#basically most of it is just cia being a creep

[adrift-in-thyme]

Whumptober Day 6: Made to Watch

Read on Ao3

- Warriors & Twilight

- Summary: Cia manages to capture Warriors and decides to try to force him to remain with her

CW for nonconsensual touching, nonconsensual transformation, mild body horror, torture, a character being possessive, vomiting, blood and injury

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Warriors glares down at his legs, trying in vain not to look up. He is all too aware of the faces grinning cockily down at him from every angle of the room. And he would really rather not gaze upon them. They give him the creeps, quite frankly.

Who knew his own visage could look so wrong, slapped on the walls of someone he abhors?

He shifts, flexing his bound hands to try and bring feeling back into them. The ropes are pulled so tightly that he is certain their pattern is indented in his skin. Magic reverberates through them, dark and thick and nauseatingly wrong. Even it feels possessive, as though its wielder has imbued it with her sentiments.

The thought sends chills running down his neck and back. It’s almost as if he can feel her hands on him already, like skulltulas crawling across his skin. Unconsciously, he curls in on himself further.

He doesn’t know how Cia returned to the land of the living. Frankly, he doesn’t think he wants to. But one thing is for certain, he wishes it had never occurred.

Neither had he thought he would set foot in this place again. Foolishly, he had thought it was all over. 

(Save, of course, for the creeping memories of his men lying in pools of their own blood; townspeople screaming in horror and pain; long nights spent agonizing over maps and plans, trying to figure out how to win the next battle, trying to ignore the constant, creeping terror that someone followed his every move, cold fingers reaching out to brush his neck.)  

Yet here he sits in the depths of Cia’s chambers, wounded and bound. His head still aches from where the moblin had slammed its club into it. A trail of drying blood tugs at the skin of his forehead.

Warriors closes his eyes for a moment, exhales long and slow through his nostrils. Fear is seeping past his defenses, turning his mind numb. He can’t let that happen. He has to stay alert, keep a hold of himself.

But that is awfully hard to do. Even more so when footsteps echo in the hall.

There are multiple pairs of them by the sound of it — three perhaps — some heavier than others. And as they grow closer Warriors finds it increasingly difficult to slow the mad rhythm of his heart.

Cia is coming, he can feel it, feel her dark magic seeping through the walls and floorboards.

His breath hitches the slightest bit and he forces himself to hold the next one, then blow it out slowly. It still shakes a bit but at least he is in less danger of hyperventilating now. 

Calm yourself, captain, he orders. He squeezes his eyes shut, allowing himself a moment to feel the serenity of cool darkness. All the while, the footsteps grow continually louder.

Remove yourself from the situation. You’re no good if you’re panicked.

Warriors clenches his hands, determined to stop their shaking. He can’t show her weakness, he refuses to. But he can’t do more than slow the manic bob of his knee, up and down, up and down, mimicking the erratic pound of his heart.

His body demands to retain one, small nervous tick and he has little choice but to cave. 

The footsteps come to an abrupt halt now, just outside of the double doors. Warriors inhales sharply, breath caught in his chest. He can hear his heart pounding like it’s the only sound in the room, filling his ears, reverberating through him like the beat of war drums. 

Then, both doors are flung wide open with a flare and fury that can only belong to one person. And sure enough, there she is, standing in the doorway with her hip jutted outward and her head tipped so the shadows play upon it, violet eyes gleaming like a demon’s, a malicious smirk curving her lips. 

She looks just as she did in the time of the war. A shiver tears up his spine.

“Well, well, look what we have here,” she croons, waltzing into the room. “It has been far too long, my little hero. But I am so delighted to see you again.”

She begins to walk toward him, every step making his heart climb higher into his throat. Then, she is mere inches away, grasping his chin and dragging it upward so he has no choice but to look at her. He fights not to recoil from her touch. 

“I brought you a little gift to celebrate the occasion,” she purrs. “I do hope you enjoy it.”

She raises a hand and motions to whoever still waits in the darkness of the threshold. Then, quick and quiet as a serpent, she slips behind the chair he is bound to. She leans forward, hands snaking around his shoulders, breath and hair tickling his ear. 

“Now, watch,” she murmurs. “I want to see your face when you see what I brought you. Or rather who.”

She has barely uttered the word when the sounds of a scuffle come from the doorway. Seconds later, a figure Warriors would know anywhere is hurled unceremoniously over it. The Hero of Twilight lands in a bloodied heap on the hard floor.

Warriors can’t help the way his breath hitches in his throat. 

“Rancher?” 

A moblin lumbers into the light. Grasping Twilight’s shoulder, it wrenches him upward so he kneels before Warriors. Slowly, the hero raises his head.

A gash runs jaggedly across his face, cresting the bridge of his nose. Its gory crimson stands out against the pallor of his skin. His hair hangs limply, weighed down by blood and sweat. His pelt, outer tunic, and armor are gone, his undertunic and pants bloodied and torn, allowing glimpses of the angry welts and bruises and cuts lying beneath. 

His eyes are abnormally bright when they meet the captain’s, but that all too familiar fire still burns within it. And when he catches sight of Cia, hovering behind Warriors, her hands still on him, his expression turns positively murderous. 

“Get away from him,” he growls, earning himself a swift kick in the ribs. He doubles over, gasping. A fresh streak of worry zips through Warriors. 

But the sorceress has no problem ignoring what is happening before her. She begins to laugh and the sharp sound echoes in Warriors’ ears. 

“Wonderful! Just the reaction I was expecting!” She steps back, clapping together her hands. “Now, we can begin.”

“Begin what?” Warriors spits, anger in his tone. He grasps onto it, if only to keep his fear at bay. “It seems you’ve done more than enough already.”

She chuckles again, as though she is privy to some wonderful joke that neither hero is. 

“Oh, captain, I certainly have missed you. Death was so unkind to keep me from you. Thankfully, there are those who understand the need to rise from the grave.” Cia grins. “And now that I’m back, I would really rather not have to lose you again.”

She runs her hand along the side of his jaw and neck, the movement almost gentle. Warriors is certain he is going to be ill.

“So you are going to stay here with me…” Her face is suddenly inches from his. Warriors cringes back, trying to turn his face away. But long fingers grasp his jaw and wrench it back into place.

“Forever.”

Warriors nearly chokes on the breath he had been holding. He had known it was coming, there was no way he couldn’t, but that doesn’t negate the terrible feeling that one word provokes. He has felt suffocated by this place since he awoke here. Now, he is certain that it’s crushing him. 

“He’s not gonna stay with you,” Twilight says, his tone firm despite the way he trembles. There is something dangerous in it too, like the bite of a wild animal. “He’s not your pet.”

Cia turns to him at that. A high-pitched, maniacal giggle bubbles out of her. 

“It is absolutely hilarious that you of all people would phrase it in such a way. Tell me, does your friend know?”

She closes the distance between herself and the rancher. Then, reaching out she grasps his chin, angling his face upward. With the other hand she traces the dark markings around his eyes and on his forehead. Twilight tries to pull away but she holds him fast.

“This one is dripping with dark magic,” she says, addressing Warriors now with an almost giddy tone. “He’s coated in it! Just look at these markings! And this” – She releases Twilight’s face and lifts the crystal he wears instead, turning it in her fingers — “This is the source of it all. He has used its power so many times now that it might as well be a part of him. I wonder, if all that magic were gone…or perhaps changed, would he break?”

Twilight’s expression doesn’t change from its steadfast mask of anger. But Warriors has known him for too long now to miss the flash of fear.

“It doesn’t matter,” he says, sharply. “It’s me you want, not him. Release him. Now.”

Cia giggles again. For a moment, she regards the crystal. Then, dropping it, she turns back to Warriors. 

“I’ll let him go eventually. But first we’re going to have a bit of fun. You see, the wonderful thing about dark magic is that it has no qualms. It can be warped and twisted however you wish. It won’t put up a fight. It might even decide to help you, if you’re lucky.”

Warriors’ eyes narrow. Panic thrashes within him like a bird caught in a cage. He has to find a way out of here, he has to. 

“So.” Cia stalks toward him, grinning as though she is exceedingly pleased with herself. “Either you swear to remain by my side for eternity, or your friend comes to know what it feels like when I bend dark magic to my will.” Her smile turns almost sweet. But there is blatant danger behind it, a temper that is too easily kindled. “It’s your choice, my little hero.”

Twilight skewers him with a look so cold it could send most grown men running. Under better circumstances, Warriors would tease him about how well he has managed to capture the old man’s glare of disappointment.

“Don’t do what she wants, captain. I’ll be fine.”

Warriors swallows, feeling vaguely lightheaded. He knows the answer he should give. But Cia’s presence is everywhere, smothering him so he can’t breathe or feel or think. His own face grins down at him from every wall, malicious and oppressive. And some desperate, selfish part of him wants to scream that he can never live this way. 

With an effort, he forces himself to open his mouth. The words he wants stick in his throat, though, and nothing comes out. 

“The clock is ticking,” Cia hisses, fire beginning to burn behind her eyes. “Your hesitation perturbs me, little hero. We are meant to be together, can you not see that? We are far bigger than the powers that try to keep us apart. Come, be with me the way it should be.”

Her words wrap around him like treacherous vines. Warriors can’t breathe past their grip. 

“He was never meant to be with you, witch,” Twilight growls. “And if you think your little plan to manipulate him is gonna work, you’re gonna be sorely disappointed.”

She whirls on him, pent up fury radiating off of her in waves.

“Time’s up!”

Warriors jolts forward with a strangled shout. “No, wait!”

But it’s already too late. 

A flick of the sorceress’ fingers and Twilight goes rigid. His eyes blow wide with terror and agony. A scream breaks free, strangled and hoarse and terrible. Black flecks begin to dance in the air. They surround him, coalescing into something darker and more solid. Then, quick as a spear in flight, they zip into his chest. 

Abruptly, Twilight’s screams cut off. His eyes roll back in his head and he slumps in the moblin’s grip. For a long moment, the room is horribly quiet. 

Warriors doesn’t dare take a breath. His ears still ring from Twilight’s cries, head still pounds from woundedness and fear. Distantly, he realizes that he should look around the room for some method of escape while Cia is distracted. But he can’t tear his eyes from Twilight's limp form. 

Let him be okay. Dear goddesses let him be okay.

A violent screech suddenly fills the space, eerie and petrifying. It ricochets around Warriors’ skull and he yearns to close his eyes in an attempt to block out the noise. But it continues and he remains frozen, helpless to do anything more than watch as Twilight morphs. 

His body enlarges and elongates, pale skin turning the color of fresh tar, lines of silvery-gray tracing strange patterns along it. Lines of crimson weave deadly cracks along his chest. His hair turns long and wiry, spreading like mane from a face that no longer even remotely resembles something human. Oddly, Warriors can’t help thinking it looks more akin to a shield now, lacking in features as it is. It is adorned with lines and circles, shapes carved into it as though by a potter into clay.

The beast (or…Twilight he guesses, though there is nothing there to remind him that this thing was ever his brother) gives a screech again, so loud Warriors is certain his ear drums are going to burst. And then, he whirls around and hurls the moblin at the wall. The monster hits it with a deafening crack that makes the room tremble and creates a sizable, moblin-shaped dent. It disappears seconds later.

Cia begins to cackle as Twilight faces her, limbs trembling (though with anger or pain, Warriors isn’t certain). He regards her for a mere moment, then with an enraged howl, lunges. 

“Now, now,” she croons, stepping effortlessly out of the way, “be a good beast.”

She holds up the crystal (Warriors hadn’t even seen her snag it) and suddenly Twilight is back, darkness folding around him as he crumples. He just manages to catch himself on his hands and knees, dazed eyes flitting to Warriors. There’s something in them, something urgent trying to break through the haze. And for a split second, Warriors tries desperately to decipher it. But then, the chance is gone. The rancher doubles over and vomits.

“Painful, isn’t it?” Cia says. She delivers a swift kick to the rancher’s chin and he falls. “I told you dark magic is not to be trifled with. And you, oh you, have certainly trifled with it an awful lot. But that is hardly my priority in all of this, only an observation that has proven oh so useful. No.” She turns to Warriors, a smirk on her lips. “My priority is you.”

He’s shaking, Warriors realizes dimly, with anger, with fear, with the guilt that tears up his insides. But he grits his teeth and meets her eye.

“Let him go.” He drags out the words, slowly, each one measured so that his voice doesn’t tremble. It’s the same method he used to address his troops before battle. “And I’ll stay with you. I swear.”

Her eyes light up and a little, giddy gasp escapes her. Warriors’ stomach churns, threatening revolt. He swallows down the bile that rises in his throat.

“Say it again,” she murmurs, prowling up to him, hands already outstretched to brush over his cheeks. “Tell me we were meant to be together. Tell me you’ll stay for all eternity.”

Magic revels at her fingertips, hot and oppressive on his face. Terror wedges itself in his throat and he closes his eyes. The taste of blood is sharp and nauseating.

“Keep them open,” she orders, voice taking on a harsh edge now. Fingernails dig into his face.

With an effort, he obeys. 

“Come now.” Lips hover inches from his and there’s no room to flinch away, nowhere to run. It’s just him and her, a nightmare made manifest in reality, an eternity of misery.

He swallows again, hard, to push down the rising urge to fight back.

“No,” Twilight croaks. “Captain…don’t! Don’t let this monster control you!”

Her eyes turn to blazing fire at that.

“Monster?” In an instant she is straightening, whirling to face the rancher, and Warriors can breathe again. “You think I’m a monster for wanting what I deserve?! You little — I’ll show you what a monster is!”

There’s a terrible flash of light and dark again. The room fills with the sound of agonized screams, turning quickly to the deafening, alien cries of before. And then Twilight is gone, and the beast stands in his place.

But that, it seems, is exactly what he had wanted. 

The rancher is shaking, blood dripping from wounds Warriors can’t see. But he doesn’t allow himself even a moment to catch his breath. With an animalistic shriek, he throws himself at Cia. Close as they are now, she doesn’t have time to evade. He comes down on top of her and she hits the ground, crying out in shock and anger. 

Desperately, furiously, she struggles, screaming obscenities and cut-off incantations. Twilight, however, doesn’t give her a chance to get the upper hand. He digs his talons into her with an abandon that Warriors can’t help finding a little terrifying. 

But he isn’t about to complain. Because the moment she falls, he feels the spell strengthening his bonds stutter and die. The ropes are useless without it, loosened as they are by his constant fight against them. They fall limply to the floor.

He’s on his feet without a second thought, mind locked in the numb determination of an adrenaline rush. Twilight’s crystal has fallen a short ways away and he snatches it up by its cord. 

“Rancher!” he calls, holding it up. 

Twilight spares him a quick, eyeless glance, then reels back and swipes at Cia so fiercely that she goes flying. She collides with the opposite wall, then collapses to the ground, blood dribbling from her mouth.

“You,” she growls, between agonized breaths, “you pathetic dog! I’ll get my revenge for this! Link will be mine!”

And then, in a cloud of violet and black, she is gone. 

He can still feel her presence in the room, still feel her on him, readying the spell that would enslave him to his own promise forever. But Warriors pushes all that aside and turns to Twilight.

“Here.” He holds out the crystal. “This will turn you back, right?”

Twilight nods. Carefully, he reaches out a dark, taloned hand and scoops the crystal into it. The shadows fold around him, there’s a faint “swoosh”, and the rancher is once again standing before him. 

He wavers, looking dangerously close to collapsing, but Warriors puts his arms around him before he can. His own legs aren’t feeling too steady, though, so he ends up lowering them both onto the ground. Twilight slumps heavily against his shoulder. His breathing is sharp, short, and shuddering, his face ashen and pale. But he drags his gaze up to meet Warriors’ anyway.

“You ‘k?”

Warriors laughs, bitterly. “I should be asking you that, rancher. What on earth did she do to you?”

Twilight frowns at the crystal still cupped in his palm. “Somethin’ she…she shouldn’t have been able to.”

“I’m sorry.” It comes out far quieter and more broken than he had intended, but at this point he hardly cares. 

“Shush. Ain’t you-your fault.” The rancher shifts, wincing slightly as he does so. “And don’t you try…arguing that-that it is.”

Warriors smiles, dryly. He had been thinking up an argument – more than one – while they spoke.

“You’re too much like the old man, you know that?” he says, with a sigh.

Twilight’s lips upturn in a grin, but he doesn’t answer. His eyes have slipped closed now. Warriors can tell unconsciousness isn’t far off. 

Shoving his tumultuous thoughts aside, he gives the rancher a gentle nudge. 

“Don’t fall asleep yet. We still have to get out of this place.”

And the sooner, the better.

“Can you stand?”

Slowly, Twilight nods. He drags his eyes open again, blinking up at the captain.

“Don worry, I’ll hang on. You’re skinny little self could…couldn’t lug me out of here.”

Warriors chuckles, despite himself. “Don’t sell me short, rancher. Believe me, I’ve carried heavier than you.”

Twilight sends him a look that says he doubts that. But he allows Warriors to help him to his feet. And as they start toward the door, he leans against the captain, not even bothering to protest his support.  

Despite the complaints of his own body, Warriors is glad of it. The very least he can do is get his brother away from this place where violet eyes gleam and long-fingered hands reach out to imprison. These are his demons to face, not Twilight’s. The rancher has endured more than enough on his behalf. And if Cia shows up again – and Warriors is not foolish enough to assume that she won’t – he will do whatever is necessary to ensure she never harms his brothers again.

[ghysry]

Don't feel compelled to write this if you don't want to!, but I think it would be pretty cool to see TUA siblings interacting with reader in the six years without powers they can be with them since the first apocalypse and they become like family, reader can be one of the other 43 children with powers! Doesn't have to be with any specific character but I will admit Five is my favorite and they did my boy wrong in season 4

*Does a soldier salute pose* Five is my favorite too. I get you, Anon.

Oneshot! Tags: Reader x Five, Reader x Five Hargreeves, Comfort/..., I'm feeling evil today...

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"I think this is better."

There's a reason why humans are off balance when one of their senses suddenly stops working - like the blind, or the deaf. Imagine living in a world where you can't see after years of being used to it, or living in a world where all you can do is read lips instead of hearing the sound of music. We hold our senses very close to us like organs ; because they are.

Which is why it took you an embarrassingly long time to get used to the fact that you no longer had the ability to control the state of matter. You know - the basics. Gas to liquid, liquid to solid, solid to gas, human to vapor, atom to extremely dense gas. It served you the most purpose, you were deemed the most powerful out of all the siblings, well, that is to account for the fact that you were never adopted by Reginald Hargreeves.

Ah..hm, let's take a detour down memory lane for how this happened.

"Fascinating..truly fascinating. How much would you like for them?" Reginald Hargreeves peered down onto the basket containing a blanket wrapped neatly around the quiet infant, their eyes closed and their small chest rising and falling with each breath. "I'm not going to sell my child to you, you creep!" Your mother, a fighter during her first weeks with her only child, kicks Reginald Hargreeves right in his no-longer-child-giving nuts, which causes him to double down and cough much later than a normal person usually would.

Alright, now that you know how you weren't adopted, back to the present!

Nowadays you work alongside your life time partner, or should you say, husband. Both in the CIA, both crowned as the youngest officers of peace within this barely secret government. Which leads you to here - you, in your usual spot on the couch, laying down with a groan as your back hurts, and then groaning even more when this man child--your man child--flops onto you with a groan coming out of his mouth himself.

"Augh you're going to crush me!" You tilt your head back, trying to get into a comfortable position as this big cat can't help but cling tightly onto you, even going as far as grumbling out nonsense on how he's not that heavy, and you're just too weak to stand his superiority, to which you rub at his nape and feel his throat rumble with a purr.

"You are so lucky I love you. Or else I'd tease you about the whole purring thing," Though you belittle him about his weird capabilities, you keep on scratching at his nape, then behind his ear, feeling the vibration on your chest. "Shut up.." he finally answers, leaning his head into your hand, a look of satisfaction crossing his eyes when you massage his back. He's way too old for this job, and so are you.

Five wraps his arms around you, tired eyes looking into yours, and before you could laugh at his face he's already digging it into your chest, inhaling your scent and complaining about his boss (which was also your boss) being stupid because he wanted Five to work on something more significant, rather than analyzing a group of insane geeks sitting around in a cult-support system whatever the matter.

To be fair, a lot of them have a point.

Five gulps when he lifts his head back up and stares at you, into your eyes, deeper into your soul. Years and years of fighting, bickering, war, the feeling of dying and being remade, the feeling of having to fight for your life against yourself, seeing your siblings, your only family, die right in front of your eyes without being able to do anything about it..he finally achieved peace. Peace with you.

"I love-"

"Five?" Your hand comes to ruffle his hair, eyes staring at the ceiling, feeling grateful for your sentient weighted blanket. "..hm?" He responds, arms tightening around your waist to the point where you feel like you can't breathe. Chuckling at this, you close your eyes, plunging the world into a deep darkness you've seen thousands, maybe even millions of times.

it's time to wake up.

Five shoots out of his bed, cold sweat beading down his face, his head hurting like someone had narrowly missed burrowing a bullet into it, one hand clutching the blanket he lulls himself to sleep into, the other trying to clench around a hand he knows isn't there.

"Fuck." He falls back down into his bed, which spells an awful lot like marigold, hands coming up to rub at his face and wake him. The familiar venomous feeling in his chest seems to encapsulate him when he blinks, your face is there every time he moves, his heart beats of you, yet the universe doesn't even know who you are.

Oh yes. You were never supposed to be here, were you?

[5-7-9]

Since most of the batman rouges aren’t bad guys in my AU, I i think it’s easier to explain who is

Tommy Elliot: He is Bruce’s childhood “friend.” Unlike most generic rich kid who’s privileged and greedy, he’s given a villain alias. He’s given the all excuse as to why Bruce experiences the full scale of creepy stalkers slightly more than he would.

Scarecrow: He is fear itself and a bigger threat than the Joker. He has a tragic backstory that will probably push him to be neutral but not until he ruins a lot of people’s lives.

Hugo Strange: Dude became weird with a perfectly normal life, yeah what the fuck. Manipulative with a position of authority? Greedy too?? Ok.

Lock-Up: Ableist sanist piece of GARBAGE with a knock for abusing patients when in position of authority yeah he’s a villain.

Harley: controversial but she also had a position of authority and got intimate with a patient which is a power imbalance. The concept of a doctor being abused by a mental patient with no autonomy was/is a common rhetoric used to excuse the abuse done to patients. I think her original motive, being to achieve fame through “fixing” the Joker, is good enough. I think her experience with misogyny holding her back is still not a good excuse for her to do the things she does, but i get the sentiment of freedom.

High Society Elite 0.001%: Including Elliot, but like all the rest. Their names don’t matter hut they exist. It’s crazy how unnamed barely background characters could have such a huge impact on Gotham, but it’s a sad truth.

Professor Pig: What the malpractice creep! What kind of tragic backstory makes that not seem creepy!!!!! (Edit:) Okay i checked and he was apart of a CIA inspired agency called “Spyral” which was ran by a neo-nazi. Then he got chemically hit and developed a delusion for the Pygmalion thingy (oh pun). So yeah he’s just weird as fucj

Generalized but enemies to the League of Shadows. I rewrote Ra’s Al Ghul (i’ve said it before but they’re basically protecting the Lazarus pits around the world to save endangered and “extinct” creatures and people). My rewrite implies there’s enemies to protect from, but I’m sure there’s plenty of terrible people that want a “Fountain of Youth.”

Controversial, but I’m thinking about rewriting the Court of Owls. I have a really cool idea with hate groups or an actual cult, but it’s based after a stuoid antisemitic concept so I should probably make another one without the label attached lol. But yeah, I was inspired to create another enemy from it, but I’m not using it. I don’t want the Court of Owls to exist at all in my AU. Once i figure out what to call it tho, I’ll let y’all know.

Zsasz: Just read through his backstory. As much as I believe he sorta has OCD, he creeps me out.

Obligatory mention: D****S***** isn’t a gotham villain but he’s a fucking wacko who kills for America’s propoganda patriotism/money

The rest of the rouges/rogues have their moments but either go neutral or reformed.

Businesses and capitalistic companies, and cop police PIGS

[valaks]

Hey Valaks! I love your blog and your writing!

Please could you do 1, 10 and 18 for the writing asks?? 🌺

Thank you for the ask! I have added a cut to hopefully not be that person clogging up the feed XD

1. Tell us about your current project(s) – what’s it about, how’s progress, what do you love most about it?

I have a few collabs outstanding like Gemini and a Kabir/Alex sequel to Reunion (It’s rated T at the most so still kid friendly) with Lupin and Devil Went Down to Georgia with Galimau. My utter love for both of my collab partners for pulling me through at a time when I’ve been really struggling. I have a WIPs List but I’ll confess to not having touched most of them in quite sometime (partly from life, partly because I’m not sure how interesting they’d be to anyone else other than me which influences my writing more than I would like to admit):

Good Intentions: Smithers never thought he’d be anyone’s moral compass, he was no angel to sit in anyone’s shoulder but trying to keep Alex Rider from following in the ruthless footsteps of his father or worse his former handler, Alan Blunt is as close to hell as he can imagine. (Wherein Alex becomes head of MI6 we watch his morality slip away form the eyes of an increasingly frustrated and heartbroken Smithers - it all culminates when Alex uses a child “just as an informant, simple information gathering” but hidden behind the charming smile of John Rider and the brutal coldness of Alan Blunt’s words is Alex Rider dying as he says them (Smithers just hopes there’s still a part of the boy he once knew in there to mourn)

Walk the Line: Alex thought he was done with SCORPIA. But they kept creeping back into his life in the most unexpected of ways. He thought he could at least count on it being on the other side until he gets teamed up with Walker, his former classmate and current CIA spy. Unfortunately he still hasn’t been able to figure out whose side Walker is really on - attempted deep cover op like his dad, repatriated rogue spy back on the “good” side, or SCORPIA double agent? He doesn’t know but at least he’s nice....in that obnoxious American way.

Temperamental: (Sequel to Sentimental which isn’t all that popular and you would need to read it for the sequel but basically amnesiac Yassen whose memories stop pre John’s betrayal set during the Stormbreaker mission and features him trying to come to grips with the use of chemical weapons against children and how to handle Alex once he snaps back to reality which is where this starts) Yassen had promised Alex Rider that he would be safe from the world of spying but fate had other ideas. In the days after Sarov’s failed plan, Yassen scrambles to find where MI6 have hidden his wayward charge without drawing Rothman’s attention. A request from one of their existing clients to look into suspicious activity at his son’s former school prompts Yassen to investigate under the guise of offering security. He should have known where there was trouble there would be Alex.

10. How would you describe your writing process?

Lordy do I ever not have a good answer for this. Typically it involves an idea hitting me and then the determination: would this idea work better as a short to post on tumblr (because the set up would take away the tension or would require a multi chapter which is not really my strength), as a prompt to lob out into the ether for someone better and brighter to touch on, or a fic. Once fic is decided I determine whose perspective the fic would be the most interesting from either because it would create the most tension or their internal monologue/background knowledge would add the most to it. Then the summary is written and a title is chosen. If it’s something I’m really passionate about and I already have it in my head I tend to write it all in one go, if there’s more I need to chew on then it’s a series of dates with the Evil Writing App. The final determination is whether it’s good enough for Valaks or if it gets sent to an alt account.

18. Do any of your stories have alternative versions? (plotlines that you abandoned, AUs of your own work, different characterisations?) Tell us about them.

Allegedly. I’ll try to go in order of posting -

Ruthless has a sequel where Alex just goes *quiet* once the initial dust as settled it’s unnerving to everyone because they’re not used to having to wonder just what Alex is thinking, at least not behind closed doors but what happened isn’t exactly something that can be recovered from easily, not when Alex isn’t sure who all’s in on it no matter what they’ve told him. Failure is the AU where I considered what would happen to Alex to make him want to torture.

Alibi was originally going to have Yassen show up in the end but I found it far more fascinating if MI6 was just testing Alex so out went Yassen and in went Ben. The sequel to it was torn apart and turned into Warm Reception because I wanted to trope flip SCORPIA comes to Brooklands and decided that it was more logical to have a small fight in Mrs. Bedfordshire’s lobby than anywhere else and I wanted to explore some side characters instead of Ben.

Providence’s sequel thoughts ended up inspiring Gentleman’s Agreement but I did write a small short for it “Yassen and Alex encounter each other on mission. Surprisingly they are working to mostly the same goal - Yassen needs to kill the millionaire who Alex needs to get information from. “I suppose I could answer some questions for you, Sasha. /In Russian/“ “Is now really the time for a language lesson?” he ground out in frustration but the man pointedly ignored him “/Fine but I don’t know some of the words/“ “/Then there is no better way to learn/“

I mentioned the Sentimental sequel but changing Sarov to come first and probable for almost a month before Yassen figures out he’s missing made the most sense. It was also a bit of fun at the Yassen would absolutely take Alex away from MI6....just to throw him in a school and throw away the key. Almost had him send him to Point Blanc but decided that wouldn’t quite fit all that well and wouldn’t be as interesting as if Alex had already gotten his feet back under him with MI6 and now sees that Yassen was right that MI6 would just use him until he’s dead but that doesn’t mean Alex wants to be anywhere near Yassen. Julia Rothman might have other ideas when she finds out what her newest second in command is hiding.

Gentleman’s Agreement.....there’s a lot of thoughts on Sequels and AUs, a lot of them have been written by better people, but that fic was written in 45 minutes so there wasn’t much time to recharacterize or change scenes. It did get Turncoat aka the Alex saves Yassen fic I wanted so badly.

Blood Brothers is a fic I really worked hard on considering how John would feel about his son being thrown into SCORPIA assuming Alex was of age. A rocky marriage was characterization that didn’t quite fit what I imagined would have happened but did fit the story so it stayed in. It was a fic that was supposed to get expanded on - the competition between Hunter and Yassen and Nile and Alex who is desperate to beat his Dad and his “apprentice”. I think two teenagers thrown against each other with a bit of a bone to pick, especially Yassen and Alex who can both hold a grudge even if one runs hot and the other runs cold, would have been compelling and a little fun but the premise and specifically John’s characterization doesn’t quite work out to me.

Found and Legends both have their plotting done but it’ll never see the light of day

Little Moments and Sweetest Thing were my guilty pleasure writing pieces for a while and I have about 1000 DMs of scenes for both of them that are lost to the sands of time and an embarrassing amount of self indulgence

Mates has a follow up ending for those who needed resolution in the comments of it. I’m not sure I did a good job of showing that Tom was in a semi abusive relationship since a lot of people seemed to blame him for him and Alex’s breakup. Most of my headcanons for how their relationship goes have them splitting much sooner just because of Tom’s own home life and either being unable to relate/talk to Alex and drifting away because his Mom throwing a plate at his head isn’t being hung over crocodiles but that doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt or because Alex is just too dangerous/jumpy to be thrown back into a school environment and lashes out even unintentionally especially not under the pressure of being seen as a failure. School is also a barometer of just how much he’s lost of himself and his childhood, bonus points for Alex being completely upfront with Tom about everything he’s done

In My Sights has an AU where this is all post Christmas at Gunpoint and Yassen is there because he knows Ian is already at Sayle’s factory and will have to be...handled. So two weeks of just getting Alex trained for the protection he might need, connecting him to resources, etc. Ian finding out that Yassen had been there was part of a draft at one point which was included Alex wondering about an all too sincere goodbye from Ian “who never hugged him” but I can’t find the snippet anymore ;__;

A Warm Reception was an alternate version. Originally I wanted it to be Alex watching his last chance at normality slip from his fingers and then the crushing realization that it was something that was his own doing, not even MI6 but Skoda who he had picked a fight with and the accompanying breakdown but then decided that Mrs. Bedfordshire was the right way to go upon writing the summary. Because everyone loves some Outsider POV

Adopted was supposed to be a one chapter throw away trope flip of K Unit adopts Alex. I kept it pretty consistent with Amitai and Lil Lupin’s K Units, tried to add in some more characterization just in how they treated some of the details. It has an alt ending/chapter where they find out Alex is Cub when they pull him from Three’s tender mercies almost by accident. I was persuaded into light humored fluff via guilt trip.

The Truth and Other Deadly Weapons has Ben acting exactly like he think he would in front of everyone but my AU was that this interaction happened in the field and absolutely shattered Ben’s trust in him partly because he had worked for the other side and partly because even if it ‘wasn’t as bad as it looks’ it showed a severe lack of judgment. It also featured several chapters of Alex running into the glass ceiling that is having “Member Malogosto Class of 2004” on your resume. Was going to feature Alex running into Walker as well and into problems within MI6 and the CIA but that was eventually cut and it was kept to one chapter.

Guardian....Guardian holds a very special place in my heart. I was given the prompt of a Monster Fic and I wrote what I knew but the interesting parts were all the ones that come after the story but might come across to a general audience as Hogwarts School of Prayers and Miracles. The plotting done post this was going to feature baby Angel Alex reuniting with his parents but...they were strangers to him and so he stayed with Yassen more and more, followed him, learned from him....it encompassed everything from the dynamics of broken families to reflections on theology and references from the Good Book....which is why it’ll never see the fandom but has a very special place in my heart.

In another, more perfect world Glocking Around the Christmas Tree is the Die hard fic this fandom deserves but as Lupin and I untangled the plot of the movie more and more we just couldn’t make it into anything that would be coherent on paper so it was changed and changed and is now a half finished sad abomination that sits on my works list only because Lupin would kill me if I took it down.

Hot Shot was supposed to feature my current favorite character that is not Nile Abara, John Crawley but I wimped out and changed it at the end because I swore I would write the Crawley fic that we all need. Hear me out: John Crawley knew and worked with John and Ian Rider, was respected by both of them, was recruited by SCORPIA within one year in the field, is the Chief of Staff of MI6, the man who “no one gets a knife in the back without him signing off” and is also the man who walks his dog to check on Alex. There’s a mentorship waiting to happen there, preferably in a nice work study program during college where Alex finally gets to see the repercussions of his missions and Crawley helps try and pull him back from the black mark that SCORPIA would have put on him.

My personal fluffy favorite is the spinoff of Devil Went Down to Georgia where Joe Byrne did pull Alex out post Skeleton Key and brought him home. There’s a pretty extended one about where Tom ends up after Mates. There’s also an actual sequel but ask me no questions and all.

Skipping a few collabs and Febuwhump fics but Burning Questions was just supposed to be Branded - a fic where upon being captured by Razim he is brought in and forcibly branded to differentiate the appearances of Alex and Julius (since Razim has decided to have him killed after shooting the Secretary of State). As a result of the pain levels spiking when Alex actually sees that the SCORPIA logo is branded onto his cheek Razim considers that emotional pain might be something to investigate. There’s a couple thousand words on it, one day I might polish it up.

First Impressions is supposed to be a mirror verse of Alex working for MI6 which includes Three as Blunt, Rothman as Jones and of course Sagitta as K Unit while he’s up against his father as Yassen and Yassen as Crawley. But it was cut down significantly even if the ideas are pretty fun to consider.

Sorry this was probably more than you bargained for but it was fun to get everything out there so thank you for asking

[omnivorousshipper]

Shobbs: Adventures in Rescuing

This was requested by anon here

Summary: In the middle of the night, Deckard receives a phone call. Apparently, Hobbs had gotten himself into a sticky situation and it's up to Deckard to save him. He just hopes he's not too late

Deckard leaned back into his plush armchair, carefully balancing his tablet on the arm of the chair as he tucked his legs under him. Once settled, he spread a blanket over himself, picked up his tablet, and readjusted the reading glasses perched on the end of his nose. On the end table next to him sat a steaming cup of tea, heavily doused with honey.

This was one of the first nights Deckard had had to himself. No MI6 agents knocking on his door, no little siblings bugging him for attention, and no bad guys trying to kill him. Deckard didn’t mind his chaotic lifestyle, but sometimes it was nice to have a little break and catch up on some reading.

Reaching for his cup of tea, his hand stilled when he heard his phone go off.

“You’re fucking kidding me,” Deckard sighed and let his head fall back for a moment before lifting it once again to look down at his phone, which laid next to the cup. For a second, Deckard considered ignoring the call, but knowing who he was related to, he decided that would be a bad idea.

His hand moved towards the phone slowly, almost as if he was about to pick up a venomous snake. Finally, his fingers wrapped around the cool metal and strong vibrations as the phone kept ringing. Looking at the screen, Deckard raised an eyebrow.

Unknown number.

Nobody, other than the people already stored in his phone, should have his number. Whoever it was calling him had a lot of explaining to do. Rolling his eyes, he finally picked up after a few rings, and gruffly answered.

“Shaw.”

“Oh thank god, I never thought you’d answer. Let me tell you, hearing your voice, it’s like hearing an angel’s. No. Like hearing God’s voice himself. Well, if you believe in stuff like that. Myself, not so much. I like believing in stuff I can touch, you know? Like chimichangas-”

Deckard hung up.

And his phone immediately started ringing again.

Even though he knew it was going to be a bad idea, Deckard sighed and picked up again. But before the other person could talk, Deckard growled out a warning.

“If you don’t get to the point right this second, I will find you and force feed you your own bollocks.”

There was a beat of silence before the other person started speaking, much slower and subdued this time.

“Okay, yeah. Totally understand.”

“Now, who the bloody hell are and what do you want?”

“Agent Locke, CIA,” the other man answered happily. “And let me just say, it’s an honor to finally be able to talk to you Deckard. Can I call you Deckard? Great! So, I have a favor to ask of you!”

Taking the phone away from his ear, Deckard rubbed the bridge of his nose, nearly dislodging his glasses. He knew he should hang up. It would be the easiest and simplest way to avoid a headache. But if the man was actually CIA and was able to contact him, something must be up.

Bringing the phone back up to his ear, Deckard was able to hear the tail end of Locke’s tangent.

“-but they said no, even though I told them it was a good idea. Why does nobody listen to me? I get results! I get things done! So what if there’s a little blood spilled along the way? It’s part of the job!”

“What the bloody hell are you talking about?” Deckard sighed, feeling his patience close to snapping.

“Your good ol’ buddy, Luke Hobbs of course! Although, he prefers to be called Rebbeca. I came up with that name, you know? He loves it ‘cause we’re best friends and-”

“What about Hobbs, you absolute tit?” Deckard hissed.

“See, that’s where you come in. I sent him after a few baddies in Belgium and all we’ve gotten from him in the last twenty-four hours is radio silence,” Locke blurted out, not seeming to take a breath at all as he relayed the information to Deckard. “And I don’t have any guys in Belgium to help him out, you know, with waffles and chocolate being the only things in Belgium. So, I was hoping you’d go in and help him out?”

Deckard had to resist the urge to rub the bridge of his nose again. And then gave up and rubbed his temple instead.

“You mean to tell me, the CIA doesn’t have anyone who can help an agent who could possibly be taken hostage?”

“Yeah,” Locke sheepishly responded. “That’s basically it.”

“All of you Americans are idiots,” Deckard grumbled.

“And talking about idiot Americans, Hobbs still needs help. Probably. If he’s not already dead,” Locke tagged on at the end.

“Jesus Christ, man!” Deckard nearly yelped. The way Locke just casually mentioned Hobbs’ possibly being dead had Deckard straightening his back and knocking his book to the ground. The idea of Hobbs being surrounded by enemies and taking his last breath made something inside Deckard twist painfully. Nobody deserved a death like that, especially a man like Hobbs.

“So, what do you say?”

“Send me the files on the guys he was tracking. I’ll see what I can do,” Deckard finally said, a note of resignation in his voice.

The next few hours went by in a blur after that. Deckard had rushed to get dressed, collect his gear and weapons, and all the documents he would need to get into Belgium in the middle of the night. Taking one of his least flashy cars, he sped down the Channel Tunnel while he listened to his phone read out the files on the guys Hobbs was tasked to take down.

Hobbs had gone after a guy named Mark Hulmes, the nephew of Lewis Hulmes, one of the most notorious mob bosses in all of Brussels. Apparently the younger Hulmes had been branching out and had tried buying some high end weapons from the black market, sending red flags to the CIA. And it seemed like they had a valid reason to be concerned if Hulmes got his hands on those weapons. The man had been involved in a multitude of violent crimes, including attempted murder, but because his uncle had strong connections with the judge, the younger Hulmes got off with only a few months of probation.

Deckard had never really been in contact with the criminal underworld of Brussels, but he knew Hulmes’ types. He was a ticking time bomb.

One that might have a mouthy DSS agent in his grasp.

Deckard knew Hobbs could handle himself, but from the way Locke put it, it seemed like Hobbs went in alone. And while the man was an absolute powerhouse by himself, Deckard knew that it could take only one lucky shot to take someone down. He just hoped that that didn’t happen to Hobbs and the man was just laying low.

“You better be alive, Hobbs, or else I’m going to kick your sorry arse,” Deckard mumbled to himself, gripping the steering wheel hard, his knuckles going white..

The next few hours went by slowly, with Deckard stiffly sitting and pushing his luck with the speed limit and local police. He couldn’t help the images that would pop into his head every few minutes. From Hobbs beaten and bruised, to him screaming in pain, to his lifeless bo-

“He’s fine,” Deckard firmly told himself. “If he could survive Brixton, he can survive some back alley punk from Brussels.”

The statement only marginally helped him feel better, but didn’t stop the darker thoughts from creeping back in.

The sun was peeking over the horizon when Deckard finally reached the row of abandoned warehouses that the Hulmes family owned and no doubt did most of their dirty business. The buildings were on their last legs, looking as if a strong wind would knock them down. There were weeds growing up the sides of them, while every window was shattered and allowed the elements to enter the buildings.

After a few loops around the place, Deckard was able to spot a few cars parked around one in particular, while all the others stood empty. Parking behind the one that appeared to be inhabited, Deckard started to grab as many guns, ammo, and other weapons that he could. And it being him, he was able to carry quite a bit.

He had no idea how many men would be inside, only a rough estimate from the eight or so cars he saw parked in front. It took him several minutes to gear up, but finally he shut the trunk of his car, armed to the teeth. Holding his custom handgun, the SVI Infinity, he sneaked around the warehouse, looking for a different entrance other than the front door.

“That’ll work,” Deckard smirked, spotting a firescape on the side of the building and allowing him access to the second floor. It was severely rusted and missing several rungs, and creaked horribly when Deckard started to climb up it. Taking his time, he listened carefully to the noises coming from inside.

He couldn’t quite make out what they were saying, but from the shouts and loud, boisterous laughter, it made the hair on the back of Deckard’s neck stand on end. People like Hulmes didn’t laugh when things were funny, but when something was in pain. That thought made Deckard quicken his pace, not caring if the deteriorating metal underneath him made noise; he needed to get to Hobbs.

The door at the top was just as rusted as the rest of the firescape and almost fell apart in Deckard’s hands as he shoved it open. It creaked loudly, making Deckard freeze in fear of being discovered. He couldn’t risk Hobbs’ life before he had even verified if the man was even in this building. Luckily, the shouts from down below didn’t stop, and Deckard could feel his heart slow.

Carefully entering the building, Deckard crouched near the railing of the platform that made up the second level of the building. And immediately, Deckard could feel rage boil up from his gut and spreading through his veins. Because down below, he could see Hobbs.

The large man was chained to a chair, surrounded by a group of various men, all who were circling the DSS agent and shouting taunts at him. Deckard felt himself jerk forward as he watched one of the men down below move quickly, his hand shooting out to punch Hobbs across the face.

“Look, boys! He’s not so tough anymore!” The man shouted, shrill laughter leaving him and bouncing off the concrete walls of the warehouse. “And to think anyone was ever scared of this worthless piece of shit!”

Hobbs didn’t react from the hit or insults. Instead, his head rolled so his chin was sitting on his chest, his whole body saging into the chair.

Deckard felt his finger twitch on the trigger of his gun as a spike of panic went through him. Hobbs was obviously unconscious and would no doubt need medical assistance soon.  Clenching his jaw, Deckard raised his gun with both hands, leveling it at the group of men.

“Try it again, you arseholes,” he growled.

And like he predicted, another man broke away from the circle and was leveling a kick towards Hobbs’ head. With ease, Deckard tracked the man’s movements and before his foot was even halfway in the air, Deckard was pulling the trigger.

Chaos exploded underneath Deckard as the rest of the men started shouting and screaming from their friend’s brains spilled all over the floor and the resounding crack of Deckard’s gun echoed off the walls. Deckard sent out several more shots as the group below him ran around like headless chickens, all of them scrambling to grab their own guns.

“Up there!” One of the men shouted, pointing up at Deckard.

“Shit,” Deckard hissed out, and quickly stood up from his crouch and ran towards the stairs leading down to the lower floor and to Hobbs. He could hear several bullets ricocheting off the guardrail next to him. Ducking, he grabbed a different gun and easily raised it to shoot the men who were running up the stairs, trying to get to him.

Their bodies fell, making him have to jump over them and down the last few steps. He was immediately met with a baseball coming straight for his head. Dropping down, Deckard balanced on one foot and a hand on the ground, and sent a sweeping kick to his attacker’s legs, making the man hit the ground hard. Quick as lightning, Deckard moved over the man and hit him over the head hard with the butt of his gun, knocking the man out.

Jumping to his feet, Deckard kept charging forward, meeting another wave of Hulmes’ lackies head on. He ducked and weaved between them, easily dodging their fumbling limbs as they tried to fend him off. Every single one of them dropped to the ground, either from a vicious punch, a swift kick, or well placed bullet.

Panting, Deckard took on every person who came at him, and soon enough, the crowd of minions was thinning and leaving only about ten minions and Hulmes himself.

“Hey, arsehole!”

Shoving a guy off him, Deckard whipped his head around at the voice.

And felt his heart stop.

Standing behind Hobbs, holding a knife to his neck, was Hulmes.

“That’s right! If you don’t want me slitting this rat bastard’s throat open, then you better give right now, you piece of shit!” Hulmes shouted, the knife he was holding pressing further into Hobbs’ skin and making a line of blood to appear. “Drop you guns!”

Baring his teeth, Deckard let his current handgun fall from his hand and raised both hands to show his surrender. Two of Hulmes’ minions grabbed his wrists and pulled his arms tight behind his back. Ignoring the spike of pain that shot up his shoulders, Deckard let the men drag him towards where Hulmes and Hobbs were.

Now that he was much closer, Deckard felt another wave of rage wash over him as he took in the state Hobbs was in. He was clearly unconscious, his head hanging limp in Hulmes’ hold. There was a mess of bruises all over his face, while Deckard could see several cuts and gashes scattered all over his body, all of them slowly bleeding and soaking his clothing. The only thing keeping Deckard’s anger from spilling over was the fact that Hobbs’ chest was steadily moving up and down.

“That’s right,” Hulmes sneered. “One wrong move from you and I’ll cut your DSS buddy up.”

Deckard didn’t say anything, but felt a thrill of amusement go through him when Hulmes’ expression fell slightly at the glare Deckard was sending him.

“You two” Hulmes waved to some of his remaining men. “Search him and strip him of all of his weapons.”

Staying still, Deckard let the minions grab gun after gun off him, and couldn’t hold back the smug smirk that grew larger and larger as a formable sized pile started to form.

“Not so tough now are you, without all of your guns,” Hulmes taunted, his voice filled with faux confidence. Deckard could clearly see his hand shaking from where it still held a knife to Hobbs’ throat.

“I don’t need any gun to take you or your boys down,” Deckard said in a bored tone. Hulmes’ face scrunched up in confusion and fury. He shoved Hobbs’ head away from him, and stormed up to Deckard, shoving the knife so close to Deckard, he could just about feel the tip of it brushing against his nose.

“I don’t know who the fuck you think you are, but let me tell you, I won’t be bullied by some wannabe-”

While Hulmes was talking, Deckard subtly twisted his hand and was able to slip his watch off. With a hard thrust backwards, he was able to break the hold on his arms and snap his arm out to hit Hulmes across the face with his watch.

“Fuck!” Hulmes screeched and stumbled away.

The men who had been holding Deckard’s arms were staring at him in shock, not knowing what had just happened. Using their confusion, Deckard lunged toward them, with his watch wrapped around his knuckles, so the watch face was on the top of his fit. He heard a satisfying crunch as his fist landed on the first minion’s face. The second one went down just as quickly, still too stuck in his own confusion and fear as he watched Deckard take down his buddy.

The last few minions came at him fast and hard, but it was too easy to duck down, grab a gun and face them head on. The fight only lasted less than a minute, with each minion falling one after another. When the final body hit the floor, Deckard watched it disinterestedly, before looking up and tracking the room for Hulmes. The man was running straight for the main entrance.

Lifting his pistol, Deckard took aim and a final shot boomed through the warehouse as Hulmes’ body slumped to the ground, lifeless.

Deckard didn’t bother watching the body hit the floor, as he was already turning towards Hobbs and rushing towards his still slumped body. Gently, Deckard grabbed Hobbs’ head, each hand on a cheek.

“Hobbs. Hobbs! Can you hear me?” Deckard tried not to let the panic he was feeling slip into his voice. Still trying to be gentle, he patted Hobbs’ cheek, trying to get the man to wake up. “Hobbs!”

“Nnngh,” Hobbs finally groaned after a minute of nudging. His dark eyes blinked open, blurrily looking up at Deckard.

“Hobbs, thank Christ,” Deckard breathed out, cradling Hobbs’ head. He looked into the other man’s rapidly closing eyes, trying to see if his pupils were the same size.

“What…?” Hobbs slurred and promptly passed out again.

“Fuck sakes,” Deckard sighed out. “How the bloody hell am I supposed to drag you out of here, you giant?”

~~~

Luke’s not sure what woke him up; it could have been several things: the blinding light streaming in from the window, the loud voices he could hear not too far away, or the massive spiking pain that was going through his body. Well, it was definitely more in his head than anywhere else. Rubbing his head, Luke carefully levered himself up right, and took in the room around him.

It was a standard hotel room: outdated wallpaper, a bed, a dresser, a door to a bathroom, a door to the outside, and on the bed, Deckard Shaw.

Wait. What?!

Luke had to do a double take and whipped his head to look down at the man sleeping next to him. Laying next to Luke, the smaller man was curled up tight, still above the covers, with a hand stretched out towards Luke, almost as if he wanted to grab him.

What is he doing here? Wait, what am I doing here? What happened? Luke wondered to himself.

Frankly, even trying to remember more than his name hurt his head, but he tried to think back to the last twenty-four hours. One of Hulmes’ men had found him sneaking into one of the warehouses the mob family owned, and had been dragged inside, where he met Hulmes face to face. But, after that, things got hazy. Luke could easily remember the pain, the questions Hulmes spit in his face as he kicked or punched Luke repeatedly. He remembered passing out and the rest was a blank.

Keeping an eye on the ex-assassin still in the bed, Luke slowly swung his feet off the bed, trying to ignore how the world was spinning.

“Hobbs?” A voice rasped behind him.

Cursing under his breath, Luke turned and saw Shaw slowly sitting up and rubbing his eyes.

“Yeah?” Luke asked, keeping his voice level. He watched with narrowed as eyes as Shaw nimbly rolled off the bed onto his feet and rounded the bed to face Luke. Without thinking, Luke’s back straightened and he leaned back when Shaw was in front of him. The other man ignored him and was immediately grabbing the back of his head. Luke tried to jerk his head out of the strong grasp, but a sharp pain had him hissing out instead. “What the fuck are you doing, Shaw?”

“Checking how the lump on your head is, you absolute wanker,” Shaw mumbled back, focusing on feeling the said bump.

Luke was shocked to hear the actual concern running through Shaw’s voice and the way his touch stayed gentle, never once pressing too hard and causing pain. Soon enough, he nodded and took his hands away from Luke’s head, but then moved them to Luke’s torso, making Luke freeze at the feeling of those surprisingly soft hands on his bare chest, where several bandages were. And that’s when Luke realized just how close the other man was.

Shaw was practically standing in between Luke’s legs, his face only a few inches away from Luke’s as his brow furrowed as he checked Luke’s injuries. Luke could feel his face heat up and his heart beat faster by how close the smaller man was.

But all too soon, Shaw was pulling away and taking a step back from Luke. And Luke immediately missed having him so close.

“What do you remember?” Shaw asked bluntly, crossing his arms and waiting for Luke’s answer.

“Other than when Hulmes’ men caught me, not much,” Luke admitted.

“Bastards really got you,” Deckard said tightly. “You were completely out of it when I got there and saved your sorry arse.”

Luke’s eyebrows shot up. That had definitely been concern in Shaw’s voice.

“You took Hulmes and his guys down?” Luke asked incredulously.

“Wasn’t that hard,” Deckard shrugged. “Hulmes might have acted like a hard ass, but as soon as I bitched slapped him, his tune changed.”

Luke couldn’t help but match the smirk on Deckard’s face with a smile. Most guys he faced acted tough, but could never really deliver. But when it came to Shaw, the man could always hold his own and find a way out of a situation, which Luke had to admit was impressive.

“Well, thanks, man,” Luke sincerely responded, catching the surprised look on Shaw’s face. “If you hadn’t come along, I don’t know what would have happened to me. Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it,” Shaw mumbled, not looking Luke in the eye and shifted his weight from one leg to another. Luke couldn’t help the small smile on his face as he watched the bashful display. He’ll have to thank Shaw a lot more in the future. However, the other man cleared his throat before Luke could say anything else. “Do you think you can stand?”

“I think so,” Luke answered, a trace of uncertainty in his voice. Sitting up and staying still had helped the world to stop spinning, but Luke didn’t know what his balance would be like. It felt like someone had replaced his bones with jello.

Carefully, he hoisted himself off the bed and stood for a moment. So far, so good, Luke thought and took a step forward.

And almost fell flat on his face.

“Whoa there, big guy!” Deckard huffed out, catching Luke’s arms and helping him stand. Luke blinked rapidly, letting Deckard keep a hold on him and making sure he wouldn’t fall again. Because honestly, Luke had a feeling he would need the help.

After a moment of catching his breath, Luke looked down at the smaller man and felt his heart stutter at the way Shaw- wait, no- Deckard was looking at him. The worry in those deep, brown eyes was astounding as he carefully kept his grip on Luke firm, but gentle at the same.

Luke couldn’t remember the last time someone had looked at him with so much worry and attention, other than Sam. And thinking about it, Luke wasn’t sure he could remember a time where someone had to come save his ass, take out the guy he had been hunting, and then drag him somewhere safe to patch him up. And all without expecting anything in return. Because Luke knew Deckard wasn’t the time to save someone and ask for payment. That’s not why he did it.

Looking down at the smaller man, Luke couldn’t help himself as he leaned forward and just barely brushed his lips against Deckard’s, causing him to let out a small gasp. Pulling back, Luke was expecting a punch, a shove, or to even to be yelled at. Instead, he felt Deckard’s hand once again on the back of his head, but this time, his grip was tighter as he kept Luke where he was and crashed their lips together.

It was like fireworks were exploding all throughout Luke’s veins from where they touched: from every motion of Deckard’s lips, to the way his arms clung to Luke’s, and when Deckard shoved his chest against Luke’s, trying to get as close as he could. Luke never wanted the feeling to end, but he could feel himself becoming light headed from the lack of oxygen.

Finally breaking the kiss, Luke rested his forehead against Deckard’s, both of them leaning on each other and catching their breath.

“We should leave soon,” Deckard whispered quietly, not daring to break the calm between them.

“Where’re we going?” Luke whispered back, slowly rubbing a thumb on Deckard’s arm.

“Breakfast first, and then to London, back to my place.”

“I like the sound of that.”

“But first, let’s get you dressed.” Deckard smiled and leaned in for one most swift kiss before pulling back. As they both moved to wrangle a shirt over Luke’s bandaged chest, Luke was again surprised how gentle and caring Deckard’s touch was. He could definitely get used to it.

Deckard wrapped an arm around Luke’s waist, both of them moving slowly since Luke’s legs were still doing an imitation of a newborn fawn’s. But suddenly, Luke stopped, something just occurring to him.

“Um, is this a bad time to tell you I probably can’t pay for breakfast since I don’t have my wallet anymore?” Luke asked hesitantly.

“Oh, don’t worry about that, love. I’m sure I can find several ways you can repay me,” Deckard purred, his smirk holding several promises.

Smirking back, Luke was going to make sure that Deckard held to all of those promises.

[dustedmagazine]

Listed: Horse Lords

Baltimore-based Horse Lords have been forging their own take on experimental rock music since 2012. The quartet, Andrew Bernstein (saxophone/percussion), Max Eilbacher (bass/electronics), Owen Gardner (guitar) and Sam Haberman (drums) weave together pieces drawing on divergent sources that include everything from 20th and 21st century classical music to just intonation tuning to African and Appalachian musical traditions to intricate polyrhythms and studio experiments. In a recent interview, Gardner talked about their approach to putting pieces together. “We generally write right up to the edge of our abilities. And sometimes slightly beyond. We’d had to scrap quite a few songs because they proved to be basically impossible to play... It keeps it interesting.” Ian Forsythe covered their newest release, The Common Task, noting that “Their nearly ten-year core pivots rhythmic and tonal ideas athletically, and their ability to pull elements from anywhere and everywhere is seemingly more fluid with each record.”

For this Listed, the four members runs down a list of live shows, recordings, blogs, movies, and books that have been on their minds.

Gleb Kanasevich plays Horațiu Rădulescu’s “Inner Time II for seven clarinets (Op.42b),” Baltimore. 2018 (Owen Gardner)

A near-hourlong ear workout, combining impressive sonic and structural brutality. The interaction of what these close dissonances do inside your ears with what the clarinets do in space (Gleb played live with 6 recordings of himself, meticulously arranged around the audience) is a haunting experience, celestial but with no concession to human music.

Maryanne Amacher — Perceptual Geographies, Philadelphia 2019 (Owen Gardner)

https://issuu.com/bowerbirdphilly/docs/amacherprogramonline

So much revelatory material has come out of the Maryanne Amacher archive so far, and particularly these loving reconstructions of her instrumental music. A lot more attention seems to have been given to “Petra,” which is certainly gorgeous and shows fascinating symmetries with the spatial/timbral concerns of her electronic music, but “Adjacencies” struck me as the Major Work of 20th Century Music. She wrote the damn thing in 1965 and it sounds fresh half a century later, which we can say of no previous piece of percussion music and not much written subsequently. I am slowly losing my mind waiting for Amy Cimini’s book on Amacher to come out, craving a deeper dive into her theory and methods.

Sarah Hennies, Bonnie Jones, Lê Quan Ninh, and Biliana Voutchkova at the High Zerofestival, Baltimore 2019 (Owen Gardner)

One of at least three great things Sarah Hennies did last year (Reservoir 1 on Black Truffle and the 90 minute cello/percussion duo “The Reinvention of Romance” being the others) was to take part in Baltimore’s High Zero festival, four mind-frying days devoted to free improvisation. This set was one of the highlights of 2019’s festival; each of the four performers having at least one foot in composed music (Ninh is a long-time Cage interpreter and Biliana has collaborated with Peter Ablinger) seemed to lend it a certain sureness and serenity, but ultimately their combined strength as improvisors (fastidiously captured by High Zero’s crack recording team) is what makes it such an engaging listen.

El Chombo — Cuentos de la Cripta (Owen Gardner)

A relentless tetralogy that nicely balances the rawness of ‘90s proto-reggaetón productions (the first volume self-identifies as “Spanish Reggae”) and the slicker, synth-oriented sound and settled genre conventions we’ve come to enjoy (or not) in the 21st century. This was helpful when working on “People’s Park,” not least for its insistent connection to Jamaican music. I can understand very little Spanish but I'm guessing the lyrics are not unproblematic; signifying language always disappoints.

Wallahi Le Zein! (Owen Gardner)

http://thewealthofthewise.blogspot.com/

An invaluable resource for anyone interested in African music, much more consistent and informative than the often yucky reissue market, which seems to prioritize awkward (and marginal) attempts at Western musical fads—as if what was available was not an impossibly rich and heterogeneous network of self-sufficient musical cultures but merely a broken mirror facing America. The archive of Mauritanian music alone makes this the most worthwhile stop on the information superhighway. There’s plenty of goofy drum programming and appalling sound quality if that’s your bag, but the rich variety of traditional musics is what keeps me coming back.

Miles Davis — On the Corner (Max Eilbacher)

Some might say Stockhausen serves imperialism but he did his little part to help cook up some of the most twisted American Jazz/funk jams ever. Davis only kept one cassette in his convertible sports car during the On the Corner sessions, a tape of “Hymnen.” He would take each member of the band on highspeed joy rides with the car’s stereo system on full blast. That same energy was channeled in the arrangement and editing. The convergence of a lot of different elements keeps this record on my top 10 list ‘til the end of time. The little detail of Americans taking concepts from European Neu Musik and making something incredibly funky and pleasurable is the cherry on top.

Olivia Block & Marcus Schmickler at Diffusion Festival, Baltimore 2018 (Andrew Bernstein)

This was an amazing pairing, with both artists playing in 8-channel “surround sound.” Marcus’ set was incredibly intense. Pure synthesis with a lot of psychoacoustic inner ear tones and unending overlapping melodies. It felt like the sonic equivalent of watching a strobe light at close distance. Olivia’s set was a slow creep, laying samples to create lush textures that were truly immersive. This was the kind of concert that reminds you of the awesome power of music.

Blacks’ Myths at the Red Room, Baltimore 2019 (Andrew Bernstein)

Blacks' Myths II by Blacks' Myths

I’m there for anything bassist Luke Stewart touches (see Irreversible Entanglements, his solo upright + feedback work, frequent collaborations with too many people to name). Blacks' Myths, his bass and drumset duo with Warren Crudup, is loud, noisy, and intense, and this set at the Red Room last year was particularly transcendent.

“Blue” Gene Tyranny — Out of the Blue (Andrew Bernstein)

Out of the Blue by "Blue" Gene Tyranny

I have probably listened to this record more than any other the last few years. Perfectly crafted pop songs segue into proggy funk jams and then into stream of consciousness drone pieces based around the doppler effect. I’ll put it on over and over again, an experience with an album I haven’t really had since I was in high school.

Bill Orcutt — An Account of the Crimes of Peter Thiel and His Subsequent Arrest, Trial, and Execution 2017 (Max Eilbacher)

AN ACCOUNT OF THE CRIMES OF PETER THIEL AND HIS SUBSEQUENT ARREST, TRIAL AND EXECUTION. by BILL ORCUTT

Legendary underground American guitarists from the most important American rock band also makes top notch conceptual digital audio art. Years ago I thought computer music lacked a certain sub cultural attitude. While this was/is not true, this 2017 release feels like it exists in its own world. High and low brow are in perfect harmony for this patterned enjoyable hellride of a listen. What if Hanne Darboven had to make art while working a full time job and dealing with mild substance abuse?

Lina Wertmüller — Seven Beauties 1975 (Max Eilbacher)

By Source, Fair use, https://en.wikipedia.org/w/index.php?curid=42000553

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Seven_Beauties

During this pandemic I have been talking film shop over emails nonstop. I went through a big Wertmüller phase in 2018-2019 and as people are trading recommendations I usually try to recommend something by her. This film is the one that I keep reaching for. The email recommending this film usually starts as a draft with “this is really intense” and then I try to hearken back to my film school days and write about the male gaze, patriarchy, communism or something of that nature. I end up writing a bit, feeling like it’s way over the top for a casual email and then I end up deleting everything except “this is a really intense and beautiful film.”

Chaos: Charles Manson, the CIA and the Secret History of the Sixties by Tom O’Neill (Sam Haberman)

https://www.littlebrown.com/titles/tom-oneill/chaos/9780316477574/

The last book I managed to check out of the library before it closed. Though it in some ways resembles works of conspiracy theory, Tom O’Neill is always straightforward in telling the reader that, though the official story of the Manson case is almost certainly not true, the actual details don’t cohere into any kind of Meaning. Every new discovery is its own digression that points to a new unknowable truth or unverifiable claim. This really inverts the normal thrill of conspiracy theory, which invites you to either buy into the story being presented or reject it all together, either path offering its own sort of comfort. Chaos offers no such comfort.

[hyper-fic-sation]

Jack-O-Lanterns and Candy Corn

Here’s another re-upload of one of my older works but I really hope y’all enjoy it because I based it on one of my favorite older movies, Re-Animator! Please leave likes and comments down below!

So much had changed since his childhood, everything from style to speech to entertainment to medicine, hell, even the cost of money changed!

But each of these changes, with time, had become the new normal for Bucky Barnes. Eventually a twenty dollar book didn’t give him heart palpitations and words like “Hootch” and “Horn” faded from his vocabulary.

The one change that had perhaps shellshocked him the most though came in the month of October with the arrival of Halloween.

As a child, Halloween had been the best night of Bucky Barnes’ life. His mother and Steve’s would have worked weeks on their costumes, transforming them from boys to beasts, and would let them roam throughout the city streets, knocking on neighbor’s door for candy, Bucky promising Sarah that he would watch out for Steve, and then promising his mom the same for Rebecca. They would return home late at night and sneak into their rooms, swapping candy for candy, talking about particularly scary house decorations, and discussing their plans for next year. It was a night where magic became real and where everything truly scary and frightening about the world slipped away, covered up by toilet paper cobwebs and sheets with holes cut out for eyes. On that night, he didn’t have to worry about whether his best buddy would make it to see sixteen, or whether they were gonna have to sacrifice dinner so the twins could have diapers. It was a time where he was just free to be a kid and nothing else. It was no wonder why it was his favorite time of the year.

But these days? Halloween was different. Costumes were more about being sexy than scary, and here in the city, few kids ever went trick or treating alone. The occasional scary decorations that had once seemed so impressive were now pitiful when compared to the new plastic skeletons and automated hand grabbing candy bowls. It was almost entirely unrecognizable as the day of magic that it had once been, instead it became just another foreign experience upon a pile of other ones.

He still tried to make the best of it, however, he really did, but it just wasn’t the same anymore. After everything that happened to him, everything he’d done, he couldn’t find it in his heart to get excited about a night of playing monsters when, in his mind, he already was one.Add to that the fact that almost all the Avengers seemed to think Halloween was just another day and it was even more difficult to get excited. In fact, he could only think of two teammates of his who were genuinely excited for the day.

The first was Tony, who was apparently planning a crazy costume party the night of that all the Avengers were invited to attend.

The second was (Y/N), who just seemed excited for the day as a whole. The whole month was seemingly leading up to this day for her. She practically skipped around the house, leaving lit pumpkin spice candles in her wake and the sound of some song about skeletons ringing in your ears.

She had come to the compound around the same time as Bucky had, her powers of flight and telekinesis landing her onto the Avenger’s radar during her final year of college where she was trying to graduate in peace with a Bachelor's in Journalism and Communications. Right away she had swooped in with her sarcastic personality and wit and secured her place inside every one of the Avenger’s hearts, even his which he had thought of as nothing more than a block of ice in his chest until then.

His feelings for you had been stirring inside him for a long time, he had tried to ignore them at first, tried to repress them and keep them hidden from view, but, with one smile from you it was as if all his hard work were for nothing. His heart would soar and his own lips would spread into a grin, and he would feel a little bit of that ice begin to thaw before he would remind himself that you would never, ever give him the time of day, maybe once, but not anymore, not after all he’d done.

“Hey, Bucky,” your voice called out, snapping him out of his thoughts and returning him to the real world where he was currently sitting in the Avengers’ tower common room, “do you wanna watch a movie?.

He turned up to look at you and instantly he was enthralled, it took him a few moments before your question fully registered, “what kind of movie?” he asked even though it didn’t really matter, you could have wanted to go jumping off cliffs and he would follow you.

You smirked, “what kind do you think, Buck? Do you even know what time of year it is?”

He laughed a little at your dramatics, “alright, what movie is it then?” he asked. A smile lit up your face, so wide he thought your cheeks might burst from the strain, “it’s called The Re-Animator,” you said, “it’s a cheesy film from the eighties, I’ve seen it like a thousand times.”

“Do you really wanna watch it again then?” Bucky asked.

You nodded, “yes, yes I do,” you said, “it’s one of my favorites so will you please watch it with me? Please, please, please, please!”

Bucky laughed and nodded, “alright doll, I’ll watch it.”

Almost instantly after his reply she launched herself into his arms and kissed his cheek, “and this is why you’re my favorite Avenger!” you squealed and Bucky blushed at the sudden display of affection, not that you seemed to notice though, pulling away and rushing back into your room only to return a few moments later in a pair of pajamas carrying the DVD Case proudly in your arms.

“What’s this movie even about?” Bucky asked as you put the disk into the player and worked your magic on the television to make the movie play.

You rolled your eyes, “will you please just let the movie happen?” you said, “I wanna see it through a first-timer’s eyes.”

And so that ended most of the conversation for the duration of the movie. The story was about a doctor named Herbert who used a special green sludge to bring people back from the dead, and it was safe to say that the film was different from anything Bucky had ever seen before. Topless girls filled screens, fake blood and guts spewed from corpses, morbidly funny jokes had him laughing one minute and gasping in shock the next. It all came to a head however in the film’s climax where the doctor was strangled by a corpse’s small intestine and the screen cut to black leaving Bucky in suspense.

“What, that’s it?” he cried and you laughed.

“What happened to Herbert? Did the serum work on Meg? What is Dan gonna do about all the dead people just roaming around?” he cried out before looking at you desperately, “please tell me there’s more!”

You giggled, “there’s a sequel,” you sighed, “but it’s not very good…”

“I don’t care,” Bucky responded, “I need more!”

So there the two of you sat for the rest of the afternoon and night, glued to the television watching a movie that in all honesty kind of sucked after the first twenty minutes, but neither of you truly caring, just too wrapped up in the characters to mind the terrible plotlines and inconsistent character development. 

When the movie finally came to an end and the credits began to roll, you launched into an excited discussion on Herbert West’s motivations and Dan’s inability to touch a patient without immediately killing them. It was some of the most fun Bucky had had in awhile, and, for a second, it was almost like he was a kid again ready for Halloween to arrive.

“Can I tell you a secret, Buck?” you asked leaning into him, so close he could practically smell your strawberry shampoo.

He nodded, “of course,” he said.

“No,” you said, “I mean, it’s like top secret, like, some CIA shit, can I still trust you?”

He smirked, “what, are you gonna tell me you’ve been reanimating people on the side?”

You laughed, “no, the only thing I bring to life is the spirit of Halloween in this place,” you said, “so, can I trust you or not?”

Bucky nodded, “lay it on me doll,” he said and he could swear he saw a faint blush creep into your cheeks.

“Alright then,” you said, glancing away for a moment before returning to meet his eyes, “it’s about my costume for Tony’s Halloween party.”

The got Bucky’s attention. You were notoriously secretive about your costume for the party, deflecting any questions aimed at you about it, hiding it away behind the locked door of your bedroom, even refusing to ask for help when you came out of your room bleeding from sticking yourself with sewing needles one too many times. The fact that you were willing to trust him with your secret costume was something of an honor.

“What is it?” Bucky asked?

You smiled, “not so fast,” you said, “why don’t you tell me what you’re going to be.”

Bucky’s excitement faltered as he contemplated lying to you and saying something basic, he’d gone to the party store with Sam and Steve who’d tried to rope him into being the third stooge with them, but he’d refused, it just hadn’t felt right, none of the costumes they’d suggested had, in the end, he’d just decided not to go, he just wasn’t up for it, but he knew telling you that would be the most disappointing thing ever.

So he just shrugged, “I don’t have one yet,” he said, “I’m still weighing my options.”

Your smile grew wider, “would you like to do a partner costume with me?” The proposition was shocking to say the least, taking him by surprise. Halloween was two weeks away and you’d been working on your costume for months, did you really expect him to just have something ready?

“What is it?” he asked.

Then you leaned closer, your lips touching the lobe of his ear and sending shivers down your spine, and you told him, and his smile only grew. When you pulled away he nodded excitedly.

“I’ll do it,” he said.

“What’s up with Frosty and the Little Girl?” Sam asked confused though Steve could barely hear him over the music blasting throughout the party room, “they’ve been spending a lot of time together lately, and now their both late, what’s up with that?”

Steve shrugged, “I didn’t think Bucky was coming, but (Y/N) surprises me, would’ve thought she’d be the first one here,” he practically shouted to be heard. “I know! That girl is crazy about Halloween, and I wanna see this costume she’s been obsessing over,” Sam replied.

Steve was just about to say something else when the doors to the party room opened and in stepped you with Bucky in tow. You were clad in a disheveled looking, blood covered dress shirt and suit with your hair pinned back to make it look shorter and quoiffed. A skinny tie was around your neck and you held a vial of what looked like green glow stick fluid in your hand while a pair of huge glasses took up most of your face.

Bucky stood behind you, his outfit was much simpler with a blood-soaked white tank top and a pair of bloody blue jeans, his hair had been styled shorter too, and in his hand he carried a blood-stained axe.

Steve had absolutely no idea what you two were supposed to be, but you both someone worked it so well that he didn’t care. You two had the biggest smiles on your faces both relishing in their parts.

He approached you and smiled back. 

“What the hell are you two supposed to be?” he asked.

“You remember that movie I tried to get you to watch a few weeks back?” Bucky asked.

Steve rolled his eyes, “you mean the really crappy one from the eighties?”

You gasped with mock outrage, “how dare you! It’s a tour de force!”

“We’re the main characters from it, Herbert West and Dan Cane,” Bucky explained further.

Sam laughed, “you two are such dorks,” he said.

You just beamed and entwined your arm with Bucky, “yes,” you said, “yes we are, and we’re gonna go kill it on the dance floor now, so if you’ll excuse us,” you pulled Bucky towards the crowd of dancing people and both of you were quickly swallowed up by the crowd.

And that night, dancing with you, laughing until his sides hurt, taking terrible pumpkin flavored shots, and wearing one of the best costumes in the world, Bucky felt every real struggle and fear melt away from him, he felt his heart begin to thaw and he remembered just what he loved so much about Halloween. It truly was a night of magic.

[creativity-is-rebellion]

Jack the Ripper was H.H. Holmes?

I love discussing serial killers, and there’s nothing I like better than a good, old-fashioned crime conspiracy. It’s one of the reasons I decided to become a criminologist. And no theory has intrigued me more than the possibility that the infamous serial killers H.H. Holmes and Jack the Ripper are one and the same person. There have been literally thousands of people that have been proposed as suspects in the Ripper Murders, with the list of serious suspects somewhat shorter, but the legend has reached such epic proportions that there are those who dedicate their lives to finding out who Jack the Ripper was (they are known as “Ripperologists”). People see Jack as the OG of serial killers. He literally tore apart his 5 hapless victims. H.H. Holmes, on the other hand, was infamous for building his “Murder Castle” during Chicago’s 1893 World Fair, and killing those who dared to lodge there. His kill count before he was turned in to the police stood at 9 (although he confessed to upwards of 27 murders). What could be more scintillating than if these two killers were not two at all, but the same person?

The theory originated in 2011, when Holmes’s great-great-grandson, lawyer and former Commander in the U.S. Naval Reserve, Jeff Mudgett (Mudgett was Holmes’ actual last name), who teamed up with ex-CIA operative Amaryllis Fox to write a book entitled “Bloodstains,” which lays claim to the idea that Jack and Holmes are the same person. In it, Jeff makes some explosive claims, including that he inherited two diaries from his grandfather, and, after employing the services of an expert handwriting analyst, determined that H.H. Holmes had authored them, and that Holmes was raped as a child by a priest. Furthermore, Mudgett expanded upon the story of Holmes’s escape from prison and his staged execution (what?!). Ultimately, he states that H.H. Holmes tricked someone into going to the gallows in his place, and went on to live a long life in the shadows. Considering the last two claims, Mudgett’s assertion of knowing Holmes to be Jack the Ripper is the least far-fetched of the entire book. Below is the most compelling evidence for the claim that H.H. Holmes is also Jack the Ripper.

Mudgett states that the diaries of H.H. Holmes posit that he was present in London with one of his assistants (a literal partner in crime) during the Ripper Murders in Whitechapel. He states that the diaries outline “training sessions” between Holmes and his assistant, with the assistant being instructed to murder prostitutes and excessively mutilate their corpses, in order to cause a public outcry, with the intent being to distract from Holmes’s own murders and sexual-organ harvest of upper-class women, Rich women’s ovaries would supposedly have healthier hormones in them to aid in Holmes’ pursuit of a youth serum which would purportedly allow him to live an unnaturally long life.

At first glance, the facts would point to radical differences between Holmes and Jack, not just because of the vast geographical divide between their respective killing zones, but also because of their largely contrasting MOs. Jack the Ripper claimed most of his victims on the streets, attacking women where he could have easily been caught in the act. On the other hand, H.H. Holmes preferred to kill in private, even going to such elaborate lengths as to build a “Murder Castle,” where he rigged rooms to isolate and secure his victims. Creeping about in public with a knife in his hand just wasn’t his style. However, if we look more deeply, the parallels between the two murderers become more apparent. The Ripper, despite popular myths of him being a savage, messy slasher, was actually a calm and careful killer. Rather than simply lunging at his victims, knife at the ready, he would first choke them and lay them quietly down before commencing the evisceration. This is partially why he didn’t alert anyone within earshot to what was going on. Holmes, too, had a methodical killing style, and was also a trained medic - meaning he was adept at the removal of organs. Of course, one of the most widely-held beliefs about Jack the Ripper is that he had some degree of medical training.

It’s also important to consider that the last of the official, canonical victims of Jack the Ripper was killed in her own bed rather than on the streets, utterly obliterated by the Ripper’s blade, to the point of being almost unrecognisable. This was a huge escalation from the previous Ripper killings, both in terms of context and ferocity. Jack’s style had evolved. If Amaryllis Fox’s theory is right, this could have been Holmes trying out different methods, and moving towards the more grandiose style he displayed in the Chicago Murder Castle. Speaking of the United States, Fox and Mudgett’s investigation has revealed that Holmes left a trail of business documents which allows us to chart his movements, with the exception of between 1888 and 1889, when the paper trail goes cold, coinciding with the Ripper Killings in London. Could this therefore have been when Holmes was Jack? We do know from ship logs that an individual by the name of “H Holmes” was a passenger who sailed from the UK to the US shortly after the Ripper killings ended. 

Moreover, linguistics experts consulted by Mudgett and Fox meticulously analysed the “Dear Boss” letter, widely regarded as having been sent by Jack to the London media of the time. The expert confirmed that various quirks of language suggest the writer of the letter was American. Mudgett and Fox also commissioned a forensic sketch artist to create a portrait of Jack based on witness testimonies of 13 people who’d seen the Ripper victims with men just before they died, the end result being a portrait so similar to photos of H.H. Holmes that Mudgett – an attorney by trade – firmly believes it would merit an arrest warrant if the case was active today. There is a certain logic to Mudgett’s theory about Holmes’ role in the Ripper killings. Objections to Holmes’ candidacy as a Ripper suspect include the difference in modus operandi between the methodical Holmes and the hysterical sadism of the Ripper. Mudgett’s theory, however, makes it so that the mutilations were a deliberate forensic counter-measure to throw people off Holmes’ trail and accomplished by a different hand (though under Holmes’ direction).

All of this certainly sounds exciting and even persuasive. But the fact is, there’s no solid evidence there at all. It’s all entirely circumstantial, based on coincidences, contradictory testimonies by long-dead Victorians and plain wishful thinking. So where to begin?

First, the “Dear Boss” letter. Perhaps it was indeed written by someone from the States, as the experts suggest. But that hardly matters if the letter (as with all other Ripper correspondence) was a hoax, penned by some hype-hungry journalist or local crackpot, as most Ripper experts and seasoned “Ripperologists” firmly believe. Then there’s the crucial question of geography, which obviously cannot be easily dismissed. Holmes and the Ripper lived on different continents, and there’s absolutely no evidence Holmes ever ventured onto British shores. Names in ship passenger logs don’t mean a thing – “Holmes” was hardly a rare name, after all. And, while Holmes later claimed to have “roamed” the planet for people to kill….well, this was likely another example of his rampant narcissism, and desire to mythologise himself as an awesome monster.

We also need to consider motivation. Despite the grisly, horror movie-like details of his Murder Castle, H.H. Holmes was driven solely by a basic greed for money. He regarded himself as a cunning entrepreneur, killing in order to collect on life insurance and further his material success. There’s no evidence he was driven by a lust for murder for its own sake, like Jack the Ripper appeared to be. The Ripper slaughtered the poor, helpless, penniless women of the East End. There was no greed there, except a greed for death. While we’ll possibly never know what made the Ripper kill, it seems reasonable to assume it was a deep-seated, irrational, emotional craving that he needed to satisfy. H.H. Holmes was a con-man who was willing to kill, but he was not irrational.

Jeff Mudgett is certainly convinced of his theory that Holmes was the Ripper, and perhaps the hard evidence is out there somewhere, waiting to be found. In the meantime, the controversy will carry on.

[jackalwrites]

Orders came in abruptly at the peak of the morning. Apparently a sorceress was up to her old tricks again. Ghirahim and Zant both had just gotten to sleep only a few hours before, though one of them didn’t sleep and only stayed up paying attention to their tent mate. Those runes surely did capture his full attention, and while he was still unsure about Zant he enjoyed the sight of them and their glow.

Ghirahim was full of energy and even eccentric while Zant was disgruntled that it wasn’t in fact time for breakfast. A look of distaste passed on Ghirahim’s features as he walked by the Twili and heard him grumbling about something incoherent. A language barrier didn’t help in cases such as these. With a shrug of his shoulders and materializing his mantle about his normal attire he went towards the camp where Ganon was already standing looking annoyed.

“Cia is on the offensive again. You’re to follow the cliffs leading into the desert until you reach where one of the scouts spotted the enemy.” There was no discussion of what exactly the enemy was and Ghirahim and Zant were both trying to process what had just transpired,  though Zant not as long because the next thing Ghirahim realized as he was still trying to figure which direction was best to go for strategy, was that Zant had placed his helmet back over his face and was already heading off in the direction provided by their General.

“You’re not supposed to take off before me.” The sword said in much the manner like a petulant child might have. He was clearly displeased and it even showed as he allowed the sword to materialize with a simple snap of his fingers.

The blade moved in synchronicity like poetry in motion as he charged into the crowd of monsters underneath Cia’s thrall. Easily dispatched and done away with he found himself standing next to the most ugliest plant he had ever seen. “If this is our enemy then I don’t see why I should bother.” The sword scoffed, and was studying the strange plant. Multiple heads that seemed to be working together despite giving the appearance of whirling and writhing.

“You shouldn’t insult it.” He heard Ganon in the back of his mind. A sort of refresher thought from back when they had all three been discussing the fauna and flora of Hyrule. Ghirahim had tuned out then as the subject wasn’t about his favorite thing- himself- so was it any surprise when he had to duck when one of the round of seeds it employed as a weapon were going straight for an onslaught in his direction? No; it wasn’t. The spectator of this was especially amused. Zant was on the other side, but as the plant moved he was able to see that Ghirahim was on the other side.

“At least you know how to dodge..” he said smugly as he prepared to tuck his limbs in close to his body. The key to attack was to take advantage of the flexibility provided with his lanky form. With a well executed spin he moved around to where he could get a better aim at one of the stalks.

With a good aim he thrust one of the scimitars towards the closest stalk which had changed color after rampaging a bit. Zant was amused when he heard the odd, and almost animalistic cry from the overgrown herbal monstrosity. He wasn’t expecting on it to start a charge around the vicinity, and apparently neither had Ghirahim who he could see getting knocked to the side. Morbid curiosity had prevented him from intervening. Well curiosity,  and that he still had an unspoken rivalry going with the sword.

He watched as Ghirahim got to his feet and dusted his attire off. The blade was definitely glaring in his direction. “Just stay on that side and I will fight from over here!” Once the plant had come to a stand still Ghirahim had saw it as his chance to move in and strike in quick succession. Slashes orchestrated with a swift hand were given in calculated blows on wherever Ghirahim had thought was the weakest spot to attack.

During this Zant was watching and developing a pattern based on the pattern that the enemy was using. It was moving in one that as a master stratgeist he could easily decipher and utilize against it. A few more times of Ghirahim ducking out of the way and dodging he found that working together actually brought them closer to a goal.

“Keep dodging while I strike. It cannot mobilize while it is stunned.” That was the best way to describe it: stunned. The plant was completely out of commission, and that allowed for Ghirahim to move in for the kill. Or rather he would have if it hadn’t been for a foolish and egotistical pride. The orders were for naught, because Ghirahim was being stubborn.

“You aren’t my master. Don’t order me aroun-,” He didn’t get to finish what he was saying since a fresh new barrage of seeds much like bullets were showering in his direction.

“On second thought.. keep stunning it.” Ghirahim couldn’t disagree with that method of thinking, and as much as he disliked admitting it, Zant so far had been a tactician of excellent prowess. Unrivaled ideas and plans that even Ganon had listened to. Maybe not always perfectly implemented into use, but the basic premise was. He was jealous in those regards, but also had remembered how in their first battle together- at least where they had worked together- that he had complimented him. That was something he had thought of in his time to himself since then.

Ghirahim while he was lost in thoughts of the past was brought of his reverie as Zant gave an odd kind of war cry. More like a wailing or a screech combined. He looked to be getting ready to go into a fit of his own any second, and Ghirahim was correct. With the scimitar in his hands he materialized one after another sending it for his desired target. A loud squeal from the plant and he stood watching wondering what exactly the thought process was behind such a furious attack.

Aesthetic was usually the name of the game when it came to combat as well as all things. If you can’t look amazing or graceful while even on the battlefield then why bother? Ghirahim was in total adoration as Zant was acting as both guard and offensive now.

Zant was irritated with how the sword was standing dumbstruck, and had even stopped mid attack to watch whatever he was doing. He had done this a few times with some stray lizalfos. Act like he was helpless, and then wait for him to come to the defense. He had no idea why, and he figured with the life force almost completely gone from this enemy,  that he wasn’t going to stick around find out. When it was near defeated he dissipated in thin air leaving a confused Ghirahim behind. A few more of the barrage of seeds striking him and only defended against with his sword and diamond barrier, the demon wasn’t pleased one bit and decided to finish off the creature which gave one last loud cry before it shriveled up.

Ghirahim stared down at his clothes and saw splotches of dirt among large amounts of something green. He was disgusted, and decided to just head back to camp. The sun was rising over the cliffs and painting the desert in soft tones. Teleporting back to their base he sighed as he made his way to the tent. Zant wasn’t there which was a pity as Ghirahim wanted so much to give him a piece of his mind.

Over the past few weeks Ghirahim had learned routine in regards to his tent mate. Zant while he was from a realm of eternal twilight, actually quite liked following the routine that Ganon had them on. He himself could go either way as Ghirahim very rarely succumbed to the need for sleep; that meant that he could perfect his sword techniques or even his magic. Sometimes he would just stay up and admire the beautiful specimen that he shared a tent with.

While Zant wasn’t much the wiser, Ghirahim had actually adopted this morning routine of attending the mess hall for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. He didn’t eat the same meals as he found it to be simple fodder,  but that didn’t stop him from trying to stomach it. It guaranteed he could socialize with Zant.

His ire still rich and plentiful he was memorizing what exactly he would say to Zant in his mind. All rehearsed words left his head though as he spotted the odd usurper chowing down on fish. A staple that annoyed Ghirahim both in texture and in smell. Taste was another story- it could be delightful with the right mixture of seasonings.

Zant was working away on one fish from his plate and seemed to be grinning at the meal. How could something so simple elicit for such an expression Ghirahim wondered and sat down with his own rations he got from the cook.

Grilled fish with fruit and a few vegetables. He picked up a piece of the fruit and began to eat, but was surprised to find he had Zant staring at him.

It had become common place that whatever Ghirahim was eating, and wasn’t intending to finish became dibs for the Twili.

“Are you still going to give me the fish today?” Zant quizzed as Ghirahim sat directly across from him. He was already eating the fruit which showed it was off the table. The past few weeks he had learned that Ghirahim wasn’t half as bad as he had first thought. He asked him questions about his culture, showed genuine interest, and also seemed to be a good companion for debate or just discussions when he couldn’t sleep at night.

He was still getting over the fact that Ghirahim rarely if at all slept. The few times he had dozed off he had been reading a book, and even Zant with the new freedom to gaze at him without seeming like a creep- had found him beautiful. Not many things in the light world were attractive in his eyes, but there was an undeniably significant beauty that surrounded Ghirahim. He would never have admitted that though, and he was actually taken aback the first time when Ghirahim had kissed him. He had left the sword alone in their tent after returning the favor by making it seem he was going to reciprocate.

He was chewing the piece of fish he had currently,  and didn’t realize that Ghirahim was holding out his plate of rations towards him. Offering food with any other Twili would have made him flustered, as food was the initiating of a courtship. It seemed that Ghirahim had picked up on that, or maybe the demon blade just liked to be in his company. He wasn’t sure which. More than likely plotting something.

His question was answered as he saw the sword leaning his chin on his hand as it laid on the wooden surface of the table. A flirtatious position evidently, but Zant was still oblivious- maybe even skeptical that such a creature would even entertain being around him.

“You know I’ve been thinking…  maybe you could join me for a proper meal.” Oh there it was. Zant was shaking his head mentally,  but the idea of free food was tempting. “I’d like to be alone with you, Twili.” Ghirahim’s fingers were now dancing along the table towards Zant. “We’re already having a meal.” Zant replied before swallowing. He started eating the food from the plate that the blade had offered him.

“Let me try again; I would like to be alone with you. And I have to admit I have been curious about what you look like underneath those robes.” Ghirahim noted how Zant was slightly uneasy, and he saw an opening for subtle revenge while working towards another goal. He allowed his foot to edge underneath the table and tap Zant’s own lightly. Zant made a sound, but went back to eat his meal.

“What do you say? I would enjoy getting to know you more.~” Ghirahim spoke in a sultry tone while lifting his foot up more to caress the tip of his shoe against Zant’s leg. The definition was quite satisfying and he noticed that Zant wasn’t even inching away as he usually did.

Chewing silently for a few seconds Zant then broke the pause between them. “I will say two things. One I will consider it, and two and most important, if you do not withdraw your foot from touching me I will remove it forcefully.” Burning eyes meant business and Ghirahim slowly retracted his foot back into his own personal space.

“I’ll take that as a possible yes.” Ghirahim was quiet on the outside,  but inside he was reeling with the way that Zant had been so direct with him. He loved the rare glimpses of that part of his personality as it made him absolutely giddy. “Don’t get your hopes up,” Zant told Ghirahim as he walked away from the table. He was peeved that anyone had fathomed even touching him in such a manner, yet he was oddly interested and even entertained how something might have continued between him and the sword.

Zant hadn’t given him a definite answer during the day, so Ghirahim did the only thing that he knew to do- which was go find him and ask for his decision. He didn’t find the Twili anywhere in sight, so he just left a note in their bunk, and was getting ready to leave when he ran into Zant again.

“You never gave me an answer. Besides it isn’t like you have anything better to do.” The demon blade was being insistent even as Zant wasn’t giving him an answer of yay or nay. With a sigh audible to Ghirahim’s own ears, Zant finally spoke. “I will go on the condition that you do not under any circumstances touch me with your filthy foot again.” He didn’t usually mind Ghirahim being close, even if it could be a little bit annoying, but having his feet where he had no idea where they had possibly been set him off a bit. Ghirahim didn’t waste words, and left with a delighted expression which bordered on smug and satisfaction. He had a lot of work to do, and what exactly that was Zant wasn’t aware of, but he decided to pick up the piece of paper and read it. He wanted him to show up to the temple from before. He was fond of the atmosphere it provided- it reminded him a lot of home honestly, a place that while wrought with bad memories was close to his heart.

When it started nearing sundown he set out for the temple, and already a pleasant aroma was assaulting his senses, and he hesitated for a few moments. What if this was all some elaborate set up? With Ghirahim he could never be completely sure; he liked to think that he had the ability to read the sword, but he genuinely could make mistakes himself. Even a king was not without error. He remembered that it had been well known quote when he was a child. Pushing the thoughts of quotes of the past out of his mind he entered into the temple where he saw that the sword had actually outdone himself. Candles placed with a sense of decorum about the spacious vicinity. Lighting was ambient, cold, yet welcoming; the only thing that could have made anything any better would probably have been the presence of some Twili lighting in the form of sols.

“You showed up.” A voice emerged seemingly from nowhere, and Zant turned around to see that Ghirahim was standing almost a little too close for his comfort. “What do you think? I like to think that I have outdone myself this time around.” More of that vulgar and eccentric posing met his eyes. It wasn’t an unwelcome sight entirely though, and he went back to looking across the room. He found the source of such a pleasant aroma, and watched as a few of Ghirahim’s servants were leaving lavish dishes on one of the wooden tables that had gone conveniently missing from their tent. A few chairs added for comfort of whoever would be present. The small imp-like creatures began shuffling out with the last precisions of placing a large plate with fish, and some wine down. Ghirahim had added the last touches just because he knew how Zant was fond of them- also perhaps because he didn’t quite know how he would take to his gourmet dish. Ghirahim showed him to one of the chairs closest, and then moved to present him with a glass of wine. The demon sword watched in interest as he saw how Zant had taken to holding a sleeve up to his face. An odd quirk, but still appealing to him nonetheless. He took a seat opposite Zant and started to select a few dishes onto a plate that he thought he would be pleased to try. Roasted cucco, sun dried fruits with honey and bread, a variety of vegetables with different seasoning, and some soups. “You’re welcome to help yourself.” Ghirahim had placed only small servings of each that he thought Zant would enjoy. Underneath his confidence he was nearing the edge of being nervous, and even anxious. A few times while he had been directing his servants, the bokoblin, in their tasks he had considered the idea of just calling everything else, and pretending it all was some intricate set up to make fun of Zant. He wasn’t alright with the idea of Zant showing him animosity like when they first met, and he figured now was as good as a time as any to show how he felt. Flirting was one thing, and declarations of adoration were another.

Once Zant had recovered from being overwhelmed by the wonderful smelling variety of dishes he noticed that Ghirahim had offered him a dish. Giving a nod of thanks he took a bite of some of the grilled fish that looked like it was covered in some kind of sauce. His eyes widened at the taste, and he was brought back to the dishes he had been used to being treated to as accompaniment of the royal family. He helped himself to another bite, and then another, before moving onto some of the dried fruit. He noticed that Ghirahim didn’t seem to be having a portion at all for himself, and was more intent on watching him. Maybe all of the flirtations had actually been genuine. He was still nervous with the idea that such a beautiful, and attractive creature could even hope to show him attention, but if he was, who was he to deny such advances?

“Do you enjoy it so far?” Ghirahim was scooping up some of the soup before him, and then bringing it back to his mouth. Even when he ate he seemed.. Perfect. Not all comparable to him. Zant nodded taking a bite of the roasted cucco, and then some of the mashed pumpkin. Not native to the desert- in fact a lot of these foods wouldn’t be, and that led Zant to wonder if maybe Ghirahim had been conjuring some of it. He shrugged. Food was food. “It reminds me a lot of the dishes that we have back where I am from.” He was flattered that the sword would go through such lengths for him as well. Maybe this was how they contrasted? Among many other ways. Not one person had entertained the idea of showing him this amount of affection- except for a few of his own kind, but that was best left in the past.

“Alright.. What are you playing at?” He didn’t use any of the derogatory phrases he usually did. For a change he was curious, and really wanting to know what ran through the sword’s mind. What if all of it was a joke? Would he rub it in his face? He hoped not.

“I figured that you would get tired of eating the same boring dish day in and day out. It seems I was wrong as you seem to enjoy routine to a certain degree.” Ghirahim expressed with a smirk on white lips before taking another spoonful of the soup. In front of him was a perfect example of aesthetics, and what he saw as truly unique- and compatible. He wasn’t sure how to answer Zant at first on the query of whether or not he was playing at anything, but while he did enjoy stringing someone along for his own enjoyment, he also liked taking the direct approach sometimes as well, and it seemed that none of his emotional displays were having their desired effect on the lofty male.

“I wanted to get to know you a little bit more.. And I don’t mean exchanging stories or teasing you, I wanted to know you. Your likes, dislikes, dreams, your past..” he sighed as he realized that he was bordering on sounding quite pathetic lying all of this out in the open. To save face he also chuckled. “I also wanted to know what is exactly so worth keeping underneath those robes.” He saw Zant’s expression change slightly, and that was enough for him. “My likes and dislikes…” Zant trailed off for a few seconds unsure how to answer that question, even if it was rhetorical he felt that he should. That was the point of Ghirahim bringing him there wasn’t it? To develop their relationship a little bit further?

Zant was still apprehensive about doing any kind of discussion with Ghirahim when he first had met him, but things had gradually receded into what they were now, and he gave a nod. “Alright, what do you want to know exactly first?” He took lighter things onto his dish and ate in between Ghirahim speaking. There was a thought in the back of his head that perhaps all of this was to initiate courtship. He certainly was showing concern and interest, didn’t only potential mates do something like that? Twilli didn’t tend to be the warmest of races after all, and they had been taught from a young age that it was better to hold opinions to himself.

“Let’s start with your likes.” Ghirahim was going for something simple, and watched in interest as Zant put down the soup he had been working on and then drunk some of the wine that had been provided. “I like learning new things, coming up with different strategies, the moonlight of this world,” He paused as he noted across the table the white locks that were gifted to the demon, but continued on. “I’m also quite fond of master, Ganondorf.. And maybe... “ Would it be too out of the way to say that he considered the sword spirit to be one of his ‘likes’? He could imagine the smug expression on Ghirahim’s features so he made no mention of it. “I also quite like this meal.” There Ghirhaim had heard it; Zant’s tastes were simple, but a fuse was lit within the recesses of his mind as he found he hadn’t been mentioned even once, so as the meal progressed he was quiet in his thoughts. Now was not the time to discuss himself, but instead to make a conscious effort to open up the possibilities of a future between himself and Zant. His disgust quickly changed to adoration in so less of a time. It wasn’t usual for him to warm up to anyone, and the idea that Zant didn’t directly reciprocate his feelings made him feel an unknown emotion.

“How about dislikes?” He asked raising a glass of wine to his lips and taking a hearty sip from the glass before putting it back down onto the wooden surface of the table. He tapped his fingers on the solid surface for a few seconds until he was answered. “I’ve never been a fan of the light for one, I don’t like eccentricities, traitors, or tradition. Authority has also never been welcome.” The usurper drained his own glass and pushed the remnants of the meal away from him to the middle of the table. “Are you finished?” Ghirahim asked as he saw the obvious in front of him. He considered his thoughts for a moment and seeing that Zant was staring at him he got up from his own seat and wandered across the room to Zant. “We can go retire outside for awhile if you want, we have a wonderful full moon out tonight, and I would enjoy to be able to view your magnificence underneath such beauty.” Ghirahim was acting more like his usual self Zant noticed, but the comments of beauty and magnificence puffed up his ego, so who was he to deny such a request? Once outside with Ghirahim leading him to the blanket he had laid out he settled himself on it, and sighed only to see that the sword had come not far behind, and actually had the bottle on wine with him. “I figured a drink would be good..” Ghirahim stated as he noted how out in the open that the moon seemed to make his runes that were visible to him even more illuminated. They reminded him of some mysterious mosses he had ran across in Faron Woods once, and he had actually found them to be of great pleasing to his eye, and so he flopped down on the ground next to Zant. He poured some more of the wine, and then offered a toast that Zant accepted.

“It’s amazing out tonight.” Ghirahim breathed out in a sigh before noticing that Zant was actually staring at him. Zant was seeing the demon in a new light, he was seeing the efffulgent quality and detail of the sword’s hair, and noted that even the moonlight basking down from above them both seemed to make the red of his mantle stand out even more. Captivated would be an understatement in this case- no, he was completely enthralled.

That interrupting little voice perked its ugly head up once more however, and the arrogance was back. “What is the bottom line of such kindness and airs?” He was met with a smirk from Ghirahim as an answer. “I’m glad you asked that, since… I may have been fibbing a little bit before.” He said with an exaggerated sigh before moving to settle against the Twili who didn’t seem to be fazed in any negative ways. “I want to get to know you better, like I said.” Ghirahim then trailed his hand over to rest on Zant’s own knee. No reaction, so far so good. “I want to let you know how much I truly adore you.. And if a dinner is how to do that, then I am happy to do that.” He leaned his head on Zant’s shoulder. “I want to enjoy the rest of the night alone with you, until dawn if you have no qualms against that.” Zant didn’t, and in his mind and his known traditions the sword was actually commencing the beginning of a courtship; offered meals, and then subtle touching and cuddling. Usually with any other potential mate he would take his turn to see if things were allowed so to speak.

Still hoping that he didn’t have his hopes up too much he noted that Ghirahim was just laying against him. He inhaled his scent; a fine mixture of floral and copper- the blood from the slain on the battlefield- he moved just so to tip up his chin and press a kiss against his jaw. If things went well he would be allowed to move beyond just nuzzling. A pleased sound was his reply, and he moved to pull Ghirahim into his lap and begin a full on kiss. Cool lips against his warmer skin made him purr appreciatively, and he moved a hand to the swords back. He wasn’t denying him yet, and even seemed to want it. Maybe his mistake was when he started to shift his hips slightly grinding against the swords ass. A smirk on his own lips, he was met with a chuckle from the demon as he pulled away from exploring the confines of his tastes.

“Am I to guess that you are wanting to enjoy the night with me as well?” Only this didn’t fit into Ghirahim’s plans too much. He had been moving slow, but now all of a sudden something had flipped a switch on in the usurpers head. Maybe it had been something he had said earlier? He hadn’t said much so it couldn’t be that. He swallowed realizing that the saliva that had been flooding from Zant’s lips was having an odd effect to it. His body even though cool to the touch since he was steel was heating up slightly and he went to continue the kiss, and as he did he became aware of the Twili’s hands exploring his body, moving down to run over his thighs with one while the other remained transfixed on his rear and even squeezing. Oh, what an easy way to put him into a mood. “I’ll take that as yes.” He told Zant during another break for air, more for Zant’s benefit than his own.

Zant seeing that Ghirahim was receptive to continuing a courtship moved from his lips to the crook of his neck where he started nipping, and licking at the pale skin. A moan was his answer, and surprisingly he found that Ghirahim was starting to try to create his own rhythm against his own. Still clothed and he was already getting lost in a daze of pleasure. He wasn’t even out of his sheath, but the delicate pressure of Ghirahim’s bottom resting against it and then even moving in synchronization sure earned pleased sounds from the depths of his throat. Growing bolder he decided to try to change their position and place the demon down on the surface of the blanket. This way he was afforded the ability to be in domination. He was unsure of only a few things: Mainly how he would be mating.

Things had moved fast for Ghirahim, and while he usually could be a lover who got straight to things if it was wanted, that wasn’t what he wanted for him and Zant this time around. “Wait, wait.. Slow down this night was to just get to know each other.” Though he figured that that was what Zant was attempting to do with initiating intimacy. Zant stared down at Ghirahim. He had been stopped, did that mean that he was being rejected? He wasn’t thinking so. “I’m giving you my answer,” He bent down to where he was fully over Ghirahim and brushed his tongue along his cheek. It was becoming painfully clear to Ghirahim that he had started something that he couldn’t very well end or else he would see no possibility of pursuing Zant again.

“Fine, but we are not coupling this time around.” He said smugly, and then reached down between them to seek out the spacious attire and where he thought that Zant’s member could be. He did have one right? That brought to the surface a thought that Ghirahim had pushed to the back of his mind since the plan to seduce had even happened. Sitting up as best as he could as he spoke up. “You.. you do have something don’t you? A dick?” He rarely spoke dirty as he felt it should only be reserved for the bedroom or his lovers he took interest in. “You know what I mean right?” Maybe it would be better to just show him based on how the Twili was staring blankly. Damn those bright eyes! Ghirahim cursed but removed his own attire with a well executed fingersnap. He was bare in front of the demon with just his mantle left on. It being the only stitch of clothing covering his body added a certain taboo quality to things.

Zant had been about to answer Ghirahim, but it was too late as he then saw everything laid out. Chiseled, and perfect body laid out like some kind of pale god and he couldn’t help the purr that left his lips, but he was confused as his eyes traveled down the body and then stopped from the fine indentation of the hip bones to the semi-flaccid length. So Ghirahim had been aroused too? He felt a strange tingling down where his sheath was. He smirked before lowering himself back down over the sword. “I do have one, but it isn’t quite like yours.” He actually thought that Ghirahim’s was rather hideous. Not a single rune. Instead it had markings similar to the diamonds that he was fond of, but more in the appearance of a fractured gem. Quite beautifully if he was being honest. He started to grind against Ghirahim as he sought out his ear this time around and nipped the shell of it. Hips shifted against him, and he was sure that the sword would go along with it, but instead he found a hand pushing his face away. “I told you I would do something, but not this, not tonight.” Ghirahim was being insistent, and when Zant lifted up he took his foot and pressed the tip of a toe teasingly against Zant’s crotch. Moving it up and down teasingly he then spoke in a sultry tone. “Get rid of the pants.” Zant obliged, and then was taken aback as Ghirahim got onto his knees and crawled towards him after pushing him back.

“I’m interested in what you have here, mind if I look?” Ghirahim asked with a chuckle as he took his palm and ran it upward and downward along Zant’s crotch. He was aware of something underneath giving off a slight pressure, and he noticed how a fine film of blue similar to the color of the runes was already leaking to the surface. The scent was overwhelming, but not unpleasant, and the sword kept up his caresses, but as soon as he saw a tip peaking through the delicate little pouch, he added his tongue into the mix. Giving a groan Zant watched in interest as Ghirahim moved his tongue along the crown of his member. It wasn’t even fully out, and already the sword had him sensitive and wanting more. More of that long tongue was added, and he saw that Ghirahim was wrapping it around what bit of the shaft and squeezing as well as tracing the tip in circular motions over the tip. More fluids made and he moaned as the rest of his cock popped free from his sheath dripping.

Ghirahim stopped the caressing, and seeing the fully exposed member took in the sight and detail of it: delicate runes, darker blue color for the crown, a fair enough girth, and length. He was satisfied with the sounds that he was earning from the usurper and so loosening up his tongue just a bit he moved it to probe the inside of the sheath in curiosity as his lips and mouth enclosed. A gasp and Zant watched as well as felt as the sword started moving his head in a bobbing gesture. That tongue was moving in a flicking gesture along the sensitive area of his sheath, and he brought his long fingers to the white locks, and brushed his fingers through before regaining more.

“I’ve never experienced this..” No, he wasn’t even sure that a Twili could exercise their tongue in even a similar manner. Taking note of the dark eyes staring up at him he purred as his hips began to shift again. A new itch starting up that desperately needed to be sated, and the only cure was the welcoming quality of Ghirahim’s mouth. Gods.. he was getting close, he could feel it. Closer, closer.. And!

Ghirahim released him with an audible pop and drew out his tongue from the sensitive spot. He wasn’t finished though and he wrapped his tongue along Zant’s cock again, and allowed it to squeeze in a gentle manner. Blue fluids that he was assured was precum started running down the length of his tongue and he swallowed easily before taking Zant into his mouth again and sucking in between uniquely massaging him. Hips shifted once again, and this time Ghirahim only rested his palms against Zant’s hips for balance. His tongue relaxing to allow Zant better maneuvering he moaned as his cock pulsing moved in and out of his mouth. He was aware of the Twili getting closer and closer so he brushed the pads of his thumbs against a few of his runes, and this must have been enough to let him reach his limit. He was aware of a hot fluid shooting down his throat, and he pulled back letting his tongue lewdly laggle for a bit before licking his lips. “You’re not half bad, Twili.” Zant was on the ground at this moment in time completely stilled and unable to move as he was spent. Panting he managed to speak a single word. “Stars.”

Ghirahim had promised him stars, and a night of getting to know each other, and while it wasn’t what he had wanted at first, it had proved a perfect end for the night. He couldn’t ask for more, but was instead gifted further as he found the demon sword was moving to settle on top of his body. “I told you I would do something. Did you perhaps see stars?” He asked smugly before grabbing one of the spare blankets out to cover them both up. “I promise that is only the start.” Ghirahim told Zant with a sigh, and Zant had no complaint he was still lost in the daze, but managed to bring his fingers up and move to tuck some hair behind Ghirahim’s neck. “Only the start?” He was getting his hopes of continuing, but Ghirahim as if on the same wavelength of his thoughts sighed. “In time, now let’s enjoy the stars.” He said and nuzzled into the Twili’s neck. Everything had gone according to plan, if not difficult.

[butcanijustnot]

Avengers x reader preferences

How you two met:

-Tony Stark

He bought the company that ran your lab. You were a small bio-engineering tech company, specializing in Stem cell research and recreating lost limbs. Your lab conducted some of the most advanced biological work in the world, but it was also one of the messiest places on Earth. The litter of papers on the floor had never bothered you, but one day your new boss decided to take a tour of the facility.

"Y/N." Your manager said, attempting to grab your attention. You let out a tired groan, not looking up from the video you had been watching. It was of an arm bending backward and forwards. Your right hand was absentmindedly taking notes on the movement.

"Y/N." He said again. "We want you to meet the new owner of Magnus enterprises, Tony Stark." He said, before sighing at your lack of communication. He was about to say something else, but his buzzing phone silenced him. He looked apologetically at Tony.

"Sorry, It's my wife. I have to take this." He said, and before Tony could answer he walked out of the door and down the corridor.

Tony bent down, picking up a stack of papers off of the floor, rifling through them. "So, you're doing Stem Cell research?" He asked, you paused the video and turned in your chair, locking eyes with him.

~Holy sh*t, that's Tony Stark~

"I, umm, Hi," you mumbled, a little shocked. You desperately tried to make yourself look decent. "Yes, I'm doing Stem Cell research to aid in regrowing limbs. Now, its just skin and minor organs, but with research and development, could regrow whole limbs. I'm Y/N, Y/N L/N." You rambled, sticking out your hand for him to shake. He took it, shaking before turning back to the papers he had collected.

"Tell me more about your research." He said, and you were a little shocked when he seemed to be listening and responding.

 - Steve Rogers

You were in charge of souping up his motorbike.

"So you want a vintage world war two style paint job and customized accessories?" You asked, clarifying the order. You were standing in your garage, assessing the motorbike he had brought you. "Sounds like a difficult job..." You said, looking at the Harley Davidson sitting in the middle of your workshop. "Luckily for you, I love a challenge." You finished, smiling like an idiot. You never got to work with Harley's.

"So you can do it?" He asked, excitement creeping into his voice. He'd wanted this for a while

"Sure then, Ken Doll." You said cheekily, referring to his superhuman figure.

"Ken Doll?" He chuckled, remembering Tony drunkenly singing the "Barbie Girl" song, arm in arm with Steve in front of a thousand people, and later on the entire audience of YouTube. "No, I'm Steve Rogers." He said, introducing himself.

"I figured. The unique order tipped me off." You said, waving the clipboard in circles in the air. "That and... well, THAT." You said, gesturing to him. "Nobody has a body like that naturally. That's super-soldier right there."

Your cheeks turned red and you looked away, in awe of the fact that you actually SAID that. Sure, your headstrong and don't exactly have a filter, but that was seriously stupid! What were you thinking?

"I'm Y/N, by the way." You finally said once you felt your cheeks return to a normal color, picking up the spanner off of your desk and turning back to him.

"Nice to meet you, Y/N." He said, smiling his charming smile and holding out his hand for you to shake.

 - Thor Odinson

You were one of Sif's trainee's and one of the best young warriors in Asgard. You fought with honor, moved with justice and quickly became a known force throughout the Nine-realms. However, most of your time was spent on Asgard, training and preparing for war. Usually, you trained alone against stick-people, but one day Sif asked you to take a partner.

"Who?" you questioned, unsheathing your golden sword and slinging it over one shoulder.

"Thor Odinson." Your eyes almost bugged out of your skull. Were you training with the prince? "Usually, he trains with Loki, but he's dead," Sif said, her voice filled less with sadness and more with annoyance. You understood that.

"How many times is it now?" You asked, curious.

"Three." She said with a sigh, turning and gesturing for Thor to step forward. He bowed his head to her, then to you as you stepped into the training area.

"Your Highness." You said, bowing to him, a custom of ritualized combat.

"Lady Y/N, please, call me Thor," He said, before turning Mjolnir over in his hand, preparing to swing. You grasped your swords handle with both hands and swung a few practice strokes in the air.

"I hope you don't think I'm going to go easy on you just because you're the prince." You stated, smirking to yourself.

"I wouldn't dream of it." He said, before jumping into battle.

 - Loki Leufeyson

You were an "Avenger". Why the air quotes, you ask? Well, technically, you were the Avengers phycologist, as well as a woman with crazy telepathic powers. You preferred to stay off of the battlefield if it was possible. Instead, you focused on helping your friends and colleges feel better after long battles. Somehow, you always knew just what to say to help. You were a good person, or at least, you tried to be.

It was hard when people like Loki were constantly being dropped at your feet.

Loki had joined the avenger, you noted, and he seemed to do it of his own free will, which is frankly amazing for what seemed to be such a chaotic being. However, you were still dubious. Partially because of all the horror stories the Avengers had told you about his pranks and chaotic deeds and partially because he was half an hour late for his therapy appointment. You were about to give up on him and go get some food (You were starving, you'd been working all day) when he finally decided to make an appearance, strolling through the door to your office like he owned the place.

"You're late." You almost snapped at him.

He took a seat on the sofa across from you, looking you up and down and trying to evaluate you. "My apologies, princess, I had other matters to attend too." He said. His voice was calm and sensuous, like silk or marshmallows. Anyone else would have fallen under his spell.

You weren't buying it.

"That's not a good enough reason." You said, determined to stand up to him. "I don't know how things run on Asgard, but here on Earth, we turn up to our appointments, and we are nicer to the people who give up their time for you." You said, trying to look as powerful as possible and not at all like a woman who has more than once slept in her office. In fact twice. This week.

He was quiet for a minute, then he smiled a devilish smirk and leaned back on the sofa.

"I like you, Y/N." He said simply. "I think we'll get along."

You rolled your eyes. "Sure. Now, let's get started. we've already lost 35 minutes." You said, delving right into the session.

 - Natasha Romanoff

You're a CIA seduction specialist. It's your job to enter bars, restaurants and high society parties and seduce rich, powerful men for information. Once they were asleep, you'd steal from them. You were a spy, yes, but a very specific type of spy. You weren't a fighter, though you could protect yourself if you needed too, you preferred to love than to hurt. You were damn good, too.

Tonight, you were at a charity auction. You were dressed in some of your best finaries, a dress designed by the gods to make men drool, and sent to bid on a couple of items and seduce the main guest, a man named Alexander Brice. Little did you know, you weren't the only one there.

A beautiful redhead slipped into the chair next to you as the bidding began, the auctioneer showing of a vase that was both ugly and expensive.

"Hello there." She cooed, flicking her hair over her shoulder and looking you up and down. Your dress left little to the imagination, and you crossed your legs, the thigh slit showing off all of your leg and part of your lacy underwear. That didn't go unnoticed by her since she smirked. "CIA?" She asked. You were a little taken back but quickly put two and two together.

It was your turn to look her up and down, your eyes lingering on the low-cut neckline of her dress. "SHIELD?" You asked. She nodded, and you nodded in response.

"Natasha." She said, purposefully leaving out her last name, like any good spy.

"Y/N." You responded, taking the back of her hand and pressing a feather soft kiss to it. It was one of your seduction moves, but you thought that it might apply here too. She chuckled, patting your hand, obversely used to having the moves put on her.

"Which one are you aiming for?" You asked.

Natasha pointed to the Auctioneer with a red fingernail. "Daniel Liabre, believed to be smuggling diamonds through the underground market." She explained, and you nodded along. "What about you?" She asked.

You gestured to the main man, sitting in the front row. "I'm going for the big one." You said, licking your lips. She whistled softly under her breath.

"Good luck." She said, before bidding on the most hideous lamp.

 - Clint Barton

You were a SHIELD officer who was placed on the "Hawkeye project." You had no idea that basically means Hawkeye's babysitter. You go on missions with him and help him out with paperwork.

You met him a day after you were placed into the project. You walked into the kitchenette which was shared with the whole floor, only to see a man in a black and purple suit about to stick a fork into a toaster.

"What are you doing!?!" You shrieked, running over and knocking the fork out of his hand, He looked at you with a confused expression.

"What?" He asked, looking at the toaster.

"Are you crazy?!?" You screeched. "Are you trying to get yourself killed? That's metal and that's a toaster! Did nobody ever teach you not to do that!" You asked.

"Ummm... I'm sorry?" He said, not sure of what to do. "That was pretty stupid." He finished, looking at you. Your anger faded and you nodded, letting out a chuckle.

"I'm Hawkeye." He said, holding out his hand for you to shake. So this was the man you were supposed to be working with.

You sighed, shaking his hand. "I'm Y/N." You said.

"You seem very nice." He blurted out.

You blushed slightly. "Wow. Thank you." You mumbled, before sniffing her air. "What the hell are you cooking?" You asked, recoiling noticeably.

He smiled and proceeded to show you a beer-battered egg and bacon waffle.

 - Vision

You worked with Tony Stark, developing technology that Stark designs. You also helped to fix technology that got broken, which is how you met Vision.

He came in one day, whilst Tony was out eating lunch with Bruce and Steve. You were working on a couple of Tony's smaller robots when he floated into the lab, carrying on of his severed arms in the other.

"Tony Stark?" He asked as he floated through the door.

You looked up from the robot, putting down the soldering iron and walking around your desk to see him.

"Um... Hello?" You whispered, looking at him. He was unlike anything you've ever seen, amazingly detailed and stunningly regal. "Are you... You're the Vision, right?" You stuttered, anxious and in complete awe of him. If your sister could see you freeze like this, she would freak out.

"Yes, I am the Vision. Who are you, and where is Stark?" He asked, his voice monotoned and smooth.

"I'm Y/N, Stark's apprentice. He's not here right now, I'm sorry... What happened?" You asked, gesturing to his arm.

"I was involved in a battle with black market vibranium traders, they had a machine which tore it straight off. I was hoping that Mr. Stark could reattach it." He said, placing the severed part of his arm on a table.

"Well, He's not here and he probably won't be back for a while." You said, knowing full well that he'd probably be out drinking by now, and not back for hours, and even when he did come back, he wouldn't be in a state to do any good work. "But, If you're alright with it, I could try and help out. I'm pretty good with a soldering iron." You asked, looking for a solution.

He looked at you for a second, before smiling. "I'd be alright with that." He said as you lead him to your desk and began to solder the bend and soldered pieces off his arm off.

 - Sam Wilson

You were a waitress in a restaurant he happened to walk into. It had been raining that day, absolutely pouring down, and the man came in looking for somewhere safe and dry. You showed him to a table and gave him a menu. You couldn't shake the feeling that you had seen him somewhere before, but you couldn't quite remember where, so you just tried to forget about it. In fact, it wasn't until you were carrying food to him that it finally clicked, and you were so shocked that you almost dropped the plates you were holding.

"Your Sam Wilson!" You whispered, shock evident in your voice. He looked at you confused.

"Yes?" He said, confused. "I'm sorry, do I know you?" He asked. You shook your head, chuckling to yourself. It seemed so stupid now.

"I've been to a couple of talks you did on PTSD at the DVA. It really helped me, what you said." You said, aware that you sounded like a total idiot right now. To your surprise, he smiled at you.

"Did you serve?" He asked. For almost anyone else, that question was a grave insult, but for some reason, you didn't mind when he asked.

You nodded. "Two tours in the army. Afganistan," you explained. "I'm Y/N." You introduced yourself, smiling brightly. You were about to say more when a shout pulled you away.

"Y/N! TABLE 9 WANTS THERE CHECK!" Your manager yelled. You smiled apologetically at Sam.

"Duty calls. I'll talk to you later." You said before running away to deal with other customers.

 - T'Challa

You were a journalist covering the opening of the Wakandan Outreach center.

Everything here was so nice. Everyone was wearing fine clothes and jewelry, drinking expensive wine and laughing merrily. You, on the other hand, were dressed in a white button-up shirt and black pencil skirt with bits of leftover lunch stuck on it. You looked like a fish out of the water. You looked like a total misfit. You looked like, well, a reporter.

The main event was being held in the biggest room in the outreach center, which happened to also be part of the museum. Glass cases lined every wall displaying Wakandan artifacts and history, and you loved all of it. In fact, at one point, you completely blocked out the rest of the party and just walked the room, reading and rereading every tablet, every piece of information. It startled you, and it excited you. This was new and amazing and incredible. You blocked out the outside world so much that you didn't hear the man calling out for you, or anything until someone placed a hand on your shoulder. Instantly, you snapped back, pulling away and shrieking, not loud enough to distract anyone but definitely loud enough to make the people close to you turn their heads. It was not a lady-like sound. You turned to face your attacker, ready to swear up a god-damn storm and found...

The king of fucking Wakanda.

"Your majesty, I'm so sorry." You said, looking down at the ground, embarrassment painting your cheeks red. "I'll get out of your way..." You said, moving to his left. He soft grabbed your arm, stopping you.

"Don't be absurd, it was all my fault. I shouldn't have snuck up on you like that. Didn't you hear my approach? I called your name." He paused. "You are Y/N, correct?" He asked.

Holy sh*t, he knows your name. The king knows your name. for a moment, you hated yourself for taking up precious brain space in his gorgeous mind. Wait, what?

You shook your head, trying to gather yourself. "Yes, I'm Y/N." You said, holding out your hand for him to shake. You got a pleasant surprise when he raised it to his lips and kissed the back sweetly. you could feel your cheeks reddening.

"Thank you." You said, subconsciously rubbing the back of your hand where he had kissed. You looked around nervously at the other guests, who were looking at you half in awe, half in envy.

"You do not seem to be enjoying yourself? What brought you here?" He asked.

"I'm an international reporter, or, at least, I'm trying to be. My paper keeps trying to clip my wings, making me do those stupid little buzzword facebook articles with no real journalism, just pandering to an aisle for clickbait." You groan sadly.

T'Challa spoke thirty different languages, and yet somehow he only understood half of the words in that sentence.

"So I gotta make this article good. Not that that will be difficult, this place is amazing!" you fangirled almost relentlessly. "I mean, look at this!" you said, gesturing to the cabinets with a childish sense of awe and wonder. You pointed to your favorite things, asking questions and rambling facts like an overactive toddler. You couldn't help yourself. You were interested in this stuff.

He smiled. You were making an absolute idiot of yourself but damned if you weren't cute.

 - Scott Lang

You were Cassie's teacher, and a close personal friend of Cassie's mother, Maggie. You two had grown close, and you often spoke to her via phone conversations about her daughter or just your lives. You became, what's the word...

Girlfriends.

When parent-teacher interviews came up, you knew she'd be first in line to talk to you. Or, at least, that's what you thought. But three weeks went by, and whilst somebody had booked to see you as Cassie's parent, you didn't recognize the name. It wasn't Maggie, that's for sure.

"I'm sorry, but who the hell is Scott Lang?" You asked into the phone, trying to remember the name of the man Maggie had last been dating. You could have sworn it was Matt.

"Oh, that's...." She paused. "That's Cassie's father." She finally finished. The phone was silent for a minute

"The man who was sent to jail before Cassie was even born?" You asked in shock.

"Yes. I wasn't going to let him do this, but... He's really changed. He's Cassie's hero now, and I decided that maybe I should let them be... family. He's a nice guy, Y/N, I promise."

So the parent-teacher evening rolled around and the night was finishing up. You only had one more interview, and he was five minutes late already.

Suddenly, he burst through the door, wearing the weirdest suit and biker helmet you had ever seen. He was panting tiredly and his hair was a ruffled mess.

"Hi." He panted, walking over and taking a seat across the table from you. "I am just so, so sorry that I was late. I was finishing up some work and I totally lost track of time. Sorry!" he reiterated.

He wasn't at all what you expected. He had a dopey smile and a dorky charm to him. Not to mention, he was cute. Not the prisoner you had been imagining

"Hi, I'm Y/N, Cassie's teacher." You said, holding out your hand. He took it, shaking it excitedly.

"Hi, I'm Scott Lang, Cassie's Dad. She talks about you a lot, you know. You are her favorite teacher. She likes how you draw little pictures of animals next to her marks. She was so proud of her dolphin. It's still up on the fridge." He rambled. You guessed he didn't have much experience with this sort of stuff since he was trying so hard to make a good impression. You hated to admit it, but it was working.

 - Bucky Barnes

You were a Wakandan Therapist, one of the best in the business. Generally, you served the Wakandan royalty like Shuri or T'Challa, even occasionally Ramonda. However, one day, T'Challa brought you a white man that desperately needed your help. He had anger problems and unresolved issues, but you see deep in his eyes that he was a soft soul. You accepted the job, and thirty minutes later you were sitting in your office, across from him, watching him.

"Hello." He finally said, breaking the silence between the two of you. You jumped at the suddenness of his voice, something that did not go unnoticed. "Are you alright?" He asked. He was concerned, genuinely. He knew he was a monster, or at least he thought so.

"No, I'm alright, just a little... skittish. That's all." You said, adjusting your glasses and shaking your head. "I should introduce myself. I'm Y/N." You said, bowing your head respectfully like you did with all your clients.

"I'm James. James Barnes, but..." His voice trailed off before he finished, something you weren't going to let go.

"but....?" You asked, prompting him.

"I'd like it if you called me... Bucky." He finally said, lowering his gaze away from you. You gave him a warm friendly smile.

"Of course, Bucky." You said. He looked back up, and for a second, you swear you almost saw him smile.

 - Steven Strange

You were assistant to the Ancient One.

"He's looking at you again." The Ancient One stated as the two of you watched the students practice with there sling rings. Our attention was pointed at one of the students at the front of the class, a Mr. Stephen Strange, who had come in a few days ago. He was stubborn and seemed to be having trouble with taking up magic.

"He isn't looking at me." You stated stubbornly. "He's probably looking at you. You ARE the Ancient One." You said, making another valid point. You were good at that. As the Ancient One's assistant, you were very good at making points and teaching lessons. It was your thing.

His portal was sicking around at about the size of a dinner plate. He was trying, and he was getting better, but he still needed help.

"He did so well in the mountains..." The Ancient One said wistfully.

You rolled your eyes. "Perhaps the difference is that his life isn't at stake this time." You said.

"I think he's being distracted." She said, smirking and elbowing you in the ribs playfully.

Stephen growled and the portal disappeared. He shook his head in anger and muttered something under his breath.

The Ancient one shook her head. "Go help the poor man, Y/N. He's going to give himself a heart attack." she sighed.

You wandered over to the man, walking around him in a small circle. His body seemed to tense when you came near, but you tried your best to ignore it.

"Widen the position of your feet." You said, pausing to the left of him. "Straighten this arm." You said, tapping his left arm. "And close your eyes. I promise it helps." You finished.

"Alright." He mumbled, closing his eyes. For a moment, nothing happened. He breathed in, focusing his energy. Finally, the portal began to open, growing in size until it was big enough to walk through. You saw Wong's library through the portal and smiled.

"Good choice." You said, and he finally opened his eyes, looking at the portal. A slow smile crept onto his face.

"I did it." He said, in awe. The portal only stuck around for a minute or so, before disappearing into thin air leaving only an onslaught of sparks.

"I'm impressed, and I'm sure the Ancient one will be too." You said, waving at her. She nodded at the two of you, and you turned back to him.

"I'm Y/N, assistant to the Ancient One." You said, bowing your head as you introduce yourself.

"I'm-" Stephen started but you cut him off.

"I know who you are. You're Stephen Strange. The Ancient One has told me a lot about you." you said, turning and walking away, a sly smile creeping onto your features as you walked past the Ancient One.

"What are you doing, Y/N?" The Ancient one asked you as you walked past but before you could answer, Strange shot past her towards you.

"What sort of stuff? Y/N?!? Y/N, what sort of stuff has she told you?" Stephen said, tailing after you. You let out a cruel cackle, continuing to walk away. The Ancient One smirked, immediately shipping the living sh*t out of you two.

 -Peter Parker

You'd be friends since you were young kids, living in the same building and spending a lot of time together. so I'm going to substitute this with when you found out he was Spiderman.

You were both hanging out together on a Friday afternoon after school, a tradition of yours that went back years ago.

"So, what are we marathoning tonight?" He asked, opening up his DVD chest. You were both old-fashioned, you liked having a DVD copy of the movie instead of a digital.

You thought for a bit, before speaking. "I was thinking about an Alien Marathon. We haven't done that in forever."

"You're right. Let's do that. I'll put the disc in if you make popcorn." He said. You smiled and nodded, jumping off of the sofa and running over the kitchen. You were about halfway through making popcorn when something out of the window drew your attention. A fire in the building next to you.

"Peter!" You yelled to get his attention. He ran over, looking out the window at the fire. The color drained from his face as he looked out.

You knew some of the people who lived there, and you wished you could go and help, but you're only you and you couldn't do anything.

Peter, however, dove away into his room. "I'll be back soon!" He yelled, shutting the door.

"Where are you going?" You yelled, but you heard no response. A minute later, you saw the red spider-figure swing through the sky. You weren't stupid, you put two and two together.

Fifteen minutes later, the fire was out. Spider-man had saved two people, a woman, and her baby, from the building. He didn't even stick around to talk to the police, only swinging away. You heard a thump from inside Peter's room, followed by scuffling and the sound of someone running around, inside. YYou crossed your arms and scowled at the door. Eventually, it opened and a scruffled Peter walked out.

"Sorry about that. I was just-" He started when he saw your sour look, but you cut him off.

"You were just being Spiderman?" You asked, though you clearly knew the answer.

"No, no, what are you talking about? I'm not-" He started, shifting from side to side on his feet and avoiding your eyes, which was a sure-fire sign that he was lying.

"Before you say anything else, you should know that your shirt is on inside out and back-to-front." You hissed, pulling on the tag in plain view. You glared at him. He opened his mouth as if to say something else but quickly shut it again. For a moment, everything was quiet.

"You have to promise me that you won't tell a soul! This is my biggest secret!" He exclaimed. He was telling the truth, you could tell, and as angry as you were, you weren't going to ruin his life. He was still your friend. You anger began to melt away. You had to admit, it was kind of impressive, your best friend being spiderman all these years.

"Sure thing, Spider-boy." You finally said, smirking in a teasing way as you walked away from him and towards the TV.

"You know that's not my name, Y/N!" He all but whined, following you.

[positivelyamazonian]

10 Favorite Game/Anime/Movie Characters

Tagged by: @a-super-evil-cat-who-murders (thanks!!! It was fun!)

The Rules: Name your top 10 favorite characters from 10 different fandoms, then tag 10 different people.

Well I’ve already done a tag for FEMALE CHARACTERS so I’ll leave this in case you wanna check it. For not repeating myself, I’ll do this time just male characters.

I’ll tag: @luluvonv @luthienamell @adayka @hydraballista @anyathebloodshell @anentireamazon @jar-cup @kim-v-croft  @autumn-star93 @lady-trent

Of course don’t feel obliged to do this. And yes my characters come in not a particular order!

1. Haplo the Patryn - The Death Gate Cycle (book series)

Posting an amazing fanart by Melusaaste because there’s not an official art that shows him so close-up, and honestly, this is the most accurate depiction of him I’ve ever seen. 

Haplo is the anti-hero and main character of The Death Gate Cycle series written by Margaret Weis and Tracy Hickman. Personal childhood hero (despite being an antihero himself), husbando and whatnot, until today he’s one of my fav characters ever, because through him I learnt the most perfect character development, from a cruel, merciless and amoral villain, to... well, not a hero if you think so, but to redeemed human being. 

“A 'why' is a dangerous thing... It challenges old, comfortable ways, forces people to think about that they do instead of just mindlessly doing it.” - Haplo in Dragon Wing, the first volume of the series.

2. Johan Liebheart - Monster

You don’t know what’s a villain until you meet this bastard. I am not an otaku or very enthusiastic of anime series, but Monster by Naoki Urasawa are probably the best manga/anime series ever written. And his villain, Johan Liberheart, one of the most twisted fucks ever written by an author.

Tortured, mentally ill, twisted, cruel, amoral, there’s no way to explain Johan. He experiences no character development and he has not a single redeeming quality, yet you just can’t let him go. An unforgettable character, not recommended for the weak and vulnerable.

There's nothing special about being born. Not a thing. Most of the universe is just death, nothing more. In this universe of ours, the birth of a new life on some corner of our planet is nothing but a tiny, insignificant flash. Death is a normal thing. So why live?

3. Geralt of Rivia - The Witcher (book/videogame series)

I’m so sorry I met this amazing character through The Witcher videogame series, because he existed already in the book series of the same name written by  Andrzej Sapkowski, and I really feel like posting this video because it perfectly sums up the spirit of the character.

Geralt is a witcher, a mutant specialist in killing demons and monsters for coin. He’s shaped like an anti-hero and despised by his society because of his nature and his mercenary job, but despite having everything for being just a rogue scoundrel, he manages to become a very rich character. Full of redeeming qualities despite his grey morals, Geralt struggles in a cruel Middle-Ages world to keep something human for himself, when everyone surrounding him tries to turn him in the heartless freak he was trained to be.

“People," Geralt turned his head, "like to invent monsters and monstrosities. Then they seem less monstrous themselves. When they get blind-drunk, cheat, steal, beat their wives, starve an old woman, when they kill a trapped fox with an axe or riddle the last existing unicorn with arrows, they like to think that the Bane entering cottages at daybreak is more monstrous than they are. They feel better then. They find it easier to live.” ― Andrzej Sapkowski, The Last Wish

4. Raistlin Majere - The Dragonlace (book series)

Again, I’ve to go back to a character created by Margaret Weis and Tracy Hickman (man, this people CAN write characters I tell you), this time for the Dragonlance series. These books are less original and brilliant than The Death Gate Cycle, but more popular and beloved because they are easier to read. And Raistlin Majere is probably the best character written for these series, being saved among them because of being, probably, the less cliché and the more complex of them all.

And again, anti-hero at times, redeemed hero at other times, tortured, twisted, cynic and cruel, but also able to show kindness and a human heart at times. Raistlin was born weak and sick and sacrificed everything (including his own health) for one sake: magic. And power. His only life desire is what will lead him to his own destruction.

"Of course this means a lot to me, Caramon. It means everything! I have worked and studied almost my entire life for this chance. What would you have me do - cast it aside because it is dangerous? Life is dangerous, Caramon. Just stepping out that door is dangerous! You cannot hide me from danger. Death floats in the air, creeps through the window, comes in with the hand-shake of a stranger. If we stop living because we fear death we have already died."

5. Tyrion Lannister (A Song of Ice and Ice/Game of Thrones series)

This little amazing piece of awesomeness needs no presentation. I am again sorry I met through the Game Of Thrones TV series and not A Song Of Ice And Fire books, but it was totally worth it because it’s one of the most well-written characters I’ve had the pleasure to meet, and I must say Peter Dinklage was born to play him.

What can I say? Tyrion is one of those characters who are worth living. A dwarf, deformed, ugly, with no physical or war skills, relying only in his extreme intelligence and wisdom and his political talent to survive, he’s one of the most strong inspirations one can find. Definitely go check him.

6. Kurtis Trent (Tomb Raider: The Angel of Darkness videogame)

I included Lara Croft in my female characters list, it would be absolutely unfair to forget Kurtis as he’s the other character that got my heart in TR series. Not gonna rant long about him here, because you already know my opinion. He was amazing. He deserved better. Ex-legionnaire, demon hunter and Lux Veritatis warrior, I’ve devoted all my fanfics to develop him as there was no chance for Core Design to do it so.

Fitting more in the role of a hero, I think he was also the perfect partner for Lara. His background is very well written and he had a lot of potential. The fact I will never see it doesn’t change anything. He deserves his place here.

"And I thought this would be one of my easy days." - Kurtis, The Sanitarium.

7. L Lawliet - Death Note (manga/anime series)

Again, I reinforce the statement that I’m not a fan of manga/anime series, but definitely Death Note is, together with Monster, one of those you should watch. And yes for everyone who loves Death Note, I’m a L fan. You always choose between L or Kira sides, and despite I’ve to recognize that Kira is a very complex, well written character, it’s L who gets my heart.

Supertalented, amoral, brilliant, extremely unpredictable and surprising, L is the first one of the agents that will try to catch Kira, the murderer who uses a Death Note to implant his particular justice world. L deserves your attention more than Kira, I presume. Or at least, it’s what I think.

“There are... many types of monsters in this world: Monsters who will not show themselves and who cause trouble; monsters who abduct children; monsters who devour dreams; monsters who suck blood, and... monsters who always tell lies. Lying monsters are a real nuisance. They are much more cunning than other monsters. They pose as humans even though they have no understanding of the human heart. They eat even though they've never experienced hunger. They study even though they have no interest in academics. They seek friendship even though they do not know how to love. If I were to encounter such a monster, I would likely be eaten by it. Because in truth, I am that monster.”

8. V - V for Vendetta (graphic novel/movie)

I know, easy to love him, right? Again I’m sad that I met this character through the movie and not the original graphic novel, though you can’t say a thing against Hugo Weaving’s magnificent delivery. I wish I could get my hands on the graphic novel, so I can know him better.

Anarchist, terrorist, idealist, V is the incarnation of the protest against dictatorship and opression in a dystopian England that has supressed all the rights and human freedom. If you don’tknow him, I strongly recommend at least the movie, for the inspiration this character delivers goes beyond that the mask that has trascended the movie itself to become a symbol of citizen fight.

9. Roger - American Dad (TV series)

Well technically he’s not a he, he’s rather an it, but whatever. Also he’s it’s a different trend in this post since I love him particularly because he’s funny and incarnates all the non-political correct you can expect from someone.

He also gives me, kinda, TR vibes. Roger is an alien who landed in Earth during Cold War and was rescued and sheltered at his home by Stan, a CIA agent who’s the main character of the series. Honestly I think Roger is the best of American Dad - a TV show which basically and mercilessly mocks every American value - because despite being an alien is absolutely, indecently human. I prefer him and this show much more than the overrated Family Guy.

10.  Dwight Schrute - The Office (TV series)

Last but not the least, the efficient, clever and adorable bastard hillbilly from The Office. I loved him from the very first moment he appeared. Yeah I know many people hate him or prefer the goofy boss of the handsome Jim but Dwight is really my spirit animal and speaks to me in so many levels. No more comment needed. He’s the best of the show to me.

Well this took forever, right? Sorry for the length of this post but now I’m free I wanted to give it some thought. I see again that I’ve a soft spot for grey morals, redeeming qualities, bad boys and complex characters. This is how it goes! ;)

[monkey-network]

Good Stuff ~ Stray Thoughts: The Emoji Movie

If anyone says anything, I’ll plot to make the Meme Movie a reality

They really had to make a gag out of a studio logo. Hoo boy.

The Smartphone: the CIA’s perfect stalking device. #tapeyourcams

Addie McCallister? The 14th prettiest girl in Gotti High School? Why does she look like that one girl from Paranorman?

My world never revolved around a phone. I just had a laptop. Lucky bastards.

Who threw a paper airplane in the classroom? Fuck is this, 2002?

The main character literally called himself a tool. Great start.

Wait, the devil emoji’s supposed to be purple. Can you not even emoji right, movie?

Anyone can be meh for long periods of time. Just watch a D&D stream.

How do donuts reprodu--nevermind, I already figured it out

“Monkey business”. Okay, one point for the movie.

A emoji fart joke. Alex, you’re---you just suck

No, I don’t wanna imagine emojis having buttholes

I would ask how does a poop emoji poop, but then I realize that they’re releasing a toxic part of themselves and I feel worse for thinking that

Few seconds in, and Maya Rudolph already gave us an uncomfortable character

This machine looks slow. Like, I’ve not seen a single person in real life text one emoji at a time at a snail’s pace

Ah, elitism. Just what I wanted in my kids film

“Words aren’t cool.” This kid sounds like a perfect bullying target

I’d say “Goddammit Gene, you had one job.” But how would you feel if it’s your first and your God is literally pointing you out?

Okay, Patrick Stewart helped this movie get another point.

Great Gene, you screwed up messenger, however that happened

I would ask why the eggplant is apparently never used in this world, but I remember the cucumber emoji exists. That’s some 2038 thinking

Jailbreak? More like Jailbait. Swiggedy Swooty.

Hi-5 is a wanker.

Did they just use sleeping corpses as disguises?

Yes Gene, suffer in that black hole.

Awwww, cute emoji DOGGOS! Okay, 3 points for the movie

Okay, that Facebook joke hit way too close to home

Who tries to hide a piracy app? Seriously, if I don’t wanna pay more to watch cartoons online, I’ll gladly go to Kimcart--FBI, OPEN UP!

I would ask why trolls are actual beings in this world, but then I remember the internet can house the most disgusting people on the planet without having to show a face so I’ll let it slide

“Hack Daniels” I’m either still high or that was clever

Hey, it’s Chloe Price except I don’t want her dead. Also, why is she messing with dem holograms anyways? “Stimming” Oh, everything makes sense now.

*record scratch* Hold up. They’re falling down into an app but the apps aren’t layered on top of each other? *sigh* Lost one point, movie.

I would be mad at the obvious Candy Crush product placement, but I’m even more mad because Soda Saga is clearly the BETTER version

We get it, movie. Hi-5 is the fat one

You know, Alex, you wouldn’t be as befuddled if you didn’t have the volume up high, or screen lock off, or the phone on. How do you teenager poorly?

 Ah murder, just what I need in my kids films

The Cloud. I remember when that felt like a safe place to hide your NSFW art.

Wait, why Drupbux of all sites? Mega.nz is kinda better.

Jeez Jailbrick, Gene was just finishing your idea, he wasn’t taking it. Don’t be such a Tumblr user

I don’t get the point of Pen Pineapple Apple Pen. It’s just a dude dancing while wasting two good looking fruits by stabbing ink in them.

Okay, Gene’s parents are a highlight of this movie

KITTY!!! Also, Jailbreak got a weave.

Just Dance? Pfft, baby ass game. Only true gamers play Michael Jackson: The Experience.

Oh my god, they actually made an MJ joke. Bravo, movie.

These motherfuckers did not just put Wham! as a part of their soundtrack. I’m taking away another point.

“Throw some sauce on that dance burrito”? I would’ve gone with “Shake some spice on them boogie cookies” but whatever works.

M’kay, this ‘Just dance’ scene has so much wrong

Jailbreak said “Slay”

Emoji booty shaking

We go from Wham! to Christina Aguilera like a bipolar mixtape

They add stock sound effects for no reason

The Emoji Bop: or Kidz Bop’s take on Peek A Boo

Beyond the predictable shocker of Jailbreak wearing a weave, I almost saw some upskirt. Yes, I’m sinking my dignity to a pretty good low. Also, I like her better with the wig on.

Turn your phone off, Alex! God, you deserve to be ridiculed and shoved in a locker!

Why do they need the fa- Hand emoji? He honestly added nothing to this journey.

“Well what good is it to be number 1 if there aren’t any other numbers?” Ugh, that sounds like something I would want to say. 

You know I would be mad at the Spotify product placement if it wasn’t for the fact that I illegally download music.

The Struggle of Mortality. I am digging this.

Okay, now I’m mad at the Spotify product placement. What is with this movie and its trash ass music? Thirty. Minutes. LEFT!

What group of friends like to go to the phone store? The humans are the worst part of this movie.

“Stereotype”? When has birds coming around to the sound of music ever been a bad thing? 

Honestly? Better love story than the Hunger Games. (Talking ‘bout the meh parents, BTW)

Obligatory action scene

Drupbux? Malware protected? HA HA HAA! No.

It’s TJ Miller’s career: Up in flames

So Jailback’s plan was basically me trying to guess a password for an account I forgotten ages ago? Dumbass.

Jailbreak can look up old emails? PERFECT! We can incriminate the Clintons once and for all.

The password is his crush’s name? Okay, Alex.... is kind of a creep.

The cloud looks generic as fuck

Huh, this is an actually good turning point. A predictable one, yet good nonetheless. How did people take this as sexist?

Will Gene and Jailbreak just sex already? Wait, how do emojis do it? They got such big hea-oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo.

I would be cackling my ass off at the Twitter logo if--no, that is straight up the 2nd dumbest thing in this movie.

How will Alex recognize that the malfunction is gone? Computers don’t just magically look better when you erase all the viruses in them. God, this plan is stupid. Smiler’s just a psychopath, like a Cable News Exec.

She fuggin’ dead.

Alex...is a guy that would fuck up a cup of coffee

So lucky Gene was able to emote in time before everyone dies

“I like that you’re one of those guys that can express his feelings.” So let me get this straight, heheh, I can pick up chicks....with gifs? Movie, you’re blowing my mind.

Because you can stop a factory reset like it’s nothing.

Hi-5 is still a wanker.

Again, with this trash music? Flog yourself, movie, I’m tired of you.

YEAH! DANCE PARTY because nobody died! YEAH, MORTALITY!

Okay, second highlight of this film is the credits theme ‘Good Vibrations’. The OST is shit except for this.

So, I honestly enjoyed this movie, be it me laughing at it or the genuinely good moments that reside in the heap of mediocrity and shamelessness. The humans, the “villain”, and the soundtrack is all that I really hate about this film, otherwise I’d watch it again if I had the time and “opportunity”. But, since I actually liked this film, I’m gonna have to go into hiding. You never know when [KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!] Oh god, I’m gone.

[bluebrrn]

This Means War (part 1)

Summary: Two top CIA operatives wage an epic battle against one another after they discover they are dating the same woman (based on the movie)

Word count: 1500 A/N:Hey guys! so i’ve decided to post this on Tumblr as well as on Wattpad. I haven’t seen any This Means War fan fic on here so i’ve decided to try it out. Feedback is greatly appreciated. This Means War (Masterlist)

After doing a product testing you walked out of the experiment room ready to take on your next task.

“Ooh (Y/N)..” your assistant Wanda called out.

“Yeah?” You stop and turn to her. 

She glanced down, “I was wondering if I could leave work a bit early today for the holiday weekend. Vis is taking me to an alpaca farm.” She giggled.

Ugh Vis. Don’t be mistaken, he’s a great guy! But sometimes it feels like everyone has someone special in their lives besides you. “Oh, yeah of course.” You smile, “it’s a holiday, And a weekend.” Wanda chuckled. “so yeah you should do that.”

“Okay.” He smiled.

“Have fun!” You muster up the friendliest smile you could.

“You have fun too.” She waved walking away.

“I will.” You reply. Not.

After a few hours at the gym you grab your things and make your way towards the diner for your usual.

“..And just maybe I’m gonna make it, I’m gonna shake it, shake it, shake i-” you stop singing when someone stops infront of you.

“Hey (Y/N)! Hey!” A man standing next to a red head catch your attention.  

Your eyes widen and you pull your headphones off. “oh! Hi! Clint hey!” You smile awkwardly.

“Hey.” He repeats smiling at you with a dazed look in your eye.

“Clint…” You trail off.

He snaps out of it, “yes, oh! I’m so sorry, uh (Y/N) this is Natasha.”

You turn your head to look at the gorgeous woman, “Hi!” You grin extending your hand.

“Hi! Very nice to meet you.” She grins shaking your hand.

“Nice to meet you too, yeah.” You smile pulling your hand away and noticing something shiny on her left ring finger.

“Wow,” you chuckle, “what a big rock!”

“Yeah.” Clint grins, “this is my fiancee…”

Your eyes widen, “you are engaged..” you muster another fake smile for the day. “…To be married.”

“Yeah, yeah…” He smiled. “Things just worked out exactly how they’re supposed to, didn’t they?” He turned to her happily and cupped her cheek leaning over to kiss her.

“Yeah..” you look down awkwardly. “cool…” God could this be any more awkward? You look down at your feet waiting for them to remember you were there too.

“Okay well, you know what? I’m gonna go because I’m gonna go meet up with my guy, Sam.” You blurted out.

“Huh.” Clint nodded.

“Yup, he’s a surgeon.” You continue to lie.

“Wow.” He nods impressed.

“So, great, well…Uh congratulations on your ring.” You smile to natasha, “and everything..”

She smiled, “thanks.”

“Yep, uh well peace.” You threw up a piece sign and got out of there as quick as you could.

“See ya.” “Bye.” They said at the same time.

You walk away, “I can’t believe I just said peace.” You muttered to myself, “I just want to die right now.” You groan.

You walk into a local diner that you eat at basically everyday.

“table for one!” Sam and Scott announce when you walk into the diner.

“Ha ha very funny guys.” You roll your eyes and take a seat on the booth infront of sam.

“Hey Sam, Scott.” You sigh.

“The usual?” Sam asks.

You nod, “yeah.” You look to your right and sigh seeing another couple. Couples everywhere!

“Long day huh?” Scott sighs leaning forward.

“You don’t know the half of it.” You groan.

The door bell jingles, “Hey welcome! Take a seat.” Sam grins.

You notice the couple next to you had left.

“Aw come on, this is too funny.” You hear that familiar voice say.

You look up and Clint and Natasha had just walked in.

���Hysterical.” You force a smile.

Clint noticed an empty seat to your right, “oh I’m sorry this must be your boyfriend’s seat, uh Sam right?”

“Oh, yeah..” you lie.

Scott snorted, “boyfriend? She always comes in alone.” His eyes widened when he realized what he said. “sorry.” He muttered quietly.

You sighed and hide your fave in your hands.

“Ugh! It was the most humiliating thing ever!” You groan as you walk down Walmart isle with your best friend.

Daisy laughed, “well that’s because you have to come up with better excuses.” She grabbed some paper towels off of a rack. “you should have been like ‘ichave a fiance too but he’s getting a reduction surgery bec-”

“Oh my god shut up!” You groan which makes her laugh more.

“It’s just, my brain freezes when I see him!” You sigh. “I just can’t believe I gave up everything for him. It’s just, I feel so stupid. I left my friends, my family-”

“Don’t say that, I’m happy you moved here. We have a happy life together. ” Daisy interrupted.

“I just thought he was my person. ” you looked down at your shoes.

“Well I thought he was your person too. You know what kind of person he ended up being? The kind of person that ends up with a girl that likes to makes out after she eats onions.” Daisy said.

You chuckle, “she seemed really nice. She was really pretty.”

“Well I don’t care about her. I care about you and your love life.” She mumbled as she checked out the laundry detergent.

You huff “I’m going out, dating, meeting guys. ”

“Oh please, you’re not- you date, but you’re not taking it seriously.” She places a detergent in the basket.

“Oh I don’t use that brand, it leaves a film. That ones more effective.” You point to a different bottle.

“Well, I wish you would act like that with men.” She trades out the yellow gallon for the green one. “I mean you can choose a laundry detergent, but you can’t choose a guy you want to sleep with.”

“Hey! That’s my job it’s easier. There’s charts, there’s numbers.” You explained.

“Well that’s why you should start online dating. They have lots of charts. ” Once again she’s trying to get you to join the online dating bandwagon or whatever.

“Not that again.” You complain.

“What’s your problem with online dating?” She raised a brow.

“What’s my problem? Have you seen dateline? Do you know how many creeps are out there?” You whisper. “I could end up in a skin suit, or in someone’s trunk!”

“Uh, that’s a little dramatic okay? That happens to like one of twenty girls. And you’re not gonna end up in anyone’s trunk. If you’re lucky they’ll end up in your trunk.” She winked.

“Oh my god Skye!” You laugh.

“It’s Daisy!” She reminded you.

“Right right sorry.” You chuckle.

“The point is, that you need to get back out there.“she smiled. "Yeah sure you might make a mistake and end up with the wrong guy, but you might end up meeting the right guy. So isn’t that worth it? "She smiled softly. "I mean really what is the worst thing that could happen?”

“Skin suit.” You nod, “skin suit Is pretty bad.” You walk off.

The next morning you walk into work and you greet the receptionist, “morning Maria.”

She blushes, “uh morning.”

You furrow your brows and keep walking. You notice everyone laughing or staring at you. “Uh hi there.” You smile at another employee.

“Looking good boss.” He smirked.

“What?” You frown and keep walking. You look down at your outfit, maybe something wrong with it.

“Hi Paul.” You smile.

“What? nothing!” He looks up guilty.

Okay what’s going on ? Everyone is acting strange…

“Morning Hudson.” You smile.

“I’m down girl.” He smirked.

“Uh I’m down too?” You keep walking confused.

“Uh Wanda? What am I down with?” You ask her.

“Oh my goodness, it’s a… your- check your desktop.” She cringed.

You walked to your desk and gasped, someone had created a dating profile for you and had put um some photos of you in college. “Oh crap.” You sigh.

You grab your phone and call Daisy.

“Hi.” You could hear her grinning.

“Skinny dipping? Roller blading? What is this? 1994?” You roll your eyes.

“Hey! You looked adorable in those shorts!” She argued.

“I’m gonna kill you!” You whisper yelled.

“Um how about a thank you?”

“My entire office thinks I clean my house in a naughty nurse costume.” You growl.

“That’s fine! That means your open to role playing!” She cheered. “Okay? We’re trying to cast a really wide net. We don’t know what guys you like yet..”

“You’ve got a photo of me in a keg stand with my profile saying I’m looking for a relationship.” You say. “I don’t even know what that means.”

“It means you’re flexible.” She smirked. “Guys want to know that you’re flexible and that you’re good at gymnastics.”

“Just please get me off! How do I cancel?” You scroll down the page.

“You’re not canceling it.” She said.

A handsome man catches your eye. “Wait a minute, who is that?” You click on their profile.

Steve Rogers. “Oh my god he’s cute.” You grin.

TAG LIST OPEN!

[samuelfields]

Solving The Happiness Conundrum In Five Moves Or Less

After a tense 14-12 softball victory, the six of us went to a nearby brewery for some beers and burgers. I ended up sitting next to our centerfielder who told me he used to hate his life. Let’s call him Biff.

In high school, Biff was a popular guy. At 6′ 5″ tall, he played varsity baseball and varsity basketball. But he admitted he was sometimes cruel to the smaller kids and exchange students. He wasn’t proud of his actions and wished he could apologize to them today.

After the financial crisis hit in 2008, Biff fell into a deep depression. The house he had bought when he was 27 years old ended up losing half its value. He was told he couldn’t lose and that real estate was the surefire way to riches. Not only had he lost all his equity, but he also owed more than the house was worth.

He was so deep under water, all he wanted to do was turn in his keys and walk away as so many Americans did. There was just one problem. Florida was not a non-recourse state. As such, the lender could easily obtain a deficiency judgment and garish his future wages and non-exempt assets.

Biff proceeded to gain over 100 pounds as he literally locked himself within his rapidly depreciating prison. At 30, he was morbidly obese, broke, and girlfriend-less. Life had no more meaning to him.

Then one day out of the blue, the state of Florida threw him a lifeline by offering him a free $75,000 to pay off some of his mortgage if he promised to keep up with regular payments. He took advantage of this tax payer’s money and fulfilled his side of the deal.

Despite feeling a little guilty for getting a bailout, Biff started gaining positive momentum in his life again. Over the ensuing two years, he lost 70 pounds, got a promotion, and finally at 32 found a girlfriend. He also stopped hating on anybody who seemed to be doing better than him because he was finally in a better place.

The first step to him feeling happy was to make sure his finances were no longer going in reverse. Once his finances had stabilized, Biff’s happiness grew because he found someone who loved him despite all his flaws. Today they are married and have a daughter.

Being rich didn’t matter anymore to Biff. Making progress did. Oh, and being able to crush a softball 350 feet as our cleanup hitter makes Biff and the rest of the team ecstatic.

Money And Happiness Are Loosely Correlated

People say money doesn’t buy happiness is because it’s true. After you make enough to comfortably survive, whether it’s $75,000 in Kansas City or $250,000 in San Francisco, having more money seldom significantly moves the happiness needle.

The World Happiness Report 2018 ranked Finland as the happiest country in the world. The report highlighted six significant factors which contribute to happiness: GDP per capita, social support, life expectancy, freedom to make life choices, generosity and corruption levels.

Despite the United States having by far the highest GDP in the world, the United States ranked only 18th in the survey. What a conundrum to be so rich, yet so thoroughly average in the happiness ranking.

Some of the reasons attributed to why Americans were not happier included: wealth inequality, obesity, substance abuse, and depression.

On a GDP per capita basis, the United States ranks about 19, which is in line with its happiness ranking. However, GDP per capita alone doesn’t neatly explain why more of the wealthiest countries aren’t in the top 10.

For example, Singapore has a per capita GDP of $93,900, yet ranks 34th in the World Happiness Report 2018. The reason is probably because its too damn humid in Singapore!

Source: CIA

Happiness is subjective and extremely difficult to quantify. But based on the data, it’s clear that money is only one part of the happiness equation.

In my opinion, money takes up at most 40% of determining your level of happiness. Once you get to the level where you have enough money to do what you want, your 40% is maxed out.

The remaining 60% that determines your happiness has to do with family, friends, and accomplishments. If money was a predominant happiness indicator, billionaires would never cry, never suffer, and definitely never get divorced.

What I realize today is that I’ve spent too much time trying to help readers and myself optimize the 40%, and not enough time trying to optimize the other 60%. One of Financial Samurai’s main goals, after all, is to help readers lead happier lives.

So, for the remainder of this post, let’s talk about the other 60%. As I get older, I expect the types of posts I write will correlate more closely to the percentages I believe make up our happiness levels.

Things That Should Raise Your Happiness

1) Independence. Independence grows over time. The first taste of independence usually comes when you’re able to live on your own without parental assistance. Perhaps it’s going away to school or landing your first job.

Independence continues to grow once you start gaining respect and mastery at your job. The better you are at your job, generally the more leeway you’re given to do what you want. You might eventually get promoted to run a team or a department, giving you even more independence.

You finally gain maximum independence when you no longer have to report to anybody. Most think retirement is the ultimate goal. But based on my experience, retirement isn’t a cure-all for happiness.

Some people believe that entrepreneurship leads to maximum independence. Instead, entrepreneurship can lead to tremendous dependence if you hire workers and take in investors. What people really want is a profitable, bootstrapped solo-business or the financial independence to do whatever without caring about money.

My situation: Although I was basically a grunt at my first job in NYC and had zero independence, I was grateful to just have a job. After about six months of appreciating employment, my happiness took a dive due to the 12-14 hour days. Happiness level: 6/10.

When I switched jobs and moved to San Francisco, my happiness took a tick higher because I was in a satellite office that offered more independence. My boss and I were a unit that covered west coast clients so there was much more independence compared to being at the NYC headquarters. Happiness level: 7.5/10.

Once my boss left to become a client, I gained even more independence. But I also felt a lot more pressure to maintain the business and eventually grow it. Therefore, my happiness remained steady or might have even taken a tick down, despite higher pay and title. Happiness level: 7/10.

It was only after I negotiated a severance in 2012 did my happiness level creep up to an 8/10 and has remained at roughly this level with temporary spikes to 10. I knew what I wanted to do post work and pursued it with abandon.

2) Family. No matter how much of a knucklehead you are, most family members will provide unconditional love and forgiveness. They will support you no matter what.

It is estimated that the average friendship lasts only seven years because life gets in the way. While friends come and go, family members last for much longer. We must make an effort to regularly keep in touch with our parents and siblings.

My situation: When I got in deep trouble in high school, they didn’t further chastise me, but provided comfort during a time of great distress. When it was time to find a job, I remember my dad doing his best to introduce me to many of his acquaintances he got to know while working in Asia.

When I wanted to leave for a new job for more money in NYC after 10 years with my existing firm, my mom counseled me not to join because she knew the misery wouldn’t be worth it. When I decided to leave work altogether at age 34, they didn’t say I was crazy.

When it came time to settle down, they welcomed my wife with open arms. I always wondered whether they’d try to push me towards a certain type of person like some parents do, but they did not.

I am so appreciative that my parents always provided counsel and never put up roadblocks whenever I made a decision. Having them in my adult life for so long has been a blessing. Losing them will be incredibly difficult.

3) Your own family. If you are lucky to find a life partner, there is nobody you will love more in this world. If you want and have children, the amount of joy you will experience is beyond anything you can imagine.

I understand that not everybody wants children. In fact, 10% of you in my survey said you did not. That’s absolutely fine. Having a family made up of just you and your soulmate is incredibly powerful. Make it your mission to find someone who loves you as much as you love them.

My situation: I lucked out and met my wife when I was a senior in college. Because I met my wife so early, I’ve always had this minimum elevated level of contentment. I knew that worst case, if I could only make minimum wage working at McDonald’s, at least I’d have her in my life and we’d make things work.

When we finally had our boy in 2017, my happiness temporarily rocketed to a 10+. It was as if I had unlocked a new feeling that remained hidden for decades.

But as many first-time stay at home parents know, taking care of a little one is very difficult for the first several years. Therefore, my happiness has faded back down to about an 8 on average and sometimes down to a 7 when my boy’s temper tantrums are out of control. Even so, I’d never give him up for the world.

Be forewarned. If your relationship is rocky before kids, having a kid will likely expedite an impending breakup.

4) The ability to stand up for yourself. One of the worst feelings is getting bullied and not being able to do anything about it.

In school, you might get picked on by a bigger kid. You want to fight back, but you’re afraid of getting seriously injured. You rationalize that it’s better to give him your lunch money and starve than face his wrath.

At work, you might get tormented by a senior colleague. You want to tell her to stop, but you’re afraid of getting a bad review. You need the money because you just bought a home.

Online, you’re afraid to say what you truly think out of fear of getting ridiculed. As a result, you keep quiet and join a mob that bullies others for thinking differently. The fear of standing up for yourself and others is one of the reasons why bad things stay bad for a very long time.

My situation: Ever since I was in elementary school, I had the courage to fight back against bullies. I got in plenty of fist fights because I didn’t allow anybody to push me around or call me names. I learned as a kid that once you stand up for yourself, even if you take a few blows, the bullies eventually stop. Some may even apologize. The repercussions were a couple suspensions, multiple trips to the principal’s office, and a few bruises. But it always felt great to defend my honor.

I’ve carried this attitude of standing up for myself throughout my entire adult life. When there was BS happening at work, I spoke up often to my own detriment. I didn’t appreciate nepotism and often challenged senior employees whom I did not respect. This was not a good career strategy. When the big bosses in my corner were eventually pushed out, I was left with fewer backers.

Online, this site has grown large enough to attract unfortunately some hateful comments every week from people like the old Biff. Even if only 0.1% of the people hate your guts, however, that’s 1,000 people a month if you receive 1 million visitors a month. I generally just delete 99% of the bad comments. But if there’s a particular commenter who keeps badgering me then I may take a stand because I’m thinking about the world my son will face growing up. As a parent, I see it as my duty to break the cycle.  

One of the best benefits of being unemployed is that you can never get fired. So many people end up ruining their careers based on what they say and do online. Being able to stand up for yourself is definitely one of the biggest benefits of financial independence.

Standing up for yourself can initially feel scary. But the more you practice, the easier it will get.

5) Doing work that is helpful to others. One of the reasons why ~70% of people are disengaged at work is because they know what they do is probably not very helpful to society.

Imagine working at PepsiCo, whose entire goal is to sell sugary drinks and processed foods to get Americans addicted and sick. That can’t feel good given our obesity epidemic. Imagine working at Juul, whose main goal is to get adults and teenagers hooked on vaporized nicotine.

On the other hand, if you create or do something that’s helpful to others, you will feel extremely wealthy. Talk to veteran nurses, teachers, firefighters, and social workers. Many will glow about their rewarding careers.

My situation: Before 9/11 happened, it felt great working in finance in NYC. After 9/11, I felt a tremendous amount of sadness. Suddenly, nothing I did at work mattered anymore compared to what the brave first responders did to try and rescue the people trapped in the World Trade Centers. I wanted to join the U.S. Foreign Service like my parents and serve my country. But I did not because I was not smart enough or motivated enough to pass the Foreign Service entrance exam.

It took at least three years to get over my disillusionment of working in finance. During this time, I went to business school part-time, partly to see if I could gain some knowledge to do something else.

But part of the deal for having my tuition paid for was to continue working at my firm for at least two years after graduation. During this time, the financial crisis had hit in 2008 and there was nowhere I could go. The best I could do was hold on tight for my employment life as I had taken out a $1.1 million mortgage in 2006.

The 2008-2009 financial crisis forced me to once again re-assess what I wanted to do with my life. I wanted out but didn’t know what to do, so I started Financial Samurai to help figure it out. Happiness level: 5.5/10.

It was not until 2011 that I decided that my biggest joy was writing and helping people get their finances straight. By then, Financial Samurai was constantly on my mind even while I was at work. So in 2012 I finally said goodbye to my employer.

The thing that has helped keep me going for so long has been the consistently positive feedback I get from readers that outnumber the negative feedback 200 to 1. Over the past 10 years I’ve witnessed readers eradicate their debt, fix their spending habits, buy their first homes, leave toxic work environments, create thriving side hustles, build substantial retirement portfolios, start families and so much more. It’s been a wonderful journey and a treat to hear from each one of you.

Happiness level: 8/10.

This letter has grown in appreciation since first receiving it now that I’m a father

Feeling Happy Is Worth The Effort

Before you reach financial independence you might get tricked into believing that money is the main reason why people are happy. It’s easy to lose sight of all the other things on your quest for greater wealth.

However, you can be the richest person in the world, but if you have nobody to share your fortune with, I doubt you’ll be happier than someone making $40,000 a year in a job in which he or she loves and who has a loving partner and supportive friends in real life.

For the sake of happiness, it’s worth staying fit, finding people in real life who love us as much as we love them, and doing something that’s helpful to others. Who knows. We might even reach a point where we’re so happy that money starts pouring in as a byproduct.

I’d love to hear your thoughts on how much money plays a role in your overall happiness. What are some other important things that make you incredibly happy? What are some things you notice happy people do that unhappy people don’t do?

Note: There is a poll embedded within this post, please visit the site to participate in this post's poll.

Related posts:

The Desire For Money And Prestige Is Ruining Your Life

Be Rich, Not Famous: The Joy Of Being A Nobody

The post Solving The Happiness Conundrum In Five Moves Or Less appeared first on Financial Samurai.

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[geneshaven]

Shoulder To Shoulder

This is for those out there who know that Felicity Smoak is a badass. It was really fun writing this.

 “Oh my god, Oliver. Are you okay?”

Oliver tried to roll over on the mat and a sharp pain went through his shoulder, keeping him on his back.

“Oliver…what is it?” She knelt down next to him.

“Uh…Felicity, I think you broke my shoulder.”

She instinctively reached out to touch him.

“No…” Oliver flinched away from her. “No Felicity, I’m okay. This isn’t my first broken bone. But I need to lay still and not move it.”

“Oliver, I’m sorry. Uh, I guess I did the throw right, yes?”

“Yeah, you did it right. But Felicity, when you’re in the real world, you can’t stop to see if your opponent is okay.”

“But…”

“Felicity, if you’re going to be part of the team out in the field, you can’t show the enemy any concern or worry. They are most likely trying to kill you. There are no time outs. You keep them down and don’t let them get back up to fight. What’s the lesson?”

“If you have to fight, make sure your opponent can’t fight back,” Felicity recited to him.

“Right. If you take them out at the start, your chances of getting hurt or worse goes down. Just because I’ve trained you to be a weapon---and a very beautiful one by the way, doesn’t mean you still can’t get hurt.”

“Okay Oliver, I will make sure I kick ass and not let anyone get back up. Kind of like what I just did to you, huh?” She looked at his injury. “So, how can I help you with your shoulder?”

“I’m not doubting your abilities, Felicity. You are badass in so many ways. But will you call John? I need his strength to help pop my shoulder back in.”

Felicity leaned down and gently kissed him. “Okay hon, I’ll call him. Uh, does this mean I get my black belt today?”

“Yeah babe, whatever color you want?”

**

“Oliver, it’s alright. Just back trace the signal and put in your algorithm.”

Oliver was sitting at Felicity’s computer station. His left arm was in a sling, completely immobilized. Tonight’s mission is not one the team can postpone. Rene has spent week’s undercover setting up this buy from the new drug dealer in town who calls himself Band-Aid. The guy actually stresses the hyphen in his name. There are already six fatal overdoses from the crap he peddles. Tonight, Team Arrow is going to shut him down. After some serious convincing, mostly by Felicity, Oliver is going to stay in the Bunker with his broken shoulder and coordinate the mission via computer monitoring. He was going to be Overwatch tonight.

He felt the irony of his new temporary position. Oliver is dead sure he could never measure up to Felicity’s skills on a computer, not even after just a few months of training from her. But now that Curtis and Paul had reconciled and were off on a second honeymoon, and because Oliver would be an impediment for the team in the field with his injury, there is no one else to step into the Overwatch job. The team needs Felicity with them tonight because of his absence in the lineup. Felicity assured him that he would be fine. He is a quick study, she reminded him. It isn’t like he has to hack into FBI or CIA databases. He only needs to monitor their coms and watch their backs. Piece of cake.

After the Lian Yu incident last year, Felicity asked Oliver to train her in more advanced hand to hand fighting skills. In return, she would teach him the fine art of hacking into street cameras and basic algorithm entries. Oliver at first declined the computer training. His place was in the field, not behind a computer. But Felicity convinced him that training each other in their respective fields would only enhance the team, and each other... so quid pro quid.

“Oliver,”  Felicity’s voice broke through his reflections. “You’re not paying attention. You didn’t check for discrepancies in the signal. If one gets in, the whole com program will crash. We’ll be deaf and blind in the field.”

“Sorry. But Felicity, I’ve never been any good at math. I’m surprised I’ve learned this much.”

“Oliver, remember our deal. You turn me into Bruce Lee and I give you the skills to hack the world. You need to trust me.”

“Felicity, I do trust you. But honey, you went to MIT. You’ve been building computers since you were seven. I learned my skills by a madman on an island with landmines. Getting me to balance brute force with intellectual finesse is like teaching a brick layer with broken fingers how to perform brain surgery.”

“Nice honey,” Felicity smiled in response. “But witty analogies won’t save the day. You need to be spot on with intel tonight. Just stay focused. You’ll do fine.”

Oliver nodded and went back into the computer. After a few calculations, the signal trace clicked into place. He entered the alignment algorithm Felicity wrote and Oliver was up and running.

“Nice job,” Felicity said to him. “I’ll make a decent hacker out of you yet.”

Oliver smiled. “Okay, I’m ready to do this. Felicity, you be careful out there tonight. This is real world stuff with no restraint and no mats to fall on. Be strong, remember to breathe and…kick some ass.”

Felicity kissed him. “Thank you for believing in me.” We’re going to nail this son of a bitch tonight.”

“I love you honey,” Oliver told her.

Felicity bowed to her Sensei, gave the traditional fist into open palm salute and a quick wink to Oliver. “I love you too.”

**

“Hey sweetheart,” one of Band-Aid’s men addressed Felicity as he came into the alley were she was positioned. “Aren’t you the sexy one? It’s going to be a real shame hurtin’ that beautiful body of yours. But wow, you look really good in black, skin-tight…whatever that is you’re wearing.”

“Felicity,” Oliver spoke from the com piece in her ear. “He’s alone, according to the street cameras. Wait for backup. John is two minutes away.”

“Oliver, what am I supposed to do, make this guy a cup of coffee? I got this.”

“Who you talkin’ to, honey,” the criminal asked her? “Sayin’ a prayer, I hope.”

Felicity kept silent. It was another lesson Oliver taught her. Don’t engage in conversation with your opponent. It takes away your focus.

Felicity’s silence was beginning to annoy her opponent. “Nothing to say? That’s good. I don’t like my women talkin’ when I’m beating on ‘em.”

“I’m not your woman,” Felicity said to him.

The man suddenly moved forward with decent speed. But Felicity was ready. At his first movement, she pivoted her hips and executed a textbook spinning back kick. The man’s momentum and Felicity’s left foot met at the same time. She heard his nose break and then the bad guy dropped to the ground, unconscious before he landed.

Diggle suddenly appeared at the other end of the alley. “Felicity…are you…” He stopped talking as he saw the man on the ground at her feet. “Oliver,” he resumed. “Uh…she’s got this. The bad guy is down and out of the game.” He looked at Felicity and pride was shining in his eyes. “Good work, Felicity.”

“Felicity,” Oliver spoke in her ear again. “Are you okay?”

“Will you two stop it, I’m fine. And if I wasn’t, it would sort of be your fault, Oliver. You did train me, after all.”

“How…Felicity, what technique did you use,” Oliver asked her?

“I used a spinning back kick, honey. I always enjoyed watching you do those. If felt awesome.”

“Felicity…I’m reading…uh, I think it’s a heat signature. It’s behind…”

“Felicity!” John called out, “Behind you…”

It felt like the world suddenly crashed down on Felicity. Another bad guy was lurking in the shadows and stepped out. He brought an asp down on her left shoulder and then on the back of her head.

Darkness took Felicity to the ground.

**

The next night, Oliver and Felicity were in the Bunker, both of them sitting shoulder to shoulder in front of her computers.

“Oliver, reading that heat signature on the guy who knocked me out last night was at the same skill level as me taking my opponent out. It was an advanced move. I’m proud of you.”

Oliver turned to her and his shoulder cried out in protest. “Ahh…damn. Uh, thanks honey. I will never be as good as you on this thing. That reading…well, it could have been a rat or an alley cat. I took too long…” He sighed. “You got hurt, Felicity.”

Felicity turned to face him. Her arm moved in its sling and pain shot through her shoulder. “Ow!...son of a bitch.” She took a deep breath. “Oliver, it’s okay. John was there. I had backup. I…lost my focus patting myself on the back for being a badass. I should have waited for you to give us the all clear signal.”

“Felicity, in spite of that other guy who clocked you, you were awesome last night. You made me proud, honey. I felt like I was there with you. I will be you’re backup anytime.”

“Oliver, you were there, when my foot connected with that creep’s face.”

“Well, I’m still proud of you.”

“You’re not so bad yourself, Mr. Computer man.”

Both to them smiled at each other with pride and love in their eyes.

“By the way, how long does it take a broken shoulder to heal,” she asked him?

@hope-for-olicity @louiseblue1 @dmichellewrites @lovelycssefan @myhauntedblacksoul @it-was-a-red-heeler @tdgal1 @almondblossomme @melolicity @memcjo

[avengers-fics]

The A-Team

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Summary: When Bucky is rescued, everyone quickly finds out that he works best with you and Steve on missions. What happens when you get hurt on a mission? The truth about your past with the Winter Soldier is revealed as well

Warnings: blood, being shot 

Whenever new mission prospects came in, the Avengers took careful consideration of picking the right people for the specific needs of the mission. Fury set up large meetings for the team to discuss who would go on them, and the plans for when you got there. It took certain skill sets for a job, and you were lucky enough to be needed on almost every mission since you were the eyes from above. The previous job you had of being a sniper for the CIA had gotten Fury’s attention, which then lead Natasha to come recruit you while you were on the job. There had been some rumors that you worked with the Winter Soldier at some point, but you weren’t going to comment on that without Bucky’s permission. However, you were a key part in his rescue mission, which then lead to you becoming best friends with Steve and Bucky.  

A few months after the successful mission in which the Winter Soldier was brought ‘home’, he began training with the team on a normal basis. Slowly but surely, he started joining everyone at meal time, and even coming to team parties. Although he was still relatively quiet, everyone noticed that he talked the most and worked the best when it was only you and Steve interacting with him. Everyone also noticed that Bucky had a certain glimmer in his eyes whenever you walked into the room, but that was left unsaid. After a few missions with just the three of you, the people on the news and on social media called the three of you “The A-team”, much like the tv show. It was pretty badass, considering the boys felt you were the leader of the small group when put on missions together. They knew and respected the fact that you were the one watching their backs from above, and coming up with backup plans if all hell broke loose. When it was smaller missions, you followed up the group and watched everyone's backs.

This was all swirling in your mind as you sat down at the dining table to have lunch with the team. Natasha was telling stories about the times she pranked Clint, and how he attempted to get her back but he only fell deeper into her traps once again. The previous 2 weeks were pretty bland since there were no missions, and everyone was going borderline stir crazy. But you knew that down time always came to an abrupt end, and this was proven true when Tony came running into the room which made the happy chatter cease. He told you, Bucky, and Steve to suit up and be on the quinjet within 10 minutes, there was a small Hydra base that didn't protect their coordinates while they were trying to hack into the secure servers at the Avengers Compound. As much as you wanted to sit there and eat your chicken sandwich, you had work to do with the team.

-

The uniform that was made for you was bulletproof and sleek, it was sort of like Black Widow’s except yours covered all the way up to your neck instead of zipping down in the front. Steve delivered the mission folder with all the details to read on your walk to the quinjet, and this time it was just a simple gut and sweep. So you got your basic things for sniping from the trees, considering there were no hills to be perched on. It was a good idea that only the A-Team would be going, this way if there was another emergency back at the compound everyone was still available for that. Plus, a gut and sweep was something that the three of you had mastered over the previous year. With over 50 successful missions, this one was the most simple of all, or so you thought.

Night had fallen by the time you reached Virginia, and it was especially dark in the woods that you were sent to. Being perched in a tree with a night scope did help though, compared to the boys having to run around on the ground pretty much blind. Although, it was pretty easy to see when someone was running at you, hell bent on killing. You had already taken out the personnel on the rooftop, and gave them the go ahead on the ground. The file said that there were only about 40 people left working at this particular base, 10 of which were on the roof. Bucky normally handled the initial quick fight getting into the building, and then Steve cleared them out on the inside.

At first, you were surprised to see Steve join in on the action outside, but then you realized why. Being severely outnumbered on a mission is alarming in multiple different ways, especially in the sense that the backup was hundreds of miles away. But there was no time for you to have any other reaction to the situation at hands. You started to shoot faster than you ever had in battle, especially when you took out the AR-15. Over the gunshots, you could hear the guys panting into the comm. There was no time to think of yourself in the fight, it was all about getting your guys out safe. You knew no one was watching your back in the midst of the chaos, but you went climbed down the tree as fast as possible. Your feet hit the ground with a thump, and you were off to the races.

As many hydra agents you took down, you managed to miss the one standing directly behind you. A shot rang out and a bullet sank into your lower back, and you spun on your heel to shoot him before doing anything else. “Shit, I got hit.” You gritted your teeth as you yelled, and continued to shoot from your spot with your back pressed to a tree. Your heartbeat was pounding in your ears while you tried to focus on the situation at hand. There seemed to be about 60 agents left, and you knew the guys could handle it on their own.

Steve continued to take them down with his shield and kicks to the head, “We’re leaving now, Bucky is coming to pick you up.”

This was when you decided to play dead, this way if anyone that wasn’t from your side happened to run by they wouldn’t try to shoot you anymore. Your vision was becoming blurry because of the blood loss, but it certainly wasn't the first time you'd been shot. The area around you seemed to be clear, so you ripped a piece of your t-shirt off to hold pressure to the wound. Once Bucky actually arrived to where you were, you saw a look on his face that was unfamiliar; fear. The fear of him losing you again was showing on his face as he leaned down, “It’s gonna be okay,” Bucky whispered as he grabbed you, it was more for himself than you at the moment. He picked you up bridal style, with his metal arm across the top of your back.

The one thing that you kept a secret from everyone was that Hydra had captured you once already, and you had been in close quarters with the Winter Soldier. When you had met once more on the rescue mission, it was like a breath of fresh air seeing him still alive and breathing. You kept trying to think of happy memories with him while Bucky was running back to the quinjet, but you were still getting terrible flashbacks to Hydra. “Breath, Y/n.” Bucky could see the agony on your face that wasn’t just from being shot, and his voice was cutting through the bad memories while you tried to focus on his face. This was also when you thought back to the time you denied having any previous contact with the Winter Soldier, what would have been the harm in it?

While you were having droopy thoughts from blood loss, you’d forgotten that Natasha had been on the quinjet waiting for word on the siege. You knew you were going to kick yourself for forgetting about her later, but all you could focus on was Bucky’s hands on your body. Apparently her comm hadn't been working properly so she didn't know of the situation at hand. You couldn't concentrate for much longer, between the flashbacks and the amount of blood pouring out of the bullet wound. Once you had reached the helicarrier in Bucky’s arms, Natasha got the bullet out and started to stitch you up immediately. You remained in Bucky’s lap, staring up at him while he put his hands on either side of your face. Bucky looked so sad seeing you in this much pain, “C’mon baby, fight through it. You’re safe here with us.” He continued to speak as Steve ran in through the open gate, then shut it as he came in. The quinjet took off, but you were losing consciousness throughout it all. However, you were aware of Bucky staying close to you and keeping pressure on the wound.

The next thing you knew, light was flooding into your eyes from the medical wing’s windows.

Bucky’s quiet snores caught your attention to the right, and through squinted eyes you could see the scrapes on his face from the previous night. The way he was sprawled out on the lounge chair next to your bed brought back a very particular memory, one that made you blush a little as it came to your mind. While you attempted to sit up, the bed creaked causing Bucky to abruptly jolt out of his sleep. He got up fast and came to sit on the edge of the bed, keeping you from sitting all the way up.

The pain in your back ceased to exist when you looked into Bucky’s eyes and took his hands in yours. You’d seen this look on his face before, when the both of you were in Hydra’s grasp. “Y/n, I thought I was going to lose you again.” Tears were welling up in his eyes, and you remembered the look on his face on the day you finally got saved from Hydra. He sacrificed himself so that you could be free, and you thought about this when you brought his knuckles up to your lips. “Let’s try again, this time we’re free.” Bucky was looking deep into your eyes, awaiting a response.

“I see we still love each other,” A faint smile played on your face as you took a deep breath, a blush was creeping up on Bucky’s face.

Bucky chuckled, “I guess we do, doll.”