#because we’re too busy trying to hand wave them as inhuman enemies

[solasfenheral]

I am just. chewing over and over again the connotations to Taash alternating between ‘mother’ and ‘Tama’

[lexa-lives-in-us]

IM SCREAMING, THAT WAS SO GOOD TO READ.

Please, may I have more of the cobalt ruby undercover au? 🥺

Part 2 of ??? Read Part 1

Dairon is distressed.

They’ve worked in the secret services for almost two decades, now, and very rarely someone had spotted their cover so quickly.

If they have to be honest with themselves, it’s not like this woman had clocked in on her whole ordeal, but just the fact that she’s suspecting Skylar is not Dairon’s real name is a huge red flag. It’s something that should be sending Dairon to the airport immediately, because this could very well be jeopardizing the whole assignment.

Dairon waits in their room, gun on their thighs, for almost four hours, for a sign that her cover is compromised. A phone call, a letter, an email, hell, even a squad of enemy forces bursting through the window... But nothing happens.

Dairon is on edge. Rationally, they know they should report this immediately.

But nothing happens until dinner time, and they decide that maybe -just maybe- they can do some more digging, and hopefully find out a bit more about this mysterious woman.

They decide to order room service, and when they call reception, the gentlemen on the other side of the line asks them if Dairon wishes to confirm the seat for the night’s show.

“What show are we talking about?” they ask.

“The Ruby of the Sea, Mix.” he explains, sounding a bit confused. “Guests fly in from all over Europe to hear her sing. We generally reserve spots for our guests, and I see on your file that you’ve reserved one with your booking.”

Dairon closes their eyes. They completely forgot about the stupid concert. It is indeed on their schedule, but mostly as a cover. The Ruby of the Sea is one of the possible sources of information she has to check on.

“Of course.” They end up saying. “Forgive me, jet lag must’ve really messed up with my schedule. I’d like to confirm, thank you.”

The gentleman on the other side seems to smile.

“Of course. Front seat for you is reserved. Great choice, Mix. Have a pleasant evening.”

Dairon sighs, falling back on the ridiculously comfortable bed. Guess they have to find a proper outfit, now.

***

Dinner is delicious, but Dairon is already in business mode. They get dressed, an elegant suit with high waisted dress pants, unbuttoned white blouse and dark jacket, then leave the room.

The elevators are already filled with well-dressed guests, chatting about the show, and Dairon rolls their eyes and takes the stairs.

They try not to think of who they are hoping to meet, and they are definitely not disappointed when they get to the main floor without crossing a soul.

They take their seat in front of the stage, order an old fashioned and wait. Their phone buzzes twice in their pocket, and Dairon raises an eyebrow at the two texts.

[Unknown Number]: I heard you’re in Paris, too, Skylar. Care to join us for dinner one of these nights?

[Unknown Number]: Nice suit.

Dairon closes their eyes momentarily, straightening up and looking around.

It doesn’t take long to find them. Beauregard could maybe disappear in the crowd, but her wife is massive. Yasha could be found immediately and without even looking pretty much anywhere.

The two of them are sitting comfortably a couple rows behind them, hand in hand, elegantly dressed and with comfortable smiles on their faces. They look so disgustingly in love, Dairon wants to cry and puke at once.

Dairon scowls at Beau’s wink.

[You]: I’m on a mission, you asshat.

[Unknown Number]: So are we. But we’re also enjoying the show.

Dairon doesn’t have the time to respond, because the lights dim, and the curtains start to lift. They turn their phone off and focus on the stage, curious despite themselves to see who the hell this Ruby of the Sea is and why everyone would pay what they pay to see her.

Of course, it doesn’t take long for them to have either question answered.

Because the woman -her woman, the woman of the stairs- is even more magnificent than when Dairon’s seen her, a few hours ago.

The Ruby of the Sea is wearing a silky blue dress, and her red hair are french braided to keep strands off her face, and when she sings, her voice makes the air thick of a poisonous sound, a sound of luxurious promises and luscious passion.

Her voice is pure magic, pure fucking poetry as the woman sings, dragging gasps and half breaths from the crowd in front of her.

Dairon edges on her seat, fingers clutched on their drink, and blinks and swallows and oh, she’s so fucked. 

The Ruby of the Sea -Dairon would literally operate her license to kill to have her actual name- waltz on the stage and slowly descends the stairs on the left side of the stage. She keeps singing, one hand clutching her long gown and the other waving at the guests she passes, table by table.

And then.

And then she passes in front of Dairon, looks ahead, then back at them.

Her eyes soften, and her lips curl up in a smile.

It’s the softest, most charming smile Dairon has ever seen on any human ever, and she doesn’t get how this woman can be so alluring and so gentle spirited all at once.

But the Ruby of the Sea lifts a hand towards Dairon and Dairon does what they’ve done a few hours before. They grab her hand in theirs and press a soft, featherlike kiss on the woman’s knuckles.

Their eyes meet again, then the Ruby of the Sea squeezes her fingers and lets go, turns her back to the crowd and heads back up the stage, to conclude her song with a beautiful, inhuman note.

Dairon’s heart is in their throat. They are so royally fucked.

[secretlystephaniebrown]

Hands Curled Like Talons: Chapter 2

... things got busy, okay? but WE'RE BACK

A Mouth Full of Blood A Soul Full of Sorrow A Face Full of Scars The Bitter Taste of Graveyard Dirt A Golden Haired Ghost A Different Game ‘verse Previous Ao3

Stephanie Brown sat in a corner of the Bat Cave, and her hands shook as they lay on her thighs.

The Cave was crowded, packed tightly with vigilantes of all stripes. Cassandra was there, Duke by her side, occasionally turning her eyes towards Steph, as if to make sure that she was still there. Duke had brought Steph a glass of water, an hour ago, and she had drunk it to placate him, like she had eaten the sandwich that Alfred had brought her twenty minutes ago. It was a hollow motion, but it provided them reassurance that she was, in fact, alive.

She did not have the heart to tell them that Talia had once told her that she had been catatonic and still would eat and drink and fight.

Tim was across the room next to a man known as Batwing, with Tam Fox, who he was trying hard to pretend he wasn’t dating around Steph, as a strange form of acknowledgement for the connection that had once existed between them, going over footage of Steph’s apartment, looking for clues.

Dick Grayson and Damian and Colin were standing next to Bruce, arguing about something that Steph probably should care more about than she was.

Barbara Gordon, flanked by Dinah Lance, a woman that Steph remembered dearly from those golden days as Spoiler, but who probably had not spared a thought for Stephanie Brown in years, held court in a corner, speaking on a headset, directing the Justice League and her Birds of Prey, ensuring that the rest of the world did not fall apart, even as Gotham fell into chaos.

There were others in the Cave—Katherine Kane, Selina Kyle and her unfamiliar protégé, Helena Bertinelli, Onyx, a woman with blue hair who she had never seen before, another woman with no face in a blue trench coat, and Jason Todd—but she was numb to all of them. They might as well have been passersby on the street, for all that Stephanie Brown absorbed them.

Perhaps she should be grateful, that so many had rallied when Nell was in danger, even if none of them were here for Nell, and certainly not for her. Bruce and Barbara and maybe even Cass had called them, and they had come flocking, to seek the little lost girl. It was an impressive force, that they had put together, and they stretched out further, into the rest of the world, with them being only the tip of the spear point.

If a force like this had existed, all those years ago, would she have survived those fateful three days at the hands of Roman Sidonis?

Old scars, scars that not even the Lazarus Pit had healed, throbbed with old pain, and she closed her eyes against it, trying her best to stop from shaking until she fell to pieces.

Her very bones felt as if they had been transformed into ice. Goosebumps crawled along the length of her skin, despite the heat that was produced from all of the bodies in one place.

Nell Little was gone, and statistics danced behind Steph’s eyes whenever she blinked. Statistics that told her that Nell was dead. Beyond that was a further dread, a dread that went back to a children’s rhyme that she had chanted in time with the slap of a skipping rope on concrete.

“Speak not a whispered word of them / Or they'll send The Talon for your head.”

What could she have done, to bring this tumbling down upon them?

If the Court was real, they had evaded the eyes of the Bats since at least Stephanie Brown’s middle school days. Why had they chosen now to reveal themselves, to risk the wrath of the Batman and all of his followers, to take a single little girl who was under theirs, and more specifically her protection?

“Stephanie?” A familiar voice pulled her out of her reverie, if not her numbness.

Kara Zor-El stood before her, her face a strange expression of concern.

On autopilot, Steph tried for a flirtatious smile, but it felt flat and dull on her face, and only deepened the lines of worry on the other woman’s face.

“Supergirl,” she said. “How’s Metropolis?”

“Better now that you’re not in it,” Kara said. Her eyes were an inhuman shade of blue—Superman and Superboy were the same way. Her hair was a paler blonde than Steph’s had ever been, not quite platinum but not Steph’s golden waves that she had once been so proud of.

She was gorgeous and whole and wonderful and her eyes were full of real worry, despite the dig.

She was everything that Stephanie Brown was not, in short.

Stephanie Brown was dangerous, and Kara knew this. She had known this since that first night in Metropolis, when she had kissed her. She had known this when Stephanie had pulled out a fistful of Kryptonite and ran away. She had known this when she had come to the Cave, after Bruce Wayne’s death, and found the woman here, tension humming through the air.

Now…

Kara could remember Scarlet. She had been young, and worried for Stephanie Brown, and small. Scarlet had been in Metropolis, that day on the rooftops; that day of fire and kisses that bruised.

And she was missing.

Stephanie Brown met her eyes, and Kara’s heart skipped a beat. Stephanie’s heart beat almost lethargically, but Kara knew better than to be fooled. It was shock, of sorts, and a sort of shock that Kara had seen before.

Nell Little was missing, and Stephanie Brown was going to destroy herself over this.

Kara had been wrong, before. She had been so sure, back in those early days of the truce with the rest of the Bat Family, won after the Battle for the Cowl, that the truce, that peace, that uncomfortable compromise, would shatter into a million pieces, because Stephanie Brown would not accept limitations, would not last long under the shadow of mistrust, under the weight of all of that painful and loaded past.

She had been wrong.

Stephanie Brown, the Red Hood, had stayed. She had stayed when Bruce had returned, she had stayed through thick and thin, through good times and bad…

But none so bad as this.

Stephanie Brown was on the verge of falling apart or exploding, and Kara wasn’t sure which one was more dangerous.

The rest of the room was watching, keeping an eye on her, because she was one of them, even if she didn’t want to be, even if they didn't want her to be. Stephanie Brown, with her messy golden locks, sheered short for convenience, with her scars and her leather jacket, was one of them.

But she might not be, after all of this was said and done.

Stephanie Brown was like fire. She was dangerous and destructive, beautiful and deadly, and she consumed everything around her, whether she meant to or not. If she exploded, it would be outwards, and the collateral could be the entire city… or everyone around her, including Kara.

Kara was not used to being hurt, not here, in this world.

She wasn’t good at staying away from dangerous things.

“Did you see anything?” Stephanie said, her voice surprisingly steady as she met Kara’s eyes.  

“No,” she said. She had spent hours looking, on Barbara’s request. She had scoured Bludhaven too, searching for any hint of these Talons and Owls and especially of Nell Little. “They must have used lead, wherever they took her.”

Stephanie Brown closed her eyes, and took a breath so deep and so long that Kara worried it might shatter her.

“Of course,” she whispered. She pivoted on her heel and stormed up the stairs, throwing her leather jacket off as she went, leaving her helmet behind.

Kara followed her, drawn by some instinct that she could not quite place.

The steps up to the Manor felt longer than usual, dragged on by each beat of Stephanie Brown’s heart. Kara could have raced up them, of course, but she kept pace, staying only a few steps behind Steph, each step just loud enough to let the Bat know that she was here, that she could say something if she wanted to be left alone.

Stephanie said nothing at all, and Kara kept following.

The Cave had been too small, too full of people, to deal with the explosion that was rattling around in Steph’s ribcage.

There was a room, purple and soft, a room for a child that was never going to come back, a child that had been buried in the ground, and Steph walked towards it, ignoring her silent, Kryptonian companion.

Nell Little was gone, because Stephanie Brown was a failure. She had brought this down upon them, somewhere, somehow. She had angered the Court of Owls, had awoken a fairytale, a nursery rhyme, and now it was war.

How many wars was it now, wars for Gotham, had she soaked her hands in? Her first rampage, her second brutal reign as the Red Hood, the Battle for the Cowl, and now this? A War of Owls, a War for Gotham?

She had brought the sky falling down around them, and surely, eventually, the other Bats would finally admit what they all already knew; that Stephanie Brown was cursed, and outsider to them and their ways, and that she would never be one of them again, if she had ever been in the first place.

The scream that was building in her throat pressed against her lips, threatening to bubble over, but she held herself back, biting her tongue before the taste of blood filled her mouth, and she gagged.

“Do you think this is a game?”

“Stephanie?” Kara asked, and Stephanie grabbed the nearest vase and vomited.

The taste was foul but Stephanie gripped the vase with both hands so tightly that she thought it might break, breathing heavily as her shoulders shook, the tears threatening to break loose.

Nell was gone, and Nell was in the enemy hands, and Nell had run right into a trap, and they weren’t going to find her.

The vase was taken out of her hands, and a glass of water was pressed into it.

“It’s not your fault, Stephanie,” Kara said, and those alien blue eyes of hers were full of kindness as Steph drank the water.

It was kindness that Steph did not deserve.  

Kara Zor-El had been a convenience, back in Metropolis. A useful team-up to take on the Black Mask’s expanding operations into Metropolis, to try to draw him back in to Gotham, where he felt safe, and where Stephanie could be sure that she could reach him.

The team up had been a convenience, because Kara was bulletproof and didn’t ask too many questions, and everything else that had followed had just been… natural. Kara was beautiful and funny and clever, and Steph hadn’t had a single regret, even if it had ended in literal flames.

Kara didn’t know, not really. She had watched the buildings go up in flames, but she hadn’t seen the true depths of who Stephanie Brown was, or know what she was really capable of. She hadn’t seen her shoot Tim Drake through the leg in order to kill one of the Mask’s men. She hadn’t seen her beat him to a bloody pulp, only stopping because Cassandra Cain had intervened.

She hadn’t seen Stephanie Brown bring down a roof on her and Bruce’s heads, just in the desperate hopes that she might kill the Black Mask with them, not caring if either of them had lived or died, as long as she had gotten her vengeance.

Kara did not understand, even if she thought she did, what exactly Stephanie Brown was.

Maybe none of them did, downstairs.

Stephanie Brown was no hero, was not the girl with a laugh and a purple cloak that had gone into the ground. She was not Robin or Spoiler, she was nothing but the tattered and bitter remnants of that girl, and what was left was a killer, a monster.

She still was the woman who had nearly beaten Tim Drake to death with her hands, because he had dared to take on the weight of her crimes for himself, who had ran away from everyone who had ever loved her for fear of what would happen if she allowed them to see her.

She had pretended for months upon end, trying to be something she wasn’t, trying to create the illusion of someone who could, maybe, be a hero again one day, but now, Nell was missing, and Stephanie was under no pretensions about how this had happened.

“It is,” Steph whispered. “If I hadn’t—”

“Stop that,” Kara said.

“Stop what?” Steph threw out her pain towards Kara, sharpening her words like the knives that she no longer used, because Cassandra Cain had asked her to stop, because Cassandra Cain was still trying to build her dead best friend up out of the scraps that was Stephanie Brown. “Stop knowing what I am?”

She stepped closer to Kara, throwing aside the empty glass.

“I’m a killer. I don’t do that anymore, but that doesn’t change what I am.”

“You—”

“I can’t bring them back,” Steph snapped. “I came back, but they don’t get to, and maybe that’s good for most of them, but there’s no way that nobody I killed could have changed, could have been better. Why do I get to live and they don’t? Why do I get to change, and they don’t? Why do I get a second chance, Kara?”

Kara opened her mouth.

“I’m going to get Nell back,” Steph said. “One way, or another. I’m going to get her back. And who knows? Maybe I’ll back down that hole again. Maybe I won’t. But I know that I’m done. After this? I’m done.” She closed her eyes.

“There’s never going to be enough to fix what I did.”

She was never going to be Stephanie Brown, the Girl Wonder, again. She was never going to be young and full of a joy that tumbled outward, boundless, swinging across rooftops. She was never going to be Spoiler again, full of a youthful righteous rage and a fierce and persistent knowledge that she was helping people.

Maybe she had once been that girl, who had been Cassandra Cain’s best friend, Tim Drake’s girlfriend, Bruce Wayne’s Robin, Crystal Brown’s daughter, but she was nothing but a spiteful shadow of that girl. She had taken everything any of them had ever given her and crushed it beneath her feet in the name of her vengeance.

She had been dead for days before they found her body, and she had never forgiven them for that, and the entire city of Gotham had paid, because she had been unable to accept that they had limitations, that they had been unable to avenge her, that they had been too… good to compromise like she had, to put her killer’s skull beneath the barrel of the gun, to take that decision into their own hands.

Stephanie Brown had been unavenged, and so the entire city had paid, because she was selfish and angry, and she would have robbed them of their greatest protectors in the name of her revenge. In her desperation to kill Roman Sidonis, she could have killed Batman, would happily have done so, if it meant that the bastard had just been dead.

The girl who was Robin had ran straight into a monster’s arms, believing herself to be helping, and it had been the thing that killed her. Her trust in Batman, her attempt to do right, had killed her, had led to her being six feet beneath the ground and clawing her way up through graveyard dirt.

What was left after the graveyard, after the Lazarus Pit… that wasn’t Spoiler, wasn’t Robin, wasn’t anything that any of them could recognize, not really.

What Stephanie Brown was now, was a killer and a monster, and nothing could ever change that.

When she opened her eyes, Kara was gone, and Stephanie Brown was standing alone in a hallway, with a shattered water glass at her feet.

The room was full of whispers and the rustling of feathers.

Nell Little kept her eyes tightly shut and kept her breathing even, terrified of giving any hints that she was awake, when she didn’t know where she was.

“She’s old,” one person said.

“Not too old,” another said. “You were older.”

“She fights well.”

“Yes.” A hand, gloved and strange, brushed against Nell’s forehead, and her eyes flew open without her meaning to, but it was only in time to catch the barest hint of a black, eyeless mask and the tail end of a feathered cape.

Nell Little sat upright, and her cape was missing.

There was a room, filled with children, all staring at her with wide, strange eyes.

The room felt like a room in a movie; large and concrete, the sheets thin and scratchy, the blankets grey and worn, the lightbulbs protected by cages.

They had taken her armor and her cape and her mask, leaving her in the tank top and leggings she wore beneath them. At the foot of the bed she was in, lying atop the covers, there was a folded set of clothes; grey and blue in color, the same clothes as the other children wore.

There were five others in the room, one in each of the beds.

They all stared at Nell, but did not get up.

“Hello,” Nell said. “I’m Scarlet.”

The one right across from her looked at her with wide, panicked eyes, and held a finger to her lips.

Nell frowned and got to her feet.

There were no windows, in this room that was not quite a cell. It was small, with the six beds almost pressed against each other, the ceiling just high enough that if Nell stood on her toes and reached, she could not quite reach the caged frame of the lightbulbs. The seam in the wall that marked the door was not quite invisible, and it resisted all of Nell’s attempts to push or pull it open.

A hand wrapped around her wrist, and Nell pulled back, yelling.

All five of the others had followed her, their eyes strange and wide, eerie in their silence.

One of them, a different one than before, pressed a finger to his lips, staring at her with wide, amber eyes.

Nell jerked her arm out of the grip of the girl who had shushed her the first time, glaring at all of them.

“Who are you?”

This time, all five of them pressed their fingers against their lips desperately. The first girl, with tangled hair that might have once been red, but was now dull and limp, pointed at the door, then held her finger up to her lips again.

“They’ll punish me if I keep talking?” Nell guessed.

All five of the others nodded.

They were strange, these children, with their matching clothes and scared eyes. Nell was not quite the oldest of all of them—there was a boy, one who had done nothing to distinguish himself, but whose hair was the longest of any of them, who looked to be her age or a little older.

“Do they punish you?” Nell whispered. If it was just her, she could take it. Steph had taught her to be strong, had given her the tools that she would need to take it. If it was just her, she would scream and batter at the doors and when they came to punish her, she would make them fight for every inch.

But Steph would come for her, and so she wouldn’t risk the others, even though they were strangers, just to make herself feel better.

The others nodded, all of them looking down, and Nell took a deep breath, and nodded.

Relief shining in their faces, the other children took her hands and led her to the bed furthest away from the door.

The smallest of them all—the last boy, who looked to be seven years old, with straw colored curls—climbed beneath the bed, and returned, carefully cradling in his arms a handful of treasures.

There were two feathers, a handful of small steel balls, a shard of mirror, and two equal sized lengths of a wooden pole.

The boy offered Nell these eclectic items; the toys, Nell realized, that they had to play with, in this small room.

Nell, unsure, selected one of the poles, and the girl with limp-red hair took the other one, and enthusiastically raised hers, motioning for Nell to come forward.

The three boys took the balls and feathers and set up a crude game of marbles, while the last girl, the one with black hair and freckles that were fading, took the mirror and sat on the bed, staring at the door.

Nell stared at this scene, unsure of what to make, of these strange children in this strange room, before finally lunging forward with her stick to combat the other girl.

She parried easily, with a fierce grin, and as she grabbed Nell by the wrist to pull her forward, a whisper carried from her closed mouth to Nell’s ear.

“My name is Carrie,” the other girl whispered, and Nell’s eyes widened as she continued to spar, a strange kind of hope kindling in her chest at this tiny sign of rebellion.

[sleepystorytelling]

Nightmares That Come True (Part 2) - Bucky Imagine

(D/O/B) - Date of Birth

~2 years later~

I woke up in the same cell like room, I was placed in shortly after arriving in my own personal form of hell. I was an agent for HYDRA, and we were going to make a difference in the world. I didn't exactly know what that difference was...but according to my father it was going to be one worth fighting for.

My father. John Garrett.

He had requested I call him that because he had so easily taken me under his wing and taught me all there is to know about hand-to-hand combat.

Everyday was met with new challenges, and brutal training. It was almost as though everyone here hated me for one reason or another. Constant insults and physical abuse were thrown my way. I have learned over time to trust no one, and love was a feeling created by those who weren't completely sane.

Some part of me wonders why every two-to-three weeks, every memory I have gets fuzzy and a migraine is joined along with it. I tried to ask father, but he tells me I ask to many questions, and girls who do get punished.

Of course, I knew first hand what punishments would occur. If there is one thing I know for certain, it is that SHEILD must be destroyed.

3rd Person POV

There is a small brass rectangle with black writing dancing across the shiny surface located near a small office used for little over a year. And on that small sign a name is written, along with a date of birth... and a date of death.

Agent (Y/F/N) (Y/L/N)

(D/O/B) - July 30, 2016

To many agents of SHEILD this small reminder of a life that was lost means nothing. But to all of the Avengers, and some of the agents she had trained with, that little reminder was enough to bring tears to their eyes.

She had found a place where she belonged, her parents of both supported her new found passion and were proud of her for fighting for a cause that would save so many. If only they had known this passion would've taken their child away from them.

Every time an agent passed the room with the tiny marker of her existence, they would take the time, no matter how busy, and place a small kiss onto their fingers and rest it on the cool metal. It had become a ritual, or even a superstition for some, to make this small gesture.

The fallen's boyfriend hadn't completed this ritual once. Hell, Bucky hadn't even been down that hall since the day he had lost her. He knew now how Steve felt when he hadn't been able to save his best friend from falling, because he had watched her do the same.

All of the Avengers loved her like family, and the hardest thing they had done in a long while was trying to move on and witness just how easily it could've been them on the mission. All of them thought about how much they would've traded places with Y/N in a heartbeat.

They never found a body to bury, so am empty casket was placed in the ground. At least if a body had been put to rest, than maybe the weary minds of SHEILD would've been able to rest also.There was a lingering feeling that you were out there somewhere.And you were.

Your POV

Today was the day.

I stood in front of the full body mirror in my small closet of a room. I was looking closely at almost every inch of my face. From the tiny speckles of gold residing in my irises, to the tiny scar above my eyebrow, no doubt from missions.

Father told me that the only way he would allow me to go on with this mission, like I had been so vigorously trained for, was if I agreed to his terms. So here I was admiring my hair and eye color for the last time before it was to be changed. A knock rang out from the metal door only a few feet from my mirror, opened slightly, and a head poked inside.

"Your father is waiting for you Miss L/N."

I took one last look, and followed the guard out of the door, and down the maze of hallways.The room we entered was barely lit, and had a medical table in the middle.

I knew how these procedures worked. You would think a little hair dye and colored contacts wouldn't hurt so much. But from what my father had told me, he wanted it to be permanent.

"Good morning Y/N. If you would remove your clothing, and replace them with this gown." An accented voice spoke from behind me. I turned around and was met with a tall, rugged man holding out a white gown.

As soon a s the gown was in my hands, the man pointed to a small unfolded screen. I nodded and disappeared behind it.

I undressed and refreshes as quickly as I possibly could, in fear that there was a camera hidden somewhere.When I emerged two women in black scrubs were standing on either side of the table.

I honestly wanted to get this over as soon as possible, due to the amount of pain I knew was going to come. I used a stool to climb onto the table and laid down, it didn't talk long before wires and monitors were being connected to me.

One of the nurses was staring at my face, and was mumbling continuously. I wasn't able to make out what she was saying; it was almost as if her words weren't making their way to my ears.

All too soon, pain was over taking my mind, and my body. I began to realize something, before I had completely fallen into the darkness, this procedure wasn't to simply change my appearance. They were ensuring all of my memory was wiped.

As soon as that thought had crossed my mind, I passed out.

~•~•~•~

When my eyes finally opened, I was overwhelmed with a sense of hate. I ripped the wires out of my arms, and stood up. I walked to a mirror that wasn't in the room before.

When I looked into the mirror I noticed my hair was a deep purple, nearly black. My eye color had changed to a light lilac color.

I noticed the small scar above my eyebrow, and I remembered where it came from. It had been given to me by the enemy. I knew who that enemy was.

I wasn't sure why, exactly, but I couldn't take my eyes off of the scar. The longer I stared, the more memories we're associated with it. All of a sudden, like a wave had crashed I to my entire body, I remembered. I remembered why I was here. Why I had this scar in the first place.

It was them. HYDRA had done all of this.

The mission I never came home from. The fall, the screaming.

Bucky.

I knew then who this next mission was going to infiltrate.

SHEILD.

My realization was cut short by a small cough behind me. The reflection in the mirror showed the same nurse as before.

"How are you Miss L/N?"

I opened my mouth to answer, but I couldn't quite figure out what yo tell her.

"I am impressed by the hair co-" She cut me off, with a small knowing smile and a wink.

My eyes widened. She did this!?

"Shh, just do what's right." She didn't bother explaining what she meant by that, she just left. Looking to my left, I saw a black cat suit. It was then I noticed I was still wearing the white gown.

As I picked up the suit, a fresh pair of underwear were lying underneath it. I could feel my ears get the tiniest bit hot. I grabbed all of the garments and the boots on the ground under the small stool. I went behind the shade for a second time, and changed.

The suit was definetly skin tight, but it definetly made a statement. And I felt kinda bad ass in it with the new hair and eye color. I left the room in search of my 'father'. When I found him, he was lacing his black combat boots, looking up just ad I knocked lightly on the door frame.

"Y/N. Let me have a look at you." John made his way closer to me, and picked up a piece of my newly colored hair. It was extremely hard for me not to squirm or shy away from his touch. He just disgusted me.

"How are you feeling? Are you ready to fight? "

I looked him dead in the eyes. "I will always fight." The venom in my voice even scared me a little. John smirked evily, and we were off.

*Sorry for another time skip...*

The HYDRA helicarrier was packed full of agents. All of them wearing black with the infamous HYDRA symbol located somewhere on their persons. The closer we got to our destination, the more rambunctious everyone got.

When the aircraft touched down, everybody stood tall and proud. That is when the chanting started. I remember taking part in these chants happily less than two days ago. I knew this was something I had to do. One more time.

"Hail HYDRA! " I joined in.

With one final shout the doors were opened and off they were. John and I stayed behind. I was trained to only jump in when I was needed. As was John.

I could easily see that HYDRA was going down. They were no match for the pure power of twice as many SHEILD agents.

John nudged my side gently. I heard him mutter 'go'.

Without a second thought, I tore off into the mayhem that was before me. Blood of both HYDRA and SHEILD agents moistened the ground.

In order to properly gain the trust of SHIELD, I had to prove that I wasn't supporting HYDRA. This would definetly come as a challenge because I was in fact wearing the treacherous symbol of their enemy on my back. Literally.

I snuck up behind a woman, her black outfit was a consistent shade of onyx. All except for the small HYDRA watermark. She had a knife in her hand, and judging by her stance, she was ready to strike. I had never seen this woman before, so it didn't bother me much when I grabbed her head and twisted her neck into an awkward angle. Sure, it sounds morbid and almost inhumane, but I wanted to get home.

I didn't have complete recollection of my previous life, so I wasn't exactly sure what home was, but I was absolutely positive that it wasn't HYDRA.

When her body fell, I locked eyes with the good guy she was about to stab. His face paled, and he stood in the same spot with his mouth wide open. Almost as if he had seen a ghost.

I gave him a short nod, he took off quickly towards the line of SHEILD officials.

I continued on with killing those who had 'toughened me up' over the course of time I was trapped inside my own mind. I took out a few with their own weapons, some from behind and some came to me -believeing they could trust me.

HYDRA was down a great deal when I was grabbed from behind. A strong arm was holding my tightly by my neck, in some sort of choke-hold.

"Keep walking straight." John was the one holding me. An object was being pushed into my back, most likely a gun, right over the location of my spine. One wrong move and I was sure that I would remain paralyzed, if not dead.I obeyed and continued on straight, towards the SHEILD tent. I had to be careful that I didn't trip over the corpses that were dispersed along the field.

Every time I glanced down I was met with a new face of someone who I had once known; whether it be from my former life or the one I had been living.

The walk was definitely a long one. On the other hand, I knew the longer the walk, the longer I would probably survive. We stopped about 200 yards off of a tent with more than one room, no doubt belonging to SHEILD. John grabbed me roughly, and jerked me around to face him.

"You are a little traitor. You deserve nothing short of dead! But I am giving you one last chance. We are going to walk into that tent, and you are going to take every single one of those men out. If you fail to complete your order, I will kill you. You, and that little boyfriend of yours. Do I make myself clear? " I watched him, unable to speak. John took this as a sign of disrespect, so he raised his hand, and brought it down against the side of my face.

I already had blood, both my own and others, on my face; but the impact of his hand mixed with the ring he was wearing sent a rather large gash on my cheek.

I knew what I had to do, I had to keep Buck safe. Even if that meant giving myself up to years of torture for treachery.

I raised my head, and shook my head, signaling my approval. That smirk had et he'd itself onto John's face for easily the twentieth time today.

He pulled a rather large gun out of his side holster, and shoved it into my arms. He quickly spun me back around and shoved the barrel into my spine once again. I walked slower this time, I didn't want to kill the officials who had once given me a sense of pride. I had no choice, the love of my life was in danger.

I know what you are thinking. Bucky is a super soilder! That may be, but when you love someone you would do anything too keep them out of harms way. That's precisely what Bucky does. He would gladly hand himself over to HYDRA if he even thought I was there.

I have to do this to protect him.

The tent was right before my very eyes, I could reach out and touch it. There were shadows reflected onto the sides, and victorious voices reigning out into the air. I took a deep breath, and tried to compose myself.

I had to clear my head of all emotion, that is the only way this was going to work.

"It's your time to shine." A voice mocked softly into my right ear. With a blank face I walked to the entrance of the tent, gun hanging lowly by my side. It was that moment that I felt the small pistol resting on my own hip.

I kept my head low, and cleared my throat loudly. All chatter stopped, and I felt all eyes on me. Their stares we're like pins and needles all over my body. It was completely quiet until I raised my head. Audible gasps were heard, and I swore I heard someone mutter about 'Jerry was right'.

"Shut up! " I yelled rather loudly. The whispers ceased, and more people entered the front section of the tent. Without even bothering to glance in their direction, I raised my weapon and aimed it at a random agent.Cocking the gun slowly, I took a deep breath. I took this time to take in all the faces before me.

My eyes stopped when I saw a flash of metal. Looking closer I saw it was attached to somebody. Bucky.

Words began to flush my mind of all feeling momentarily. I will always fight. I will always fight for him. After all what good was this deal I made with John no more than 10 minutes ago, when Bucky was in the tent full of people I was to kill?

I placed my hand on the trigger, not once breaking the intense stare down I shared with Bucky. I reached for the gun on my hip and shot at John to my left. I heard a grunt of pain, and another gunshot. A crippling pain spread throughout my abdominal area. Glancing down a rather large bullet wound had made itself comfortable on the side closer to a quickly bleeding out John. I fell onto my knees, griping my side. I raised the larger gun towards John, and sent the ammo ripping through the air, landing in his cranium.

I dropped both guns, and gripped my side tightly. Tears were trailing down my cheeks, and blood was soaking my hands. Two firm hands on either side of my body, tightly grabbed my arms and hoisted me up.

At first I thought they we're helping me, until I felt my hands being bound behind my back. I was now a POW, or prisoner of war. That was the least of my concerns however, because I still had an angry bullet lodged into my rips. Shortly after being placed into handcuffs, the world began to fade away.

*Last time skip I swear*

Waking up, I was in a bright white room. A constant beep was filling me eardrums.

A dull pain turned sharp with every breath I dared to take. My eyelids were heavy, and almost refused to reveal the spheres beneath them.

I was holding something, but I didn't move my fingers and inch, in fear of what it might be.

After my sensitive eyes we're able to make sense of the pictures before them, I figured out that it was a hand I was holding.

His hand.

Relief washed over me, and I gripped his hand a little, never wanting to let go again.

Shortly after tightening my hold, a sleepy Bucky snapped his head up and with tears in his eyes brought his head closer to my hand. He was speaking soflty, and between each 'Thank God' and 'I Love You', a small kiss was placed on my fingers.

I was sure I still had hell to face, and a lot of explaining to do; I don't really care.

This is home.

[astraveler]

Synodic

synodic - relating to or involving the conjunction of stars, planets, or other celestial object; adj. 

A short story I wrote. Hope you enjoy!

Word count: 2497

<<>>

He flies out of the sunset.

The scene would be idyllic if not for the atmospheric fire, the love or the ire of this planet - he can’t tell the difference. Especially when his not-so-flame-resistant ship refuses to fly. We don’t live in the old days, he tells her. Ships don’t sail in the sea anymore. You can’t -

But his voice echoes off metal, for she is a Narcissus drawn by gravity and good looks toward her reflection in the ocean. Or she is an Icarus, falling too close to the setting sun emblazoned on the water. And I am Odysseus, yearning for home . . .

They soar downwards together.

<<>>

The first thing he notices is the smoke. He blinks twice, his eyes focusing while his mind runs in ten different directions at once. Where is he? Where is the ship? He should have landed her safely, so — no, his memory is returning. Frantically searching for a plain, praying that the fuel wouldn’t run out, the moon limning only a forest. And then, nothing. Now, all is black.

He tries to stand up, coughing and stumbling back onto the forest floor. His legs are hurt. He can’t move anymore. Suddenly, he sees light. Fire. At least he’ll die quickly. As quickly as you’ve lived . . . no trace, no one alive to remember and —

“Wake up!” The light sears his eyes. Even dappled through blurry trees, it is too much for him.  Morning? But - what happened last night was  -  he blinks rapidly, trying to rid himself from double vision. Two expectant faces hover above him. He coughs, and blinks again. They remain. Sitting up, he looks at his legs. As far as he can tell, they’re unharmed - ah - that hurts! - or definitely bruised and sore. He sighs, preparing to stand, promptly forgetting about the two faces.

“What was it about?” He is startled into falling down again. “Your dream?”

“It ’s not a dream, it was a nightmare, he was screaming . . . crying out the - “

“That’s none of your business!” He barks, before realizing that these two faces likely saved his life.  These two children saved his life. The least he can do is be polite. Probably the most I can do right now, lying who knows where with my ship doing who knows what in this accursed forest . . .

He shrinks from the uncomfortable silence he has just created. The children look at him - they’re identical, he notices - and he stares at the ground, wishing he could sink under it.

Suddenly, there are arms around him and a small hand on his. Both children are next to him, one pulling herself closer to his battered figure and his soft heart, the other looking towards a smoking pile of trees in the distance, squeezing his hand harder. He can’t muster enough strength to be more than confused.  “Don’t worry about your ship . . . you don’t have to leave, do you?” The one on his hand looks back at him, his voice no more than a whisper. “It’s over there. Will you fly off with it?”

“I can’t,” he laughs wryly. “I’m earthbound.” The boy smiles for a heartbeat. “But then you can’t go home - you’re trapped here . . .” he says, an afterthought dimming his eyes. “Will you stay forever?”

He sighs. Hopefully not. “Where’s the ship?”

The boy lets go, but the girl clings a moment longer in protest. “You’re safe here. They won’t find you.” He stiffens. “You look like you were running away,” she says, as if that were an adequate explanation, and stands up with her brother. Am I that obvious?

His jacket is ripped, his boots are scuffed almost beyond recognition, his shirt has miraculously turned crimson - the image of a shipwrecked man. One who ran headfirst into things, not away from them. So how does she know? Too precocious for their own good, these two. Trouble may come to them because of it - but I won’t stay here and bring it to them.

He winces as the dried blood on his shirt pulls against his skin, thankful that the scratch isn’t deep. He’ll live, albeit painfully for a few days. He follows the twins through the forest, smiling slightly as they stop to smell the wildflowers growing by a gnarled oak. They don’t speak with words, now; no language he’s heard can match the beauty of their bright eyes.  

As they near the wreckage, he coughs. The boy averts his eyes and the girl looks up at him in horror, or worry. “I- I’m fine - it’s just the smoke.” He coughs again. He’s hit a nerve. “I’m not sick.”

“You’re not. I won’t let you.” Why is her voice so vehement? Why does she care about a stranger she’s only just met?  

“We saved your life. You can’t die on us,” the boy affirms. Ah. That’s a nice sentiment, but one that could hurt in the long run, child . . . They reach the ship.

It’s not on fire anymore, and the smoke slowly starts to dissipate. And only a few parts have burnt; he checks his replacements in the safe compartment. Perfect. Up, up, and away. Suddenly, he remembers something. Quite a few things.

“Where are your parents? I’ll take you to your house, I’m sure I can find a way back here — but what kind of people would have let their children go near a burning ship? Why would you come here? You could have been burnt, you could have died, and all for someone you didn’t know - why didn’t -“

They start to laugh, and he blushes. I sound like a father. Hmph. They do not answer him.

“Look, I have to leave once I finish repairs. I don’t have the food or the fuel to take you with me. And I can almost guarantee that someone would be very sad without you.” Their clothes look old . . . maybe they’re just from a poor place. Still, there is no answer.

His curiosity is piqued, but he turns back to his ship, inspecting it. Once they’re out of sight, they’ll be out of mind, he tells himself to assuage guilt that had no reason to appear.

“What did you run from?” He jumps, and winces. “You still seem afraid . . .”

“Do you expect me to tell you?” He looks back at them. “You shouldn’t. I don’t tell very many things to very many people; call it unhealthy, or bad, or whatever you wish, but that won’t change.”

The girl cocks her head and giggles. “You’re not very good at hiding . . . you’ve just told us so much.” She looks at the boy, who finishes the thought. “You’re afraid of trusting people. Or betraying someone’s trust in you.”

He laughs. “If this was a fireside tale, I would have to keep you with me - couldn’t risk the enemy knowing about that. But it’s not, so I won’t, and once I leave you two won’t think of me again. No epics or legends for me.” As he continues to scan the dull metal for any further damage, the children are silent.

“There’s no reason to wait for me. You’ve got lots of time before sunset to do what you want, although it would be nice if you would tell me who you are.” His voice drifts off - he’s too used to talking in his thoughts. Always better in theory than in practice . . . if only.

“We don’t have much of a story. Or a fire to tell it by- you’ll see.” He looks back; their footsteps are already fading.

He catches up with them a minute or so later, by a cluster of trees bordering even fewer houses.  “You wanted to buy more supplies?” The girl asks. “Go on. Those people won’t hesitate to tell you anything.”

“Aren’t you going wi— “ He’s interrupted as a short man waves a greeting from one of the doors. “Stranger! Where do you come from, and what business do you have here?” The man’s smile is cut short as a woman wails from the path. “It’s them!” The man squints past him, and gasps. “Those two demons- stranger, if anyone’s waiting for you at home, if you want to live, come inside. We’re locking the doors.”

He bristles. Demons? They saved me — they’re innocent, they’re children. He does not say anything. There’s more than one reason to keep someone alive . . . he banishes the thought just as quickly as it appeared. Wouldn’t it be ironic, running straight into the arms of what I ran away from?

The boy stares up at him. “I don’t think they’ll hurt you, not with us for them to spit at or ward off. You’re a good person - you’ll be back before long.” The children step away from him. He walks toward the man.

“. . . and there you have it.” The man smirks. “They’re always trying to find someone to call theirs - at least since they returned from the dead.”

“The dead? That doesn’t happen - sir, I wouldn’t have to go to war if people could return from the dead.”

“Sent here to patrol so the others could quell the rebellion? Don’t we all wish the empress was still alive . . . but there’s no other way these children could have survived it. The sickness, I mean.” Oh. “That’s how we escaped the worst of the fighting on land. There wasn’t anyone here to defeat.” The man closes the door and offers him a chair. He keeps standing.

“The sickness took everyone east of here, two years ago. The sky was streaked with smoke and helicopters. Even the oligarchy’s best weapon couldn’t have saved them.” He blinks too hard. The man does not notice. “And they say that pilot got his fleet through the asteroid belts in only three days. People here were dying too fast even for him to bring to the hospitals — no, to the graves.

We had people we loved in those cities. But only those two survived. When we found them, running out of one of the houses we’d set on fire, they didn’t look like anyone we knew — inhuman, almost. They were silent. And their eyes were dead. They didn’t burn with their city, and we didn’t want anything to do with them - because of the sickness, you understand. Not the one that swept the east - the one in their eyes. Maybe we hoped that the death of those two would heal the loss of ten thousand. Who could take them in? Their memory will die long before they will.”

He’s had enough. “What kind of hospitality did you mean to offer me? You refuse to house two children only sick of being left alone.” He opens the door with a shaking hand, the physical extent of his anger - but even that’s too much emotion for a weapon. A death sentence, for a pilot.

As he turns, the man scoffs. “A fool and a poet. It’s too late for pretty phrasing. Especially for you — your shirt-” He closes the door behind him. The children have not moved.

“You came back.” Despite the boy’s confidence earlier, he sounds surprised. The girl is staring at the blood on his shirt. “He bleeds like us,” she says to herself, or her other self. “He’s human. Then why hasn’t he left?”

He holds out his hands, the hands of a murderer; the children grasp the hands of a life-giver. “To be human is sometimes to hate,” he whispers, “and to break hearts. To step on the dreams of others to reach the stars, that is human. We will forgive others, and we may not forgive ourselves.

But we will always love; to love is to heal others even if they haven’t been hurt in the same way as we have. In your lonely, dead world, you helped me. And that is why I’ll stay.”  

The children return to the forest one fugitive heavier and three hearts lighter. Together, they have already reached home.

<<>>

The ship splashes into the ocean. It starts to sink.

But my death will come from the sky.

<<>>

“The night is fraught with danger and stars,” he tells them, “but mostly stars, bright like your eyes.” They lie on top of the ship, with the trees having fallen, smoldered and slept.

“Then the stars talk to each other, if they’re like us.” The boy looks at the girl. “And the danger in the night seems less when they’re together.”

He smiles.

When he gazed up to the stars and learned how to fly, his home was the sky. But now he is earthbound. It’s strange, he thinks, that I don’t feel the gravity.

For with flight to the stars came flight from battle, retreats, attacks, nothing but his own skill in his control. He was young when the first war started, still young when it ended, young when he ended the lives of those without a chance at ever living. He was called the empress’ sword, an archaic, heroic term. Protector of his people, nightmare of the enemy, he would stay in the stories and be loved or hated as who he wasn’t. A savior. A destroyer. Not a person who wanted to save as many lives as he could — a failure.

They’re looking for him again.

When they drag him to the war and he sees those around him dying, he won’t be able to wash the blood off his hands. They’ll tell him he can protect his comrades if he fights. Anyone he loves will be used against him. He’ll kill others for their sake.

He doesn’t want to kill anyone.

This is what he runs from.

“I love you both,” he says.

<<>>

He doesn’t have anything in the ship, anything of value. The army can’t take away the two people most important to him.

They’ll be used to make him fight. I don’t care.

He cares too much. He hopes to freeze before they find him.

He hopes for too much.

<<>>

He starts to disassemble his ship. The shelter is finished by the time the children wake up.

Three nights later, they find him.

The children are fast asleep, but searchlights play through the sky. He wakes them up, tells them he loves them, tells them to forget him as soon as they can, kisses them goodbye and good night.

They cry silently but do not hold on to him. He wishes they would, for just a moment. He is free to go. At least he can mourn for the deaths he will cause by having saved these two lives.

It’s easy to steal from the village, though he leaves the money behind. The cargo ship is run-down, but serviceable. They won’t expect it to carry their favorite weapon.

He makes it through two atmospheres before the ship starts to burn.

He flies out of the sunset.

<<>>

First the sun fades, then the moon, searchlights drowning out all the rest.

They’ve found him, and he has found home.

His eyes are bright at the conjunction of the stars.

[agl03]

Its Going to be Okay

I was about to go in and work on asks (again if you’ve sent one there are a lot in there and I’ll get to them all but it will definitely take me a few more days).  But I just want to take a moment and hopefully offer a bit of stress release to the fandom.  

Tuesday everything literally got turned upside down on us as the C Arc turned into AO3 come to life.  They surprised me (Which isn’t easy to do), did things we didn’t want to see, and then totally changed the playing field on us.  Some are excited by the twist while others are devastated.  As usual the source of that is mostly Fitzsimmons. 

We’re here guys.  The Fitznapping, Role Reversal, and Woman on Fire I’ve been predicting since last season is here.  Just not how I though it would be.  The writers did it and turned it on its head.  I said they would do something that would have us freaking the hades out over hiatus and boy did they ever.

With this meta I’m going to break a few things down and offer some hope.  But we still have to prepare for more twists that are going to hurt.  

What will Fitz be like in the Framework?

What we know:  He’s seemingly rich and holding his hand out to a woman in the car.  He’s got either minions or bodyguards with him as well.  

What we suspect his regret AIDA fixed is:  His father.  If it was something to do with his relationship with Jemma they would not have put the Papa Fitz stuff on the table.  So in this world...AIDA will have given him a father and a supportive one at that.

In essence part of how we see Fitz will be if he had a father figure at the very least  He had someone either nurturing his genius/guiding it.  Or he never got into science and is more on the business side of things.  

We had lots of fun trying to find the perfect actor for Papa Fitz.  And boy did we find some fun options.  But you know, he’s been here all long.  Radcliffe.  

Radcliffe built a utopia...his happily ever after is in there too.  He sees Fitz as the son he never had, wants him working with him, appreciated his talents, and encouraged him.   “I’m not going to let this come between us”.  Bonus the way he touched him when talking about the Framework with AIDA, it was paternal.  

Fitz said he saw Radcliffe as a father figure.

So that has been fixed now.  Both for the ‘benefit’ of Fitz and Radcliffe.  AIDA makes Radcliffe Fitz’s father in here.   Be it she rewrote history, or lets say the Glasgow mission saved FItz’s Parents...without it they die and Radcliffe adopted him/took him in.   (That serial killer board showed us just how much Coulson has done.  He is patient zero in all this.  Him not joining Shield is what made the biggest wave).  

Having the father figure in his life be it Radcliffe or Papa Fitz is one of the things that likely changed FItz’s trajectory the most.  And there is a good chance he never went into the Academy or if he did he was pulled away/into Hydra.  In that case he never met Jemma or knows her in a different way (we’ll get into that later). 

I know a big fear will lie in Fitz’s personality really being different. And yes he will be, he’s in a world where he doesn’t have the experiences we have seen shape him.  The Fitz we had now isn’t the Fitz we had in the pilot.  Who he REALLY is is still there.  He is who he is because its who he is, its not is programming (that conversation with Jemma was huge and is going to be the crux of all this).  He’s a good person, who is loving, brave, and loyal.  However, until he remembers we could see a change.  And that’s okay, it will be fun to see Iain strech his legs a big.

He could be Evil:  Robo Fitz gave me chills.  Just legit chills.  So we could see a bit of Hydra Super Villain Mad Scientist Fitz here.  

He could be an a**:  He is this world version of Quinn or even a bit of Stark  He knows he’s smart, he knows he’s rich, he’s entitled, and manipulative.  Pretty much everything our Fitz is not.  

He is himself...but with a twist:   He’s the Fitz we know...but a bit more confident.  Or they have twisted his loyalty and convictions from loyalty to Shield...to Hydra and his father figure.  Remember Garrett said if Fitz joined Hydra in the fall, he’d hold a high rank and that would no doubt come with the kind of trappings we saw him with at the end.  

No matter what....Jemma will eventually get through to him.  Its not going to be easy, Jed said it won’t be easy, but she’ll do it eventually.  

Where is Jemma in the Framework:

She is NOT in the grave.  Had she projected herself into a dead body she would have died instantly.   Jemma said her Avatar was “running around” in the framework.  A dead body doesn’t do that, this isn’t Walking Dead.  

She is NOT on Maveth.  

We don’t have time for this.  Period.

Jemma is the one who is going to get Fitz to “wake up” and she can’t do that from Maveth.

The circumstances that landed her on Maveth in the first place will not have happened because Coulson never joined Shield and I have a hunch things are going very differently with the Inhumans in here.  

No writer in their right mind would open that can of worms with us again.  They have been distancing themselves from that story like the plague.  

This story is about Jemma getting Fitz back, not him realizing she’s gone and somehow figuring out he needs to get Harold, and its nto going to be Jemma getting off Hell planet and THEN joining the party.

Maveth is another world.  The Framework is one work in its own right.

Jemma as never scanned so where her Avatar is (like Daisy) is a result of what AIDA did with Fitz, Coulson, May, and Mack.  Now May and Mack won’t have been as big of factor as where Jemma landed.  That is more “I never joined Shield Coulson” and Fitz.  

Yes, we could get the he never went to the Academy and therefore they never met.  Plus side we get to see him fall in love with her again.  

We could get they are rivals, and look at that enemies to lovers.

Jed said that everything in “our world” is in there somehow.  Case in point Ward.  That also means things like Shield (who in an Upside down world would be what Hydra was, lurking and limping along in the shadows), Real Shield (Bobbi, Izzy, Gonzales, and Weaver), Mike/Deathlock, Afterlife (but look for it to have been captured or fallen we can’t get Jaiying, Lincoln, and Raina back).   

What if Jemma in this world IS a Double Agent for Shield.  Working within Hydra to steal secrets and take it down.  

She’s not JEMMA anymore...she is someone else.

The Grave:

Its the back door Jemma was talking about.

It does indeed belong to Jemma Anne Simmons and her death has been faked for some reason.  Be it by Fitzsimmons, Hydra, Shield, or Radcliffe.  But like Coulson and Fury’s, its an empty grave.

It says “Loving Friend” on it so someone was close to her in this world to put that there.  And it has to be SOMEONE who was scanned.  May, Coulson, Mace, Mack, and Fitz.    

This gives rise to Double Agent Jemma.  “Jemma Simmons” in this world is indeed dead and Jemma’s avatar is going by a new name and identity.

Jed said that Fitz didn’t seem too phased about her being in the grave.  So that either means that He wasn’t close to her here to have it have an impact...or he knows she’s not in there.

The Hand:

They hid who it belonged to for a reason.   But in looking at the positive side of things they gave us Ward.....so why would they give us Ward and not continue the massacre on our feelings and have some Rando step out with Fitz.  Because they could have done what they did with the hand with ward.  Had Daisy coming out of the bathroom and sees the figure laying in bed...cut away.  Leaving the fandom thinking its Lincoln ALL hiatus and then come back in 16 with SURPRISE!   It wasn’t Lincoln.

So in not showing us the hand and confirmring it wasn’t Jemmas it build the suspense and often times our imagination or worst case are far worse than what happens.  So all hiatus they leave us fearing who is coming out of the car next.  

Okay so yes, Jed confirmed the hand isn’t Jemma...he said JEMMA.   But...if Jemma Simmons is “dead” her Avatar won’t be going by Jemma will she?  She’ll have a new name/cover so while Jemma might not be coming out of that car next....Lil and her Framework counterpart very well could be.  Jemma here could be a double agent either spying on, protecting, or trying to get to Fitz.  Or is a version of her Radcliffe wanted for his ‘son’.  

Another option is that when Jemma “died” in this world Fitz went all Radcliffe on us and created Robo Jemma.  So like Agnes is to AIDA...Jemma’s new counterpart would have a different name.  

However we do have to consider other options for that Hand too.

AIDA/Agnes:  But not romantically.  Rather if Radcliffe is his father either one could be his “step mother”.  Despite the butterfly effect its hard to get to a point where Fitz meets AIDA on his own.  

Bobbi:  She’s undercover in Hydra too, Fitz is her target or she is his bodyguard.  Again NOT romantic.

Rando assistant:  So its his version of Anon or AIDA and its not romantic at all.  

Rando Girlfriend:  Yes it has to be on the table.  I’m sorry but it does.  I don’t like it.  It don’t want it.  But it has to be there.  It makes me mad as all get out that we have to deal with another form of a love triangle.  Again I feel if it was this option they would have hit us with a truck with it already and really left us in shambles.  IF they do this to us remember....

ITS NOT REAL and as soon as Fitz wakes up its all Jemma all the time.  

The Jemma Fitz loves is not in the picture.  So he’s not cheating on her or anything like.

When Fitz comes out of the Framework Fitz will recognize it was that, in the Framework.  It will not change his feeling for Jemma at all.  “Theirs is a forever love”.  

Jemma comes into his life and we get to see her have him fall in love with her all over again.

If AIDA has inserted herself in here as Fitz’s Girlfriend is more of a Dragon guarding its treasure.  Its allowing her to keep an eye on him.   Its not because she loves him.  .  

Other points:

Jemma needs to get close to Fitz, she needs to be in the mix or in a position where she can do that and start to work on him.  So she can’t be completely off the map here  Get him to wake up.  Get him to want to leave the Framework.  And its not just Fitz she and Daisy have to do this with.  Its May, Coulson, Mack and Mace too.   All the while surviving whatever the crap is going on in that world.  AIDA didn’t program the story, she just changed it at a certain point ans is going from there.  So its a true What If AU.  

AIDA allowed x factors in the mix like Ward....this Ward is based off of Coulson, May, Fitz, and even a little bit of Mack.  And is still ‘alive’ here thanks to someone’s regret fix.  

This is Ward we are talking about...kind of AOS plot twists.

The trick isn’t going to be really finding everyone, its going to be convincing them to ‘come home”.  Convincing them this isn’t real. 

Both Radcliffe and AIDA who built the Framework in the first place know how much Fitzsimmons mean to each other.  As does EVERY SINGLE PERSON they scanned in there. 

We can’t forget even once they get them to want to come out its Radcliffe who knows where they are and how to do it safely.  RADCLIFFE is the one they have to get to tell them.  And we know he’s pretty dang happy in there, especially if we are right about Fitz.  He’s got his son, powers, Agnes, and no fear of death.  Let me tell you @jessiecrimefighter and I just came up with another one of those really awful ideas.  But in the End its Radcliffe who has to be willing to let them go and die to save them all.  

Fitzsimmons:

We have and endgame here guys.  In the gut punch of what we had please don’t lose site of that.  This is TV so we have to suffer before we get these moments.  

We endured the hell of Maveth and were rewarded with them becoming Canon and The Singularity.

We endured the so close yet so far of A and were rewarded with Sciencing Domestic Fitzsimmons through B (and really we had to know something was coming with all that good).  

Just like in Season three where they set up Perthshire/Jemma pictured them together, that they both loved each other.  It became of matter of getting there.  The bump them was Will, them getting kidnapped, Fitz going to Maveth, and its aftermath.  And we are there again only this time its better.  Its Marriage.   Robo Fitz with the wedding talk was like Fitz watching Jemma’s videos.   A huge “oh my you want that” moment without the other directly saying it.  

Fitz wants to propose, he wants them to get married and grow old together.

Jemma WILL say yes, and she will say yes as soon as she gets him back.

There is NO Universe where FItz doesn’t want to Marry You.

Their’s is a forever love.

THEY WILL MAKE IT BACK TOGETHER....and out pay off at the very least is them engaged if not a wedding.   

Many of us wanted a Woman on Fire Fitznapping...well we got it.  And I said to remind me I wanted it when it was here and not how I pictured it to be.  So that is what I am doing.  

I would also like to point out that the person who has nearly pulled them apart the most is in the mix.   Ward.  Boy do I have some fun theories for him but those are for after the ask box isn’t overflowing.  Especially thanks to Jed’s newest quote.  

I know my meta won’t stop someone from stopping the show if they are upset about the turn.  I know it doesn’t change canon.  I know it doesn’t change we are going to have to suffer a little bit.   What I’m hoping I get across is that the suffering will be worth it.  That we need to stay positive and stay together with this.  Fitzsimmons will be fine, we have that diamond ring just waiting at the end of this.   So hang in there guys.  But in my gut I do believe there are FAR more interssting stories to tell vs just throwing a Rando GF in the mix.  

The Framework is full of love and loss.  Seeing who you really are.  That our experiences help shape us but they don’t define us.  

[werezmastarbucks]

Flame for one [9]

you thought I was dead, this ain’t so

taglist:  @heytherepartner @sebbytrash @thewinterher0 @lbouvet@areuforreal @allofthesearetakendafuq @thesalsafic @rhaeneris 

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3  Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8

warnings: language, beating, stupid people

word count: 2983

You only saw Peggy Carter once and she was already ninety. Steve told you everything about her, you’d even seen pictures from her youth so, looking at her face, you saw grains of beauty which would never fade. Those little things that always reminded people of what they looked like fifty years ago, you felt you missed her even if you didn’t fully know her and she didn’t remember you. It sometimes only takes one man’s adoring opinion to feel warm towards somebody. He asked you if you wanted to go to the funeral with him and Sam and not long after Nat decided to join you too. Tony was sore and being asshole. He claimed to have spent with Peggy Carter too little time, and he was so busy now with hating on all of you and thinking about how he couldn’t get rid of you even if he wanted. You saw he was more than upset, though. You could understand him – since you didn’t attend your grandfather funeral. You loved him too much to admit that he was gone, it was too hard to face. So the four of you left for Washington and memories of two years ago came flooding your mind. 

All the way to the church you listened to music. You tried to keep at a distance from Steve, seeing clearly that he needed someone and being glad Sam was there for him. Why was it so hard to see his pain, hard enough to try to ignore it? To ignore somebody else’s pain was thousands times harder than your own. You soon came to regret being here at all but then you thought of Tony, who had been smarter and just choked on it. Funeral, goddammit. There was no God, in your humble opinion, this ritual was practically senseless. Tony could grieve in his comfortable tower, surrounded by his robots. You had to sit here with Nat whose impassivity was impressive but sometimes discouraging. She didn’t mind your crying, though. What, Steve cried, everybody cried, and the Neighbor, Sharon was her name, turned out to be Peggy’s niece and gave a hell of an inspiring speech, so you cried too. You were glad you had gotten back your ability to cry a couple of years ago, so you now used it every time suitable.   

Sam took you out even before the ceremony was over. You two were relieved to escape and get away and just enjoy fresh air.

“Hey kid” he called you as you were walking towards the hotel you all were staying in. You liked being called ‘kid’, you highly appreciated it when people implied you’re still being a child. You even liked the idea of your being infantile. You had no clue as to why, but did it matter? Really?

“Yup Sam”.

“How do you manage to stay sooo energetic and joyful all the time? Have you seen yourself walking?”

“Uhhm, that’s pretty problematic to try to see yourself walking…”

Sam made couple of steps ahead and made an impression of you, marching before you, jumping up lightly.

“It’s as if you’re always about to say, whaddup, what are we gonna do today guys!”

You laughed, amazed. You didn’t realize it showed. 

“I don’t know exactly what you mean, but… haha, cut the crap, Sam”, you silently applauded at Sam’s snake grace. 

“Yeah, what is that? I mean, it can’t be because you’re mental”. You raised your eyebrow.

“I’d be grateful if you guys stopped reminding me that I’m crazy”.

“I thought you liked it. Anyway, sorry”.

“Yeah, no, it’s not because of that, this is not exaltation. I just like being where I am now. Well, more than like. I mean, Sam…” you realized it was so obvious for you, you couldn’t even express it with words because you simply didn’t think you were to explain it one day, “being around such great people. Being u s e f u l. I was in the hands of bad people for too long. They even made me believe I was worthless, which obviously wasn’t true. Now I do something good, and get to see them, and you are one of them, every day, and you all even speak to me, and we seem to like each other. I just enjoy it. Even when we get in deep shit, it’s still within this new reality and we are together, I am not hunted or abused anymore, I know I’m a useful unit. God, I love being useful”, you gasped and chuckled, “gonna ask somebody to give me that kind of shirt as birthday present”. 

Sam was amused. 

“Okay then”, he nodded like he didn’t believe you at all. You gave him a questioning look, but he already dropped the topic. 

“So… the Accords signed, what happens next?” you didn’t want to, but your mind returned you to it.

“Whooa, I don’t know”.

“We’re not going to be enemies with them, are we”.

Sam gave you a serious look.

“Let’s hope not”.

“Come on, I can’t tell when you’re joking and when not”.

“Nah, I’m being dead serious. It’s a nasty situation. I wonder if Stark’s stubbornness could help me with moving my truck from the backyard – high time to get rid of that old stuff…”

“In this case it’s us I think. The stubborn ones. I just feel a bit lost despite my believing I am right. Steve though ”. 

“Same here”, he chuckled sadly, “but he usually knows what he’s doing. Don’t take it too personally, Y/N. You want us all to be a freaking family, but we’re not”. 

You frowned and wanted to say something but your and Sam’s phones rang at the same time. Then happened something that started a civil war.  

This COULDN’T be true. Somehow, you just didn’t want to believe it. First, you suddenly realized, you were upset he came back again. Looking at Bucky Barnes’ smudged face on the bad quality photo you thought how sometimes the past ruins everything, returning and making a mess out of your present. It sucks. Have you guys ever noticed that all our mistakes are in the past, somehow we seem to kinda collect them all and keep’em in the boxes of our thoughts in the past. It was tense, rough, sometimes lonely now, in the present, as everything went by; S.H.I.E.L.D didn’t exist anymore, sadly, Steve returned from Africa after one year and a half and with nothing. Part of you mourned that, yet another part was relieved, because Bucky, or the Soldier, or whoever he was, disturbed your rather calm picture of reality. It didn’t matter if his influence was favorable or harmful; he woke something in you. Something that demanded sensitivity; emotions; and a lot of remembering and caring. All those things you decided to take a hold on. Because with your feelings restricted, it was easier to live. Everything was fucked again because of Bucky. Oh did he blow up Vienna. It didn’t matter. Steve was already in the plane, and, of course, you were with him.

On the other hand, it was exciting. Like seeing your idol again. Has he changed? Was he sad? Has he recovered at least a little bit? Did he remember you well? What would he say if he saw you? Was it worth it? 

“Would you secure the roof”, Steve requested in his Bucky related voice. This one always interpreted ‘go and do whatever to protect my pal’ no matter what he said. Man did he actually went nuts when it concerned Bucky. You wished you had a friend like this. You wondered what it felt like, to be into somebody this much, to care in such a strong and pure way, to be so pure yourself because of the selflessness of this loyalty. It was touching. You got infected with Steve’s concern. You weren’t sure if Steve picked the right flat, but just hanged around, got on the roof of the neighboring house, which was standing so close to this one they could kiss. 

You imagined that yours was the female house since it was a slightly lower building. The Barnes’ one was the male since it was larger and taller. You were scanning the street below, and soon noticed the SWAT team crawling towards the building like a pack of black ducklings. Sam saw them too and mumbled in your earphone. You detected the southern window and reckoned it was the one because it was the only window on this side of the house that was covered with the sheets of newspapers from the inside. Paranoia. You didn’t like being put aside but hadn’t another option. However, something interesting happened to you when you decided to dislocate and move on the roof of this boy house to have a better field of view. You crawled up and straightened up, marching nervously to and fro and waiting for action. Then it came.

 A man in a tight black suit, looking more like a… freaking huge CAT 

Anyway, he appeared and coursed past you like a real cheetah or, as he seemed, a panther (seriously, he even had bloody cat ears on his head), with an inhuman speed, so you decided to follow him. It was rather offensive, like, hello, I am here standing and guarding in case somebody like you tries to interfere, and he couldn’t even be bothered. Right after he jumped on the girl house, the window broke, and a huge and heavy silhouette that turned out to be Bucky wearing approximately 80 layers of clothes flew out and parkoured to you. He did such a big jump you held still for a moment out of sheer instinct, and then you found the cat dude returning, after making a circle on the roof to spot the better hiding place. He pushed you away (so he did see you after all, but elected to ignore you) and attacked Bucky. The man was a mess. He barely managed to escape a deadly swoosh of black long claws that glistened too brightly in the sun it hurt your eyes. He crushed Bucky on the ground and tried to cut off his messy head, and it all happened in a matter of two seconds. Men in this world were so fast you were getting really freaked out. You reached them, sending an impressive greeting wave. Those heat waves of yours, they were becoming stronger, thicker and broader with time. They could fly faster since you learned to send them more like shots; they were like shields flying with the speed of bullets, only they didn’t protect you, for a shield like that couldn’t stop an actual bullet. It could kick someone very hard and hot though, and now it hit the aggressive Meow Man like a bus and threw him away. His head must’ve hurt like hell first couple of seconds, for this kind of attack was times stronger than a sun-struck. Well, be amazed to see that his one was tough, and he was very angry; his fury gave him strength, so he got up pretty quickly, only stopping for a moment on seeing that you were standing between him and Barnes. He turned his head and stepped away from the parapet. 

“Move. I’ll only ask once”, he offered, speaking with a thick African accent.You ignored him, almost flaming, covered in a heavy cape of burning air. You turned to Bucky who has already got back on his feet, all tense and ready to jump again, like a sprinter, but frozen now as he saw you. His eyes were bright blue, and his face – confused. He was neither Barnes the war hero, nor the Soldier the killing machine. He was so scared and astonished he just internally blacked out and slowed to the point of stability, not knowing what to do. His legs though. They knew what to do.

“Get out of here”, you snapped. He didn’t hear you. The Panther Pal started running again and was in five feet, but would cover them in three seconds, so you yelled,

“Move!”

Bucky rushed out as if someone slapped him on the face. One second – and he’s out of the roof.

“Fuck off!” you turned to the man in black and sent another wave. Amazingly, he simply jumped up and escaped it, crashing on you. You were prepared, and so the fight began. Bucky ran through the city with his super duper speed, and Steve chased him, and Sam flew chasing them and the Purring Warrior chased them too, so you reckoned you needed to join. The thing was though, you didn’t have super speed or wings, so you didn’t have a right to let the Easy There Kitty Cat go, otherwise you’d fall off the situation. You clang on him like a thistle, making him sweat and rage, and soon enough he brushed you off, as you ran down the street and headed towards the highway.

“Sam, need a lift!” you shrieked, assuming that looking for a vehicle now would take more time.

“Don’t get into this!” Steve panted, but you ignored him. Since he didn’t give Sam a direct order to leave you behind, Wilson picked you up by the hand which was actually very unpleasant. Fortunately, he flew fast, and soon enough you detected your sparring partner, lurking into the tunnel. 

“That huge cat?” Sam screamed. You shook in his hands which meant ‘yes’. It also meant ‘let go of me now’, and though you liked flying, you had to get down.

“Yeah, couple of feet more, and you’ll be right at him!” So you got into a tunnel, where the air howled in your ears echoing the roar of confused cars; you even caught a glimpse of Steve who was maneuvering in between the rushing vehicles; that was your life now, you thought bitterly. A constant bloody hassle so tense it’s even amusing. Just hilariously live. 

You dropped suddenly and fell right on the running man, grabbing him by the shoulders and wrapping your feet around his impressively gracious waist. You knew that neither the man, nor your own body wouldn’t be grateful to you for that, because he stumbled, and fell, in somersaults, on the concrete, while car wheels were squealing around you so loud you almost went deaf. The roof of the tunnel twisted once, twice, your head struck against the road, but your thighs stayed adamant, and the lad, no matter how strong or angry he was, couldn’t fight your grip of loyalty to Bucky. It sounds very funny if you say it out loud. The moving in the tunnel finally stopped, because of the crush unfolding ahead of you, and you tried to stop both of you before you hit the metal wreckage. You weren’t afraid of explosions or heat, but this one probably was, so, unnecessary victims, as Tony had said. You bumped into something anyway, and soon found it was a motorcycle with Bucky still on, only, it was now lying on the road too; Steve was struggling with his mate who was trying to get loose of his grip. You all just ended up in a huge human hip, all four of you in a bit of a painful shock, so, slower than usual. 

Then came the sirens, and the Big Black Kitten started moving again. You unwrapped your legs unwillingly, and felt dragged on the ground by several couples of hands; your sight got clear again, and you saw Bucky and Steve before you, tattered and irritated by each other. The hand pushed on the base of your neck, so you kneeled and then were put on the ground; same happened with Bucky, so you accidentally maintained eye contact all the way through. He was looking at you so intensively you wondered what the hell he was thinking at that moment. Did he think he encountered a ghost? Did he blame you for what happened to him? He’d grown a freaking beard and looked like a hobo who was trying to mesmerize and then rob you. 

“Get her up. Get her up”, it was Rhodes’ voice. The same pair of hands lifted you up and Bucky went out of your sight, and you stood up.

“You behaving?” The War Machine was standing next to you. You were panting and felt something sticky and hot was dripping down your face. You simply nodded to him, warmed up by his presence. 

“What the hell. What the hell are you three doing!” 

Steve didn’t look confused or guilty, he gave Rhodes an aggressive look which, you felt, went together with his Bucky related voice, as in pack. Sam landed just now and was handicapped immediately, and he gave you concerned and questioning look. Then you turned your head to observe the mess you all created at the exit of the tunnel: ruined cars and a roof, and the ballet troop in black around you, rifles aimed at you. The black cat dude the nicknames for whom you had ran out of stood up, his chest moving so fast you knew he was in rage even though you couldn’t see his face. Having read your mind, he raised his arms and hid the claws with a satisfying click, then he took off his ear helmet, and turned out to be the King of Wakanda’s son. Former prince of Wakanda. Uneasy silence fell on you. Steve straightened his back, and Bucky was still lying at your feet, so you couldn’t see him.

“Your highness”, Rhodes greeted him. You opened your mouth to adjust your jaws and check if all your teeth were still there, then leaned to Rhodes, and breathed out,

“Man, I told him to fuck off”.Rhodes turned his iron head to you in deadly silence as Steve’s face turned stone grey.