Stark replied, tucking his phone back in his pocket.  “What’s it look like I’m doing?”

Steve had a thousand other questions, ranging from how did you get here after Thor broke the rune stone? to did you really think the apology letter was douchy?  For the moment, however, those could all wait.  “Then let’s get Natasha and go.”

Stark gave him a sidelong look.  “You okay?” he asked.

“I’ve been better,” Steve admitted.  “You?”  They were going to have to talk about it now, he realized.  Maybe not right away, because this situation with Loki was so much more important, but sooner or later they were going to have to sit down and talk about the whole mess with the Accords and possibly end up fighting again.  Steve wasn’t looking forward to that, but again, it was better than being in prison.

“Not bad,” said Stark.  “We going?”

“We’re going,” Steve said.

Natasha was escorted out to join them, and one of the cops brought Dodger on a leash.  Steve knelt down to greet the dog while Stark posted bail for the two prisoners. Once their things had been returned and all the paperwork had been signed, Natasha immediately began asking Stark questions.

“Since you’re here,” she said, “I assume you’ve got a way back.”

“Well, I didn’t take the bus,” Stark said.

In the parking lot he took out a fob and pressed the button, and Steve did a double-take as this got a beep from an extremely un-Tony-Stark-like Dodge minivan.  Stark himself didn’t even flinch, though.  He just opened the driver’s door and climbed in, and Steve had to remind himself that neither the vehicle nor the body of the man driving it actually belonged to Tony Stark.  Maybe the actor who played him wasn’t such a big star as Scarlett Johansson with her pink corvette and her Malibu mansion.  It would also explain what Stark was wearing: a tweed peaked cap, black track pants, a striped cardigan, and a faded t-shirt with the words Enjoy Mello Yello on the front.  He looked more like a particularly embarrassing suburban househusband than a billionaire superhero, or even an actor.

Steve climbed into the back of the van, while Natasha got in the front passenger side.  “How did you find us?” was her next question.

“Well, when celebrities beat up their husbands, word kind of gets around,” Stark replied, doing up his seat belt.  “I told Ridley I’d bail you out as a special favour.” He put the van in gear, and got out onto the road.

Steve leaned forward between the seats.  “Why didn’t you get us out?” he asked Natasha.

“I didn’t have my stuff,” Nat replied.  “Even I can’t pick a lock with lip gloss.”

“Well, there go my illusions,” said Steve.

Stark didn’t say anything right away, which was odd – Stark usually couldn’t resist weighing in on anything and everything. Now, he waited until they were out on the road, heading east towards Santa Monica, before he spoke.

“All right,” he said.  “Now that we’re all stuck in this car with each other for the next sixty miles, who wants to tell me how you got into this fine mess?”  He sounded like he was their father – not mad, just disappointed.

“Where should we start?” asked Steve.  How much did Stark already know.

“At the beginning,” said Stark.  “I’ll follow along.”

“The beginning,” Steve said.  “That would be Natasha coming to see me in Wakanda a few days ago, to tell me Thor was back on Earth.”

“Thor was back on Earth,” Stark echoed.  It was a question, but only by implication, not by tone.

“The reason he didn’t go see you,” Natasha put in, “is because I told him not to. We didn’t want to make a big production out of it and get the politicians involved.  That meant Rogers and I were about the only people available.”

“T’Challa gave us a flight as far as Morocco,” Steve went on.

“Because we were going to Oslo,” Nat agreed.  “Loki needed something from a museum there, so Thor wanted us to meet him.”

They continued that way, telling the story in bits and pieces while constantly interrupting each other to fill in the missing details.  Stark, once again, sat silent.  He kept driving on the dark Pacific Coast Highway, his eyes on the road ahead, and Steve began to wonder if he were even listening.  It was so unlike Stark not to have anything to say that at one point Steve just stopped talking and waited for him to stay something.  Anything at all.

“Go on,” Stark said finally.  “I’m honestly curious where you’re going with this.”

They took him through their rather violent transfer between dimensions, skipped over most of the embarrassing things that had happened on the movie set, and brought the story up to where they’d had to defend themselves from Johansson’s husband.  There they stopped, because they figured Stark already knew what had happened after that.

Stark nodded thoughtfully.  “So that’s why Hiddles threw a fit, is it?” he asked.

Steve and Natasha both perked up.  “Hiddles?  Hiddles… Hiddleston is Loki, right?” Steve asked.

“Sure is,” said Stark.  “He’s run off to plot our doom, has he?”

“Where is he?” Steve asked eagerly.  “Or where was he, before he disappeared?”  That would at least give them a place to start from.

“Last I heard he was up in the Rockies in Canada, playing Sir John A. McDonald in some railway movie,” Stark said, “but I think he had the weekend off for a convention appearance anyway.  Conquering the world, on fangirl at a time.”  He chuckled, but then turned serious again. “Okay, that was fun.  Now, really, what happened?”

“What?  But we…” Steve said, and then his heart sank as he realized he’d seriously mis-judged the entire situation.  He’d never questioned that this was Stark come to look for him – and even if he had, being addressed as Dorito would have settled it for him.  The Doritos bag existed in this universe, too, though – Evans had it framed in his trailer.  Could it have originated on the internet and had Stark’s alternate pick it up, just as had happened in their own world?

“But what?” asked Stark.  “The only buts I see here are your butts I just bailed out of jail.  You realize how serious that is, right?  You’re going to be charged with assault.  Scarlett, if Romain files for divorce on the grounds of abuse, he’s going to get custody of Rose.  Do you understand that?”

“Yes,” said Natasha firmly.  “Yes, I do.”

“Okay, then.”  Stark’s voice was a little gentler now – he could tell that she meant it. “Remember when I said you guys could tell me anything because I’ve probably done worse?  Just tell me.  No judging,” he promised.  “I know people make mistakes.  Before I can help you, I need to know what I’m helping you with.  For starters, how long has this affair been going on?  I know you two have been working together forever, but you’ve always told the media you were just friends.”

There was a moment of silence as Steve and Natasha both mulled over the possible consequences of this latest mistake.

“You’re not Tony Stark, are you?” Steve asked, just to be sure.

“Right now?” the man in the driver’s seat said. “No, I am not Tony Stark.  And you are not Steve Rogers, and she is not Natasha Romanov, so let’s talk about our problems like adults, please.”

For a moment Steve couldn’t decide what to do, and it was clear that Natasha couldn’t either.  They’d already told him the whole story, and he hadn’t believed it. Where did that leave him?

“Okay,” Natasha tried.  “Um… Robert.  It’s Robert, right?  Robert Downey?”

“It is,” the man said, unamused.

“Let’s pretend that everything we already told you is true…” Nat began.

“Let’s not,” Downey interrupted, “because this really doesn’t seem like the time for that.”

“Let’s do,” Nat insisted, “because it is true. You can call Thor and ask him – he’s got Hemsworth’s phone.  We talked to him on Skype earlier.”  She pulled out her phone, which the police had given back to her.

“He’s going to come meet us as soon as we can arrange a place,” Steve said.  “You said Loki was in Canada.  Where, exactly?”

“I’m going to pull over and make you two walk in a minute, if you can’t take this seriously,” Downey threatened them.

Nat was dialling her phone.  “Do you always treat your colleagues like children?” she asked.

“When they act like it, yeah,” said Downey.  “I’m gonna take you two back to Ridley so you can finish your movie.  I know I can’t force you to accept help, but if and when you want it, you know where to find me.  If you’re gonna make a game of it, I’m out.”

Nat turned around and handed her phone to Steve. “Talk to Thor,” she said, and then undid her seat belt.

She climbed into Downey’s lap and grabbed the steering wheel – he yelped in surprise, and the minivan lurched unpleasantly to the right, taking out several garbage and recycling bins lined up in front of the beach properties there.  A moment later it swerved to the left again, and got back on the road. Somebody behind them honked.

A woman’s voice answered Natasha’s phone.  “Hello?”

“Hi, Mrs. Hemsworth?” asked Steve.  “Can I talk to Thor?”

“Just a second,” she said.

The van continued to wind back and forth across the lane of traffic.  Then it straightened out, and a hand grabbed the top of the headrest on the passenger’s side.  It was too big to be Natasha’s.  Leaning forward a little, Steve saw Downey climb into the seat, with Nat now at the wheel.

“What the hell are you doing?” Downey asked.  “Scarlett, for crying out loud…”

The line picked up again.  “Captain?” asked the voice of Thor.

“Thor,” said Steve.  “Yeah, it’s me.”

“Have you found my brother, then?” Thor wanted to know.

“Maybe,” Steve said.

Natasha was now in full control of the van, and the driving was correspondingly smoother.  She sped up.  “Tell us where Loki is,” she ordered.

“If I tell you, will you let me out?” Downey asked.

“Maybe,” said Nat.

“Captain?” asked Thor.

“Sorry,” said Steve.  “Yeah, we’ve found somebody who might know.  Romanov’s questioning him right now.”

“Well, a wise individual will tell her quickly,” Thor said.

“Can I ask you something?”  Steve frowned.  “Hemsworth’s wife seems… she’s weirdly okay with this.  Did she… what did you tell her?  Or what did she say to you?”

“The lady Elsa?  I explained the situation to her, and she seemed quite agreeable,” Thor said.  “She told the doctors that her husband does this all the time, for the entertainment of children.”

That explained a lot.

“I know where he’s supposed to be,” Downey said.  “He’s supposed to be at some convention in Calgary!  I don’t know whether he’s actually going to show up.”

“That’ll do,” said Nat.  “Steve, did you hear that?”

“Yes,” said Steve.  “Okay, Thor, according to the guy who isn’t Stark, Loki is supposed to be in Calgary, Canada.”  Steve had a vague idea where that was.  “His actor was working on a film near there, so we can start our search.”

“I shall set off for the airport at once,” Thor promied.

“Great,” said Steve.  “We’ll meet you at arrivals in Calgary.”  He covered the phone with one hand.  “Anything else I should ask him, Natasha?”

“That ought to do for now.”  Nat pulled over.

“It will be good to return to our own realm,” said Thor.  “Until we meet again, Captain.”

Steve disconnected, and Nat reached over and opened the passenger-side door for Downey.  “There you go,” she said.

He looked out, then back at her.  “This is my van,” he protested.

“You asked if you could get out once you told us where Loki is,” Nat reminded him.  “I said yes.  Now I’m letting you out.  I’ll leave a note for Evans and Johansson to call you once we’ve found Loki and gotten out of here.  I’m sure they’ll appreciate the help.”

Downey climbed out.

Natasha shut the door and put the turn signal on to drive away.  Steve looked back, and saw a light fall on Downey’s face.  He had his phone out.

“He’s making a phone call,” Steve said.  “What if he’s calling the cops?”  If this were Downey’s van, he definitely knew the license plate number.

“Shit,” said Natasha, and stopped the van again.

[shalebridge-cradle]

Unholy Alternate Chapter 10: Martha

(Since the actual chapter 10 got a pretty good response, I decided to post the other one here so the time I spent on it wasn’t entirely wasted. Ghost text was originally underlined as well as italicized for clarity, but formatting should indicate whenever the ghost is speaking.)

WARNINGS: Mentions of suicide in this chapter.

Martha Dunnstock always did her best, because that was all anyone could do. It didn’t matter if it was in class or in PE (even though everyone always laughed at her), but she always went the extra mile when it came to her friends.

So, obviously, Heather Chandler’s sudden death, and what it did to Veronica, was weighing heavily on her heart.

Veronica was… gone. There was no better way to put it. Sure, her body was still moving through the motions, going to class, eating lunch, but her eyes were just… blank. Lifeless.

Martha and Mac (and yes, she had gotten Heather McNamara’s permission to call her that) were doing their darndest to get some sort of positive reaction out of her, but nothing they tried was working. Of course, there was nothing negative either.

Always look on the bright side of life.

It was also good that everyone else was avoiding them like the plague. With one Heather’s death and another’s disappearance, the social pyramid had crumbled into disarray. It was the reason no-one called Mac out for hanging around her, the bottom of the food chain. It was the reason no-one really spoke to either of them, at all.

Maybe it was just the fact there was a serial killer on the loose. That might also be a factor.

Mac was right. The police here were useless. Not only did they fail to apprehend Jason Dean, the had failed to find Heather Duke, too. That made Martha nervous. Why did she run? She did the right thing, and told the truth. She could have asked for protection from the one guy who was out to get her, but instead she fled into the great unknown. Why?

There was also someone else missing, and to be honest, she didn’t notice until Mac pointed it out.

“Have you heard?” the other students said in whispers, “Courtney’s in hospital.”

“Got mugged on her way home from school.”

“She lives on the nice side of town, is nowhere safe?”

“What’s she in for? Stab wounds? Concussion?”

“Blood loss, I heard.”

And in that moment, Martha got exactly what she thought she wanted. Veronica reacted.

She was laughing.

  Heather Chandler’s funeral was a miserable experience. Of course it was, Martha said to herself, it’s a funeral. These things weren’t supposed to be happy.

She figured that Heather Number One would be pleased with the turnout, though. People were nearly out the church doors. Heck, there were even a few photographers, and a local news crew were setting up outside as everyone filed in. All this publicity around a girl obsessed with popularity, and Heather wasn’t able to see it.

Truly tragic.

Martha and Mac remained long after anyone else filed out of the cemetery, even Mr. and Mrs. Chandler (who Mac was kind enough to identify, a twinge of bitterness in her voice). Mr. Chandler stayed for a carefully calculated amount of time, before insisting he had a plane to catch. The dead girl’s mother lingered a little while longer, before trudging off, alone.

The reason she stayed for so long was because Veronica refused to move.

That brief flicker of mad emotion had disappeared as quickly as it had come, and Veronica was back to being near-catatonic. Her oldest remaining friend stared at the mountain of flowers impassively.

Then…

“She’s not in there.”

Veronica’s voice was rough, perhaps from lack of use, and Martha hated the sound of it. She shared a look with the Last Heather Standing.

“Where else would she be?” Mac questioned.

“Don’t know. Not here.”

“She’s dead, Veronica,” Martha half-pleaded with Veronica to see some sense, “I’m sorry, we all saw it.”

Veronica made a noise, and Martha had never heard something so broken come out a human mouth.

“She’s been dead for the past few months. This is nothing.”

Martha tensed up.

  An emergency meeting was called. According to Mac, this sort of thing happened a lot with the Heathers. Martha honestly wouldn’t be surprised if Heather Chandler had forced someone to write down the minutes.

“We need to do something,” Martha said firmly, “We can’t let Veronica wither away like this.”

“It’s such a weird thing to say, though,” Mac replied, “‘she’s been dead for the past few months’? Like, what does she mean?”

“She’s in denial. She doesn’t want to believe Heather’s gone.”

“Nobody does.”

“But she might do something really stupid! We need to take steps to make sure that doesn’t happen.”

“What if she’s right, though?”

Martha’s brow knitted in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“Well, you’d think Heather would show up as a ghost. You’d have seen her by now, if she was dead.”

“I think coming back to haunt the living is the exception, rather than the rule,” Martha replied. Mac scoffed.

“Well, yeah. But do you really think someone like Heather is just gonna stay down after that?”

“She got shot in the head, Heather.”

They both turned to the third member of their meeting.

“What do you think?”

I think you’re both right, the voice replied.

  Mac and Martha eventually both agreed that Veronica’s safety was the most important thing to them in the few days following the funeral. She was the one friend they had, and they both refused to let that slip through their fingers as well.

To be fair, they could have been more subtle about it. They removed razor blades, cords, ropes, pills, anything that Veronica might use to hurt herself. It was hard tracking everything down and hiding it, but the peace of mind, and the grateful smiles of the Sawyer family, made it worth it.

“Martha, I’m not suicidal,” Veronica had told her at lunch one day. She was getting better about talking, even if it was in short, broken sentences. Martha nodded, but didn’t say anything.

Veronica didn’t look suicidal. Tired, grumpy, yes, but not suicidal. Then again, Martha thought, no-one really ever looked suicidal. That’s why it always came as a shock.

Better to be safe than sorry. Martha would continue.

 “I think they were dating.”

Mac was chewing thoughtfully on her fingernail as she spoke. Martha nearly choked on her popcorn.

“Who?”

“You know, Heather and Veronica.”

Martha didn’t know. She didn’t mind it, obviously, but the fact she had completely missed that made her feel like a bad friend. Maybe she should go over and tell Veronica she loves her no matter what…?

Actually, that might not have been such a good idea. Veronica was still mad at her for not listening about the whole ‘not-suicidal’ thing. Self-defeated, Martha’s eyes returned to Mac’s TV.

She’d rented Beetlejuice again, since she hadn’t managed to finish it on her last movie night. Since Mac was kind enough to host, she figured she’d just start over from the beginning for her benefit.

“How did you figure that out?” Martha asked.

“Well, I got help. James- no, Jason Dean told me. I think he was expecting me to tell other people.”

“And you believed him?”

Mac shrugged. “I didn’t have any reason not to, at the time. I mean, I didn’t catch them doing anything, but they were having, like, a lot of study sessions.”

Martha frowned, mulling over the new information. Striving for academic excellence wasn’t exactly an indicator of a romantic relationship. Then again, she barely knew anything about how Heather Chandler’s brain had worked. While she contemplated, Mac’s attention returned to the movie.

“I wonder if that’s actually how ghosts work.” She murmured.

I didn’t get a manual, if that’s what you’re wondering.

“Really? Hm.”

  Martha drummed her fingers on her bedside table. Her companion watched, waiting for a question.

“So,” Martha began, “When you said ‘you’re both right’, did you mean…?”

I meant that you were both right. Just in different ways. came the response. Martha rubbed her temples.

“Is Heather Chandler dead or alive?”

Physically, she is dead.

Oh-kay. Now they were making progress.

“Is she a zombie? Like Kurt?”

No. She’s not like Kurt and Ram. Martha flinched at the name. She was perfectly comfortable with being in the denial stage, and wasn’t willing to move any further down those five steps until everything else in her life was sorted.

Do you want to talk to her?

Martha hesitated.

On the one hand, she did not want to talk to Heather Chandler, and she was sure Heather didn’t want to talk to her. She hadn’t, except in sneers and insults and, that one time, a terse concession, likely at Veronica’s insistence. Martha didn’t know exactly what condition Chandler was in, but she seriously doubted it would improve her already sour mood.

On the other hand…

The school was falling apart without her. More importantly, Veronica was falling apart without her, and Martha was bailing water out of a rapidly sinking ship. There were so many questions to ask – how did you survive? Can you see ghosts? Were you dating Veronica? Did you treat her right?

What did you do to her? How do I fix it?

Martha grabbed her Ouija board, but the clearing of a throat that didn’t need clearing stopped her.

You won’t need that.

  She knew about the house at the edge of town – decrepit, supposedly abandoned in the 70s – and Martha had hoped she never would have to go there. In elementary and middle school, the whispers of ghosts roaming the halls had made Martha shiver, but she knew now that those rumors weren’t true. The only things haunting this skeleton of a home were drug addicts and ne’er-do-wells.

And, apparently, one actual dead person.

The pale figure on the filthy old armchair stood up as a creak of wood alerted her to Martha’s presence. She sauntered over, like a cat, but Martha hurried to meet her. She wouldn’t be cowed into submission, not when she was preparing to interrogate this phantom.

The voice that emanated was hoarse, grating. Like gravel. Stone on stone.

“You can’t sneak for shit.”

It was such a strange experience looking at her. She had… faded, like an old photo left in the light for too long. The colors were washed out. White and grey, rather than gold and pink. No red, of course. A faded leather jacket over a hoodie (just like the one Veronica purchased) and washed-out jeans. Martha never realized associating someone with a color could have such a profound effect on recognizing them.

That scowl, though, that was the clue that this was definitely Heather Chandler.

“What is it, Dunnstock?”

Not Dumptruck. Martha internally squealed as she clicked her pen.

“I have some questions.”

Heather groaned, but her eyes were stopped mid-roll by another steely glance from beside Martha. Chandler straightened under the unearthly gaze, and coughed. Martha took it as an affirmative. She readied her notebook.

“What are you?”

“Vampire.” The answer was spat out, almost unwillingly, and Heather seemed to shrink underneath the weight of the word. “Have to drink blood, don’t have a heartbeat. Vampire.”

Martha frowned slightly. “You don’t have fangs.”

The response was immediate, and part of the reason Martha didn’t react is because it took a few seconds to register. It was a sudden thing, a shift in the structure of Heather’s face, and Martha found herself face-to-face with totally black eyes (a dim red just visible in the center) and a mouth full of impossibly sharp teeth.  

“This good enough for you, Nancy Drew?” Heather snarled, voice even rougher and more feral than before.

Martha’s face was blank. “Yep.”

There was a shocked silence. Heather returned to… well, mostly normal, and backed away.

“Wow. You really don’t give a fuck, do you?”

Martha shrugged, and scribbled away in her notebook.

Angry Vampire. Do not bring up fangs. Stereotyping may also be a problem.

“Okay. Next question. Did you and Veronica… uh… you know. Date?”

Heather’s eyes widened, caught.

“I don’t know what you mean,” she replied robotically.

“I’m sorry if it’s too personal. I just want a yes or a no.”

Heather flopped back down into the chair, fidgeting. Had she ever done something so vulnerable at school? Had she ever seemed unsure? Martha attempted to remember, before deciding that any occasion where it had happened might as well have never occurred at all.

“Yeah,” Heather mumbled after what seemed like an eternity. Then, it was like Martha had opened the feelings floodgates, “she helped me through this whole unlife thing, when it first happened, and she just kept helping me. I made the first move after she did something stupid, and she didn’t reject me, so I assumed it was okay. I still… fuck. I still care about her. A lot.”

Martha drew a little love heart on the page.

“She doesn’t know you’re here, though. You haven’t told her.” Martha said, gently. Heather ran a pale hand through white hair. “You don’t have to keep going if you don’t want to. I can ask another question.”

“Don’t tell me what to do.” Heather snapped, but there was none of the usual venom in it. “She wants to do normal teen stuff. I tried, when I was alive, but she didn’t get the hint that I liked her until after I died. Then I died again, and I figured if I got out now, there was still a chance she could get what she wants with someone else.”

“She’s a wreck right now.”

Heather sniffled. “I know.”

Martha crammed in the word ‘sad’ next to her ‘angry vampire’ note. “I think that the S.S. Normalcy has left Port Veronica. Go see her. Explain yourself.”

“But she freaked out last time.”

“What did you do?”

“Nothing!” Heather cried defensively. “I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t. I just wanted to see her, and she didn’t even know I was real!”

Then prove that you are. Simple.

“Shove it, Casper!”

“She’s right,” Martha butted in, “Hug her. Maybe kiss her. Make her feel loved while you can. I want my best friend to feel better, and you might be the only one who can do that.”

Heather ran her hand through her hair again, her attention elsewhere. It was still so strange to consider Chandler as anything more than an idea. A movie villain, rather than someone grappling with feelings just like those of the students she used to rule over.

“I can’t believe I’m taking relationship advice from you two dweebs,” she grumbled. Now-grey eyes flicked upwards. “I’ll talk to her – tomorrow night. What’s your next question, Girl Friday?”

Martha clicked her pen. “You can tell Veronica yourself.”

Chandler scoffed. “That’s it? I can come up with ten different things to ask a dead girl before breakfast.”

“I’ve already gotten what I wanted.” Martha smiled, and Heather just watched in confusion as Martha practically skipped out.

  Everything was great.

Martha had often thought she had peaked in Kindergarten, when everyone was friends with everyone, but she had proved the world wrong, in secret. Sure, life wasn’t as shiny and happy as it was back then, but it was a huge improvement from a few months ago. Martha’s hard work had paid off – she had not one, but three friends, maybe five (she hadn’t won over Chandler just yet, and once Heather Duke stopped hiding, she was sure they could go back to the old days) or six (once Ram was… found. Yes. He would be found, safe and alive).

School was almost back to normal. There was a pep rally on that night, and Martha was ready to go support Mac. Just a quick check on Veronica – it was unlikely she wanted to go, but it was still possible. She might even benefit from it. Maybe.

Actually, now that she thought about it, probably not.

Mrs. Sawyer smiled as Martha walked up the stairs, and she was, too, until she heard a voice in her ear.

Something’s wrong.

Mrs. Sawyer was right behind her. She couldn’t just stop and ask. Instead, she gave a meaningful glance to her left, and the ghost disappeared.

“Veronica?” Mrs. Sawyer called, knocking on the bedroom door. “Veronica, your friend Martha is here to see you…”

No response from inside. Veronica’s mother shrugged, and went back down the stairs. The usual response from Veronica these days, Martha imagined.

She turned the doorknob.

In amidst splintered wood from the closet door, Veronica was swaying gently from a noose.

Martha’s scream was cut off when Veronica’s head shot up, and she gave her trademark strangled cry.

“Oh my god! Martha, I’m so sorry! Don’t freak out!”

“It’s too late for that!” Martha shrilled. Veronica fiddled with something around her waist, and fell to the floor with a thud.

“Ow.”

Martha stomped over, trying to get the right mix of anger and disappointment on her face. “Why?! What possessed you to fake this sort of thing? Was it a joke?”

“No! No, of course not!” Veronica’s eyes flickered for a moment, and she was overtaken with something darker. “JD was here.”

Martha froze.

Veronica continued, her tone now urgent. “Listen. He’s going to do something awful. Worse than killing Heather and Ram and Kurt. I need your help.”

Yes. This was the moment Martha had been waiting for. Her chest puffed up in excitement…

And then deflated immediately.

“I’ll try,” Martha said, almost apologetic, “but I don’t think anyone will listen to me.”

“Then I’ll make them listen.”

Veronica picked up her croquet mallet. There was a fire in her eyes that wasn’t there before, and she was pacing, thoughtful.

She was back.

“Everyone already thinks I’m crazy. Not without good reason, obviously, but if I tell them there’s a bomb, I’ll probably get sent off to an asylum.”

“There’s a bomb?!”

Veronica shrugged. “That’s what he said. So, maybe I can get people out of the gym, find the bomb and… defuse it. Somehow.”

Martha shook her head. “If you find it, take it out into the football field. You might set it off accidentally.”

“And no-one has to play football. It’s a win-win.” Veronica’s smile faded. “Shit. Duke.”

Martha perked up.

“Where is she?”

“I don’t know. JD said something about a suicide note. He might be planning to fake a suicide again.”

Martha mentally filed away the ‘again’ for questioning at a later date. There was a cough from behind her, in lieu of a tap on the shoulder.

Chandler’s finally stopped brooding. She’ll find Heather Duke while you find JD.

“She’s fine.” Martha relayed. “Well, she will be. I’m sure of it.”

Veronica frowned, and Martha’s sure she heard the taller girl curse under her breath.

“One question. Just one, Martha. Do you believe in ghosts?”

Martha turned around to face the apparition, silently asking permission.

Betty Finn nodded.

“Yes,” Martha replied. Veronica smirked.

“I thought so.”

[ask-de-writer]

MAD - IRRITATED SCIENCE! : Bizarre Borderland : (1 Part)

MAD IRRITATED SCIENCE!

by

De Writer (Glen Ten-Eyck)

2488 words

© 2017 by Glen Ten-Eyck

written 2008

All rights reserved.  This document may not be copied or distributed on or to any medium or placed in any mass storage system except by the express written consent of the author.

TUMBLR EXEMPTION

Blog holding members of Tumblr.com may freely reblog this story provided that the title, author and copyright information remain intact, unaltered, and are displayed at the head of the story.

Fan art, stories, music, cosplay and other fan activity is actively encouraged.

~~ ~~ ~~ ~~

I read an item in the SCI-NEWS that I personally found amusing.  A lot of people, especially the other Desert Rats like me, would have said, “So?”  For them, they'd be right.  Me, I'm the odd one, the duck that swims in the desert.

The item?  Somebody found and totally documented that the human brain's neurons use electrons to transmit information, which everybody already knew.  The new bit was that the neurons and the so-called white matter, the glial cells, also used protons to carry information.  The positive charge wasn't there just for balancing potentials.

Like I said, odd man out.  I already had a working headset that used passive electrical pickups to read brain activity.  In the past, and the reason that I built it, I used it to locate the speech processing center.  My plan for riches was simply to use the headset to read subvocal thought for controlling a computer or word processor.  Like many great notions, this one ran aground on the reef of reality.  It barely worked at all and was prone to massive errors.  Apparently it couldn't read the necessary brain center finely enough.

I looked over the equipment and began to rewrite my software to take into account the positive charges as information along with the negative ones.  Wow.  Dullsville, according to my few friends out here.  I shut up about my experiments.

Al Martin was a particular thorn all the way through the paw.  After I caught him cutting my gate lock chain to come up “for a friendly visit”, I got a Protective Order put on him to keep him away.  He took to calling me Dr. Freakenstein and making 'hilarious' jokes about creating monsters and EVIL SCIENCE.

Al Martin aside, I kinda like it out here.  The natural silence of wind, bird, coyote howl and such like, combined with the sheer joy of waking to the desert sunrise and watching the day unfold, lets me have both the time and the peace to think.  Sometimes I  tinker with the things that I think about.  Unless Al finds a way to be a nuisance.

The last few months, he's been running a “neighborhood watch” scam.  He got a telescope and started trying to charge folks for keeping an eye on their places.  By a pure coincidence I'm sure (NOT), the places on his watch list get robbed by burglars more often than the ones that he doesn't watch.  He even watches my place, which isn't on his watch list.  Caught him in the act several times.  I have a telescope, too.

Sorry about the digression.  Back to my idea of fun stuff.  The result of looking at both sides of the charge equation was a complete surprise.  Much of the mystery of brain intercommunication simply fell apart.  Most, if not all, of thought was processed as fractal interfaces between “clouds” of positrons clustered about various brain centers.  Still sounds dull, I guess.

Point, set and match occurred when a rat wandered near, under my house.  The sensor setup on my head spotted the interference of ratty's little “mind clouds” at once.  I personally hadn't noticed.  The computer showed me why, too.  My mind was automatically blocking the signal.

It took both concentration and help from the computer to open up to it.  As the little critter moved about, I started to get a feel for it.  If I could feel it, could it respond to me?

That took quite a few tries and failures.  After somewhat over an hour, I got the rat to come out from under the house and sit up on my porch in full view.  He was a dusty gray with  lines of white spots down his back.  His tail was long but fluffy.  Some sort of ground squirrel perhaps.  Not really a rat after all.

Now that I had him in sight, I experimented more freely because I could see how Ratty responded.  I needed the computer for the first few hours while I was learning to use my 'clouds' to influence his 'clouds'.  I kept blocking the signal by old habit.  With some work, I finally got Ratty to stand up and do a little rat-dance on his hind legs.

When I realized that Ratty was hungry from all of my experiments, I gave him a chunk of a peanut butter sandwich.  A few curious little birds landed on my porch rail while Ratty and I were munching.  I tried reaching out with my 'cloud' and encouraged them to hop up close.  More of my sandwich disappeared into little birdie craws.

By the end of several days of practice, I knew that my maximum range was about fifteen feet.  Inside that distance, I could simply execute small vermin like fleas, mites, lice, ticks and flying bugs.  Larger critters were harder but not much.  I didn't harm many of them though, it was more fun to control them and simply send them away. Ratty was the exception, of course.  He was both a kick as a pet and a great little test subject.

Had to wonder, you know, if folks learning to do this sort of thing wasn't the basis of the tales about witchcraft.  Thinking it through a bit more, after destroying a few persistent vermin in my garden, I realized that if this was the foundation of witchcraft, those fears in the general population could be well founded.  It took almost no imagination at all to see how someone with this sort knowledge could be a very real danger to the community at large.  Especially if the general population treated the “witch” badly.  I didn't intend to find out what would happen in a case like that.

I'd just got a pair of deer up close and doing a bit of a step-dance for a big flake of hay when I noticed the dust cloud of a truck barreling along the road from Al's place.  I sent the deer away, cursing Al under my breath.  Bad news only got worse when Al's pickup roared up my drive, scattering gravel as he skidded to a stop.  Al bailed out with a rifle in hand, starting to aim at the retreating deer.

I glared at him.  Al's rifle fell to the dirt from hands gone nerveless.  Wide eyed with anger, he demanded, “Damn you, Art! What did you do to me?”

Not bothering to get up from my seat on the porch steps I replied tartly, “Me?  I'm here on my porch.  You are ten feet away.  From here, it looked like you managed to drop your gun just in time to avoid poaching charges on top of the Felony Trespass and Protective Order violation.”

Frowning in a black faced rage, he flexed his now almost functioning fingers and retorted, “Poaching?  No way!  This is private land so its legal.  No hunting without permission your signs says. Wasn't no time to ask first, so's I was gonna ask after I blasted 'em.  Would'a given me a whole Winter's meat.”

Lips pulled into a tight line I snapped, “Only problem, Al, is I would have said NO.  Those signs allow me to get game from my land.  Desert game is spread thin and I don't share mine.  At least not with you.  I heard from Joe Sanderson how well you share yours.”

Al was looking down at his hands and flexing them.  Still pissed off, he spit out, “Joe had it coming!  Bastard wouldn't pay me for Neighbor Watch.”

I raised one eyebrow and pointed out, “Neither will I.  Looks like your hands are better.  Get into your truck and shove off.  Don't come back, either.”

Al stared to bend over to get his rifle and just kept on going down. He landed in a heap on the scattered gravel of my drive.  “Don't try to take that gun, Al, unless you want to leave here in a hearse.”

Twitching on the ground, Al yelled, “I knew it, you asshole! You've used some sort of evil witchcraft on me.  I'll have the law on you for this!”

I smiled down at him from my vantage point on the steps.  A sensible wolf would have stepped away from that smile.  “One:  Killing Felony Trespassers is legal, and that's what you became when you hauled out that rifle.  Two:  You have a Protective Order that requires you to stay at least a hundred fifty feet from my property line and do nothing to compromise my property, including discharge firearms on or across it.  I can legally kill you for that violation, too.  Three:  Witchcraft IS legal.  Four:  I just sat here and watched you apparently have some sort of seizures.  Five:  I am calling the Sheriff's Office on your Trespass and and Order violations.”

I got on my phone and called the situation in to the County Police. I fixed a sandwich and went back out on the porch to watch Al.  He was staying down.  I knew that he would.

As I started to eat, Ratty popped up from his nest under the house. He did his little rat dance and got his chunk of sandwich.  He settled down by my feet and happily nibbled his bread and cheese.

Al looked on in what I believe was genuine fear.  Trying to point, he exclaimed, “There's the proof!  You are a witch-man!  That's your familiar!”

Amused, I replied, “Ratty?  A familiar?  The worst he could do is nip your nuts while you're down.”

Ratty squeaked firmly.

I laughed, “Right Ratty!  Why should you risk lice and other crawling vermin just to bite Al's privates?”

Ratty expressed his opinion of Al by taking his part of the sandwich and retreating back under the house.  With his tail up to show Al his ass.

Not too much later a deputy arrived.  I greeted him, “Hi, Deputy Mustic.  'Fraid your cousin Al's in a spot of trouble.  Seems to have not only broken the Protective Order, he brought a firearm onto my place.  Trouble is, unless he's faking it, he seems to have some sort of paralytic neurological event.  He's even trying to blame me for it.  Witchcraft, no less.  Can you believe it?”

Deputy Mustic closed his eyes and took a deep breath.  “Of Al?  I'd believe near anything.  I gotta call for a backup and let him do this one to be sure that everything's done right.  If I try to do the arrest, Al's lawyer is sure to try for a conflict of interest or some such because we're related.”   The deputy got on his radio and I overheard him giving dispatch a piece of his mind for sending him out to deal with a relative.

Soon both the backup, Deputy Jorgen, and an ambulance were on the scene.  Al was duly informed of his rights and placed under arrest while the ambulance crew verified with a pin that Al really was paralyzed.  Deputy Mustic took me aside, day book out and asked, “Art, why didn't you call the ambulance?  Even if he is my family, we both know that Al is slime.  Still, you should'a called.”

I nodded, while watching Al being loaded into the ambulance to be hauled away, “I would have, Deputy.  Thing is, he pulled that stunt on Sadie Halloway where he faked an injury on her place.  Since she called the ambulance, she wound up getting stuck for near enough a grand.  Al did it because she wouldn't pay into his neighbor watch scam.  I won't pay him either and just figured he was doing the same to me as he did to her.”

Writing in his day book and flipping a page to finish, Deputy Mustic nodded, “I heard about that.  Thought it might be the reason. Needed it clear for the record is all.”

More anxiously, now that he was done being official, he asked, “Any idea what is wrong?  I mean, scum or not, he is family and I'm worried for him.  Believe it or not, the kids like him at reunions. He does slight of hand coin tricks and card stunts really professional.”

I shrugged, “The slight of hand for entertainment is something I'd not have guessed.  Slick as he is at lifting small tools and such, I should have known something like that was behind it.  As for this, no idea at all.  I am sure that it's not sunstroke.  The AC in his truck was on and it works.  I would guess that it might be an oddball stroke of some kind.  Maybe an aneurysm or bleed in the upper spine could do it.  Just a guess, though.

“Al appears to be sure what it is.  I heard him telling both Deputy Jorgen and the paramedics that it's witchcraft.  If it is, I don't think that I'm the one.  Frankly, I hope he's right.  Witchcraft is legal.”

Three days later, Deputy Mustic was back.  It was an unofficial visit.  Looking sad, he said, “Al died in the hospital, last night, 'bout midnight, Art.  The doctors did find what it was but there was nothing that they could do.  Doctor Collins said that it was the fastest growing neurological tumor that she's ever heard of.  It was just near to the top of his spine.  Inoperable.  Al died swearing to everyone there that you cursed him.”

I watched a hawk soar overhead  for a moment before I replied, “Not to speak ill, but if I could have, I would have.  Didn't like him at all.

“You, on the other hand are one of the best.  Never heard a single bad word about you, even from folks you've arrested.”

Deputy Mustic smiled but only slightly, “Thanks for that, Art.  I didn't expect any sympathy for Al but I figured that you'd want to know.”

“Indeed, Deputy.  My condolences to your family.”

As Deputy Mustic drove away, My mind was in high gear.  I liked it out here, but it did get pretty lonely on occasion.  The ease with which I influenced animals and settled Al's hash led to an interesting line of thought.

The next time that I was in town, I spotted a pretty young lady. Checking her out by 'feel' I found that she was not only available, she didn't like being tied to one guy.  She enjoyed having a variety of lovers.

All that I planted was the urge to drive out my way.  The weekend was fun for both of us.  Besides bed, Sally hiked around the hills with me and even liked watching a hawk or buzzard fly.  We took a bunch of pictures of her around my house and up in the rocks and hills.  Nice cheesecake, barely risque.  Good memories.

It turned out that Sally knew a fair number of other like minded friends.  After she introduced me to her buddies, neither my days or nights stayed lonely.

---The End---