#because i just know instead of taking the box office bomb in the way it's meant (boycotts)

[rebelcaptain4life]

I haven't seen it yet and I'm not sure I'm going to because I'm trying my best to boycott Disney. But this is literally the one thing that's making me unsure of that decision

all of the articles about the marvels box office failing is giving misogyny and racism and getting on my last fucking nerve right now

[shieldedreams]

a little dream come true (e.u.)

summary ⇾ eggsy remembers just how he met you–be it chance, be it fate–and remembering it every now and then brings a smile to his face (yours too) details ⇾ 1,715 words / eggsy unwin x data-analyst!reader / gn!reader / 🌸 fluff / merlin being the biggest shipper of you two (we do not talk about the golden circle...)

the kingsman headquarters grow quiet in the thick of the night, as it always does. eggsy finds himself down one of the hallways, making his way towards a specific office to find his favorite person. he slows down when he passes by a door that looks familiar. backtracking a couple of steps, he looks through the small window and the sight refreshes his memory. his memory of when he first met you.

heavy breathing. loud ringing in eggsy’s ears. he can’t hear or think straight. he’s about to lose his god damned mind from all this intense training but he knows he’s got to get a grip. he’s made it this far–top two–there’s no fucking way he’s stopping now. he came so close to being ran over by a train; if he can pass that, he can surely pass this.

he finds himself in a small room with nothing but a person tied to a bomb. there’s no door, no window, nothing. he’s torn in this situation, unsure of how to go about this when it seems like there’s only one path to doing what’s right. he’s gone as far as to make sure you’re safe but the only thing left is the bomb to diffuse. as far as his prior background experience goes, he’s only got thirty seconds to spare. there’s no way out, no form of help apart from his conscience and the bag over your head to cover your whimpers.

he manages to grip onto your shoulders, telling you to find your way out as soon as the bomb goes off and that it wasn’t your fault. none of this was. though he knows you can’t comprehend it with the onslaught of tears and whimpering, eggsy’s said his piece. he throws himself with the bomb as far away from you as possible despite the lack of space to begin with.

with his eyes clenched shut and quivering lips along with the image of his mother and baby sister in his mind as his fading thoughts, the impact... comes in a form of a sweet voice cooing him from his imagination. he flinches when the bomb stops ticking and instead of exploding him to bits, it... shuts down? he blinks a couple of times to make sure he isn’t dreaming but when he comes face to face with you, the bag now off of your head, eggsy sucks in a breath.

“congratulations, eggsy unwin. you’ve passed the test.”

his brows are furrowed, accepting your hand up to his feet as he blinks at you, “w-what?”

a doorway suddenly appears, the simulation-like room disappears to a simple bedroom with wooden walls... as they remain contained in a glass cube. it clicks in eggsy’s mind that everything wasn’t real, though his heart giving out just may be it.

he still doesn’t know what to say, how to react. a part of him thinks this isn’t real but when you lure him out of the glass box, towards the bed, he immediately flops down to take a seat. with a small smile, you offer him a cup of water he accepts, still confused but he knows an explanation is coming as you take a seat next to him. 

he appreciates how you allow him to take a couple of breaths first. though, he’s uncertain if it’s because of what he just went through that’s making his heart somersault like this or if it’s the proximity between the pair of you. it doesn’t help that he’s able to look at you up-close, watching you watch him. it’s... a weird feeling. comforting, yet it’s making him nervous.

“as a kingsman, it’s important to put others before yourself. in that moment, when you decided to take the bomb with you and step away as far from me as possible, you’ve passed the test.” 

eggsy chugs down the water, eyeing the bag on the glass floor he’s certain was over your head. you chuckle when you match his line of sight. “oh, that’s transparent, by the way. i could see everything.” you reach to take his emptied cup when he looks like he’s done with it. your fingers brush over his gently, almost electrifying his body upon contact that he tries not to flinch. he’s obviously failed when you snort.

“i’m sure merlin will give you brownie points for positive reassurance. not many would know how to comfort another right before their demise.” you rise to your feet. “he’ll be here in–”the door cracks open and it changes the course of your intended sentence–”right now, as it seems,”

“there’s my favorite member of staff,” merlin greets, stepping in just as you turn to face him, “y’know, i’m sensing a little bias here.”

merlin gasps, “me? biased? no, can’t be.” the two of you laugh it off, leaving eggsy very confused but he doesn’t interrupt just yet.

“i’ll be off then. congratulations again, eggsy.” you raise the cup at–”merlin,”

he salutes you playfully, “y/n.”

when the door closes along with your leave, that’s when merlin notices how quiet eggsy has been. merlin carefully sits next to the young man, patting his shoulder, “you alright there? not quite like you to be stumped over something like this when you were more than ready to get run over by a train.”

the first thing that eggsy asks is: “who was that?”

merlin chuckles, pulling his hand back from eggsy’s shoulder, “that’s y/n. they’re one of our top data analysts but they’ve got some experience from field. they saved me once, hence, the reason why they’re my favorite but don’t tell no one, alright?”

eggsy nods quietly, still staring at the direction you left. he notices he’s quiet when merlin has this shit-eating grin on his face, clearly understanding that you left an impression on him.

“if you say anything about this, i will personally chop your balls off, merlin.”

“oh, i wonder why would you do that when i could give you a reason to see them?”

“...merlin, if you’re serious i will love you forever.”

merlin was indeed serious. that day was the first unofficial date you went on with eggsy merely minutes after meeting him for the first time. eggsy still remembers it like it was yesterday despite it being a couple of years ago. the fond memory lives in his mind and–”best have someone familiar in your mind when you look through that specific window.”

it seems you’ve snapped him out of his reverie when his shoulders flinch just a bit. he turns to you, that cheeky smile forming from a small one, to a wide grin as he makes the move to walk towards you. despite being in public, eggsy has never shied away from showing you his affection.

his hands almost immediately reach for your waist, even if you try to swat them away with we’re in public! his response is always nah, don’t really care, and you feel the security wrapped around your waist and the adoration kissing the side of your head as eggsy hugs you. although it’s late in the kingsman headquarters, it doesn’t mean that it’s completely empty. there’s a potential risk of someone coming by (even though the entire bloody corporation knows by now) and it still makes you shy every now and then.

you’re about to succumb into his embrace, until a peek over eggsy’s shoulder allows you to meet with–oh–”not in the hallways, kids. pack it up and move somewhere private.”

with a muffled huff, you’re about to push eggsy away but he remains firm, locking his arms around you as he calls off to merlin who promptly walks past, “oh piss off, merlin. don’t act like you weren’t rooting for us in the beginning.”

merlin looks like he’s about to let it go, but he backtracks so that he can get a glimpse of you, “oh yeah, forgot to tell ya, lover boy over here has been head over heels since day one. and i’m not talking about the first date.”

merlin only sticks around enough for it to hit you, and then he’s winking at eggsy before he’s off. when it’s just you and eggsy again, you turn to face him and he’s effectively avoiding eye contact, arms shifting around your waist.

“is he talking about your test? that’s the first time?”

you watch as eggsy’s mouth open and close a couple of times, before he musters up: “l-look, merlin’s just talking straight out of his arse–”the slight raise of your brow and small pout is all it takes for eggsy to crack”–and–oh for fuck’s sake, yes. that’s the first time!” you press your lips together to stop yourself from laughing, it’s harder when eggsy pulls away with a scoff.

“might’ve been gassed out of my mind but i know a pretty thing like you when i see one. just so happens it’s one that makes me feel all sorts of things even before i get to know them.”

patiently, you wait until he’s done with his little rant and he notices you’re waiting. oh, how polite. he looks at you with a sigh, “go on, make fun of me already. call me a hopeless romantic and all that bullsh...”

eggsy only processes what had happened when you’re a couple of steps away. sure, the two of you have kissed and gotten intimate plenty of times already since getting together but it’s the small moments like these that truly create an uproar in the butterflies in his stomach. your hushed giggle, the soft yet urgent kiss planted to his cheek, that giddy buzz that surrounds you as you quickly pull away. it’s... the smallest things that rile him up the most, and it’s working.

“again...” he says, now walking towards you as you walk away, “again! come back here!”

you squeal as you try to make a run for it, eggsy hot on your trail as he chases you back towards your office. merlin scoffs a laugh as he’s waiting for his coffee from the machine nearby, shaking his head but well-aware he’s the reason for all of this to begin with. he’s mighty proud when he gets his drink, making his way towards his office and notices the happiness radiating from both eggsy and you down the hall.

[kylesvariouslistsandstuff]

John Musker recently spoke of his final years at Walt Disney Animation Studios, and on directing MOANA under the stewardship of John Lasseter. There's some stuff worth noting in here...

To start off, he kinda repeated the words Bob Iger said when evaluating Disney's 2023 movie releases that didn't do very well at the box office, in describing what's not working with WDAS' most recent films. Namely the box office bombs STRANGE WORLD and WISH...

We weren’t trying to be woke, although I understand the criticism. The classic Disney films didn’t start out trying to have a message. They wanted you to get involved in the characters and the story and the world, and I think that’s still the heart of it. You don’t have to exclude agendas, but you have to first create characters who you sympathize with and who are compelling. I think they need to do a course correction a bit in terms of putting the message secondary, behind entertainment and compelling story and engaging characters.

The key takeaway here is "you don't have to exclude agendas".

While I found Iger's similar statements to be confounding and toothless, seemingly catering to all the angry assholes on YouTube who call everything "woke" and think about Brie Larson 24/7/365... What John is saying is a very basic thing about storytelling, in that it's character first.

That being said, I personally don't feel the problem with WDAS' recent movies is that the messaging is front-and-center. I think that so-called messaging, like some of the character work, feels like an afterthought too. Specifically in STRANGE WORLD and WISH, not so much ENCANTO. But it is instead the rushed and hurried pacing of their over-crammed stories, the sort-of plainness of the presentations, weird dialogue choices (throughout my first viewing of WISH, I kept saying "Who talks like this?"), kinda reheated old hat tricks. It sometimes feels like the films made under CCO Jennifer Lee's watch are just trying to recapture FROZEN in some way or another... Without understanding why that film ticked with audiences and where the overall zeitgeist was in late 2013/early-to-mid 2014.

Also... Messaging. I'm not taking Musker to task specifically, because I know what he means in his words... But when others say it: All art is either political or about something, anyways. Choosing NOT to say anything is still saying something, it's still a political act to bow out or to be indifferent. Every Disney animated movie is about something, and they are indeed the works of their creators, so that means that their views on life and the world are somehow within the stories themselves. "Message" in this context, to me, reduces a work of art to a mere statement, like an after-school special or something. John and Ron Clements' Disney animated movies simply knew how to mix the themes with the character work, the storytelling, the worlds they put together, etc. You can't tell me with a straight face that something like THE LITTLE MERMAID, ALADDIN, or MOANA aren't about something or aren't political in any way, shape, or form. Especially the first of those three examples. The spirit of Howard Ashman would have a word with you if you think otherwise.

John also points out that the Lasseter years, which a lot of people online alarmingly pine for, weren't these amazing halcyon days. And this statement only confirmed the rumors I had heard about MOANA's production, how both John and Ron Clements were warded off on various things during its making:

MOANA was a very difficult project. It was our idea, but with Pixar and John Lasseter, our story kept changing hands. In the ’90s, we had Jeffrey [Katzenberg]. He was an emperor, you know. But there weren’t 10 Jeffreys. Now, you have too many people to satisfy, before we didn’t have 15 directors telling you how to make the movie. But in some ways, they were right, it was a good thing.

I feel like John's being very balanced in his words, finding the positives of that kind of environment while still calling out the not-great stuff. I love to hear these stories in former directors/animators' own words, and what the Lasseter and Lee regimes have been like. I feel that there are potentially fantastic movies buried in STRANGE WORLD and WISH, the former I rather liked still and the latter I found a fairly pleasant diversion.

I feel the fault lies in the execution, not so much the concepts, themes, or ideas. While some pockets of animation fandom online strongly feel that that earlier iteration of WISH with a younger version of Asha's grandpa being some kinda Star Boy would've been automatically better than the released film, to me it's down to the storytelling itself. Like, I think Asha, the silly goat, and the cute star thing could've been a fun trio and the movie itself a pretty fantasy flick, but it doesn't really get there. The Human-Star WISH, if made, could've also suffered from the same writing problems and similarly underwhelming songs.

STRANGE WORLD could've been this really dynamic sci-fi pulp adventure with a funny and super-enjoyable bickering family at its core, with the environmental themes intact... but it's mostly just kinda there in its execution, the characters kinda flat, the dialogue is forced a lot of the time, the dramatic beats aren't properly built up, and the film's editing makes it feel like it had been thrown into a dicer. There doesn't seem to be the hand and personality of the directors/filmmaking team, it's almost like a template is set for them. And they fill in the blanks and eke out as much personality as they can. See, I don't get that out of Pixar's recent films, all of which feel much more director-driven. And ARE about something, too, whether explicitly political or not. This current iteration of WDAS would not have made a movie like LUCA or TURNING RED.

For the forseeable future, it's sequels to favorites from last decade, who knows how those will be executed. Maybe an original or two sneaks in, I don't know, but I wonder if Lee and the leadership themselves looked at the response to WISH, STRANGE WORLD, et al. and are figuring things out. Or staying the course. But it isn't just people online saying it, nor critics. More than one Disney veteran is saying it... WDAS is in a bit of a rough spot at the moment. The solution isn't as simple as "they need to have romances and villains again" nor "they need to be less left-leaning", to me it's really... Let the filmmakers try something cool, even if it doesn't land. If it doesn't land, it'll be a cult classic thereafter. Live-action directors get to mess up all the time and make these 45%-scoring-on-RT released-by-A24 movies that later get hailed as auteur classics... Why do some animated movies have to live up to this weird nonexistent standard?

Back to Musker... In addition to this, John still expresses interest in adapting the DISCWORLD book MORT, from Terry Pratchett. He and Ron tried to get that going at Disney Animation after finishing THE PRINCESS AND THE FROG, but it didn't pan out, so the pitch that morphed into MOANA happened thereafter. He feels it's a tough sell in today's "risk-averse" environment... Though somehow, the DISCWORLD book THE AMAZING MAURICE AND HIS EDUCATED RATS recently happened as an animated feature. The interview seems to confirm that METAL MEN, the DC animated adaptation that he and Ron were heading up at Warner Animation, isn't a thing anymore. John's new thing is his self-made short I'M HIP, so hopefully that circulates somewhere we can all see it.

[destinyc1020]

I'm not that confession anon, but I also wish they could have reached the levels of fame they have more gradually. When they try something professionally, or don't do xyz, everyone is watching them so closely. Like, everyone. Other actors don't have that. Others can have 2-3 movies that don't work or aren't perfect and no one notices. They can take a break and no one notices. Like, I remember someone saying that Amanda Seyfreid had "never missed" on a project. LOL look again. You just weren't paying attention, not that missing isn't completely normal.

The flipside is that the fame helps get eyeballs on what they do. But even Tom talked about not being able to take dance classes because of the cellphones. If they wanted to do a small play, it wouldn't be small.

And that's before you even get to their personal lives. Z can't even post a selfie without people harassing her mom about her relationship. I would hate to have thousands of comments saying my relationship is the only reason people still believe in love. Even as a joke, it may not be funny all the time.

They're obviously not the only ones in this situation. But it's a small club.

Whew! You all are getting DEEEEP up in here for Confession Sunday! I love it! 😁

I know exactly what you mean Anon. 💯

To me, TZ's fame level is really a double-edged sword tbh. It definitely has some perks for sure, but like you said, the flipside is that you get less and less room to make mistakes, have film flops, or even have a stable private life.

Btw... A film bombing is something EVERY single actor in Hollywood has experienced. Not all films being released are going to be blockbusters or even do well at the box office. I guarantee you that in Hollywood, EVERY single actor out there has had a film that didn't do as well as they had hoped, or pull in as much numbers or enjoyers of the film as they had originally expected or wished for. It happens! It's the nature of the game. Guess what? These actors are STILL acting.

I do think it's a shame that Spider-man catapulted Tom and Zendaya into a level of fame that was ginormous at such a young age. I think Z was already pretty well-known and famous, but let's be honest, the Spidey films, the Dune films, and also Euphoria have made her way more famous than what she was back in 2016.

I do kinda wish that they could have had more of a gradual leap to superstardom.... like, maybe struck it "hot" at THIS age, instead of 7 years ago.... But, you know what?? Life is full of taking chances. You don't want to miss out on great chances just because of a fear of fame.

Honestly? It's not even the fame level that's the problem. It's PEOPLE. It's haters...and even fans who are a little too invested who don't know how to have boundaries. It's never the celebrity's fault, or even the level of fame. It's the fact that PEOPLE don't have boundaries, and don't know how to keep negativity to themselves.

[texas-gothic]

It is astonishing to me that anyone in Hollywood ever thought that The Creator was going to be anything other than the atomic box office bomb it’s turned out to be. It shouldn’t be astonishing, this bonkers way of looking at the world is pretty par for the course as far as Hollywood people are concerned, but this one still managed to surprise me.

It’s a well known fact that high concept sci-fi films do not do well with crowds. Especially when it’s a sci-fi film that talks down to its audience. It’s the same reason District 9 and Chappy fell flat on their faces. The only reason the Avatar movies get away with it is because that’s James Cameron, and people know that he’s gonna find some way to blow them away regardless of how pretentious and on-the-nose the movie might be about it’s moralizing. People’s lives suck right now, and the last thing they want is to blow $50 taking their family to the movies just to get preached at about how they shouldn’t be racist to fucking robots of all things.

Speaking of which: AI, that thing the movie’s about. AI is not exactly what I’d call popular with the public right now. And the fact that the movie is engaging with the subject the same way it would have if this were like, the 1990’s or something, doesn’t help. At this point, most people have worked out that AI isn’t ever going to be like robots you can’t tell apart from real people. It’s just another tech/finance grift like NFTs or cryptocurrency. If there even is a future for it, and it doesn’t go bust in like 3 years, it’s not going to be in the shape of some innocent little girl with the power to change the world. It’s gonna be increasingly fake, corporate bots that can only speak in ad talk.

And you know, this doesn’t really have much to do with the films failure to thrive, but I was listening to an interview with Gareth Edwards (the auteur behind this film) and he really is engaging with the themes he chose for this movie in the shallowest of ways. Apparently, the AI is meant to be a stand in for, and I quote, “anyone who’s different.” Which, you know, is not only extremely fucking surface level engagement with your own material and not really committing to the whole AI bit, it’s also pretty shitty to paint, and I quote, “anyone who’s different” as fucking robots. Like, maybe that coulda used another go in the oven before you started throwing hundreds of millions of dollars at it, Garry. Just some food for thought.

Anyway, point is, this movie was a bomb from a mile away. Anyone shoulda been able to see it coming, and the fact that Searchlight (read: Disney) had the confidence to release this in fucking October instead of dumping it in January or February like they clearly should have is both shocking and hilarious.

[odditycircus-2002]

Hellboy And The Crooked Man Review

I'm on YouTube! I guess star on the Big Screen Show's channel.

I may have given my review and thoughts about the movie in the video, but I want to go more in-depth here. I write better than I talk, especially when I'm passionate about something and my brain is going faster than my mouth.

SPOILERS BELOW!

I specifically want to talk about the flak that critics or some viewers give the new movie. As I mentioned, given Hellboy (2019) was a MAJOR box office bomb, no significant studios would be giving the Hellboy IP a big budget again and risk losing millions of dollars again. So, this new Hellboy movie has a noticeably lower budget. This means that the production has to be more creative and/or take shortcuts to make the final product look as good as it is. Granted, you could see the low budget for sure, such as with the CGI snake that came out of Cora Fishers.... lady bits and her mouth. Or the action is only sometimes being focused on as the camera becomes too shaky, making fight scenes harder to focus on. Or the action gets dulled down near the end, such as the final fight against the titular Crooked Man being killed by Hellboy punching him, throwing him down some stairs, and then stomping him. I'll admit the effect was good with that last part, as the villain was stomped and revealed to have a bunch of coins inside him. Like he was some sort of evil piggy bank.

The movie follows the comics closely, with some scenes coming straight out of the pages. Yet, it's not a shot-by-shot comic book movie since, as the comics were short, the story had to be expanded with its characters to make it a feature film—which it does successfully, for the most part. This new movie as a lot more focused on suspense and atmosphere, rather than just action, as the woods are dripping with old evil that should've stayed dead. The set up of Hellboy and Bobby Joe ending up in Appalachia is fitting, as it seems like something that would happen within the world of Hellboy. I liked that the Crooked Man's demise was more stretched out, with him mainly relying on trickery to take out Hellboy and Tom Ferral in his wounded state rather than brute force like earlier in the film. I didn't care for Hellboy having mommy issues this time around. Sure, here, being a witch is kinda fitting for the themes of witchcraft and condemning yourself for the sake of power, but it was honestly needed and shoehorned in. Firstly, how would Hellboy even know about his mother or that she's a witch???

When Hellboy and the Crooked Man first released images behind the scenes, I, too, was cautious with the new Hellboy, not just because of the costume and the makeup, especially with the horns. I also wanted to know if Jack Kesey could bring our favorite demon-hybrid paranormal investigator to life. Jack Kesey really brought the comic book character from the comic to life! I was so drawn in by the actor's performance that I hardly noticed that he didn't have yellow eyes or that his tail moved. While Hellboy would still be fairly new in his career at the BPRD, having only done it for a couple of years instead of decades, he's still a gruff character who holds himself with a demeanor of a blue-collar worker who works in heavy labor, who probably would like to take a nap by the end of all this, but still will get the job done. Yet, Jack Kesey also portrays Hellboy's humanity and insecurity, which are integral parts of the stoic demon man, who has some deep-seated self-hatred, often taking the brunt of the Crooked Man's attacks to protect the rest of the humans. While Jack Kesey's Hellboy isn't some action hero like Ron Perlman's Hellboy, he still has his one-liners, which is something more you'd hear from John McClain in Die Hard as a way to keep himself and everyone else calm as he can. Ultimately, Jack Kesey portrays Hellboy's good heart throughout the film.

The new character, Bobby Joe, was also a solid new character who wasn't just some damsel for Hellboy to keep safe. She's this former government researcher who came to work for the BPRD to continue as a researcher of the occult before switching to fieldwork. Bobby Joe is a go-getter, being the first to offer Tom Ferral assistance rather than Hellboy and to cast a spell in the mines to cut off the Crooked Man's source of power, the tunnels in the hills. Which would ultimately save Big Red. Bobby Joe is also sort of our audience surrogate, being a newbie to fieldwork and everything, as she reacts far more to the strange and unusual phenomena around her than Hellboy, who has been seeing that sort of thing since he was 10 years old. Who wouldn't freak out seeing someone's empty skin on their bed or the sun suddenly set in a matter of seconds before their eyes?Or see the sunset before their eyes in a matter of minutes? I think she may have a thing for Hellboy, who wouldn't TBH, as was hinted at by the Reverend but I don't see it that way, honestly. I would prefer her not to be made as another love interest to Hellbpy, as I see them more as a mentor/mentee thing where Big Red is showing her the ropes, readjusting her expectations accordingly, and NOT getting her killed.

Yes, this movie is flawed and clearly has production issues. However, I still stand by as a fan of this film—a film that was clearly made with love and effort. It was made for the enjoyment of longtime fans of the Hellboy Franchise. I've seen proof of this on Tumblr and Twitter, with them enjoying the movie even with its flaws and appreciating Mike Mignola for helping to give his character another shot at the Silver Screen. So whatever YOUR thoughts may be, just know that the true fans of this franchisee's love for it are as unwavering as the Right Hand of Doom.

[imaginesbymonika]

It all tastes like poison.

Part 11.

previous chapter

Pairing: Homelander x fem!reader / Solider Boy x fem!reader

Plot: based on this request: “can you please write an imagine about someone who use to be with soldier boy before he "died» which left her broken, but she still worked with vought for years because she ages slower than normal and she meets homelander who she kinda falls for, but when ben comes back she gets mixed emotions till he tries to kill homelander and then she'll have to work with everyone else to get him back into the box, which she doesn't want to do. LIKE ANGST?”

warnings: f-bombs, mentions of death and murder, mentions of blood, mentions of some werid family dynamics, plot twist at the end

"Where is Y/N?", Billy asks, while he looks over at Soldier Boy. Ben is leaning against the wall, cleaning out his weapons. "You mean ever since she found out that she has been dating her boyfriend's son? She locked herself in the bathroom, with a bottle of Rum."

"Well, Homelander ain't really Soldier Boy's son, and they both know it."

Ben perks up from the gun in his hand, and his gaze falls upon the two men. He scoffs. "Anyway, Soldier Boy? Could you perhaps try to get Y/N out of there", Billy asks and points towards the bathroom door, before he puts on his coat:" We've got to go. We'll swing by the office and grab some more V. And then Hughie will jump us to where the cunts are. Since Noir is no longer a problem, we go straight to Homelander. Then we are finished. Right?"

Ben licks his lips and places his gun on the table. He doesn't respond, instead, he just makes his way towards the bathroom.

----

"Homelander is Soldier Boy's fucking what?!"

"Homelander's father.", Hughie explains and looks at a wide-eyed Maeve:" Biologically, at least." Everyone is staring at him in confusion and turmoil. "So put them in a room together, are they gonna fight or fucking hug?"

"We don't know."

M.M. who is leaning against the kitchen counter crosses his arms:" What about Y/N?" A chuckle leaves Maeve's lips and she runs a hand down her face:" I forgot about her- gosh, fucking her 'presumed deceased' boyfriend's son. That information must have been a fucking gut punch."

"Well, about that.", Hughie begins:" Soldier Boy and Y/N have both been acting, uh, weird. But Butcher..." "If there's a snowball chance that Butcher can take down Homelander, he's gonna take it."

"I don't care what your orders are, I'm Starlight, and I'm telling you that you need to evacuate the Tower now.", Annie who reentered the living room makes furious hand movements, while holding her phone close to her ear: "Because Soldier Boy is alive and he's real, and he's gonna f... oh, fucking you fucking stupid...Fuck. There are a couple thousand people in that building. I mean if he pulls a Herogasm, he's gonna take the whole fucking place down."

"Then we take down Soldier Boy before he gets to Homelander."

Hughie shakes his head:" We need to take down Y/N first, if she's around she won't even let you get anywhere near him." M.M. glances at him:" You think that she is going to side with him, despite Homelander?" Hughie let out a weak breath:" I mean, after all, she killed Black Noir. If she smells you, intending to hurt the man she has loved for decades- you're a dead man."

----

Y/N stares into the mirror. From outside the bathroom, she can hear how Butcher and Ben talk to each other, but it feels distant. Those last 24 hours have felt like a never-ending pain, and reckoning how she would probably have to face Homelander soon- gosh, this nightmare was coming to life. At a rapid speed.

The woman looks herself into the eyes and wonders if their connection has been the reason why she fell for John. If she somehow smelt Ben- or saw him in John.

The sound of other voices engaging with Butcher’s catches Y/N's attention and she instantly walks out of the bathroom and down the hallway. Her eyes immediately flicker green when they settle on M.M.

As soon as her eyes travel down onto his gun, it turns into green slime and M.M. lets out a minor disgusted noise as he takes a step back.

"Where is Soldier Boy?", Annie asks, not taking her eyes off Y/N. Hughie walks up to Butcher:" If Soldier Boy goes through with this, thousands will die. Help us stop him."

But the man in front of him shakes his head:" This ain't a bloody kinder care we're on about, son. It's Vought fucking Tower."

"Becca worked in the tower."

Y/N furrows her eyebrows when she sees how Frenchies comment hit a nerve within Butcher and all heads turn when she asks:" Who's Becca?"

[brawlsbigbadonkers]

Brawl needs more love!

I feel like outta all the combaticons brawl doesn’t get enough love! So here are brawl headcannons because he’s my favorite and I love him:

warning: mention of drugs,alcohol, stuff like that but it’s minor.

-he fuckin loves moster truck rally’s (maybe not as much as the stunicons) but he loves watching them and all the trucks crash

-when he’s nervous/anxious/scared (not that he’ll ever admit it) he’ll take apart his guns and clean them until there’s not a single speck of dirt or until he feels better

-He has a crush on soundwave and he thinks he’s really lowkey on it- but the whole combaticon team knows and pokes at him for it (mostly swindle and vortex before they almost get decked in the face). Rumble and Frenzy don’t approve and dont want their creator any where near that so called “dumbaft tank”

-Him and blitzwing are tank pals. Both loud and drinking buddies who like to try out drink each other ( this usually ends up with them blackout drunk on the decepticon lounge floor waiting for astrotrain or someone to carry them off)

-he likes to watch football with blitzwing even tho he has no clue what’s going on (he’s a green bay packers fan)

-his anger issues got worst after being locked up in solidarity confinement with the rest of his team- it got worst because after all he had all that time to think about how useless he feels being locked up instead of fighting and his rage only built up- plus he never had a proper way to express it rather then beating people up or puttin dents in walls

-him and warpath knew each other before the war and where quite close before war broke out and they chose their paths.

-he likes to watch Jonny bravo, the maxx, the Incredible Hulk (1996) animated series when he’s off duty

-he has a shit tone of tattoos (yes I believe that cybertronians can get tattoos but it’s just like…stickers and airbrush stuff). He has tattoo for each of his combaticon team mates:

•for onslaught he has a skull with a pipes that are lined up like onslaughts dual cannons and it has devil horns

•for blast off he has a small version of Blast offs alt mode flying around in space

•for vortex he has a decepticon logo with blades in the back that represent vortex’s helicopter blades

•for swindle he has gold fangs that bite on a dollar sign

•he has the word “COMBATICONS” on his chest

•a bunch of other ones are like “war machine” , “unit: BRAWL” and a bomb somewhere, he even has a small little version of his alt mode that vortex tattooed on him when he blackouted from drinking

-him and vortex definitely would get high if they could. They’d hot box onslaught office.

-outta all the combaticons- he’s the more “friendly” (as friendly as combaticon standard go) And easy going to talk to. (More genuine to talk to, unlike swindle who is trying to catch a deal) When he’s not pissed off, flighting or being loud, he’s usually just lounging around, waiting for orders, cleaning his weapons or drinking. But don’t mistaken his easy going for weakness or anything like that, his mood can flip 180 real quick.

-He’s usually the one to break tension in awkward situations (one thing the team is thankful for but will never admit to to him)

-him and onslaught knew each other from the military and he was so glad to have another full military bot on the combaticon team, specially one he knew for a while

-despite being a “idiot” he is very loyal- not to megatron, but to being a decepticon and to onslaught who he respects a lot

-he tired to learn CSL (cybertronian sign language) to impress his crush (soundwave, who uses CSL often) but couldn’t memorize all the hand signals and that pissed him off( eventually blast off got sick of it and taught him how to sign his name and how to say hello and “you look nice”)

-he’s the heaviest sleeper outta the team and onetime they all had to yell and shake him up to get going on a mission. Snoring, drooling, sleep talking, rolling over- all of it, brawl dose all of it in his sleep.

-he can sleep anywhere if he really feels like it

-he’s as old as onslaught and blastoff yet he likes to act as if he’s still a lot younger then them

-outta all the constructions he likes bonecrusher the most, they blow up stuff together when bored

-he hates check ups, makes him uneasy and feel vulnerable. Hook hates it and has to strap him down or get long haul to hold him for shots or else he won’t take them.

-him,swindle and vortex aren’t allowed on missions together because onslaught said they cause to much trouble

And that’s all for now !! I will add more later when I think of more ! But yeah ! More fuckin love for our tank man brawl please- I love him SM.

[chainofclovers]

Ted Lasso 2x11 thoughts

For an episode that ends with a journalist Ted trusts but has (understandably) recently lied to warning Ted that he’s publishing an article about his panic attacks, it was fitting that this episode seemed entirely about what all of these characters choose to tell each other. And after most of a season of television that Jason Sudeikis has described as the season in which the characters go into their little caves to deal with things on their own, it turns out they are finally able to tell each other quite a lot.

Which is good because, um, wow, a lot is going to happen in the season finale of this show!

Thoughts on the things people tell each other behind the cut!

Roy and Keeley. I absolutely loved the moment during their photoshoot in which they bring up a lot of complicated emotional things and are clearly gutted (“gutted”? Who am I? A GBBO contestant who forgot to turn the oven on?) by what they’ve heard. We already know that Keeley and Roy are great at the kinds of moments they have before the shoot begins, in which Roy builds Keeley up and tells her she’s fucking amazing. From nearly the beginning of their relationship, they’ve supported each other and been each other’s biggest fans. But their relationship has gone on long enough that they’ve progressed from tentative arguments about space and individual needs into really needing to figure out what they mean to each other and how big their feelings are and what that means in relation to everything else. Watching these two confess about the uncomfortable kiss with Nate, the unexpectedly long conversation with Phoebe’s teacher, and—most painfully—the revelation that Jamie still loves Keeley didn’t feel like watching two people who are about to break up. (Although I could see them potentially needing space from each other to get clarity.) It felt like watching two people realize just how much they’d lose if they lost each other, which is an understandably scary feeling even—or especially—when you’re deeply in love but not entirely sure what the future holds. Not entirely sure what you’re capable of when you’ve never felt serious about someone in quite this way, and are realizing you have to take intentional actions to choose that relationship every single day. I’m excited to learn whether Roy and Keeley decide they need to solidify their relationship more (not necessarily an engagement, but maybe moving in together or making sure they’re both comfortable referring to the other as partner and telling people they’re in a committed relationship) or if things go in a different direction for a while.

Sharon and Ted. I’ve had this feeling of “Wow, Ted is going to feel so intense about how honest he’s been with Sharon and is going to end up getting really attached and transfer a lot of emotions onto the connection they have and that is stressful no matter how beneficial it has been for him to finally get therapy!” for a while now. And Sharon’s departure really brought that out and it was indeed stressful. But the amount of growth that’s happened for both of these characters is really stunningly and beautifully conveyed in this episode. Ted is genuinely angry she left without saying goodbye, and he doesn’t bury it some place deep inside him where it will fester for the next thirty years. He expresses his anger. (I also noticed he sweared—mildly—in front of her again, which is really a big tell for how much he has let his carefully-constructed persona relax around her.) He reads her letter even though he said he wasn’t going to, and he’s moved. I don’t think Ted has the words for his connection to Sharon beyond “we had a breakthrough,” but Sharon gets it, and is able to firmly assert a professional boundary by articulating her side of that breakthrough as an experience that has made her a better therapist. And is still able to offer Ted a different kind of closure by suggesting they go out before her train leaves. No matter how you feel about a patient/football manager seeing their therapist/team psychologist colleague socially, I appreciated this story because IMO it didn’t cross big lines but instead was about one final moment in this arc in which both Ted and Sharon saw each other clearly and modeled what it is to give someone what they need and to expect honesty and communication from them. I liked that Ted ends up being the one saying goodbye. (The mustache in the exclamation points!) I like that whether or not Sharon returns in any capacity (Sarah Niles is so wonderful that I hope she does, but I’m not sure), the goodbye these characters forge for themselves here is neither abandonment nor a new, more complicated invitation. It’s the end of a meaningful era, and although the work of healing is the work of a lifetime, it’s very beautiful to have this milestone.

Ted and Rebecca. So, maybe it’s just me, but it kinda feels like these two have a few li’l life things to catch up on?! (HAHHHHHaSdafgsdasdf!) I really adored their interactions in this episode. I maintain that Biscuits With The Boss has been happening this whole time (even when Ted’s apartment was in shambles, there’s biscuit evidence, and I feel like we’ve been seeing the biscuit boxes in Rebecca’s office pretty regularly too), even if it might have been more of a drive-by biscuit drop-off/feelings avoidance ritual. It was really lovely to see Ted on more even footing in Rebecca’s office, joking around until she tells him to shut up, just like the old days. And GOSH—for their 1x9 interaction in Ted’s office to be paralleled in this episode and for Ted to explicitly make note of the parallel in a way Rebecca hears and sees and understands?! MY HEART. In both of Rebecca’s confessions, she is not bringing good news but it is good and meaningful that she chooses to share with Ted. In both situations, Ted takes the moment in stride and offers acceptance equivalent to the gravity of what she has to confess. And in both situations, he’s not some kind of otherworldly saint, able to accept Rebecca no matter what because he’s unaffected by what she shares. He is affected. When he tells her about Sam, you can see a variety of emotions on his face. Rebecca is upset and Ted is calm, and even if I might have liked for him to try to talk about the risk the affair poses to the power dynamics on the team or any number of factors, I also really liked that he just accepts where she is, and—most importantly—does not offer her advice beyond examining herself and taking her own advice. A massive part of being in a relationship with another person (a close relationship of any nature) is figuring out how to support that person without necessarily having to be happy about every single thing they do. It’s so important that Ted connects what she’s just told him about Sam back to what she told him last season about her plot with the club. These both feel like truth bombs to him, and he is at least safe enough to make that clear. These are both things that impact him, things that shape how he sees her and maybe even how he sees himself. He cares about her and is capable of taking in this information; he has room for it. But it’s not something he takes lightly, and neither does she. See you next year.

Tumblr user chainofclovers and the TV show Ted Lasso. My brain is going wild thinking about all the ways the next “truth bomb” conversation could go in 3x11 or whatever. Maybe they go full consistent parallel and Rebecca confesses something else, this time about her and Ted or some other big future thing that impacts him as much or more as the other confessions have. (The same but different.) Maybe the tables turn and Ted has something to confess to her. While the 1x9 conversation ended in an embrace and the 2x11 conversation ended with a bit more physical distance (understandable given the current state of their relationship and the nature of the discussion), the verbal ending of both conversations involved voices moving into a sexier lower register while zooming in to talk specifically about their connection to each other, so I have to assume there will be some consistencies in s3 even if the circumstances will be completely different. I don’t really know where I’m going with this and I obviously will go insane if I sustain this level of anticipatory energy until Fall 2022 but I have a feeling my brain and heart are going to try!

Sam and Rebecca. I know there’s been a lot of criticism about whether this show is being at all realistic about the power dynamics and inevitable professional issues this relationship would create. On some level, I agree; I like that pretty much everyone who knows about the affair has been kind so far, but you can be kind and still ask someone to contend with reality. But I also think that in nearly every plot point on this show, the narrative is driven by how people feel about their circumstances first and foremost. (It’s why the whiteboard in the coaching office and the football commentators tell us more about how the actual football season is going from a points perspective than anyone else.) This episode reminded me how few people know about Sam and Rebecca, and how much their time together so far has been time spent in bed. The private sphere. I thought this episode really expertly brought the public sphere into it, not—thank goodness—through a humiliating exposure or harsh judgment but through an opportunity for Sam that illustrates not only all his potential to do great things but how much Rebecca’s professional position and personal feelings are in conflict with that. Could stand in the way of that. I don’t have a strong gut feeling about where this will go, but I do think Sam’s face in his final scene of this episode is telling. He started the episode wanting to see Rebecca (his most recent text to her was about wanting to connect), and Edwin’s arrival from Ghana really exploded his sense of what is possible for his life. If he’d arrived home to Rebecca sitting on his stoop prior to meeting Edwin, he’d have been delighted. Now he’s conflicted, and whatever decision he makes, he has to reckon with the reality that he cannot have everything he wants. No matter what. And Rebecca—she has taken Ted’s advice and is attempting to be honest about the fact that she can’t control Sam’s decisions but hopes he doesn’t go, and even saying that much feels so inappropriate. And I’m not sure how much she realizes about the inappropriateness of the position she’s putting him in, although maybe she’s getting there considering she exits the scene very quickly. I’ve honestly loved Rebecca’s arc this season. I think it’s realistic that she got obsessed with the intimacy she thought she could find in her phone. I think it’s realistic that her professional and personal ambitions are inappropriately linked. (They certainly were for Rupert. It’s been years since she’s known anything different; even if she’s done some significant recovery work to move on from her abusive marriage and figure out her own priorities, she’s got a long way to go.) I know there are people who will read this interaction between Rebecca and Sam as a totally un-self-aware thing on the part of “the show” or “the writers” but what I saw is two people who enjoyed being in bed together and now have to deal with the reality that they’re in two different places in their lives and that one has great professional power over the other. If that wasn’t in the show, I wouldn’t be able to see it or feel so strongly about it.

Edwin and Sam. I really enjoyed all the complexities of this interaction. Edwin is promising a future for Sam that doesn’t quite exist yet, though he has the financial means to make it happen. He offers this by constructing for Sam a Nigerian—and Ghanaian—experience unlike anything he’s found in London. Sam is amazed that this experience is here, and Edwin’s response is to explain to him that the experience is not here. Not really. The experience in Africa. Sam has of course connected to the other Nigerian players on the team, but this is something else entirely. I’m really curious if Sam is going to end up feeling that what Edwin has to offer is real or not. That sense of home and connection? So real. And so right that he would want to experience that homecoming and would want to be part of building that experience for others. But at the end of the day, he went to a museum full of actors and a pop-up restaurant full of “friends,” and is that constructed authenticity as a stand-in for a real homecoming more or less real than the home he’s building in Richmond? (With other players who stand in solidarity with him, and with well-meaning white coaches who say dumb stuff sometimes, and an a probably-doomed love interest, and a feeling that he should put chicken instead of goat in the jollof, and the ability to stand out as an incredible player on a rising team.)

Nate and everyone. But also Nate and no one. Nate’s story is so painful and I’m so anxious for next week’s episode. For a long time I’ve felt that a lot of Nate’s loyalties are with Richmond, and a lot of his ambitions are around having given so much to this place without getting a lot back, and having a strong feeling that he’s the answer to Richmond’s future. But now I’m not so sure; his ambitions have transferred into asking everyone he knows (except Ted, of course), if they want to be “the boss.” But Nate is all tactics and no communication. When he wants to suggest a new play to Ted, he hasn’t yet learned to read Ted’s language to learn that Ted is eager to hear what he has to say. And while Ted has been really unfortunately distracted about Nate and dismissive of him this season, he clearly respects Nate’s approach to football and was appreciative of the play. Nate just can’t hear that. The suit is such a great metaphor of all the things Nate is in too much pain to be able to hear clearly. Everyone digs at him for wearing the suit Ted bought him (including Will, who’s got to get little cuts in where he can, because he’s got to be sick of the way Nate treats him), but when he gets fed up his solution isn’t to go out on his own and find more clothes he likes; he asks Keeley to help him. And then crosses a major line with her...and no matter how kind she was about it, she was clearly not okay. Everything is going to blow up, and I’m so curious as to whether Nate will end up aligning himself with Rupert in some way or if he’s going to end up screwed over by Rupert and in turn try to screw over his colleagues even worse than he’s already done. Or try desperately to make amends even though it could be too late for some. Either way, I’m fully prepared to feel devastated. (And there’s no way I’m giving up on this character. If he’s able to learn, I truly believe he could end up seeking forgiveness and forging a happier existence for himself. Someday. Like in season 3 or something.)

Ted and Trent. Trent deciding to reveal his source to Ted is a huge deal, and I’m torn between so many emotions about this exposé. I’m glad it’s a Trent Crimm piece and not an Ernie Loundes piece. I’m glad that Trent made the decision to warn Ted and let him know that Nate is his source. I fear—but also hope—that this exposure will set off a chain reaction of Ted learning about some of the things he’s missed while suffering through a really bad bout with his dad-grief and panic disorder. The things Ted doesn’t know would devastate him. I wonder if Ted will want to figure out a way to make Nate feel heard and reconcile with him, and I wonder how that will be complicated if/when he realizes Nate has severely bullied Will, gets more details on how he mistreated Colin, etc. I wonder if Rebecca, whom Nate called a “shrew” right before she announced his promotion, will be in the position of having to ask Ted to fire him, or overriding Ted and doing it herself. So many questions! I have a feeling it’ll go in some wild yet very human-scaled, emotionally-nuanced direction, and I’ll be like “Oh my GOD!” but also like “Oh, of course.”

This VERY SERIOUS AND EMOTIONAL REVIEW has a major flaw, which is that none of the above conversations include mention of the absolute love letter to N*SYNC. Ted passionately explains how things should go while dancing ridiculously! Will turns on the music and starts gyrating! Roy nods supportively! Beard shouts the choreography like the Broadway choreographer of teaching grown men who play football how to dance like a boy band. Everyone is so incredibly proud when they nail it. I love them.

I cannot believe next week is the end. For now. I’m kind of looking forward to letting everything settle during the hiatus, but I’ve really loved the ride.

[naturallytom]

Mending a Broken Heart (Tom Holland x reader, alternative part)

a/n: me? writing? unheard of. jk im tryin to get back into the groove!! this is an alternate version to Mending a Broken Heart, so some parts are the same and some I’ve edited or added some things! hope u enjoy!! 

warnings: language, angst, mentions of cheating

please reblog/leave feedback!!

picture not mine!

You had noticed it for months. Tom has been pulling away, spending more time out with the boys than at home with you. His kisses became forced and the words ‘love you’ slowly stopped falling from his lips. 

Most days he would leave for work before you woke up and on the rare occasion you were up when he left, he would mumble a ‘goodbye’ before walking out the door. Sometimes, if you were lucky, he would press a gentle kiss to your forehead. Most times, though, he would just leave. 

You did your best to keep the love alive, you were still madly in love with him. The wedding band that sat tightly on your ring finger mocked you. A symbol of what was love has turned into one sided love. Hell, you weren’t sure if Tom wore his wedding ring anymore. 

A quick glance to his left hand would reveal that he didn’t. 

You spent your nights wondering if it was something you did. Were you too clingy when he left to film? Was he just tired of you after four years of marriage? Did he find someone else?

No. You shook your head to yourself one night as you laid in the bed by yourself, the space usually occupied by Tom cold. If he found someone else and if he cheated, that’s on him. Not on you. 

Still, the thought plagued your mind. Did he meet someone else? Was she prettier than you? Is that where he was when he said he was out with the boys? Was she able to give him something you couldn’t give him?

The door opening and shutting alerted you that Tom was home. You sighed, knowing it’d be another night of sleeping on opposite sides of the bed. 

The door to the bedroom opened and in came Tom, Tessa jumping up to greet him. 

“Hey girl, hey love, how are you, hm?” He whispered, petting Tessa as his eyes flickering over to you, who was visibly awake. “Thought you’d be asleep by now. ‘S late.” 

“Couldn’t sleep.” You replied simply. “Hey so I was thinking, we haven’t had a date night in a while, maybe you wanted to go out to see the Halloween decorations around town and get dinner tomorrow night?” 

“Can’t,” He shook his head as he got ready for bed. “Harrison wants to watch the game. Told him I’d go.” 

“Didn’t you just see Harrison tonight?” 

“Yeah, and?” 

“Nothing.” You sighed, obviously upset. “Nothing, Tom. Goodnight.” 

“Night.” He responded, turning out the light and climbing into bed, falling asleep with his back toward you. 

-

The next day, you were surprised to see Tom already awake and waiting in the kitchen, sipping on a cup of tea when you got downstairs. 

“Good morning.” You smiled softly. 

“We need to talk.” He told you. You felt your heart drop and your palms get sweaty, but you wiped them on your pajama pants in an effort to seem totally calm and not panicked. 

“A-About what?” You asked, your voice coming out shaky. 

“I think,” Tom started. “I think we should get divorced.”��

It was then, at 8:30 am that your world came crashing down. 

“W-What?” You whimpered out, your voice weaker than before. “Why?”

“I’m not happy with you anymore.” He said simply. Your eyes flickered to his left hand, noticing the absence of the golden wedding band, making your heart ache. 

“We can try couples’ therapy. We can go on dates like we used to, Tom, please! We can fight for this, Tom. Fight for us.” You cried, your heart shattering into a million tiny pieces, each one puncturing your lungs as you struggled to keep your breath under control. 

“No,” He shook his head. “My mind is made up. I’m sorry, y/n. Um, I found a lawyer at a firm, they have a lot of other lawyers there you can contact. I’ll just, uh, leave their card here.” 

“So that’s it? Three years of dating and four years of marriage down the drain?” You sobbed, holding your knees to your chest as you sat on the kitchen floor. 

“I’m sorry, y/n. Truly, I am.”

He placed the small business card on the counter, grabbing the bags you didn’t even notice, mumbling an ‘I’ll be staying with Haz,’ before walking out the front door, like he did every other day. This time, though, you had the sinking feeling he was leaving for good. 

-

It was only three weeks that your lawyer came over to meet with you, joined by Tom and his lawyer. You kept your eyes focused on the table as you signed the paperwork, wanting to get this done as soon as possible. 

As soon as everyone left, you shut the door, slid down the back of it, and cried. 

-

Nearly two months after the worst day of your life and it was time for a self care night. The ring that once sat on your left hand was buried away in your jewelry box somewhere and you were finally starting to feel free and somewhat happy again after crying yourself to sleep and wondering where it all went wrong for months. 

After the divorce you buried yourself in work, using it as a distraction from going home to an empty house. You also moved out of the house you once called home. Not only was it too painful to go home to an empty house, but it was too painful to go home to a house that held so many happy and loving memories. You took the necessities along with some things you wanted with you and set yourself up in a hotel room for the time being. You treated it as a vacation. Except only a few people knew where you were. Your family knew, along with your friends, including Harrison, on the condition he didn’t tell Tom where you were. You started making time for yourself in your little hotel room and you became happier. 

Tonight, after a long day of work, you ordered your favorite Chinese food, played your favorite songs, and ran yourself a bath with a vanilla scented bath bomb. You were enjoying a glass of wine, the hot water of the bath soothing you when the music playing from your phone was interrupted by a call coming in. 

To your surprise, it was Tom. You contemplated answering it, but instead, let it go to voicemail. However, you were curious as to why he called, though you were also 99% positive it was a pocket dial. So you played the voicemail, the familiar voice ringing throughout the bathroom. 

“Hey y/n, um, I hope you’re doing well. I just called because I wanted to tell you something. I um, I miss you. A lot. And I know I don’t get to feel that way but I do and I just wanted to tell you that and I guess ask if there was any possibility of meeting to talk? Uh, call me back if...if you want. I don’t blame you if you hate me. Bye. Love y-” 

You turned off the voicemail before the phrase could be finished. Millions of thoughts filled your mind, ranging from happy ones to ones that made your heart ache and tears fill your eyes. 

You decided to ignore it, pretend it never happened, and enjoy your self care night. 

-

When Tom pulled up to his former house with flowers in his car and a pit of nerves in his stomach, he expected to see your car in the driveway and at least one light to be on. He was greeted with an empty driveway and a dark house, which confused him. It was the weekend, so you weren’t work. Maybe you had to run an errand? 

But after 20 minutes, he gave up hope that you were home and tried to call you, which to no surprise, you didn’t pick up again. He instead called Harrison in an effort to try and find out if he knew where you were. 

“What do you want?” Harrison answered, half concentrating on what Tom was about to say and half concentrating on the game in front of him. 

“Do, uh, do you know where y/n is?” Tom asked, taking Harrison by surprise. 

“y/n?” Harrison paused the game, suddenly not able to concentrate on it. “Why d’you want to know where y/n is?”

“I just want to talk to her.” He mumbled. 

“If I knew that’s where you were going I wouldn’t have let you go.” Harrison sighed. “Listen she made me swear that I wouldn’t tell you-” 

“Please Harrison? You’ve seen how much of a mess I’ve been. I just want to see if I have a shot.” Tom begged, making his friend cave. 

“Fine but if she moves again I won’t be telling you shit.”  

-

The next day you were enjoying a cup of tea and reading your book, getting some relaxation in before your week began when a knock on the door interrupted you. Confusion filled your body, you weren’t expecting anyone to pop by. 

Looking out the peephole, you froze at the sight that greeted you. Tom was standing outside your door, a bouquet of your favorite flowers in his hands. 

“Hi.” He breathed out, his nose and the tips of his ears red from the harsh winter air. 

“How the hell did you find me?” You asked, keeping your eyes focused on the ground. 

“Harrison. I begged him to tell me.” He answered. 

“I’m gonna kill him.” You muttered. “What do you want?”

“Can..Can I come in?” He asked. 

You wanted to say no, that he could say what he wanted to say outside or just not let him speak at all. But you wanted to be courteous to the other people on your floor and part of you was curious as to what he was going to say. So you wordlessly opened the door slightly, letting him in and closing the door behind him. 

“Now what do you want?”

“Did you get my voicemail?” He responded, hope filling his eyes when you nodded. “Um, I brought these for you. I was hoping we could talk.” 

“I don’t want your flowers. Why should I talk to you? We’re divorced, just like you wanted.” Tom winced at the words. “Nothing to change.” 

“Actually, we’re not.” He corrected. “I called the office the other day. Um, it’s not official yet.” 

“Well then they should make it official. Maybe I can call them and make it happen as my very last Christmas present to you. Just what you wanted.” You snapped. 

“No, this isn’t what I want, can I speak, please?” He pleaded, his eyes resembling those of a puppy. 

“You’re speaking already.” You answered, gesturing for him to continue nonetheless. 

“I- How have you been? I stopped by the house-”

“Tom I’m not gonna listen to your small talk. Say what you have to say and leave.” You told him. His heart broke but he couldn’t blame you. 

“Um, so I thought I wasn’t happy with you but um, as time went on, I realized how much I miss having you in my life.” He began, visibly nervous. “I was just looking through our pictures and how happy you looked and I just, I guess I realized I wanted to be the one to make you that happy again.”

“You haven’t made me happy in months, Tom.” 

“I know.” His heart clenched. “I know and I’m so sorry, y/n. I really am.” 

“Was there someone else? Did you cheat on me?” You asked. 

“No, no absolutely not, y/n.” He answered before adding; “I went on a date with someone after we split up but it didn’t work out. I realized she wasn’t what I want.” 

“Of course she wasn’t.” You scoffed. 

“I want you, y/n. I want to spend the rest of my life making you happy again.” He told you, tears filling your eyes. “Is there..is there any possibility you could love me again?” 

“Again?” You seethed. “Tom I never fell out of love with you! I never stopped loving you! That was all you! You stopped loving me and you wanted this stupid fucking divorce!”

“I..I don’t think I ever stopped loving you either.” He whispered, tears falling down his rosy cheeks. “Please, y/n, if there’s even the tiniest chance..” 

“Of what, Tom? Of going right back to being married? Of you making me happy? I don’t know, Tom! I don’t know anything except that I hate you right now.” You sobbed, crying into your knees while Tom let out quiet sobs of his own, his heart clenching at the lack of wedding band on your left hand and the lack of love in your voice, but especially your eyes. Your eyes, which once held so much love and adoration for him were now full of anger and resentment. 

“Of..anything, y/n. Please, I just want a second chance to show you how much you mean to me, to make you happy again. I will do anything to save us, anything you want. And...and if it’s not working or you just really hate me, I wouldn’t blame you. Not at all.” He begged, his eyes puffy and red. 

“I tried to save us, Tom. Don’t you remember? I begged and pleaded with you to do couples therapy to go on dates when you were breaking my heart into a million tiny pieces. I begged you to try and fight for us, for our marriage, but you just walked out the god damn door!” You spit through gritted teeth. 

“I fucked up, I know. I fucked up so badly.” He cried, wiping his tears away. 

“And if leaving me wasn’t enough, you took Tessa too! I was left completely alone in that big fucking house that was haunted by you. I couldn’t stand it.” You sobbed. 

“I’m..I’m sorry, y/n. So so fucking sorry. What do you want me to do?” 

“I want...I want you to hurt. I want you to hurt the way you hurt me. I want you to know how this fucking feels.” You said, your voice getting louder with each word that fell from your lips.

Tom could only cry. This was ripping him apart, he couldn’t even imagine what the whole thing felt like to you. 

“I’m gonna need time to think, Tom.” You finally mumbled, Tom nodding in response. 

“I’ll give you all the time you need. I promise you-” 

“Don’t. Don’t promise me anything.” You spoke, your voice low. “You won’t be able to keep it. You promised you’d love me forever four years ago and look what happened.” 

“y/n pl-”

“You don’t get to do this. You-you don’t get to just waltz right back in here and ask for a second chance to fight for us when I didn’t even get a first chance. How do I know this won’t end like it did before?” 

“y/n, I swear to you, if this isn’t working out, you can leave me. I...I just want a chance to prove myself to you.” He begged. 

“God, Tom. You don’t get it! I’m not going through this again. Do you realize how much you broke me the first time? Fuck, you had a chance, Tom. And you threw it away.” You muttered quietly. 

“I regret that every day. Every god damn day.” He told you honestly.

“I don’t know, Tom.” You sighed. 

“Talk to me?” He tried, knowing you were hiding something deeper than an ‘I don’t know.’

“Don’t know what else there is to say.” You mumbled. “I don’t trust you, I-I can’t trust you. I hate you.” 

“Why’d you get a hotel room?” Tom sniffled, changing the subject. 

“I told you. I hated being in that house. Hated being surrounded by the happy pictures and memories of us.” You told him honestly. “I want to start over.” 

“What?”

“I want to start over. I can’t go back to being emotionally married to you even if we’ll still be married legally. I’m talking starting from scratch, as if we were meeting for the first time, the whole deal.” You told him. 

“That sounds perfect, y/n. Thank y-”

“Get out, Tom. Please. I just want to be alone and not with you right now. I’m still not happy with you.” 

“Okay.” He breathed out, hope filling him once again. “You won’t regret this, I promise.” 

“What did I just say about promises?” You asked tearily. 

“I know, I know. I’m determined to keep this promise, though.” He told you. 

“Fine. Whatever. Just please leave for now.” You whimpered, watching as he walked out the door, just like he did when he broke your heart. 

You decided you needed another self care night. Another bath was run, another vanilla scented bath bomb was used, more wine was consumed. 

Tom texted you right as you got out of the bath. 

Tom: hey y/n, it’s tom, just incase you don’t have my number saved anymore. I just wanted to say thank you for the second chance. I really am grateful. I hope you have a relaxing night, you deserve it. 

You rolled your eyes and tossed your phone gently on your bed, though you could feel your heart rate pick up and butterflies fill your stomach. 

-

Tom began texting you sweet little things each morning, whether it was to let you know that he’s been thinking of you or to tell you that he hopes you have a great day. At first you ignored them, but then you began responding in short answers of one or two words until the two of you were texting every day, like when you met for the first time seven years ago. 

-

Over a month after you started texting again, Tom took you on a first date. Pulling up to your hotel, Tom felt the nerves fill his body as he walked up to your door and knocked, another bouquet of your favorite flowers in his hand. 

He felt all the air leave his lungs as you opened the door. You looked absolute stunning. You were wearing a navy blue dress that reached down to just above your knees, one Tom bought you one year. 

“Wow, hi.” He breathed. “You look stunning.” 

“Thank you.” You smiled, accepting the flowers he handed you. “I’ll be right back.” 

Tom took you to your favorite restaurant that night, one that the two of you frequented when you (formerly) went on dates. 

When he took you back to your hotel, he walked you up to the door, where he nervously asked if he could kiss you. 

You said yes, and that was all Tom needed to press a soft kiss to your lips. The kiss was magical, both of you felt the sparks between the two of you. 

“God I missed doing that.” Tom mumbled as he pulled away to breathe. 

“Then do it again.” 

-

A couple months after that, Tom moved back in with you. You had gone back to the house every now and then, to slowly acclimate yourself to being back in the once happy house, only fully moving back when Tom moved back as well. The pictures of the two of you were dusted off, making your heart race instead of hurt at the sight of the happy memories. 

-

Finally, after a year, Tom proposed to you (again). You hesitated a little bit, still scared it would end in heartbreak again, which broke Tom’s heart, but said you yes in the end. 

The two of you renewed your vows, putting on the golden bands that were once again a symbol of the love the two of you shared. 

You had a small party back at your house after the ceremony, your families joining to celebrate. You found Tom alone in the kitchen, grabbing a beer for him and Harry. 

“Hey.” You greeted, fiddling with your fingers as tears of happiness filled your eyes. 

“Hey, what’s wrong, my love?” Tom asked, concerned as soon he saw the tears filling your eyes. 

“Nothing, nothing. I, um,” You started, wiping your tears away and wrapping your arms around Tom’s neck. “I’m really glad we made it back to this.” 

“Me too, lovey. I love you so much.” He whispered, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.

“Hey, Tommy?” 

“Yeah?” 

“You kept your promise.” You smiled softly, making Tom’s heart ache at the memory of you not being able to trust him. 

“I told you I would.” 

Your moment was interrupted by Harrison, who entered the kitchen, smiling at his two best friends happily in love once again. 

“Aren’t you so glad I told him where you were staying?” He joked, making you roll your eyes. 

“Shut up, Harrison.” You smiled. As your eyes flickered between Tom and Harrison, though, you knew you wouldn’t have been in this position if Harrison didn’t spill the beans to Tom. 

“Hey Haz?” You called, as Harrison went to leave the kitchen in fake offense. He turned at the sound of his name, knowing what was coming. 

“Thank you.” Tom nodded in agreement, his arm slipping around your waist. 

Harrison just smiled even bigger, all three of you knowing everything would be okay from now on.

[spaceskam]

woke me up from the longest dream

Summary: Alex and Michael follow up on a lead and find something powerful.

Tags: canon compliant (for the most part), visions, road trips, my deep sky still sucks agenda

ao3

"Why is it so fucking cold?" 

"Welcome to Montana," Alex said dryly.

Michael made a face and shoved his hands in his pockets. He was doing his best to be mature about Alex inviting him on this trip. It was another loose lead he found and he was irritated that he didn't find it until after he came back home. Michael had offered to help after a grueling time in self-induced misery and Alex had agreed and he had planned to use this time to show Alex how much he'd grown.

However, there was something about being alone with Alex that made him feel a little like he hadn’t. 

"Are you not cold?"

"Didn't we deduce that your species is from a really cold planet due to your body temperature and the clothing Tripp described they were wearing?" Alex asked back.

Michael was used to a vaguely snarky Alex, it was in his genetic makeup. This was a different level though. Alex was in one of the worst moods Michael had ever seen him in that didn't result in a fight, instead it was all icy silence and irritated answers. Michael wasn't sure if it was because of his breakup with Forrest or if it was something else entirely. Maybe it was the fact that Michael was here at all.

He decided to keep quiet.

"You got me," Michael said, taking slightly bigger strides to keep up with Alex.

They were in a small town that served as a hub for a few even smaller towns that surrounded it. It had one small stretch of road with all the local businesses in it, a shabby hotel, a diner, and a farmer's market being the three biggest options. There were a couple others buildings, but Michael couldn't say what they were by just looking at them from the outside.

Alex seemed to know where he was headed though and he waltzed up to a building that was only identifiable by a sign that was meant to say CORRIE'S but was missing a few letters and said CORE instead. He pushed the door open and Michael followed. The inside had the heater blasting in a way that immediately smothered him, but he managed to keep his face even. It looked like a convenience store with only three rows of shelves in the middle. A sign at the back door read GAS PUMP IN BACK. Michael thought that was bad advertising.

"Hello," an older woman at the counter greeted. She seemed to be the only one here.

"Hey," Alex said, approaching her and turning on an easy smile. Logically Michael just knew he was being charming to get what he came here for. Illogically, it felt like Alex could be nice to everyone but him.

How many times could he tell himself to grow up? 

"What can I help you two with?" she asked. 

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but this place is owned by someone who used to live in Fort Belknap?" Alex said, not even beating around the bush to charm her more. That was the only thing to convince him it wasn't just him. 

The woman stared at him, face unchanging. 

"Who's asking?" 

"Holt," Alex said, smiling and tilting his head a little bit, "Carla Holt, to be more specific."

She breathed in and closed her eyes for a moment before opening them a few moments later. 

"Their timing has always been impeccable," she said, gesturing towards a door behind her, "Come."

"Who's Carla Holt?" Michael whispered to him as they followed. Alex grabbed his arm and squeezed, nearly causing Michael to fully trip over air. 

"Just follow my lead. Stay quiet," Alex explained quietly, "I'll tell you later."

And Michael did as he said. 

"You must be the littlest Manes boy," the woman said as she led them into a little office. It was cluttered and didn't really seem like the top secret place Michael was imagining. 

"Yes, ma'am." 

"Corrie," she corrected, "I never did like the sound of ma'am."

"Alright," Alex said, laughing lightly even though didn't reach his eyes, "My mother told me the same thing." 

"I bet so," Corrie said, digging through messy drawers of a desk. She sat down heavily into the beat up chair and started digging through a file cabinet. "I kept telling myself it'll eventually come and bite me in the ass, carrying secrets for someone I only hear from once every few years, but you never know what you're getting yourself into until after you're stuck."

"Yeah, I know how that feels," Alex sighed. Michael's eyes drifted to him. He avoided eye contact completely.

"I'll be honest, I wasn't expecting you. Your brother, maybe. Part of me expected your father to bust down my door more than anyone," she went on. Corrie pulled out a small box and opened it, looking in and making a face before closing it and tossing it over her shoulder. 

"Guess I'm the sucker who agreed to clean up duty."

Corrie laughed.

Truly, Michael expected more danger and more difficulty. He expected a fight or at least tension. Instead, Alex and Corrie made small talk about their shitty affiliations while Corrie dug through decades worth of clutter. Eventually, she pulled out a box and opened it and took a deep breath. She closed it again before giving it to Alex and Alex didn't reopen it so Michael had no idea what was in it. All he knew was that it went into Alex's bag.

"Thank you "

"Keep it safe," Corrie said, "Keep yourself safe." Then for the first time her eyes drifted to Michael. "You too. There aren't many of you left."

It was hot in the building, but somehow Michael felt like he'd jumped in ice water.

"Thank you."

"Mhm. Now get the hell out of my store before somebody follows you."

"Of course. Thank you again," Alex said politely and then he did as she said, turning on his heel and walking away. Michael wanted to stay and ask more–if she knew what he was, maybe she knew things he didn't and they could get rid of Mr. Jones–but Michael simply followed Alex's lead.

"Alex," Michael said, nearly having to jog to keep up. Alex opened the door of the store and a blast of cold hit Michael in the face, colder than before due to the extreme warmth inside. It took him a moment to reboot his mind enough to finish what he was saying. "Alex, what's in the box?"

Alex managed to close his eyes and shake his head in disapproval without slowing his pace. 

"Can you wait until we get to the hotel?" Alex asked, cold again. Michael nodded despite the fact Alex couldn't see him, deciding that a verbal answer probably would be annoying in itself. 

The problem with silence was that it was a sure way to get Michael to spiral. He had discovered very recently that being alone when he wanted to be alone the most was the worst idea. Now, he didn't want to be alone as much as he wanted answers. Walking in silence down a street while wondering what was in Alex's bag, who Carla Holt was, why Alex was angry, etc, etc, etc, was only making his mind race.

By the time they stepped into the lobby of the hotel, Michael was sure that Alex had just borrowed a bomb from an old lady and he was going to explode himself and whoever Carla Holt was was going to hunt Michael down in revenge. He of course didn't say that. Instead, he tapped his foot as Alex requested a room with two queens and didn't realized that the worker snorted because he was assuming they were two queens until after they were already heading to the room. 

"Should I go spit in his drink?" Michael asked when he realized. 

"No," Alex said, "You'd probably make it taste too sweet."

Michael again found himself stumbling over nothing and he looked at Alex, wondering what the hell was he talking about. But it was the nicest thing he'd said to him the whole trip and Michael decided to take it very personally. 

"You sayin' I'm sweet?" Michael asked, grinning. A smile pulled at Alex's mouth that he very quickly schooled, slowing as he came to their room. 

"I'm saying your saliva, and probably your other bodily fluids, have a higher concentration of a glucose-like chemical," Alex said, "As proved by Kyle and Liz when we got drunk."

"You guys drunkenly tested our saliva's glucose levels?" Michael asked, laughing a little. Alex finally speaking to him made his brain stop wandering as much. Not completely–he was still wondering about that box–but enough.

"We were talking," Alex said, unlocking the door with the keycard, "And noticed we all thought you three tasted sweeter than other people we'd kissed and, well, you know. So we did some tests."

"That's... Interesting," Michael said, letting the door close behind them.

Alex walked over to the bed closest to the door and carefully sat his bag down. Michael watched him, staying near the door. He was still unsure about where they stood. He knew Alex cared about him and he knew Alex didn't hate him, but he was also still holding him at arm's length. And then there was that box. He didn't want to push.

But Michael wasn't known for his patience. 

"Alex," Michael said, "What's in that box?"

Alex swallowed and looked up at him for a moment before patting the bed beside him. An invitation. One that made Michael's stomach drop and twist in 11 knots. But he walked closer, sitting beside Alex. Alex stared at him, his features slowly loosening up to betray his feelings. His eyebrows pulled together in that kind of worry that meant he felt like he was drowning, scrambling to pull himself to the surface and never able to get a good grip. Which would explain the coldness, he supposed.

"You know you can trust me, right? I'm... I'm working on not being so self-destructive, and, like, knowing I'm helping you out kinda helps when I feel shitty," Michael said. Alex huffed a small laugh and shook his head, dropping his chin to his chest for a moment. When he looked Michael in the eye again, he was back to being serious. 

"I did something stupid," Alex said, softly like it was a secret, "I agreed to something without knowing what I was getting myself into. And I'm kind of stuck right now."

"Stuck? What do you mean stuck?" Michael said, following his lead and whispering.

"I'm figuring it out, alright? Don't worry. I'll tell you later," Alex said, reaching out to squeeze his arm before dropping it back to the bed, "And I checked before we even left that I wasn't bugged and I've kept my eye out to know that we aren't being followed. And my computer definitely isn't. We're good. They're tracking me, but only to the extent I'm letting them. It's okay." 

"That doesn't sound okay," Michael said.

"Trust me like I trust you, alright?" He said. Michael reluctantly nodded. "I need you to hold something for me."

Michael blinked. "The box."

"Yeah."

"Who's Carla Holt?" Michael asked. Alex smiled softly

"It's not a who, it's a what. It's a code from my mom's side of things. She knows more about the alien shit than she let on," Alex sighed, "I didn't stand a fucking chance not being involved with this shit. My dad, my mom, you. So, you know, if you ever feel bad about that, it's my fucking destiny." 

Michael swallowed and nodded, feeling more eager by the second to know what was in that box. Needed to keep hearing Alex say how fated they were to know each other. Needed Alex to touch his arm again and smile.

"Okay," Michael said, trying to stay in his own space, "So we're fated. Cosmic connection. Called it."

Alex broke into a wide smile, genuine and welcoming as he shoved Michael's shoulder gently. "Shut up."

"Show me," Michael said instead. Alex's smile faded just a little.

"Do me a favor and double check our surroundings," Alex said. Michael nodded and tilted his head, sending a chair to lodge itself under the doorknob and pressed the curtains tightly to the wall. His eyes slid closed as he did a mental sweep of the building, not noticing anything out of order. When he opened his eyes again, Alex seemed to be closer. "Thanks." 

"Show me." 

Alex sighed and nodded, hesitantly reaching into his bag and pulling out the box. It was clear now that it was made of really nice wood, intricate carvings covering it. Alex handled it with an extreme care that Corrie didn't have with it. His eyes flickered between the box and Michael a few dozen times before he hesitantly opened it and Michael leaned closer to see.

"It's just a ring," Michael said, almost disappointed. It looked like a normal, silver band that was old and unpolished after years of being tucked away. 

"Not just a ring," Alex said, he kept his fingers very precise as he picked it up. Michael didn't miss the way it seemed to ripple at his touch.

"Something alien," Michael acknowledged.

"Something alien," Alex confirmed, "Most of the glass and even the rocks that you've had so far all seem to be crafted and at least heavily altered by your people to be as useful as they are. This... This was passed down as a pure substance that was mined and cut into a wedding band to mimic human customs." Alex looked at him. "It pre-dates your mother landing here, Michael."

Michael let out a shaky breath, eager and hungry for knowledge for the first time in a long time. He'd poured over Tripp's journal over and over, poured over Caulfield and Project Shepard records, all of it painful and sickening with an unhappy ending. And now there was something new– old –that might actually give him something more. Proof that aliens were here before his mother, proof that there was a reason they came to Earth of all places. More secrets he craved to uncover. He missed the feeling. 

"It's powerful and, as far as I can tell, the last of it left. The rest was probably destroyed with your planet. But it's old and... and sentimental. One of the older women on the reservation told me the sentimentality powered it more. Because it's not just a ring that symbolizes love or a bond between two people, but it's a new start. Blending the past they chose to leave behind together with something new and different. Safer and secure. Together," Alex said. Michael swallowed, eyes unable to break away from Alex's. Alex cleared his throat and looked back down at it. "That's what she said anyway. There was probably two at one point, but I'm sure the other is lost to time."

"Yeah, okay. Okay," Michael said, agreeing without hesitation, "I'll take care of it and keep it safe."

He went to grab it, but Alex pulled it out of his reach.

"Michael," he said, "When I say it's powerful, I mean the moment you put it on, something's going to… happen."

Michael hadn't really intended to put it on, but it seemed Alex knew him well enough to know that eventually he would. 

"What kind of something?" 

"I don't know, Michael. I just know legend says it has unspeakable levels of power. So, please, be careful with it. I'd prefer you do it with someone around in case it overloads you or something," Alex said. Michael didn't point out what Isobel had before–he was the only one who didn't have a limit.

"Why not just put it on right now?" Michael said, "We're in the clear and you're here. Why not?" 

Alex breathed in and out, staring at him with that same worried, downing look. Michael selfishly enjoyed it for a few moments–enjoying that he cared that much. So he smirked and held out his left hand, feeling confident.

"Go ahead, Alex. Put a ring on it," he said. A smile pulled at Alex's lips that he fought, but he relaxed his shoulders and grabbed Michael's hand with his empty one.

Alex's hand was warm. Michael was sort of obsessed with the feeling of it. Why hadn't they been holding hands this entire time? 

"I'm right here, okay? So if you need me to take it off or if you feel like you're going to lose control, let me know. Try not to throw me," Alex said. Michael rolled his eyes.

"I don't give a shit how much power I have injected into me, I'm not going to hurt you," Michael said. Alex raised an eyebrow. "Physically. Come on now, cut me some slack."

"Maybe," Alex said, putting the ring closer. Michael could feel it now that it was millimeters away from his skin, the power of it overwhelming. And Michael was intrigued. "Ready?"

"Always."

Alex slid the ring onto his ring finger.

The wave of power hit him instantly and, before he could adjust, sent him into a mindscape. Or–he thought it was. The room was damp and dark, unwelcoming. Michael looked around for something, someone, but he was alone. It was crowded with things, though, inventions and technological structures. It looked like his own lair but significantly less familiar, less comforting. 

“Michael?”

Michael turned towards the voice and saw Alex at the top of a ladder, staring down at him with a face that said he was doing everything to stay calm. He had red stains on his clothes. Michael stared at him, unsure what to do. Alex was down the ladder and centimeters away from him so quickly that it could only be achieved by him seeing something that wasn’t happening just yet.

“Are you okay?” Alex asked, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” Michael said, instinctually, “Where are we? What is this place?”

Alex looked around the room, his face betraying his pain before he met Michael’s eyes again. Then his hand was on Michael’s cheek with a warm and grounding presence. Michael’s heart was about to burst out of his chest.

“My research,” he sighed, “Half of it’s destroyed anyway. Let’s go.” Michael didn’t really think that sounded right. This didn’t feel like Alex’s space. He’d been in enough of Alex’s spaces before to know what they felt like. This wasn’t it.

“Your research?” he said. Alex gave him a look and stroked his thumb over his cheekbone.

“I’ll tell you later.”

“Stop that,” Michael said, his voice sounding more irritated than he meant. He could feel the anger in his body, but he didn’t know the source. “Stop not telling me things. You keep doing that. You need to tell me.”

“You’re right,” Alex agreed, swallowing, “But we need to get out of here. I swear I’ll tell you once we get in the car. But we need to get out of here.”

“You promise you’ll tell me in the car?” Michael said. Alex nodded.

“I promise.”

They were upstairs just as fast as Alex had been downstairs. Michael saw blood. He turned his head to find the source, but Alex’s hand was back on his neck to stop him.

“Don’t look. Let’s just go to the car.”

“What, you tryna baby me?” Michael asked, “You know I’ve seen some shit.”

“Yeah, I know,” Alex said, still leading him towards the door as his thumb dug slightly into the muscle on his neck, “Doesn’t mean I have to show you more.”

Michael sucked in a breath and he was thrown back into his body, the power from the ring still thrumming through him and teasing a possible second surge. It was old and unused and desperate to stretch out some of it's pent up energy.

Alex was there, staring at him and holding onto him. He was so close, so real, and so was that memory that was just in the opposite direction. Michael stared at him, taking him in.

"What happened?" Alex asked, hands squeezing his biceps. His hand started to slide up, but stopped at his shoulder. "Hey, you with me?" 

"Yeah," Michael said, "I'm okay."

"What happened?"

"I think, uh," Michael breathed, swallowing. His throat felt dry again. The heat of the hotel seemed to work with the heat inside him; he was on fire in the best way. "I got, like, That's So Raven'd."

Alex blinked a couple times, his thumb moving in slow circles against his collarbone not too far from where it’d been moments ago in his vision. Michael wanted to let his eyes roll back into his head and just sink into the bed with Alex beside him and let this undeniable strength course through him.

"You saw the future?" he said, "Like one of Maria's visions?" 

"I think so," Michael confirmed, "Only… mine wasn't of something bad. I mean, not really, anyway."

"What was it?" Alex asked. 

Michael licked his lips, studying Alex for a moment. The ring on his finger fit perfectly as if it was made for him. The power it gave settled nicely in him, pulsing and eager to be used just a little bit more, but in a childish, playful way. It wanted to stretch after too many years being cooped up.

"Hey, I'm going to try to see something else," Michael said. Alex's eyes went wide as saucers.

"What? Tell me what you saw the first time," Alex pressed, his hand shifting just enough to cup the side of his neck. Michael layered his hand over his, feeling bold and unperturbed. At some point, they were going to get there. He was sure of that more now than ever. 

And he wanted to see more.

" Michael ," Alex said, but Michael closed his eyes and breathed in, letting the power in the ring take him somewhere else.

And he was somewhere else. 

He was standing at the end of a driveway. He looked around and tried to grab some sort of identifier, but all he saw was a house behind him and then a school bus headed towards him. It stopped in front of him, a kid stepping off and running towards him with a backpack almost as big as she was. 

"Daddy!" the kid yelled and Michael tried his damnedest to act like he was meant to be here as the little body slammed against his legs for a welcoming hug. "Is Dad home yet? Can you tell him to get ice cream? I think we need ice cream."

"Oh, you think we need it?" Michael asked, walking with the kid towards the house. It felt natural, oddly enough. 

"Yes," the kid said simply, running towards the door. She threw it open and Michael laughed and jogged the rest of the way. He could hear her already telling a story about school and he was trying to stay close enough to follow.

He walked into a foyer, pictures lining the wall. Family portraits.

Him and Alex. The three of them.

When Michael came back to his senses, Alex was right there again and staring at him without faltering. The ring was still alive, but it was at a sated hum now that it had been used a few times. He wondered how it would feel doing something he understood. He couldn’t wait to try.

“Hey,” Alex said, soft and comforting as he welcomed his weight. The vision he had was definitely not what he was looking for, he wanted to know more about Alex’s research and why it all felt so wrong and where the hell they were, but the second one… 

“Hi,” Michael said, breathing and his eyes drifting down to his lips. Michael had experienced a lot of urges to kiss Alex before. Somehow this felt more dire.

“Please don’t do that again,” Alex said, “Maybe we should take it off.”

Michael shook his head carefully, eyes scanning him, “No, it feels fine now. It just needed to be used after being in a little box for decades. It’s good. Feels good.”

“Okay,” Alex said, still clearly hesitant. His fingers played with the hair at the back of Michael’s neck. There were two beds, but Michael was trying to figure out how to convince him to share one. They could fit. They’d shared smaller. “What’d you see?”

Michael breathed deep, wanting to get closer. He kept his hands to himself no matter how much he wanted to touch. He was being good. To get to where those visions said he was headed, he had to be good. Good for himself and Alex.

“Tell me what’s going on,” Michael said softly, “What are you researching? Who are you working with?”

Alex blinked once, twice before dropping his hand off of Michael. Which definitely hurt, but the fact that Alex didn’t move away definitely helped. 

“What did you see?” Alex asked again, more pressing, “I know you saw that I’m researching something.”

Michael shrugged. He technically did, but he didn’t see anything identifiable. He didn’t know what it was. He would like to. Then again, he’d always wanted to know everything about Alex Manes.

“I didn’t see what,” Michael said, “I just saw that someone’s going to fuck with it. I think. I don’t know, we were in this basement looking thing and it felt really off and, and not like you, but you said your stuff was in it. And you had blood on you and when we went upstairs, there was more blood. But you said not to look. I don’t know what you did or what happened, but, like, if you told me, maybe we can prevent it getting that extreme.”

Alex stared at him for a long moment. 

“You saw that both times?” Alex asked softly. Michael hesitated before shaking his head. “What else did you see, then?”

“Um,” Michael breathed, trying to think of the right words to say, “Uh. I don’t think, um…”

“ Michael.”

“Family portraits,” he said carefully, figuring that was easier to start with than a whole person who called them dad, “Like, ours. Um. I know we don’t belong in suburbia, but I guess we fucking get it anyway.”

He laughed. It wasn’t funny, but it was easier to say it like it was a joke. Alex looked at him, face confused.

“Suburbia? Like. White picket fence kinda thing?” Alex asked. Michael took a slow breath.

“I, uh, I didn’t see a fence, I was too focused on the‒” he stopped, licking his lips. Michael rubbed his thumb over the ring. It seemed to purr at the attention. Michael couldn’t wait to get back home and see what he could really do.

“On the what?” Alex prodded, reaching out to rest his hand on his leg and reigniting the contact. It felt so good. Michael really liked when he was touchy, it was his favorite thing about Alex.

“Um,” Michael breathed, feeling drunk off the attention and the ring all at once. He thought about lying, maybe that they were babysitting because that was close enough, but he was so tired of lies and half-truths and I’ll-tell-you-laters. “On the kid.”

Alex froze for a moment, “The kid?”

“Yeah,” Michael said, shrugging softly, “I, uh, I guess she was ours. She was calling us dad. Do we have any water? My throat is super dry.”

“I… I don’t think you’re seeing the future then, I’m never having kids. Do you realize how awful of a parent I would be? Awful. Neglectful. That’s not… And after I clearly fucking hurt people?”

“Maybe not,” Michael said, not about to argue right now. He was too busy feeling good. Alex kept his hand on his knee. “But whatever it was, it was good.”

Alex stared at him, quiet and clearly thinking things through. Michael let him. It was easier to give him space and time now. He’d gotten better at it before his visions, but they solidified to him that they were on a good path. It felt like they were making good choices and taking good steps. This was just a part of it.

Alex eventually took a deep breath, looked him in the eye.

“I’m gonna tell you what I’m doing, but you have to promise you’re going to stay out of it and trust me,” Alex said, “You promise?”

“I promise.”

“And you’re gonna promise to be honest with me?” Alex said, “And stay safe. Like, seriously. Don’t be reckless just because. I know you.”

I know you.

“Yeah. I’m doing better now,” Michael said, stretching his hand out, “I am. But I’m… I’m tired of not doing shit together. Doing stuff separately always gets us in shitty situations, Alex, I wanna be a team. Can I be on your team?”

Alex swallowed and moved his hand up, tucking Michael’s hair behind his ear.

“Yeah. Be on my team. Let’s be a team,” Alex said. He shifted and Michael waited patiently, watching him. “Okay, so. Deep Sky. It’s… it’s got some good people, I think, but it’s overall fucked. I don’t trust anyone in there, but it’s where I’m doing my research. Sort of. So I’ll tell you.”

It almost felt too good to be true to hear, but he didn’t need the ring to know that Alex was being honest. It showed him anyway. Truthfulness radiated off of him in vibrant blues and whites. He didn’t even need to get in his mindscape to be sure of it. It was strange to feel like that was unnecessary, like his body didn’t need confirmation because it already knew.  It didn’t feel like he was stepping off a ledge. He hoped Alex had the same confidence, wondered what would happen if he put the ring on him.

If Alex still felt like he was stepping off the ledge, he was going to be sure to catch every inch of him this time. No piece would hit the ground like all the times before.

He was going to make this work.

“Everything?” 

“Everything.”

[bumblesimagines]

Green Thumb

Part 9

Request: Yes or No

Almost at double digits y'all. Can someone be an angel and send me the ages of every one between civil war and endgame? Ik Wanda was 18-19 in Age of Ultron and Civil war and Sam was probs in his mid to late twenties in Civil War.

~

You frowned, touching the collar around your neck. It made you feel like an animal. It was to prevent you from using your powers. Rhodes had mentioned it would shock you if you attempted to use your powers. You weren't sure if it was instantaneous or if someone controlled it but you didn't feel like finding out.

"You like cats?" Sam asked T'Challa, prince of Wakanda.

"Sam." Steve called, glancing over his shoulder like a disapproving parent. You snorted softly, biting your bottom lip.

"What? Dude shows up dressed like a cat and you don't want to know more?" Sam asked, looking at Steve.

"I like cats." You mumbled, looking at Sam with a small smile. Sam turned towards you with a small grin.

"Of course you do, Animal Planet." You rolled your eyes at the new nickname, shifting slightly. You really didn't want to trigger the collar.

"I'm a dog person."

"You look like a dog person."

"And what do dog people look like?"

"Morons." You answered, giving a slight shrug as Steve cracked a smile, trying to bite back a chuckle. Sam huffed lightly, looking away from you. A moment of silence passed before Steve spoke.

"Your suit.. Vibranium?" Steve asked T'Challa. The prince turned his head slightly.

"The Black Panther has been the protector of Wakanda for generations. It's meant to pass from warrior to warrior. Now, because your friend murdered my father, I also wear the mantle of king. So I ask you.. How long do you think you can keep your friend safe from me?" T'Challa asked, finally looking at Steve. Steve stayed silent, looking forward. You sighed through your nose, feeling the tension return. You wondered if Clint had been notified of your arrest yet. The van pulled into a parking garage, officers opening the door once it came to a stop. You got out, following Steve to the man and blonde.

"What's gonna happen to him?" Steve asked. You turned your head, looking over at him. You made eye contact with him again, holding it for a minute before looking away.

"What was that?" Sam asked quietly. You frowned, brows furrowing.

"That- That little staring contest."

"Oh, shut up." You huffed, looking away from him.

"Same thing that's gonna happen to you. Psychological evaluation." The man replied.

"This is Everett Ross, CIA operative and Task Force Commander." The woman, Sharon Carter, introduced him. Her gaze flickered to you.

"The shock collar will be taken off after the evaluation." She said, voice stotic but gaze pitiful.

"What about a lawyer?"

"Lawyer, that's funny. See their weapons are placed in lock up." Ross instructed the officers. Sam scoffed, following the officers. Steve spared one last glance to Bucky before following Ross and the officers. You walked besides Sam, being escorted through the building.

"You'll be placed in offices instead of cells. Do me a favor and stay in them." Ross stared straight forward as he spoke. T'Challa moved to walk beside him.

"I don't intend on going anywhere." T'Challa said. You spotted Natasha, feeling some sense of relief.

"Clint was informed and I assured him I'd keep an eye on you." Natasha told you, giving a small reassuring smile. She looked at Steve, addressing him. The relief went away upon hearing Tonys' voice. He finished his phone call, approaching you and the guys.

"Consequences?" Steve questioned, staring at him. You looked around the large room, noticing the screens and everything going on.

"Secretary Ross wants you three prosecuted." Tony said, motioning to them and you. Your brows furrowed slightly. There were two guys with the last name Ross who looked vaguely alike. That definitely wouldn't be hard to remember.

"I'm not getting that shield back, am I?" Steve asked as Tony and Natasha walked away.

"Technically, it belongs to the government. Wings too." Natasha said, shrugging.

"That's cold." Sam muttered.

"Warmer than jail." Tony called back. You looked at the security cameras, noticing the room Bucky had been moved to.

"You got the hots for him or something?" Sam asked. Steve turned to look at you, blinking a few times. You shot Sam a look, raising your brows.

"No, Samuel. I do not and if I did, why would you ask infront of his longtime bestie?" You asked, almost gritting your teeth. Sam raised his hands in surrender as Tony pulled Steve into a meeting room to talk.

"Why have a meeting in a glass box?" You asked quietly. Sam shrugged, looking it over.

"To prevent fighting." Sam answered. You watched at Steve and Tony seemed to argue. You looked at Sam with an amused smile.

"Physical fights." Sam clarified as Tony stepped out and Sharon had you and Sam enter. You took a seat across from Sam, looking at the security camera footage. Sharon entered, placing a paper infront of Sam.

"I'm sorry about the collar." Sharon apologized softly. You leaned back in the seat, shrugging lightly. She pressed a button, allowing Steve to listen to the footage. Sharon slid over some photos over to Steve.

"Why would the Task Force release this?" Steve asked. Sharon gave a shrug.

"To alert the public, I guess."

"Right.. A good way to force a guy into hiding. Got seven billion people looking for The Winter Solider."

"You're saying someone framed the guy to find him." Sharon mused quietly. Sam seemed confused, looking at Steve. You looked back at the footage on screen.

"Steve, you looked for the guy for two years and found nothing." Sam reminded him.

"We didn't bomb the UN."

"That doesn't guarantee that the person who framed him knew that we'd get him." Sharon looked at Steve. She suddenly frowned, brows furrowing as Steve turned towards the footage. You looked up as the power went out, seeing the staff begin to freak out and try to locate the source. You looked at Sam, slowly standing up. Sharon took out a key, sliding it over to you.

"Level 5 east wing." She said as you unlocked the collar, tossing it to the side as running out of the room with Sam and Steve. Whoever had framed Bucky had found him. You followed the two down the hall and down some stairs. You reached the area, finding guards on the ground. The interviewer lied on the ground, calling for help. Steve approached him with you hesitantly following. You noticed movement out of the corner of your eye, dodging Sam when he was thrown towards you.

"Hey, dude." You breathed out, swallowing. Bucky had a deep frown on his face, blue eyes holding nothing but bloodlust. He looked downright terrifying. You thrusted both hands forward, shooting a fireball that sent him flying back against the wall. Steve quickly stepped between you and him as you turned and rushed to Sam.

"Sam? Sam!" You shook his shoulders, shakey fingers pressing against his neck. You felt his pulse, relieved to feel his heartbeat. You slapped his cheek, waking him up.

"I've always wanted to do that." You muttered, watching him wince. He groaned, turning his head. You followed his gaze, seeing the guy from before looking down where Steve had been thrown. You stood, helping Sam up and following him up a set of stairs. With Steve out of commission temporarily and Bucky in a frenzy, the guy was the only hope of stopping everything.

"Can you try to stop him or trip him up?" Sam asked, rushing up the stairs.

"I can't see him and I'd rather not make this whole building collapse on accident." You replied, almost tripping over your own feet. Sam found an exit, following the crowd of people running.

"He looked like any other guy." You said, taking in deep breaths. Sam shot you a weird look.

"We just ran up like five flights of stairs." You breathed out, hands resting on your knees. At least the chilly weather provided some help. Sam noticed a jacket, jogging over and picking it up. You stumbled after him, looking it over.

"I really need some water." You whispered, lightly fanning yourself. Sam rolled his eyes, following the crowd of people. You sluggishly followed, giving him a small smile when he stopped by a shop to get you a bottle. He took out his phone as you drank half of it.

"Come on." Sam pulled you along, following direction and entering warehouse. Steve had Bucky laying against some machinery, unconscious and metal arm trapped in a wedge.

"You two okay?" Steve asked, looking you and Sam over with a concerned frown.

"Yeah.. Someone over here needs some more training." Sam glanced at you with a teasing smile. You rolled your eyes, licking your lips as you heard the sound of a helicopter.

"Could you ice over his arm?" Steve asked.

"He broke a stone wall. Ice won't hold him but sure, I'll do it." You shrugged, approaching the unconscious man. You licked your lips, splashing the rest of the water on the machinery and touching it after. The ice creeped down, covering over the metal arm. You looked at him, finally getting a proper look. He was handsome. Brown hair that barely reached his shoulders, facial hair just growing in, those icy blue eyes that either swirled with sadness or anger.

"You're giving him bedroom eyes again." Sam called, his voice echoing slightly. You clenched your jaw, looking at him.

"What? I can't admire something that looks nice?" You asked, watching his demeanor change. He looked alert yet amused. You frowned, looking back at Bucky and finding him staring right at you. You rolled your lips into your mouth, clearing your throat.

"God, that's so embarrassing." You whispered, speedwalking towards Sam as he cracked up. You ignored your burning face, arms crossing. Sam calmed down, wiping away a tear. Steve walked over, watching Bucky grunt and sit up. He looked at Steve, calling out his name in a hoarse voice.

"Which Bucky am I talking to?" Steve asked, staring at him intently. Bucky stayed silent for a moment before speaking.

"Your moms' name was Sarah... And you used to wear newspapers in your shoes." Bucky said, smiling softly. Steve relaxed, gaze softening.

"You don't read that in a magazine."

"Just like that we're supposed to be cool?" Sam asked, giving Steve a slightly wide eyed look.

"What did I do?" Bucky asked, looking between you, Steve, and Sam.

"Enough." Steve answered. Bucky shut his eyes tightly, shaking his head as he hung his head.

"I knew this would happen.." He whispered. "Everything HYDRA put inside of me is still there. All he had to do was say the god damn words."

"Who was he?"

"I don't know." Bucky answered, though you weren't sure if it was truthful or not. He didn't seem like the type to lie, at least not to Steve.

"People are dead. The guy did all that just to get ten minutes with you." Steve pointed out, watching his old best friend. Bucky looked defeated and confused. "I need you to do better than 'I don't know'."

"He wanted to know about Siberia. Where I was captain." Bucky said quietly, gaze flickering around as he tried to remember.

"He wanted to know exactly where."

"Why would he need to know that?" Bucky stayed silent, licking his lips as he stared at the ground. He looked at Steve.

"Cause I'm not the only Winter Solider." He revealed. You looked at Sam in confusion and surprise. Bucky was strong and deadly on his own but a whole army could overthrow governments all over the world.

"That's terrifying." You whispered, leaning against the wall and sliding down so you were sitting down. Steve chose to lean against the wall after letting Bucky's arm free.

"Who are they?" Steve asked as Bucky brushed some hair out of his face.

"Their most elite death squad. More kills than anyone in HYDRA history and that was before the serum." Bucky responded.

"They all turn out like you?" Sam asked. Bucky looked at him, swallowing.

"Worse."

"The doctor... Did he control them?" Steve tilted his head. Bucky looked down at his lap.

"Enough."

"Said he wanted to see an empire fall." Steve told you and Sam. Bucky looked up at his words.

"These guys could do it. They speak thirty languages, can hide in plain sight, infiltrate, assassinate. They could take a whole country down over night and you'd never see them coming."

"Color me impressed." You whispered, playing with the strings of the jacket you were given after getting to Berlin. Sam slowly walked towards Steve.

"This would've been a lot easier a week ago." Sam said quietly, arms crossing. You stood up, dusting off your pants and approaching them.

"If we told Tony-"

"He'd have him locked up." You cut off Steve, glancing back at him.

"Plus, he'd never believe us." Sam added.

"But if he did-"

"It wouldn't matter and who knows if the Accords would let us help him." Sam stared at him. Steve let out a defeated sigh, looking away from you and Sam.

"We're on our own."

"Not completely. Dad would help." You pointed out. Sam nodded, glancing at you.

"And, I know a guy." Sam said with a light shrug. You looked at him with a raised brow.

"You have friends?"

"I said I know him, not that we're friends but to answer your question, yes. I have friends that aren't you. Jealous?"

"Imaginary friends don't count."

~~~~~~~~~~

The drive was silent, Steve and Bucky occasionally reminiscing about the old days.

"On a scale of one to ten, how impressed is Clint gonna be when he sees you?" Sam asked. You smiled, letting out a chuckle as you watched the snowflake float inches above your hand.

"Probably an eleven, but he'll give me the typical dad speech infront of mom." You answered, lightly blowing on the snowflake and watching it disappear. Bucky turned his head to look at you. His muscular figure was semi cramped in the backseat. Steve picked the worst possible car to hijack.

"Hawkeye's your father?"

"Adoptive. He has a tendency of taking care of strays who once tried to take down the team." You told him, giving a small smile. Bucky hummed, nodding.

"Speaking of strays, how are you and Wanda?" Sam asked, glancing in the rearview mirror.

"Uhm, good? We're still good friends, even after the kiss." You shrugged lightly.

"Woah, kiss?" Steve repeated, brows raising.

"Yeah, we kissed but it felt.. Weird. There was no spark or overwhelming emotions. The love I have for her is the same love I have for Lila and the boys. She'll always be like a sister to me." You told them, glancing at Bucky. Bucky was still a bit on edge but you could tell he was trying to get adjusted.

"What are your powers?" Bucky asked, attempting to get comfortable in the car.

"I'm like the avatar, I guess."

"Who?" Bucky furrowed his brows. You blinked, lips parting as you stared at him. He was from the 1900s and worked for a criminal organization, obviously he wouldn't know a kids show from the 2000s.

"It's- It's from a show. An avatar is someone who controls all four elements and they basically save the world, I guess." You explained, growing a bit embarrassed at how silly it sounded. Bucky didn't seem to judge, giving a small smile.

"We could watch it together, if you want. It's a nice show." You offered, smiling. Sam raised his brows.

"Wonder what Clint will think about that." He muttered as Steve glanced at you and Bucky through the rearview mirror. You shot Sam a small glare, reaching out and touching the back of his neck with cold fingers. He hissed and leaned forward, pouting as he rubbed his neck.

"Yeah, I'd like that." Bucky said softly, nodding. You looked back at him, a smile appearing on your face. Bucky was incredibly attractive and you couldn't deny having a small growing crush on him but you didn't want to cross a boundary. He was from the 1900s afterall.

"How'd you end up fighting the Avengers?" Bucky asked, focusing all his attention onto you.

"The orphanage I grew up in threatened to kick me out since I had turned 18. I freaked and caused an accidental forest in the orphanage so the team was called." You told him, chuckling softly. Buckys' gaze softened, a hum leaving him.

"You've got some pretty cool powers, doll."

"Doll?" Steve and Sam repeated. A flustered smile appeared on your face, giggling softly. Bucky glanced at the two, wondering if he had crossed a line or said something wrong.

"Thanks." You looked forward, biting back an even bigger smile. You weren't completely sure if he was flirting or not but it was nice to get a compliment from an attractive guy, even if he had almost broken your friends' back an hour before. Steve slowly parked the car, getting out to greet Sharon.

"Could you move the seat up?" Bucky asked Sam, arm moving so it resting ontop of the carseats. His metal fingers lightly brushed against your hair but you weren't bothered by it.

"No." Sam replied. Bucky let out a deep sigh. You bit your bottom lip, looking at him.

"We can switch." You shrugged lightly.

"It's fine-"

"No, you shouldn't be squished back here." You faced him, feeling him gently grab your waist. He was incredibly gentle and cautious, moving you onto his lap briefly before he scooted to the side. You sat behind Sam, lightly kicking the seat. Sam moved it forward ever so slightly. You looked over at Steve and Sharon, blinking when they kissed.

"Oh? When did that happen?" You asked, brows furrowed. You knew there was some attraction between them but you didn't expect them to already be at the kissing stage.

"A while back, I think."

"Huh.." You whispered. Steve returned to the car with Sam's wings and his shield, putting them in the trunk. He drove to an airport parking lot, pulling up beside a van. You smiled widely, quickly getting out when Sam pulled the seat forward.

"Thanks for keeping my kid safe, Cap." Clint said, opening his arms as soon as he spotted you. You happily hugged him, feeling a sense of relief and safety wash over you.

"About time you started causing me trouble." Clint grinned as he pulled back. You noticed Wanda, pulling her into a hug as well.

"Saw it on the news. You okay?" She asked softly. You nodded, pulling back and brushing some of her red hair out of her face.

"Vision let you go easy?" You asked. Wanda shook her head, chuckling softly. Sam approached you, glancing back at Bucky.

"Might want to keep an eye on these two." Sam said, motioning to you and Bucky. Clint stared at him before looking turning to look at you. Wanda tilted her head, looking at you as well.

"You're such a dick." You muttered. You knew Sam was just being protective. He had always seen and treated you like a brother.

"Bad boy and older, huh? God, I hoping you had skipped those phases." Clint sighed heavily. You were partially suprised he hadn't mentioned or pointed out that Bucky was a guy. You hadn't really spoken about sexuality and attraction with him but knowing Clint, he'd be supportive about it.

"Not bad." Wanda said quietly, giggling softly as she smiled. You gave her a playful smile.

"I've got good taste."

[elena-reina]

You’re Done - Bucky Barnes x Reader

Request: Can I get a bucky imagine where the reader messes up really badly on a mission, can she have fire powers, and bucky is there for her in the end. Maybe like a friends to lovers kind of vibe? Thank you! Love you!- Anon

Warnings: none

a/n: [For the sake of this imagine my bby Pietro is alive for his two seconds of fame ;)]         There will be a pt 2. Idk when, but eventually.

“I need you all to lay low,” Steve’s voice spoke through the earpiece.

“Copy,” you along with the other Avengers said into the intercom in unison.

You have gone on many missions with the Avengers, however, this one was different. Most of the ones you’ve experienced were small track and point ones. Nothing like this where it was a life or death situation.

You had to capture one of the men named Azazel. He had vital information that was going to help the team out on a lead for the rest of the mission. You were a powerful asset to the team. The only issue was how much you underestimate yourself.

For weeks you had been training your powers and learning to keep them under control. There had been many incidents where you accidentally caused the sprinklers to go off at the tower for reasons we shall not speak of. But let’s just say they were all minor setbacks in your progress.

The team loved having you go on missions with them, but most of the time Steve wanted you to stay back at the tower and continue to train. You underestimate your powers and It took you many days to convince him to bring you on this specific mission. It wasn’t until you had a one on one with him that he finally gave in.

You had all the weight of the world on your shoulders. However, the adrenaline masked all the doubts running laps throughout your mind.

“I can see four of the guards standing by the door.. and I think a couple more on the other side of the building,” Wanda said slyly moving around the compound unseen.

“Could you at least try to make an effort to stay hidden,” Tony groaned, maneuvering around in the sky. “I can literally see your red head from here.”

“Listen Stark, you’d be caught long before I am,” Wanda smirked, sassily.

You softly chuckled to yourself.

“No, you listen Maximoff-” Tony began before Pietro cut him off.

“In all honesty, you’re not that witty Tony. Sorry, not sorry.”

“You know I don’t appreciate this slander on my title,” Tony mumbled.

While they bickered back and forth, you noticed one of the guards waving at the men to go inside the building. You ducked down when one of the men gave one last look around the area and went inside.

“They’re going inside,” you announced.

“Alright, here’s what we’re going to do,” Steve commenced going over the mission.

After listening to the entirety of Steve’s plan, you felt like there were some flaws in it. Naturally, you had your own plan in your head. Steve wanted everyone to go inside unnoticed and basically move around incognito. You, on the other hand, wanted to do it the old-fashioned way and all gang up together because there were more of you guys than there were of them. Or so you thought.

Sneaking inside the facility, you hid behind boxes and waited as Wanda and Pietro were the first ones to begin. Wanda would use her powers to mess with the men’s minds and make them fall asleep while Pietro would move their bodies to somewhere outside away from the rest of the Avengers. The building was old and looked like it could fall apart at any given moment.

Everything was going smoothly until one of the men, who had gone unnoticed by the rest of you, punched you harshly having you slam into the wall, sending an immediate alert to the people inside.

Clint and Natasha took awareness of this immediately and rushed by your side, but it was like the man had a vendetta on your head. He was overpowering all three of you and none of you understood how. Everyone was in full combat mode, and soon enough, almost a full army of them was coming out in groups. There was more of them than you thought there were.

Your fire powers were flowing out of your hand as you disintegrated any daggers or weapons they would try and throw your way. By this point, you were growing irritated and were having enough of this nonsense.

“Tell us where Azazel is!” you shouted holding one of the men up by the collar of his shirt. He smirked and pulled out a machine from the back of his pocket. You looked at it confused until you noticed a timer on it fastly counting down.

Your eyes widened.

“There’s a bomb in here!” you shouted into your earpiece.

“We’ll get this under control. Y/N, Bucky, and Clint get everyone out now!” Tony responded, already using his suit to find and defuse the bomb.

You were about to respond when you caught something out of the peripheral vision of your eye. You saw a door that was left cracked opened and decided to do a little digging for yourself. Looking around at the Avengers busy, you slipped away and entered the room. Silently closing the door, you moved behind a big crate to remain hidden.

Inside, you noticed a man dressed in all black with his back to you. You bet this was Azazel.

“Y/N, where are you!” Steve yelled into the earpiece.

You knew that you had to respond to Steve, but doing that would compromise your position. Without saying anything, you made a B-line towards the man.

“HEY!” you shouted, as who you assumed was Azazel, frighteningly looked up. He pushed boxes of glass out of his way and started to run. You weren’t going to leave him that easily and every place he tried to dodge into, you would blast up with your powers.

Picking up speed, you threw a firebolt at him hitting him in the back causing him to fall to the ground. You slowly sauntered over to him, a small triumphant grin on your face.

“Tell me what you know!” you fiercely shouted. Feeling bold, you had him exactly where you wanted. However, that confidence you once had faltered as his face then fell into a smirk. He pulled out a cylindrical device with a red button on top of it.

“Y/N! Do you copy!” Steve yelled again.

Ignoring Steve, you quickly extending your hand out to grab the device out of his hands but instead, you accidentally triggered your powers and blasted out an uncontrollable flame you’ve never seen or done before.

Azazel let out an excruciating scream of agony and the device slipped out of his hand. He was being burned alive.

“Oh no no no! What’s happening?!” you freaked, trying to get your powers under control. The flames emerged from your hands and began to consume everything within its path. It had a mind of its own and it was determined to burn everything to ashes.

Your screams rang throughout the room and Tony busted through the wall, frantically looking around. His eyes landed on you and the fire coming out of your palms.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?! Y/N STOP!” Tony yelled, wanting to get close enough to grab you, but the heat coming from the flames was too much, even for his suit. If anyone came close, they would have gotten burned as well. Pietro followed suit next to him.

You tried to stop them and bent down trying to grab onto Azazel, but this only made matter worse. It wasn’t until you felt a knife slice through the side of your arm, distracting you, that the fires coming from your hand died down.

You brought your hands up to your face horrified. His face and body were burned beyond recognition. You slumped to your knees and grabbed his lifeless corpse with one of your hands. His blood pooled out of his burnt clothes, coating your hands in warm crimson.

Looking further down his arm, you grabbed the device that was now barely holding together and looked at the odd wiring.

He was bluffing. It was a fake only to intimidate you.

“The bomb is going to go off! Everyone out-”

An ear-shattering explosion began to erupt throughout the facility before he could finish. For the most part, everyone was already on their way to the outside.

Pietro took awareness of you being out of it and quickly scooped you up into his arms and sped out of the exploding building. All of you had made it just in time before the entire building was already engulfed in flames. Pietro safely placed you down and grabbed onto your shoulders.

“Hey, are you alright?”

You nodded still shaken up.

“We almost fucking had him!” Tony exclaimed frustrated. “Let’s go.”

The ride back was silent. You had ruined the whole mission. You were mentally beating yourself up with a war inside your brain.

Why couldn’t you have just listened?

Back at the Avenger’s Tower, Steve ordered you to meet him at the office. You knew that whatever was coming wasn’t going to be good.

“Y/N, do you realize what you’ve just done?” Steve groaned, angrily placing his hands on the table in front of him. You looked around the room and at your hands that were covered in Azazel’s dried blood. You didn’t know that you were being set up. As a matter of fact, you didn’t even know that your powers had that much potential.

“I.. I didn’t mean to I was just-” you whispered, backing up to create some distance between you and Steve.

“You ruined the whole mission, Y/N! I told you that you were not ready!” he snapped, making your head jerk towards his direction. You opened your mouth to form words, but nothing came out. If you would have just had a moment to collect your thoughts, you would be better at articulating yourself.

“If you would just let me explain myself!” you shouted growing frustrated with overwhelming emotion, you felt your body getting hot. Taking a deep breath, you tried your best to calm the fire inside of you, quite literally.

Steve placed his hands on his hips and disapprovingly shook his head.

“You’re done.”

Your chest felt like it plummetted twenty feet underground. Despite the fire running through you, you felt your body grow cold. You had been training countless nights just to get where you are. There were so many things you wanted to say, while at the same time, you had nothing to say.

What was there to say anyway?

“What?” you managed to breathe out.

“Just go, Y/N.”

Steve then walked past you, leaving you standing in the middle of the complex. You clenched your fists and turned on your heel. You needed to get out. To blow off some steam before you burned the whole building down.

You rushed down the stairs, down every elevator, and all the way down to the empty field in front of the Avenger’s Tower near the aircraft. You felt the flames wanting to come out of your hands, but you tried your best to suppress them. Frantically looking around, you finally spotted a metal storage container.

Running inside, you shut the door and dropped to your knees finally letting the flames ignite. You cried your feelings out, this time not holding back. The flames engulfed the entire space.

A small part of you was fearful about not being able to contain it, but you knew you had to let it go. No one in this compound listens to you. It’s like they just want to keep you here to stay out of the way.

Was it for your benefit or theirs?

A knock on your door interrupted your thoughts, but you didn’t bother to turn around. Not that it would have mattered at this point. After releasing your emotions, you took a cold shower to cool off before coming back to your room at the Tower. The tower seemed empty. There was a stale stillness in the air that could be cut with a knife.

You couldn’t help but feel that everything was your fault. If you had just been able to stop underestimating yourself, maybe things would have happened differently. Or if you would have maybe just trained a bit more.

The door clicked signifying that someone was entering your room.

“Hey, mind if I come in?”

You turned around, lifting your gaze as your eyes fell on the handsome soldier before turning back around to face the window. There was nothing to be said. You and Bucky had always had this unspoken bond since the day you joined the Avengers. Whenever you were having a bad day, he was always there to talk about it and vice versa. Was there more underneath the surface than the two of you would like to acknowledge? Yes.

You watched as the trees flowed in the wind looking as peaceful as it could be, the opposite of how you were feeling.

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

He closed the door behind him and trudged next to you. He pulled up a chair and sat down, mirroring your actions by gazing outside the window.

“What’s there to talk about?” you dismissed.

“No one is blaming you,” he said, leaning back in the seat and crossing his arms over his chest.

You scoffed, shaking your head. “Oh really,” you mumbled, “I’m sure Steve would beg to differ.”

Gossip spreads like wildfire throughout the Tower and there was no way that anyone was going to be oblivious to what was going on. There was no easy way to sugar coat it. You fucked up and Steve knew this would happen. It’s plain and simple.

“Steve is just upset right now and will get over it. The mission was already a work in progress, to begin with. I don’t know exactly what went down, but your powers are stronger than you realize and with just a little bit more training-”

“Stop!” you shouted, standing up. Your chair fell behind you with a loud thud. Bucky jerked his head at your outburst but remained seated. He knew you were overwhelmed and wasn’t going to invalidate how you were feeling.

“No one listens to me! I was doing what I thought was right! I didn’t realize what I was doing until it was too late. It doesn’t matter how much ‘training’ I do, no one is there to help me!”

“And you have every right to feel that way. No one is blaming you, things happen. We live and we learn. It a part of life, Y/N. I recognize that I will never understand the struggles you are going through, but I can try.”

“Don’t patronize me, Buck,” you frowned. Truth be told, you just wanted someone to appreciate you.

This time, he stood up and placed both hands on either side of your shoulders. “I’m not. Look, how about we go out tonight to get your mind off things. Then, when you’re feeling better, we can discuss a plan to talk it out with the rest of the team.”

“They’re not going to listen to me.”

“I’ll make sure they listen, okay? Now, go get dressed before I dress you myself. You’ve got thirty minutes,” he winked pulling you in for a hug, to which you gladly returned.

Maybe you do need a night out.

[disgruntledspacedad]

The White Room

The Better Love Series || Join My Tags

a sequel to Shit Hits the Fan

pairing: Javier Peña x Fem!Reader (Ears). Part of the Better Love ‘verse.

summary: Bill Stechner makes his move. You never even saw it coming.

words: 6.1k

warnings: 18+, plot, a little angst, a little fluff. 

notes: unbeta’d. this is a big one. notes at the end.

<< Shit Hits the Fan || These Hands are Magic >>

MASTERLIST

You take the embassy steps two at a time, wishing you’d have been notified about the change in your schedule just half an hour earlier.

You’d gotten a page just as you were headed out the door of the apartment. Stechner has decided to pull you from Centra Spike’s night flight over Medellín. He wants you at headquarters this evening instead. He didn’t say why. 

Part of you isn’t sorry. Escobar has been getting desperate lately, and between the outbreaks of violence in Medellín and the continued bombing campaign in Bogotá, you’ve been burning the candle at both ends. Javi, too. He’s been spending more and more time at the base in Medellín, and you’ve been spending more and more time in the skies, pulling random shifts through all hours of the day and night. 

It hasn’t put a strain on your relationship, exactly. In fact, in some ways, the little moments that you steal with Javi when your schedules just happen to mesh are all the more precious because of it. You’re both exhausted and a little cranky, but there’s been an underlying desperation to your recent interactions that’s only served to stoke the flame that flickers between you. 

It’s a bittersweet feeling. You cherish the time you get together, but on the other hand, it seems like even when Javi’s right there next to you, you miss him so much that your chest aches.

Which is why you’re miffed that Bill couldn’t have shuffled you around a little sooner. Javi’s been in Medellín for the past two days. He’d caught an early flight back to Bogotá just as you’d been finishing up another late shift flyover. You’d just happened to run into him at the embassy airstrip, a perfect coincidence. Your eyes had met over the tarmac, and like a pair of magnets, you’d crashed into one another. Javi had wrapped you into a fierce hug, and you’d pulled him into a heated kiss, and the two of you had spent a good five minutes canoodling in a hidden corridor near the water fountains, kissing and whispering and grappling for position as he’d pinned you against the wall. He’d breathed you in, and you’d reveled in the taste of him on your lips, each of you pressing frantically against the body of the other as if it had been weeks and not mere days since you’d been together. 

“I’ve got to go,” Javi had apologized into your mouth, breathing the words between a series of soft, desperate kisses. “Fucking… fucking early meeting with Martinez.”

“It’s okay, baby,” you’d reassured him, feeling very much like it wasn’t okay. You hardly get enough of him as it is. This tiny little taste had only deepened your aching need, and you’d felt your heart splitting in two as he’d pulled away from you, a small little grimace of frustration twisting his face. 

“I’ll see you soon,” you’d called as he’d hurried away, and he’d responded with a tight lipped smile and another dark look of longing. 

Now, you round the corridor toward the DEA office, walking as quickly as you can without drawing attention to yourself. Javi is working late again. If you hurry, you’ll have twenty five uninterrupted minutes with him before your night shift starts. 

“Ears!” You stop in your tracks, a little shudder of resentment flashing down your spine at Bill’s overeager greeting. “Just the lady I’ve been waiting to see.”

You school your face into a neutral expression of polite interest. Most days, you like Bill just fine, despite the fact that you really don’t trust him for shit. 

Today, damn him straight to hell.

“What’s up?” you ask, quirking your lips into an intrigued little grin. There’s a certain informality and blasé banter that Bill’s grown to expect from your encounters, and he’s sharp enough to sense that something’s off if you don’t perform.

“Oh, loads and loads,” Bill says, leaning casually against the corridor wall with his arms folded. 

You bite back a sigh. You really, really don’t have the patience to dance around him today. “Oh, really?”

Bill arches a questioning brow at you, and you remind yourself to be convincing, dammit. Usually, this isn’t an issue. Most days, you like your job, and your boss, just fine. 

Most days. 

“You’re bored, aren’t you, Ears?” Bill continues, pitching his voice deep, those probing eyes piercing straight through you.

“I -” you start. Bored isn’t how you’d describe it, lately.

Tired, more like. 

“No, no,” Bill’s expression is patient, endearing. “Don’t deny it. I’ve been watching you. I know that hungry look when I see it. You want more. You came to Colombia to do something important with your life, I can tell.”

Six months ago, hell, even three months ago, Bill’s words would have been true. Now, the very thought of more is enough to send you crawling into bed and sleeping for a week. 

‘Isn’t tracking down Pablo Escobar pretty fucking important?’ you’re half tempted to ask. You hold your tongue.

Obviously, it’s not to Bill Stechner.

“What do you have for me?” you say instead, hoping you sound intrigued, carefully not confirming or denying Bill’s suspicions. 

“Real work,” Bill says with a sharp smile. Something cold jolts down your spine at the his use of the word ‘real.’ 

As if everything until now has been a sham.

“Follow me,” he beckons, and you have no choice but to obey.

Bill leads you past the DEA offices. You catch a glimpse of the top of Javi’s head from the corner of your eye. He’s hunched over his desk, pouring over an open manilla file. You can barely see the deep furrow in his brow. He doesn’t notice you pass by, and you don’t pause to acknowledge him.

Something throbs in your chest at that.

You follow Bill through a few more winding corridors, down into the basement, past Centra Spike’s room, right up to an unassuming little bookcase built into a nondescript wall in the middle of nowhere. 

Bill pauses here, turning to look at you with shining eyes. 

You meet his stare, giving away nothing. 

With an enthusiasm that borders on theatrical, Bill huddles over a little keypad that’s tucked away at the edge of the bookcase. He punches in a series of numbers, glancing over to confirm that you’re still watching. 

You definitely are.

Bill steps back, and like something from an Indiana Jones film, the entire fucking bookcase slides aside, reveling a reinforced steel door built into the wall. 

“Whoa,” you can’t help but breathe.

Bill’s eyes glitter. He’s eating this up, impressing you. 

And truly, you’re impressed. That little spark of interest that had died in the past months of your burnout has flared with a vengeance. 

This is the shit that you joined the CIA for, and Bill Stechner knows it. 

“Welcome to the white room, Ears,” Bill announces lowly. It’s the soft, knowing voice of a man sharing a deeply guarded secret. He opens the steel door with a flourish, and it swings slowly aside, heavy and creaking, as if its weight alone could announce the gravity of what you’re about to see. 

Carefully, you step inside the room, ducking a little to avoid knocking your head against the low hanging doorway, crawling past the steel corridor entrance before you can straighten.

You blink, astounded at what you’re seeing.

Of course, you’ve heard whispers of CIA’s fabled “White Room,” a repository of classified files tucked away somewhere in the embassy basement. Even Javi’s mentioned it a couple of times, always with a hint of resentment, like he’d give his left arm for even a glimpse inside. Rumor is, Steve Murphy’s been in here before, but just once, and he was heavily supervised the entire time. It’s a fucking goldmine of intel, stacks upon stacks of carefully organized file folders, all at the fingertips of the few individuals who are important enough to be need-to-know. 

“Okay,” you whisper beneath your breath, taking it all in. Reality is a little different than you’d pictured. The entrance is impressive, sure, but what you’re staring at is even more so. Box after carefully labelled box is packed atop one another, stacked six deep on a never-ending series of steel shelves. 

You could spend an eternity here learning all of the secrets of Colombia. The implications are mind-boggling, and distantly, you wonder how many other well-hidden rooms the CIA has tucked away across a spread of foreign countries, a never-ending fountain of secrets related to god-knows-what.

Your brain stutters at the thought.

You realize suddenly that Bill is watching you carefully from the corner of his eye, observing your reaction as if he’s surreptitiously taking notes on every thought that flits across you brain. Again, you school your expression, reverting to that practiced, dead-eyed stare of careful neutrality. 

“Cool,” you say, a little breathlessly, knowing that Bill’s eager to wow you, and not seeing any reason not to acknowledge the fact that, yeah, you’re pretty fucking wowed. You turn to face him, ignoring the temptation to sweep your gaze over the many, many labeled files at your eye level. “So, what are we doing here?”

Bill laughs. “I’ll show you.” He leads you past the shelves, and now that you’re behind him, you can’t stop your eyes from tracking over the labels at your eye level. You’re appalled by what you see. 

Shelves upon shelves devoted to Escobar, and even more to the Cali Cartel, all broken down into sections of the individual godfathers. Rodriguez, Herrera, Bejarano, Moncado are all names that catch your eye. There are folders on each major sicario that you recognize from Javi’s info board: Mosquera, Lucumí, Vásquez, Gaviria... the list goes on. Even more files files are labeled Castaño. There’s a whole series of boxes on M-19, and a little past that, an entire shelf devoted solely to FARC. 

It’s more than your mind can possible comprehend in one quick sweep, and hell, that’s just what you could catch at eye level. 

It occurs to you that this is what Steve and Javi are always bitching about. Sure, you’re aware of the ever present pissing contest between the DEA and the CIA, but it’s always been peripheral information to you. Steve in particular is pretty vocal about his frustration with the ‘fucking CIA.’ “Goddamn file’s so redacted that it might as well be scrap,” you can just hear him muttering. 

Christ, if this is the kind of intel that the CIA has open access too, you can kind of see his point. 

Bill stops at a table in the center of the room, indicating it with a sweep of his hand. Reluctantly, you sit, a little annoyed that you’ve got your back to him now, but not feeling comfortable enough to twist around to track what he’s doing. Your instincts are screaming at you that this is a test. A big one. So you wait demurely in your tiny plastic chair, your hands folded primly in your lap, listening intently as Bill shuffles for something behind you.

After a long moment, Bill leans his hip heavily against the table, just a hair too close to your shoulder for you to be totally comfortable. You don’t have time to think on that, though, because he’s sliding a black and white photograph under your nose for you to view.

The man that leers up at you has a pinched face beneath a deep brow. His nose is long and lopsided, as if it’s been broken at least once. His thinning, limp hair hangs low over his eyes, giving him a mysterious, almost rebellious look. His mouth is wide, crooked teeth exposed in an open-mouthed grimace. He’s angling toward the camera, obviously unaware of its existence, leaning forward with a machine gun cradled to his chest.

“Feo,” you say instantly, your mouth working before your brain can catch up. You recognize him from the evidence board in the DEA office, and even more from your conversations with Javi. 

Feo is a low level sicario, one that’s just now caught the attention of Search Bloc, mostly due to the recent chatter that Centra Spike has picked up. You’ve yet to get a positive ID on his voice, but he’s been mentioned in several conversations lately, always in reference to ‘drops.’

Javi’s been working deep in the night to decipher these conversations, eager to learn what ‘drops’ Escobar and his sicarios are so desperate to come by.

“Feo,” Bill drawls, a hint of something sharp licking at his tone. You glance up at him, curious. “That’s an unfortunate nickname.”

He’s staring down at you with eyes that are too aware. Probing, assessing. 

Fuck.

“I’ve seen him on the DEA board,” you explain, grateful that you can provide an answer so quickly. You don’t like the way Bill is looking at you, like he’s daring you to confess a sin. 

“I didn’t realize there were many photos of him floating around,” Bill says casually. But you aren’t stupid. You read the threat in his statement, loud and clear.

“It’s a new one,” you reply automatically, feeling as if you’re scrambling to claw yourself out of a hole. 

But this is also true. Feo has been an ongoing mystery to Search Bloc, one that they haven’t taken seriously until recently. You wonder what it is about this man that’s got Bill so on edge. 

Bill hums. “Good eye.”  He hunches over the photograph, so close that you can feel his body heat against your neck. 

“This is Raul Manriquez.” Bill taps the forehead of the man in the photograph, then turns to leer at you. “Apparently, he’s known to his friends as Feo.”

He’s watching you for a sign. You refuse to give it.

“So,” you ask after a beat. Bill folds his arms across his chest, waiting for you to continue. He’s not giving any signs either, the dickwad. “What does the CIA want with Raul Manriquez?” 

Bill has never behaved this way with you before. There’s a certain weight to the way he regards you that hints at paranoia. He’s deeply, almost obsessively interested in this man, and it doesn’t make sense. 

Feo is a sicario, sure. But sicarios are far, far below Bill’s pay grade. The thought is laughable, even.

Something drops in your stomach. If Feo is more than a sicario, as it seems he must be, then it is far, far above your pay grade to be this involved.

Bill pulls out a chair beside you and sits heavily. He leans on his elbow, swinging his legs so that his knees brush your thighs. 

You echo him, carefully positioning yourself so that you’re facing one another, but no longer touching.

“We have intel to suggest that Raul Manriquez is connected with a Russian weapons ring,” Bill starts. You notice for the first time that he looks tired, too, his eyes a little bloodshot, heavy bags dropping darkly beneath them. 

Something clicks in your brain. “He’s Pablo’s weapons guy,” you breathe. The pieces fall together with startling clarity. The drops that the sicarios had mentioned. The fact that Feo seems to stay at the periphery of things, not nearly as involved with the day-to-day bullshit that other sicarios seem to thrive on. “He’s running guns.”

“Among other things,” Bill drawls, seeming thoroughly bored by the turn in the conversation.

You ignore that. Your thoughts are spinning wildly, forging connections, solving problems. Escobar’s got to get his weapons from somewhere. In the back of your mind, you’ve always sort of known this, but the significance of it has stayed firmly out of sight, swamped by other things that, at the time, had seemed far more important. 

But if you could catch Feo… If you could choke off Pablo’s lethality directly at the source…

“We could end this,” you whisper, sitting up to look Bill directly in the eye. Your voice rises. “Bill, if we neutralize Feo, Escobar’s lost his access to his guns.” Something swoops in your heart, and you feel brighter, more energized than you have in weeks. “We can end this war!”

“Oh, the fucking drug war.” Bill scoffs, waving his hand in a casual gesture of lazy dismissal. He looks frustrated, disappointed. “Ears, broaden you horizons a little, sister. Escobar is on the run. When he’s gone,” Bill leans in, the glint in his eye damned near dangerous. “And he will be gone, Ears, trust me.” He huffs a deep sigh, shaking his head as he pitches away to balance on the far feet of his chair, rocking back and forth in a way that reminds you of a restless kid in a elementary school classroom. His eyes are sharp, possessive as they pin yours. “What then?”

You stare at him flatly, a little miffed to have nearly a year of your life’s work brushed aside as if it’s just petty bullshit. 

You shake that emotion away, blinking hard, reminding yourself of where you are, of who your boss is. With the lines as blurred as they are in Colombia, and your unique position dancing between Centra Spike, the DEA, and the CIA, and Search Bloc, it’s easy to forget that ultimately, it’s Bill Stechner who owns you.

For the first time, that thought deeply unsettles you.

Bill falls forward heavily on his elbows, looking at you with a furrowed brow, and you remind yourself for the umpteenth time that this meeting is a performance, one that you’ve utterly and completely bombed until now.

You brain spins, processing the little bits and pieces of information that you’ve been given. Bill sees Escobar’s fall as in inevitability, inconsequential, even. He’s concerned about Feo in the context that he’s connected to the weapons trade in Colombia. 

Quickly, you consider what you know about Bill Stechner. A CIA big wig with a shady-ass military background. A man who’s mind lives in the future. 

A future without Escobar. He’s made that much clear.

“You’re looking to fill a power vacuum,” you announce suddenly, knowing instinctively that you’re not far off the mark. Bill Stechner is a man who is always thinking ahead, studying the political chessboard to analyze his next move, and the one after that, too.

And that truth bomb jars free even more thoughts that have been floating untethered in the back of your mind. When he’s not skulking around his office, Bill is gone for weeks at a time, supposedly off in depths of the amazonian jungle, brushing shoulders with his right winged military buddies. 

Commie hunting.

The pieces fall perfectly into place, painting a sobering picture, and all the while, Bill watches, a sharp little grin playing at his lips as you connect the dots. 

“Bill,” you say, refusing to accept any bullshit. You thump your finger hard against Feo’s leering smirk, pinning Bill with a dark stare. “Is this guy connected with FARC?”

Both of Bill’s brows arch skyward, and he leans back, looking at you with a new light in his eyes. You get the impression that once again, you’ve impressed him. 

You’re not sure if this is a good thing or a bad thing.

“I don’t know, Ears,” Bill admits, glancing away to his hands, which are suddenly curling into fists in his lap. You can tell it really grinds his gears, the uncertainty. “That’s what I want to find out.” 

You consider him carefully, keeping your face expressionless. This is the most open response you’ve ever gotten from Bill, and you file away that information along with everything else you’ve learned today.

It’s a lot.

“What do you need from me?” 

It’s a valid question. Part of you, the part that is equally intrigued and enraptured by Bill Stechner and the CIA as a whole, genuinely wants to help. 

The rest of you is just desperate to get out of this room.

Bill’s lips slide into a knowing smirk. “Well, Ears,” he drawls, eyeing you in a way that makes something sink in your gut. “I’m glad you asked.”

“I’m listening.” You deliberately leave off the ‘sir,’ that you’re tempted to tack on to the end of that statement. Damn your army background.

“This is the moment that we’ve put you in place for,” Bill confesses, hunching forward on his elbows. Again, you get the impression that he’s trying to reel you in, seducing you with a show of honesty. 

You brace yourself. 

“The DEA is interested in this man, too,” Bill starts, shooting you a pointed look that says ‘I know you already know this.’ You keep your face carefully blank, so Bill continues. “I know that they’ve been working to track his location.”

Something cold coils in your heart. “Are you asking me to spy on Search Bloc?” you ask point blank. 

Bill shakes his head. “No, no, no, Ears,” he chides with an expression of extreme patience, as if you’re a child to him. “That would be counterproductive. We’re all on the same team, after all.” He pins you with a dead-eyed stare that sends a shiver down your spine. “I’m asking you to fully engage in your position with the CIA.” Bill stresses the last point, again reminding you of who you are, who you answer to. “You’re a liaison.” He hums a little, all casual disinterest, disarming you, reinforcing the bonds of loyalty that he’s forged with a simple shrug of his shoulders. “So, liaise.”

You realize with a starling, icy jolt of clarity that Bill Stechner has tolerated your relationship with Javier Peña for this very reason, that he’s garnered your favor - accepting your transfer request, giving you a raise, buying you drinks, playing your buddy - all in preparation for using you as his own personal mole in the ranks of Search Bloc.

And you’d fallen for it, hook, line, and sinker.

Your throat works hard to swallow against a suddenly dry mouth. “I understand, sir.” 

For the first time, Bill doesn’t correct your formality. You hardly notice the shift, though. You’re still reeling from the implications of what he’s asking of you, of how he’s exploited you, taken advantage of all of your vulnerabilities.  Suddenly, you feel as if you’re choking, like a noose is tightening, tightening around your neck. You have to stop yourself from reaching to massage your throat, clenching your hands into tight firsts into your lap instead.

Bill watches it all in cool amusement. “Atta girl,” he praises, and you swear you taste bile. He stands, and you copy him absently, feeling detached and awkward, walking on legs that require all of your attention to keep from trembling. 

Bill claps a heavy hand on your shoulder. His eyes flash with something like pride, and you decide in that moment that you hate him, this motherfucker, almost as much as you hate yourself for falling for his bullshit. 

Goddammit, you’re so fucking stupid.

“Good talk,” he says, and you nod in a way that you hope is contemplative without being telling.

You follow Bill out of the room on wooden legs, your mind spinning with the implications of your conversation. He nods to you as the bookshelf slides shut behind you, and you nod back, relieved to see that he turns to head the opposite direction from the DEA office. 

You glance down at your watch. You’ve got ten minutes if you hurry. With all your heart, you hope that Javi is still working. 

You need to see him.

You push past his glass door, swinging it open hard enough that it bangs ominously against the wall. Javi is still slumped over his desk in the exact same position as before, studying a jumbled series of papers, a half-spent cigarette dangling from his lips.

Your breath catches at the sight of him. 

His head snaps up at your noisy arrival, dark eyes narrowed at the intrusion. His expression softens when he sees that it’s you. 

“Ears.” His voice is a sigh, a release of that same tension that you feel leaking from you own bones, and you dart forward, heedless of who might be watching beyond the glass walls.

“Hey,” you say, shoving aside an opened manilla folder to create a bare space for you to lean against. Javi doesn’t seem to mind that in the least, so you flop up onto his desk, pressing your thigh against his elbow, enjoying the feeling of just sharing the same space.

Javi glances at you, and your something lurches in your chest as you take him in. He looks haggard, exhausted, dark bags gathered beneath his bloodshot eyes like he hasn’t had good night’s sleep in far too long. 

“Another little chat with Stechner?” he grouses, peering up at you with narrow gazed suspicion. 

Your heart sinks, and you have to blink hard against the onslaught of his ire. Javi’s always been grouchy when he’s tired, and there’s nothing that drives him into a funk faster than any mention of Bill Stechner. It’s as if he has a sixth sense in that regard, like he can smell Bill on your skin. 

And that’s a gross thought.

Until now, Javi’s attitude had irked you, and you’d written it off as petty, just another brand of that delightfully obnoxious possessiveness that he’s continuously displayed since your apartment was bombed.

But dammit, you’re the moron here, not Javi. He’d been right not to trust Bill.

You shut your eyes tightly. You wonder if Javi should even trust you, given your most recent assignment. 

“Please don’t,” you whisper, not knowing how to put your many worries into words, and Javi must read your conflicted mood, because he lets the subject drop. He huffs, his attention falling back to the open file on his desk, his long fingers working little tapping patterns into its intricate woodgrain.

You follow his gaze, noticing that he’s been pouring over the same photograph that Bill had shown you in the white room. Feo’s ugly mug leers back at you, a knowing, secretive smirk playing at his upturned lips, like he’s mocking you, the motherfucker.

A flood of emotions swamp you. You’ve watched Javi squinting down at this same photo for days, his mind spinning as he attempts to tease out connections, completely stumped as to how this unassuming, ugly man fits into the bigger picture of Pablo Escobar and his sicarios. 

And now you know, but there’s not a damn thing you can say about it. Bill’s going to be watching you. Hell, he’d admitted as much today. Verbatim. If he thinks that his little spy is sharing classified CIA intel with her DEA boyfriend… 

Well, honestly, you’re not sure what would happen. You just know that it would be bad news for you, and probably even worse for Javi.

You release a deep, broken sigh, exhaling though your nose. You wonder how you’re going to balance it all, working for Bill without betraying Javi.

Well, you absolutely refuse to do that. Fuck Bill Stechner for even asking.

But now, watching Javi huddled over his messy desk, squinting in the dim light because he refuses to wear his fucking glasses, frazzled and careworn and a little cranky, something pulls at your chest. 

Refusing to share this intel feels a lot like a betrayal already, and suddenly, you’re desperate to confess it all to him, to crawl into Javi’s lap and spill your guts and cry and beg for his forgiveness for blowing off his concerns about Stechner, for even entertaining the thought of withholding information from him.

Just as you feel like you’re ready to burst, Javi sighs deeply, flopping the file shut. He grinds out  his cigarette and turns to glance at you, his eyes dark with need. 

Your breath catches.

Then, without a word, Javi pitches forward to rest his head against your thigh. He nuzzles there for a moment, and you find yourself carding your fingers through his hair, helpless against the temptation to touch him, comfort him.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs after a long moment.

“Shh,” you whisper. Guilt gnaws at you. You’re the one who should be sorry. 

But Javi huffs a hot little breath against your leg, and you brush aside all thoughts of who should trust who, of loyalty and ethics and treason and chain of command. Right now, your entire universe is resting his head in your lap, and you’re determined to enjoy this moment, fallout be damned. 

“Baby,” he murmurs into the rough denim of your jeans, and your heart flutters. You bring your opposite hand to rest at the back of his neck, savoring the softness of his skin there, winding your fingers through the curls that brush against his collar.

Javi shudders at your touch, and you remember belatedly that you’re stroking at his number one erogenous zone, teasing him mercilessly without meaning him to. 

Reluctantly, you pull away, resting your palm at the slope of his shoulder instead. “Whoops.”

Javi snorts, craning his neck just enough to arch his only visible eyebrow in your direction. The rest of his face is squished into your thigh.

It’s fucking adorable, and it reminds you all over again how little you deserve him, this precious, perfect man. 

“What’s wrong?” Javi asks, like he’s sensed the direction of your thoughts. He twists further to frown up at you. One hand comes up to rest at the juncture of your hip, his thumb pressing deeply into your skin. 

It’s a comfort. 

“Nothing,” you mutter, because you can hardly say ‘everything.’ You busy yourself with working little circles at the base of Javi’s ear, hoping it’s enough to distract him from his line of questioning. 

 It’s not. Javier Peña has a mind like a steel trap, and he notices everything. “Bull,” he breathes, shutting his eyes despite his best efforts. “You’re worried ‘bout something.”

God, he looks wrecked. 

“I just…” You struggle for the right words to to offer him, come up empty. “God, I hate this.”

That one dark eyes flutters open again, soft with concern. 

“I miss you,” you blurt before he can dig any further. And oh, god, that’s not a lie. You miss Javi so much it fucking burns, even with him nuzzled right here in your lap.

Javi draws a deep breath, rolling over to expose the entire left side of his face. His opposite arm comes up to wrap around your waist so that he’s almost hugging you, his fingers digging gently into your flank. “What time is your shift over, baby?” he mumbles, his one visible eye glinting, nearly feverish with need. 

“Mmm,” you hum, your pulse hammering away in response to the how he’s looking at you. “I can probably be home by eight,” you say sadly. 

And really, that’s pushing it. It all depends on what you hear over the frequencies, and how quickly you can vet it. Anybody’s guess at this point in the game.

Javi blusters a deep sigh that prickles hotly at your inner thigh. “Dammit,” he groans, clenching his eyes shut in frustration.

“What’s your morning like?” In the craziness of the past few days, you’ve completely forgotten his schedule. 

“Early,” Javi mutters darkly. He doesn’t look at you.

“Fuck.” 

“Hardly,” he pouts against your jeans.

And god, you can’t blame him. Resentment wells hot in you. You just want a break, dammit, just a single fucking day to spend with the man you love. 

Is that so much to ask?

Suddenly desperate for more contact, you bend down to drop a gentle kiss at his temple. 

Javi inhales sharply as your lips meet his skin, and you lay there like that, contorting over him in a way that makes your sides ache and probably displays half of your bare back to anybody who happens to walk past the glass walls of the DEA office right now. 

You don’t fucking care. You need this. 

“Can I meet you for lunch tomorrow?” you ask as you finally pull away. You haven’t bothered glancing at your watch, but instinct is telling you that you’re already running late for your shift, and your back is killing you.

Javi sits up, slumping against his office chair with his legs splayed sideways. He’s all wild hair and furrowed brow, and if you weren’t at work, you’d be tempted to crawl into his lap and kiss that contemplative look right off his face.

“That might work,” he says slowly, licking his upper lip a little in that way that means he’s thinking hard. Something coils deep in your belly, and you have to shake your thoughts away from those lips and that tongue, and what all they’re capable of. 

Javi cocks a brow at you, tilting his head a little. “What are you thinking?”

Fuck it, it’s late. You slide off his desk, planting yourself in his lap with your legs spread across his, grinding subtly against his thighs. His belt buckle digs into your belly, but you don’t give a shit. You tilt his face to yours, reveling for half a second in his confused, awestruck expression before you plant your lips on his for a deep, gentle kiss. Javi moans a little at the contact, plaint and responsive against your advances, his hands coming to graze at your back reverently. 

“I was thinking I’d ride,” you whisper against the stubble at his lower jaw just as you lean in to suck at it. 

Javi twitches against you, a tiny jolt of his hips, like he’s tempted to take you right here in his rickety office chair, damn the glass walls. 

“I need to see your face,” you continue, pulling his hands up to rest at your ribs as you rock gently against him, a subtle preview of tomorrow’s menu.

Javi shudders beautifully beneath you. “What, this ol’ thing?’ he teases, nuzzling against your breastbone. You can tell that he’s pleased by the thought. 

“This pretty thing,” you correct, working your way back to his lips. 

Javi bites back a groan as you kiss him. “Was asking about food,” he murmurs against your mouth. “But this is better.” 

“Don’t worry about food,” you say, falling forward to nuzzle against his neck. “I’ll take care of it. And it will be perfect.”

Javi snorts. “Better be takeout, then.” He gathers you against his body with strong arms, cradling you close. You breathe him in, reveling in the distant smell of coffee and stale cigarette, all mixed in with a hint of musky sweat and something smoky and dark that is uniquely Javier Peña. 

“God, baby, I’m looking forward to it,” he confesses against the hollow of your throat, and you throw your head back, shut your eyes and let him ravage you there, just for a moment. 

Javi pulls away far too soon, and you shudder at the loss of him, your body damn near trembling with need. 

He rolls back in his chair, glancing up at you with an apology in his eyes. “It’s eight oh five,” he tells you somberly, and you wince, disentangling yourself from him, stumbling out of his chair and straightening your shirt and threading your fingers through your wild hair in an effort to smooth it down. 

“How do I look?” you ask after a moment, backing up enough to give him the full effect of you. 

Javi’s eyes are burning as he takes you in, damn near shimmering with want and exhaustion and pent up emotion, and you curse Bill Stechner once again for butting his big nose into your relationship, for complicating things that should be so fucking simple.

“Perfect,” Javi says lowly, his lips pursed into a thin line, his eyes glittering with some thought that you can’t name. “Fucking perfect.”

Something wrenches in your chest, and you catch your breath, feeling tears prickle at your eyes. You suck them down, frustrated at how often life in Colombia seems to draw your emotions to the forefront. 

Nobody needs that. 

You lean forward, unable to resist dropping one last, chaste kiss to Javi’s forehead. “Go to bed, Javi,” you whisper against his skin. You pull away, a gentle, teasing smile spreading across your face. “Seriously, baby. It’s just getting stupid now.”

You wink at him, and Javi huffs a little laugh. “Get out of here, Ears,” he grouses, waving a lazy hand at you, but his smile is gentle and soft, and you know that he’s recognized the reference for what it is.

Feeling lighter than you have in days, you shoot him one last cheeky wave. Javi blows a little kiss at you in response, and your heart stutters at the gesture. 

God, he’s such a sap.

You damn near dance to the Centra Spike office, slipping into your headphones a full ten minutes later than you really should. Nobody bats an eyelash, though, and you busy yourself with the normal nightshift bullshit, sipping your coffee and switching to the proper frequencies, the promise of tomorrow glowing in your heart. 

♠

notes/confessions:

I struggled so hard with this. I still don’t love it, but I’m sick of looking at it, so here ya go. Enjoy.

Okay, I know I have thrown some massive plot things at you this week. I know it’s complicated, and I know it’s a lot. Feel free to ask me questions. I’ve tried to make things as clear as possible, but I’m only human, Narcos is complicated af anyway, and Better Love is even worse, probably. 

Look for updates to slow back down again, because a) I actually do have a job, and b) we’re getting close to the point where I’m going to have to start posting If I Fall, and I want to have my chapters outlined a little better and maybe even a few deep before I do that. Look for a few little fluffy one-shots scattered between then and now, but guys... for the most part, the pieces are in place, and we are in the home stretch - of the setup, that is. 

Holy fucking shit.

Tags:  @jedi-mando, @perropascal, @hotspacepilots, @mostly-megan, @starlight-starwrites​, @thirstworldproblemss, @knittingqueen13, @yespolkadotkitty, @lv7867, @pascalisthepunkest, @sarahjkl82-blog, @corrupt-fvcker, @artsymaddie, @leonieb, @justanotherblonde23, @princess-and-pedro

Javier Peña tags: @magpie-to-the-morning, @tiffdawg, @danniburgh, @1800-fight-me, @mandoandgrogu, @hybrid-in-progress, @va-guardianhathaway, @speakerforthedead0, @feminist-violinist, @herefortheart, @dontmindifidontt, @blo0dangel 

[astralinax]

To be worthy - ML - C2

Chapter 2: 

I’m Late!!! I rushed out the door, into the street and almost got run over by a limo that was parking just outside. “Come on Dup- Marinette! You’re gonna be late.”

“But... that’s... you...?“

“Yes, it’s me, get in!“

i clambered inside and within a a half-hour, we were sitting not-so-comfortably in the airport general lounge waiting for our teacher and class to get here. I clung to my bag - a new, over-the-shoulder satchel-type thing. It looked pretty cool if i had to say so myself. It had loads of cool symbols on it and a keychain with all the charms of the kwamis on it. 

Well, I say it is a bag - and it is - but it’s also the miracle box in disguise. I was reading the grimoire when I found a section all about the kwamis and all their homes. After reading and rereading it over and over again, I decided that it would be much easier to transport as a bag instead of a brightly coloured box. 

It took me hours but eventually I turned it into this and also found a way to put normal things into the box-bag-thing like actual beds for the kwamis. They were really happy with it, Plagg especially because I gave him a stash or camembert to keep him quiet. 

When our class finally decided to show their faces, they announced their arrival with a screeching voice like nails on a chalk board blabbering on about how she helped Iron Man design his suit and how he asked her to become an Avenger but she was ‘simply to busy to be a superhero of two - oh... oops. I’m sorry, you can keep it a secret can’t you. No-one’s supposed to know.’ URGH...! 

There was still 4 hours left to go before the flight began. Yay us!

But, at least we’ll be able to get inside the actual airport area now instead of sitting on these lumpy chairs. I mean, what is this made from, sandpaper? 

When we finally got handed out our passes and then passed security I nearly cackled. Turns out the person who won the competition gets to go first class and the rest have to go economy. Haha, Lila’s face. Chloe’s dad got her an upgrade to first class with me so we’re together and we aren’t going to have to listen to Liar’s tales. 

We spent the long, long flight chatting, eating, sleeping, watching movies and designing. Without any interruptions. It was amazing. We even let the Kwamis out at one point when it was obvious we weren’t going to be disturbed. But, alas, all good things come to an end. 

The plane landed and we had to reunite with the class’ very own lie-spewing manipulator. Lovely. And when I went to get my bags they were nowhere to be found. Eventually, I found it. Guess where it was? With airport security. Turns out, if you leave a bag unattended they assume that it’s a bomb or something and take you in for questioning. 

When it was finally made clear that my bags were not going to explode, they let me go. Or, they were going to until they realised that I was 15 (I got my miraculous at age 11) and my teacher had left me at the airport(!!!) they decided that they would call her. Of course, Miss Bustier hadn’t even noticed I was gone and when she did she was really disappointed. (In me?!). 

She didn’t even offer to pick me up she just thanked them for letting her know and hung up, leaving me with three gobsmacked officers who couldn’t believe anyone could be that irresponsible. When they turned to me for reassurance that this was abnormal behaviour, I just shrugged and told them that they were lucky she even picked up the phone. 

Then I walked out and walked all the way to Avengers/Stark Tower where Mr Stark had been nice enough to let us stay. Poor Mr Stark, he doesn’t know what he invited to his home. Oh well, maybe, if i behave well, he will kick the rest out for their bad behaviour but let me stay. With that wonderful thought in mind, I walked into the lobby into a scene of pure chaos. 

@buginetye

[detectivecarlosreyes]

Your heart out on the asphalt 

Ao3 | 2.1k | Rated: Teen | Tarlos angst

Summary  A serial bomber who uses bomb vests as their calling card is on the loose and they are targeting spouses of members of the police department. Unfortunately for Carlos, TK becomes their next victim. 

For @silvarafael‘s prompt request: angst #36 - “Don’t tell me to calm down!”​ + tarlos

TK was missing.

Unable to be reached.

Nowhere to be found.

Missing.

It had been 24 hours since anyone had seen him last, when he had left the station after a shift, on his way to his dad's ahead of Captain Strand for their weekly dinner. He never made it.

24 hours wasn’t a long time, not even long enough for them to file a missing person’s report but the captain knew something was wrong. It wasn’t until they had tracked TK's phone to a back-alley dumpster that they could only assume the worst. He had been taken by the serial bomber, just like the other victims, it was the only assumption that Carlos could make, though he didn’t know why he was a target.

TK would be the fourth in a string of abductions, and as it turned out, became the missing link to all of the officers that were connected to the other victims, each being a spouse of an officer. He and TK had been dating for a little over year, which seemed to be enough for the serial bomber to consider him spousal material. The details didn’t matter to Carlos, all his thoughts were on TK and what his fate would be because of their relationship.

And that’s when he found him.

Carlos lost his breath all at once and for a moment all he could do was sit in shock as his car idled in the street. There TK was, with arms bound in front of him and his head bowed as he sat cross-legged on the dusty, worn asphalt lit by the Camaro’s headlights like spotlights in the late afternoon shadows.

And then TK lifted his head, even from this distance, Carlos could see his eyes shining with unshed tears as he took in the car before him. Carlos could see the bruising gash stretching across TK’s temple and the dry, crusted blood that had dripped down the side of his face. Carlos watched, unable to breathe when he saw the recognition blanket TK’s face and it was only then that the tears began to fall.

Carlos couldn’t recall when he got out of the car or when he called his Captain’s direct line, passing on the pertinent details as he was trained to do. All he knew was the smell of the tar that had been cooling from the then-gone afternoon sun. He wasn’t sure he’ll ever be able to forget the scent after that day. 

He remembered feeling the rough, loose grit that scraped his hands and knees through his pants as he skidded down to land himself in front of TK; The way the small fragments of gravel clung to his hands as they ghosted around TK’s body, too afraid to touch him in fear of setting off the crude vest attached to his chest, like what happened with the first person. 

“Carlos…” TK whispered as the tears ran steadily in tracks down his face. It was enough to break him out of whatever trance that he’d fallen into upon seeing his boyfriend in the street. 

“I’m here. Everything will be okay.” He said as he gently palmed TK’s cheek for a second in an attempt to reassure him despite the frantic tone of his voice.

“You shouldn’t be here,” murmured TK, “This is what he wanted.”

“What do you mean? Who did this?”

“I don’t know who he is, but he’s watching from the street cameras. Said he’d set it off if I moved…” The vest beeped once, the sound coming from behind a small panel on the front. Carlos gingerly peeled it back to reveal a countdown that was trending downwards, “…and said he’d start the timer as soon as he saw you.”

02:58

02:57

02:56

Carlos looked down at the phone that he had haphazardly dropped beside him when he reached TK’s side, remembering that he was still on the line with his Captain. He picked it up with a shaky hand and described the device strapped to TK. From here he learned that his Captain had also added to the call the leader of the bomb squad who was already on the move to their location.

They weren’t going to make it in time to diffuse.

The bomber had made sure of that.

02:44

He had left them just enough time to say their goodbyes, but Carlos was not ready for that just yet. Staring hard at the device, an idea began to form, and he spoke hurriedly to the bomb squad leader, asking if she’d be able to possibly guide him in diffusing it himself if he showed her the vest through video call.

She had quickly agreed understanding there to be no other option, and listed what he would need, which he thankfully had in his Camero should he ever need to do any simple repairs. Carlos hurried to retrieve them before returning, glancing briefly at the countdown as he felt his whole body break out in nervous sweating over what he was about to do.

02:11

02:10

02:09

TK mirrored him and looked down at the countdown and also saw how little time Carlos had causing him to look back up sharply, “Carlos, you don’t have the time for all this! Just GO! Save yourself, please!” he pleaded in a rush, voice panicked as he tried to push at Carlos’s shoulder awkwardly with his bound hands in an attempt to get him to leave.

02:01

It doesn’t take much for him to catch TK’s hands and hold them in place against his struggling, “TK I need you to calm down.”

“Don’t tell me to calm down!” TK exclaimed mostly out of fear than anger, “I have a bomb strapped to my chest, and I don’t want you to die with me if it goes off!”

Carlos changed tact and released TK’s hands in favour of grasping the back of his neck, forcing his boyfriend to look at him, “Look at me TK. I can do this. Trust me.”

01:54

TK let out a shaky breath and almost inaudibly whispered, “I trust you, of course, I trust you.” as he settled under Carlos’s steady gaze before he released his neck and studied the wires that he could see

Carlos set the phone down and listened to the instructions given to him and exposed the wire port to the device. He picked it up again showing her what he could now see. It was a chaotic bundle of multiple coloured wires complicating the system, but the chief was pretty confident in what she saw and what wire he needed to cut in order to diffuse it safely.

00:32

TK caught his wrist, stopping him as he steadied himself to make the cut, “TK we don’t have time for this.” He uttered tersely, heart racing at the thought that this could be their last moment if the chief was wrong.

00:24

“Just let me do this part Carlos and you can go; you still have time to get far enough away to be safe,” implored TK.

00:16

Carlos shook his head again, not even considering leaving him as an option, not when his heart had already decided that TK was it for him. He didn’t think his heart would be able to survive it if he left him here, “If we’re doing this, we’re doing it together.”

00:11

He bit his bottom lip and slot the scissors over the yellow wire, making eye contact with TK as he does so before TK pre-emptively squeezes his eyes shut.

“I love you TK.”

He cuts the wire.  

-

-

-

-

-

-

00:08

00:08

00:08

The timer continued to flash the same number. 8 seconds. 8 seconds between life and death.

Tears of relief sprung to Carlos’s eyes, and he let out an audible gasp, realising he’d been holding his breath for some time. TK opened his eyes at the sound, glanced down, and shut them again as a sob bubbled out of his chest and he pitched forward, sagging in relief against Carlo’s chest with his forehead on his shoulder.

Carlos caught him, wrapping his arms around him gently, being mindful of the vest as they both panted heavily from the adrenaline of the drawn-out moment. Eventually, TK pulled back, eyes red and puffy from the tears that were now soaked into Carlos’s shoulder.

“Why would you risk yourself like that?” He asked, voice shaky with emotion, “You could have blown up with me instead of being safe.”

Carlos cupped TK’s cheek, gently brushing a thumb along the ridge of his cheekbone, wiping at the residual rivulets of tears, “Because there wasn’t a chance in hell that I would give you up so easily, even if it meant us blowing up together.”

It’s then that they’re interrupted by the sound of arriving emergency vehicles, and most importantly the bomb squad. Carlos sat back on his haunches glancing down at TK’s hands. He picked up the scissors that he’d dropped in surprise when TK fell into him and started working on the duct tape binding on TK’s wrist.

By the time he was done, the bomb technicians were at their side with a lead-lined box held between them. He watched warily as they carefully took the vest off TK, placing it resolutely into the box for safe detonation, and took it back to their armored truck.

Carlos took in their still seated position and moved to stand up, offering his hand to TK as he did so. TK slotted his hand in his with a smile and Carlos pulled him up where their eyes met again and this time they crashed into each other once again, tightly wrapping their arms around each other and finding themselves breathing in the soothing scent of the other.

As they slowly began to disentangle, Carlos felt TK’s body waver and he saw TK’s eyebrows knit together as he brought a hand up to his injured temple as he took a faltering half-step backwards. He nearly collapsed if Carlos didn’t still have his arms around him and supported his weight as the paramedics picked up their speed with the gurney that they had on standby and brought it to them, helping Carlos to guide TK to lie on the bed.

He doesn’t move from the gurney’s side as they wheeled it back to the ambulance, stopping for a moment when TK reached out to him, dragging him close enough that he could get his hand on Carlos’s cheek and pulled his face close enough the Carlos could feel his breath on his lips.

“I love you too. Thank you for staying.” TK whispered and guided Carlos down until their lips met for a quick and gentle kiss. They parted after a beat as the paramedics returned to take him to the hospital.

He watched as the ambulance drove away, wanting more than anything to be in the back of it with TK, but he still had a duty to debrief with his Captain who had surprisingly joined them out in the field. It was there in the debrief that he fould out they had figured out why the specific officers spouses had been targeted.  it was a revenge story. Some twisted sense of justice from a time when he was still a rookie, the first trial he had to testify at. The bomber had been targeting anyone involved from the department. And they were already on the move to find the man responsible. 

By the time that he'd finished debriefing and made his way to the hospital, he found TK already set up in his own room, hooked up to an I.V. for dehydration and butterfly strips over the gash on his temple.

“Hey.” TK said softly from the bed when he noticed him in the doorway.

“Hey. How’s the head?”

“Throbbing, about as bad as my last abduction.”

Carlos sighed and sat down in the chair next to him, picking up his hand, “The fact that you have something like that to compare it to is a worry. Actually, the fact that you’ve already been in the hospital multiple times since I’ve known you is a worry.”

TK shrugged his shoulders with a smirk, “Unfortunately for you, this is what you’ve signed up for. I’ve already made my peace with it.”

Carlos rolled his eyes and chuckled, “Well I guess I’ll have to make my peace with it too.”

He just adds this moment to the now slowly growing list of the most terrifying moments of his life, the other being their home burning to the ground. He was grateful that overall both incidences had resulted in their relative safety. All he could do was hope against all hope that there won't be any more in their immediate future.