#black Window and Hawkeye

[romanoffswidow]

[crybabycunt]

Yelena: Kate has no survival skills. Her need to be a hero has replaced them.

Natasha: That can't be true.

Yelena: Watch this.

Yelena: Kate Bishop, there's a lost child at the bottom of the stairs!

Kate: (throws herself out the nearest window)

Yelena: God I love her.

[arlana-likes-to-write]

Second Chance - Chapter 18

Masterlist

Warning: small angst, lots of fluff, jealousy, The Barton Home

Word Count: 2.2k

Note: Sorry this is a very short chapter. Mostly a set up chapter

“We are landing shortly,” Yelena told you. You nodded and put your sketchbook away. Keeping Yelena’s eyes off the drawings was difficult since they were the sketch for her new suit. You wanted to keep it a surprise as long as possible. A lot more needed to be done, but it was a good start. You zipped up your bag and looked out the window.

There wasn’t another house in sight. The trees were bare of their leaves, and there was a light dusting of snow on the ground. The Barton’s home was white with green shutters that matched the green roof. Smoke was coming out of the chimney. It was cute. You could only imagine the property in the summer with the trees lush and full and flowers around the house. “Are you ready?” Yelena questioned. In your daydream, you missed her landing the jet a few feet from the house.

“Yeah,” you smiled and stood up. You glared at the blonde, who refused to let you take your main bag—now Yelena was carrying three—but she silenced you with a kiss and led you down the ramp.

As soon as your feet hit the ground, the ramp retracted, and the jet started. At a safe distance, the jet took off and flew back to the city. “Damn,” you whistled. “I really have to talk to Tony about his AI programming.” The blonde shook her head.

“You are such a nerd,” Yelena teased. You shrugged and continued the walk in silence. The silence was oddly comforting. Even in the cold weather, it felt like a warm blanket. Suddenly, a man you recognized as Hawkeye jogged over to you from the house. His face was pinched with annoyance, but his eyes had a fondness to them.

“I told you to wait for me, and I could help you with your stuff.” Yelena huffed.

“I am more than capable of carrying the bags, birdbrain,” the man rolled his eyes and hugged Yelena. You saw her body relax against him even when he stole a bag from her. “Clint, this is Stark’s kid,” she said when the hug ended. “Y/n, meet Clint Barton.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” you offered Clint your hand, but he pulled you into a hug. Your body tensed up at the sudden contact, but you understood how easily Yelena relaxed into him. Clint was arm and smelt of sawdust and lavender.

“Nice to meet you too,” he smiled and started the walk to his home, probably a little slower than usual. “Everyone is excited to meet you. Laura has the guest room set up for you both, and Lila has not stopped talking about her horses to show you. I-”

“My baby!” Yelena cut off Clint’s sentence. The Black Widow dropped the bags to the ground and ran to meet a gold retriever. She fell to her knees and allowed the dog to push her to the ground. You glanced at the man next to you. Clint shrugged, and you both picked up her dropped bags.

“I’m telling Fanny you are playing favorites,” Clint teased. Yelena sat up, whipping the dog droll off her face with her sleeve. You made a mental note to have her wash her face before she kissed you. You got a better look at the dog when you got closer. The golden was missing an eye, but it looked like an older wound, healing nicely.

“This is Lucky,” Yelena introduced. “Technically, he is Kate’s dog, but I love him.” You knelt beside her. Lucky looked at you suspiciously, but you held out your hand so he could sniff it. It took no time for Lucky to move closer and lick your face. Ew. Gross. You scratched your nose and stood up. Yelena laughed at your reaction. Now, you followed Lucky to the house where the rest of the Bartons were waiting.

The eldest, Cooper, took your bags into the house while Lila and Nate welcomed you with a smile. Like her husband, Laura hugged you. Her hug reminded you of your mom’s -tight, warm, and full of love. You had to bite your lip to stop your tears from falling.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

When you returned from the bathroom, Yelena pushed Lucky out of your spot. The dog sighed in annoyance and circled a few times before lying at the foot of the bed. With a soft laugh, you climbed into bed, and Yelena moved closer to you. Her head rested on your chest, and her blonde hair was braided, but you still ran your hand over her hair and down her back. You felt her melt into you. Your mind circled back to the day you had with the Bartons.

When Yelena told you that you would be meeting the Bartons, people she considered family, you were stressed. It felt like you were meeting her parents, and you wanted to make a good first impression.

Honestly, it was easy to fall into the routine with them. Nate, who you learned was named after Natasha, gave you a grand tour of the house, and he insisted that you help him put a puzzle together. After he got bored, you joined Cooper and Yelena on the couch. The duo was playing a fighting game, and you watched them as you drew them in your sketchbook. You declined the invitation to join. Video games were not your strong suit. Mainly because your mom never bought any of the consoles.

Once Laura started dinner, you joined her in the kitchen and tried to help. She ordered you to sit and cut the vegetables. It was simple work, but you were grateful that you could help. Dinner was served (you snuck in a nauseous pill that Clint caught you taking), and you listened to the stories shared around you.

Sighing, you kissed the top of Yelena’s head and inhaled the vanilla body wash. When you were younger, you dreamt of your future a lot. You never saw yourself ‘settling down’. Instead, you always wanted to be on the move and explore the world. Everything got derailed when you got your diagnosis. All of your plans changed. “Do you want a life like this?” You asked. “Away from all of the fight.” She was quiet, and you allowed her to gather her thoughts.

“I do not think I deserve a life like this,” her confession caused you to freeze. Your hand stopped at the middle of her back. Finally, your brain caught up to what she said. You shifted down so you were face to face with her. Lucky huffed and climbed off the bed, clearly annoyed by the movement.

“Why do you think that?”

“I have too much blood in my ledger to leave the fight,” you smiled sadly and cupped her face in your hands.

“You deserve light, Yelena, because you shine so brightly.” The blonde grabbed onto your wrist. Her hands were always so warm - the contrast shivered down your spine.

“You do not know everything I have done.” That was true. Regardless, you knew the person she was now.

“I don’t need to know because I know your heart is good,” Yelena opened her mouth to argue, but you hushed her, kissing her. You wouldn’t be with someone like me if your heart wasn’t,” the unsaid words lingered. Someone who was dying. You can tell me your story one day, or you won’t. It won’t change how I see you.”

Her green eyes glossed with unshed tears. You thought a few tears would fall, but the blonde moved on top of you. Her lips were frantic against yours. It was impossible to keep up with her, so you relaxed against her lips and allowed her to take what she needed. A low moan came from the back of your throat, but the sound was captured by Yelena’s lips. It seemed to spur her on more. It was too much but not enough. You wanted more. You wanted-

Suddenly, Lucky’s bark caused you both to jump apart, and Yelena rested her head on the crock of your neck. Her breath tickled your skin. “Petukh blok(cock block),” Yelena mumbled in Russian.

“It’s your fault,” you teased. “You are the one that wanted the dog in here.”

“I love him,” you heard the pout in her voice. Smiling, you pushed her off, and she whistled for Lucky to return to the bed. The golden circled at your feet and laid down. With the addition of Lucky, you could still move Yelena back into your arms with her back pressed to your front.

You felt her fingers play with your hands. “Thank you,” she whispered.

“Of course, baby.”

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

Somehow, you managed to escape out of the bedroom without waking the blonde. It helped that Lucky took your spot, but you were next expecting to fight for the blonde’s attention with a dog. Truthfully, you thought it would be a child who walked on two legs, not four. You walked into the kitchen with a sketchbook and made a cup of tea. The water was boiling, and you opened it to a blanket page. Lightly, you sketched out the Barton family. They were people you did not want to forget.

You heard footsteps, so you poured two mugs of hot water to let the bags steep. It was Clint. The older archer wasn’t fazed by your appearance in his kitchen. “Are you a tea drinker, Clint?”

“No,” he answered. But Laura is trying to make me one. I drink too much coffee. “You smiled and watched him grab sugar and honey. You stirred the honey into your tea while Clint poured a few teaspoons of sugar into his mug. He grimaced at the taste.

“You have a beautiful family,” you said. “Thank you for letting me come here.” The man looked at you. A part of you worried that you said the wrong thing. “I’m sorry, but did I say something wrong?” Clint shook his head, took another sip of the tea, and dumped it in the sink.

“I’ve been trying to figure you out,” your eyebrows raised to your hairline. Now that you thought about it, you noticed Clint watching you the entire time you were here. “Why are you here?” He questioned. You weren’t sure how to answer that. It felt like a trick question.

“Because Yelena invited me?” you said slowly. I don’t know what you are asking.” The archer opened the fridge and took out a beer. He offered you one, but you declined it with a shake of your head.

“Why inset yourself into their life when you aren’t trying to stay?” You inhaled a sharp breath and felt the pencil between your fingers crack from the force you were squeezing it.

“I-” you opened and closed your mouth a few times. “What happened to you and your family when the Blipped happened?” Clint took a long sip of the beer and stared at the countertop.

“Laura and the kids were part of it,” he said. “And I was left behind to pick up the pieces.” You nodded.

“I lost my mother before the Blip,” you began. “Then I lost my best friends for 5 years. During those years, I was all alone. I was alone when I got sick, and when my doctor gave me my diagnosis,” you took a sip of the tea and allowed the warmth to push away the cold. You were regretting leaving the bedroom. “So yes, I could die, and yes, Morgan is right there as an option, but do you know the risks and complications of a bone marrow transplant,” Clint shook his head. “Organ damage, bleeding, VOD,” you listed off. “And if I manage to void all of that, I could possibly get cancer again.” You removed your hands from the mug because you feared shattering it.

“I am going to fight this, Clint. I just don’t want to do it alone anymore,” Clint’s face softened, and he circled the counter to stand beside you. You weren’t sure when you started crying, but you felt him push away the tears.

“It’s okay,” he said and hugged you. “You are not alone.” A few more tears stained his shirt.

“Sorry,” you mumbled and pushed out of his embrace. “I forgot how much I miss hugs.” You managed to smile. Clint’s smile was small, but he gently touched your shoulder.

“You are a remarkable young lady,” the sudden conversation change gave you whiplash. “Just don’t hurt Yelena. I’d hate to have my son’s new best friend on a hit list.” You laughed, remembering Nate calling you that at dinner.

“I won’t.”

“Get some sleep, kid,” Clint finished his beer and placed it in the sink. “Good night.”

“Night, Clint,” you watched the archer return to his room. Sighing, you finished your tea and cleaned up the mess. You took your time as you walked back to the bedroom. Instead of returning to bed, you stared at the scene before you.

Yelena was fast asleep, Lucky’s head resting on her chest. It was a cute scene, but you were getting tired. Gently, you tapped Lucky. The dog huffed but remained in your spot. “Come on, move.” Finally, Lucky moved and allowed you to get back into bed. The dog glared at you. You stuck your tongue at him.

“Are you fighting with a dog, baby?” You jumped, not expecting Yelena’s voice. You huffed and cuddled next to her.

“So what if I am?” You pouted. Yelena chuckled and kissed your forehead.

“No one is stealing me from you,” you sighed. Good, you weren’t ready to let her go.

_

Taglist: @likemick, @averagetmblrusser, @wandaromamoff69, @simpforyelenabelova, @cd-4848, @simpforyelenabelova @nymph0puppp, @sparks123123

[mutifandomkid]

Ghost Among Men

Part Three

Pairings: Buckyxcontractkillerreader

Warnings: Angst, fighting, physical burns, arguments, human auctions (brief, not much detail), reader gets drugged, manipulation, creepy dudes, mission with Bucky, death, Bucky kills people, exfiltration, Hawkeye, big gala, think that's it?

Please tell me if there's more warnings.

Word Count: 6.5k

By the time Bucky woke, you were nowhere to be found. He slowly sat up from the bench, how did you manage to leave the deck of the jet without waking him? He surveyed the empty deck, your bench had already been put back up, and it was like you were never there to begin with. Where the hell could you have gone in this tiny jet, and he wouldn’t have known?

Bucky got up off his bench, folding it back into the wall and then walking the deck towards the cockpit. It was there he found you, headset on, speaking softly into the mic as you flipped through the controls. He visibly sneered, how the hell did he not hear you? How were you so quiet? 

“Good morning, Mr. Barnes.” You said, not sparing him a glance as you flipped a few more controls and then typed into the command console quickly. “I’d suggest you take a seat, I’ll be landing this bird soon.”

Bucky grumbled underneath his breath before taking a seat in the co-pilot's seat. Looking out the cockpit window, he could see a private airport, his brow furrowed in confusion.

“Where are we going?” He asked you, glancing over at you. 

You didn’t miss as he chewed his lip. “Have to put the bird down so we’re not obvious.” You answered as if it was common sense, which in a sense, it was.

“Well yeah,” He grumbled back sarcastically. “You know what I mean.”

“It’s one of my private airports.” You answered.

Bucky’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Yours?” 

“Tony isn’t the only rich one you know.” You answered, nearing the runway. “Clients always manage to pay the right price for my…services.” 

Bucky’s eyes squinted at you in suspicion. “Exactly how many clients do you have?” 

“Classified.” You clipped, landing the jet then pulling it into a hangar. “Let’s go.” You said after you flipped off the controls and disappeared into the back of the jet, just behind the deck into the storage compartments. 

Bucky followed silently watching as you entered the storage compartment and started grabbing the few bags both of you had brought. He caught his easily when you threw it at him, picking up your own and walking out of the jet. Again, Bucky followed behind you silently. 

A large man stood at the edge of the hangar, dressed in black, about 6’ tall, young, maybe early twenties. Bucky watched him warily as you approached him. 

“Kliment.” You said, smiling as you greeted the man. “Nice to see you once again.” 

“Miss Y/n.” He greeted with a nod, his accent distinctly Russian. 

Bucky noticed how the man, Kilment, eyed him, seemingly sizing up the super soldier. Bucky scowled in response, noting how Kliment held his left hand in his pocket. Possible weapon, and the way that Kliment held himself, he was sore in his right knee. Easy target. 

“At ease, both of you.” You said, merely glancing at the two men as you continued walking. Bucky bristled with annoyance at your command, but noted how Kliment immediately relaxed at your command. Bucky again eyed you suspiciously, just how powerful were you?

“Let the men know that the Winter Soldier is no threat here, unless I specifically state otherwise.” You told Kliment, who nodded and walked away with the order. Bucky bristled with anger and followed you outside the hangar.

“I’m not the winter soldier anymore, you know that.” He snapped, following you into what seemed like a private armory. He swiftly took in the new surroundings before turning back to you, seething.

“I’m aware, but it's best if they don’t know that.” You answered, grabbing a few knife holsters and the matching blades. 

“Oh? And why is that, hm?” Bucky responded sarcastically. 

“Yes, well I’d rather not have them finding out about your…free agency,” You said, grabbing a few small guns and depositing them onto your person in various places. “Don’t feel like dealing with the real winter soldier while we're on this mission.” 

“The words don’t work on me anymore.” Bucky snarled. “So who cares if they know or not?” 

“I do.” You replied curtly.

“Quit playing fucking games with me, Ghost.” Bucky snapped, grabbing you by the collar of your t-shirt and yanking you to him, up close and personal. “Who the hell are you? Really?” 

You looked at him as if you were bored. 

“I asked you a question.” He snapped, and when he still received no response, he sneered and shoved you away from him, letting go of your collar. You caught your footing easily, going back to the previous task of stocking yourself up on weapons. 

“You know, I don’t understand you.” Bucky retorted. “One minute you’re talkative and you won’t fucking shut up, but then when I actually want answers, you’re silent. So what’s your game here?” 

“I don’t have a game.” You answered. “Just a mission that I intend on getting done so we can go back to hating each other and ignoring each other’s presence.” 

“You’re excruciating.” He growled.

“Yes, well I try.” You answered, grabbing your last gun and shoving it into a holster tucked underneath your arm. 

You had at least nine weapons on you that he knew of, Bucky lost count after that. He scowled at you, then left the armory, and you followed him out this time. 

Outside of the armory room, and back outside there was a blacked out mazda, sleek enough to show speed, but common enough to hide the wealth. Bucky noted the clever thinking regarding your choice of car as you got into the driver’s seat. He threw his bag into the back seat and slipped into the passenger’s seat without a word, and stayed quiet as you drove out of the private airport and got onto the main roads. 

The drive to the safehouse wasn’t long, Bucky silent the whole time. Simply watching you from his peripheral. He didn’t say a word when you turned on the radio, Motley Crue playing through the speakers. Didn’t say a word when you turned up the volume to drown out the awkward silence either. The man was silent and still, like a stone statue in an art museum. 

Bucky eyes the safehouse, seeing it was a large mansion, and he scowled. “Doesn’t seem like a very ‘safe’ house.” He muttered. 

“Courtesy of Tony.” You admitted quietly, “If I had it my way, we’d be staying somewhere less…obvious.” 

Bucky hummed curtly  in response, waiting till you pulled into the driveway of the mansion, then parking in the spacious garage. He got out of the car first, not bothering to look back and check if you got out okay when he opened the door to the back seat, grabbed his bag, and left the garage, entering the kitchen. 

You sighed, putting the car in park before shutting off the engine and getting out, grabbing your bag from the back seat as well, and following behind him a ways into the mansion. Inside the building was white and spacious. The windows were large, there were a few complimentary dashes of silver, like the ones that aligned along with the glass railings on the staircases. The art decor that lined the walls was black and white, matching the almost completely white interior of the house. 

Bucky watched you from a few rooms down the hall, seeing as you gawked at the interior. He had done the same previously, just made it less obvious. It was clear to Bucky that you had never been here before. He turned away when you turned to walk down the hall, in his direction. He would never admit it, but despite how cruel your words had been earlier, and how annoyingly mysterious you proceeded to be, he did find your curiosity to be almost…cute. 

You walked up stairs, Bucky following you at a distance in the mansion, he watched as you disappeared into the farthest bedroom down the hall on the right of the main staircase, Bucky going down the hallway on the left of the staircase, making his way to the farthest bedroom down the hall. 

Neither of you saw each other until later that night, when you had wandered into the kitchen around 3 am, getting a cup of coffee after stressing over the gala you and Bucky would be attending later that day. You hadn’t gotten more than 3 hours of sleep, and had finally given up, hence starting the coffee pot that early in the morning.

Bucky had sat on the couch in the living room. He didn’t say a word when you’d passed through the room on your way to the kitchen, nor had you said a word to him. Both of you just glancing at each other, the brief eye contact serving the prior tension from your earlier exchange that day. At this point you were just tired, but Bucky still held that painful anger in his eyes, softer than before. 

You rubbed your temples, trying to push off the headache you could feel brewing behind your skin. Bucky silently made his way to the kitchen, curious as to what you were doing awake. He stared at you from the doorway, his stance cautious, muscles coiled as if ready to fight, or flee even. He watched as you searched the cabinets, then grabbed a white mug, placing it on the black and white marbled countertop. You leaned over the counter top, elbows resting on the surface, head in your hands, hair tousled as your fingers sunk into it. 

The frown never left Bucky’s face, but he finally spoke, his voice spooking you in the still silence of the empty mansion. “Everything okay?” Even with the frown, he angered and hurt eyes still held the smallest hint of concern, before flicking away from your gaze.

You sighed softly before straightening to answer his question. “Yeah, just going over the plan for tomorrow, er, later tonight.” The coffee machine beeped softly, and you turned to grab the pot. 

“For the gala?” Bucky asked quietly.

“Yeah,” You answered, grabbing your mug and pouring the coffee, only missing the mug entirely, and scalding your hand with the hot coffee. “Shit!” 

Bucky moved instantly, grabbing the pot of coffee and the mug from your hands and setting it aside, before grabbing you gently by the arm, far gentler than you expected, and running cold water from the sink onto the red skin on your hand. “You need to be more careful.” He murmured softly, turning to grab a towel and clean up the spilled coffee. 

You said nothing, just watched quietly as he wiped down the counter and the floor, then walked back over, placing the dirtied towel on the side of the sink, and examined your hand. “You’re lucky it wasn’t any hotter,” He abruptly cut himself off, but you still caught it, even if he did try to make it subtle.

“Thank you.” You finally managed to whisper, his hands still holding yours gently as he examined the slightly burned skin. It was then you felt bad for being so rude to him earlier, so inconsiderate. You felt the apology at the back of your throat, but held it back. 

“Don’t mention it.” He muttered under his breath. 

His hands were a stark contrast from each other, one warm and soft with calluses on his skin, the other cold, with small dips and slants from the intricate workings of the metal. You would be lying if you said the mixture of his eyes examining your skin and the contrast of his hands didn’t take your breath away. Your eyes slowly lifted from his hands to look at his face. 

The soft curve of the frown in his lip, the softness around the corners of his eyes, the slight furrow of his brow, the small hint of concern in his blue eyes. The scruff along his jaw, the way his lips parted just slightly before pressing into a firm line. “You’ll be fine by tomorrow, пальцы с маслом.” The words as they feel from his lips, so soft, so gentle, and the russian phrase…you had no idea what it meant, but you didn’t want him to stop saying it anytime soon. 

His eyes finally lifted to meet your gaze, and you darted your gaze down to your scalded hand. “You think so?” Your voice was a little higher than usual, breathier. You silently cursed yourself and prayed that your cheeks weren’t as red as they felt. 

“Yeah.” He answered, finally letting go of your hand. You bit your tongue to keep the disappointed whimper from leaving your lips. “Go get some rest, Y/n.” He said softly. “Still have about,” He checked the clock on the wall. “16 hours before you need to start getting ready.”

You glanced at the clock, clearing your throat as you did so. “Uh, yeah, yeah.” You said, still slightly flustered. You stood there for a moment, and he made no move to shoo you away either, so you finally turned to walk out of the kitchen, but stopped in the doorway. “Um, Bucky?” You said, debating on turning fully around, you glanced over your shoulder, he was standing there, but it didn’t seem like he was listening. 

“I’m sorry for being such a bitch earlier.” You said quietly, positive he wasn’t listening. “Next time you have questions I’ll answer them the best I can.” You left the room, retreating back to your bedroom down the hallway to the right, the furthest room down the hall.

Unbeknownst to you, Bucky was listening, and his anger dissipated with your soft apology. Granted, it was small, quiet, but Bucky didn’t care. All he seemed to care about was the fact that you had acknowledged that your words had hurt him, and you apologized for it. Maybe you weren’t so bad?

______

You found yourself, 17 hours later, doing the finishing touches on your makeup. It was a simplistic look, natural and it blended with your skin. You did a quick gloss to your lip before sliding on the thigh highs, holding them up with a lacy garter belt, the material black and soft. After slipping on the thigh highs and garter belt, you grabbed the dress that Tony had sent in a few days before your arrival.

It was a simple black silk, long and flowy. The dress had a cross halter top, leaving a little diamond on the vertebral rib of your torso. The dress cascaded down your legs, a high slit up your right leg, stopping just below the garter belt. The middle of the dress was accentuated with various strips of silk hugging closely to your body, creating that hourglass figure effortlessly. You slipped on the shoes Tony bought to match with it. The louboutin, Kate styled, 100 mm pumps, with the black leather, and the red sole. You let your hair fall out of the heatless curlers, you did a brief brush through the locks, your long hair cascading down your shoulders and framing your face. 

You walked out of your bedroom, and made your way down the hall. Bucky was already at the bottom of the staircase, having called out your name a few moments prior. At the sound of your heels, Bucky turned to see you walking down the stairs. He was dressed in a black suit, with a black dress shirt, and a matching black tie. His hair slicked back, showing off the sharp lines of his cheekbones. He wore white gloves, masking his mental hand.His lips parted slightly, his eyes widening as he took in the sight of you walking down the stairs. 

When you reached the bottom of the steps, he swallowed and cleared his throat. “You clean up well.” He muttered, his eyes still raking over your body.

“Don’t look too bad yourself, Barnes.” You replied, taking in his appearance. The way he was looking at you, the way he looked in the suit with his hair slightly slicked back, it definitely did something, and you could only hope he didn’t see it on your face. He pulled two rings out of his pocket, slipping one onto your left ring finger, and slipping the other one his left ring finger. 

He gestured to the garage door, in which you walked in front of him and into the garage, walking towards one of Tony’s Bugattis. The car was grey, and definitely had that rich look. Bucky walked ahead of you, going over to the driver’s side and slipping into the vehicle. Leaving you get your door. You slipped into the car, grabbing the discrete earbuds, and tiny cameras on pins. Bucky started the car, and you handed him an ear piece and one of the pins. 

“What’s this?” He asked, taking them and putting the ear piece into his ear and pinning the pin onto the lapel of his jacket. 

“Tony designed them for me, earbuds are for if we get separated, or we need to communicate with the rest of the team.” You explained as Bucky started driving to Mr. ZInc’s mansion for the ball. “The pins have cameras that will send the feed it captures to the compound, where Tony and Steve will be looking it over.” 

“Have it all planned out, dollface?” Bucky asked, the nickname slipping out before he could stop it, and he tensed immediately and tried to play it off as he continued driving and turned down another street.

“Dollface?” You laughed, using the teasing to hide the blush on your cheeks. “Thought you only used that for your girls.” 

Bucky bristled. “I don’t have any girls.” 

“Please,” You said sarcastically. “You’re telling me a guy like you doesn’t have girls chasing after you 24/7?” 

“No,” He snapped. “Nobody wants the Winter Soldier,” he said, his voice softer, vulnerable. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t,” You started softly, but he interrupted you before you could finish.

“It’s fine, I get it a lot.” 

“I- you do?” 

“Yeah.” He responded,his voice terse. It was then you realized he had already closed the door, his walls back up.

The rest of the car ride to the mansion was spent in silence. When we got there, Bucky shut off the car and stepped out, tossing one of the valets the keys, and rounding to my door, grabbing it and opening it for you, holding out his hand for you to grab. You placed your hand in his, and let him help you out of the car, instantly linking your arm with his as you walked into the casino. 

The tense atmosphere that he had just moments ago in the car had melted away, and both of you acted like a newlywed couple in the honeymoon stage. Your hands were interlinked, your arms around his one arm, he was confident as he walked. 

“Name?” The man, assumedly a guard, at the private section of the mansion asked. 

“Dean Smith,” Bucky answered confidently. “And this is my lovely wife, Katy Smith.” He smiled as if he was the happiest man in the world.

The guard nodded, and stepped aside, letting you two through and into where the main party was. You hung onto Bucky’s arm as he walked among the crowd, smiling politely and greeting people when necessary. It was almost like what had just happened between the two of you in the car never happened. He was all smiles, friendly, hell too friendly for Bucky. ‘Props to him for being a good actor’, You thought to yourself.

As soon as you entered the room, you were already surveying the crowds, counting the cameras, possible escape routes, and all the people who were on your possible targets list assigned by SHIELD. Bucky seemed to be doing the same thing as you, just as subtle. That's when he finally leaned down to whisper into your ear. From an outside perspective, it looked just as it should’ve. A husband whispering into his wife’s ear, making her smile and respond with a tilt of her head, eye meeting with her husband’s.

“How many of these people are on your target’s list?” He whispered softly. 

“Almost every single one of them.” You answered, tilting your head up and smiling fondly at him. 

He smiled back, his eyes soft and warm, if you didn’t know he was angry with you, you might’ve believed him. “Find our main four, yet?” He whispered back, placing a hand underneath your chin, so you had to look at him. 

The action made you blush, ‘Damn him.’ You thought to yourself before speaking. “All except for Mr. Zinc.” You answered. 

“Good girl.” He praised, sliding his hand from your chin to the curve of your jaw. You blushed harder, and he ducked his head so he could whisper into your ear. “Just want you to know, I hate everything about this.” He whispered.

Your smile almost dropped, almost. Instead, you forced out a giggle. “Believe me, I feel the same.” You answered him with a sweet whisper and a nip to his earlobe. 

He physically tensed, a reaction that could easily be played off as lust. “Don’t ever do that, you hear me?” He snapped in your ear, his hand tightening on your jaw as a silent warning. Another thing that could just be seen as a form of lust, a kink, if you will, to the outside perspective.

“Just playing the part, Dean.” You answered innocently. 

“Well knock it off. You know my boundaries, Katy.” He snapped back, his whispers tense in your ear. 

“Okay, I’m sorry.” You answered. “I’ll lay off a bit.” 

Bucky didn’t respond as he pulled away, his gaze flickering over yours for a minute before darting in another direction. “I’m going to go get us some drinks, darling.” He said softly, holding your hand until you were out of his reach and letting his hand fall away from yours. 

‘Curse him for being able to play his part so well.’ You found yourself thinking, as you blushed and nodded. ‘And curse his stupid nicknames.’ 

Bucky walked off into the direction of the drinks, but it wasn’t five seconds before you realized he was currently in pursuit of one of the four. You watched from afar as he engaged in conversation with the woman, flirting shamelessly with her, all smiles and polite touches on her shoulders or arms. You found yourself bristling with jealousy, but before you could think about it, someone approached you. 

‘Fuck me.’ You thought to yourself. Of course it was the one man you couldn’t find earlier, and this would cause plans to change. Bucky would have to interview the other two targets himself, and you would have to keep Mr. Zinc occupied until then. That was, if Mr. Zinc didn’t take you to the back immediately after meeting you. As your mind calculated what to do next, Mr. Zinc’s hand was already outstretched, and his smile was warm. It would have been a kind and comforting gesture had you not known the man for the monster he was. 

“Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.” Mr. Zinc greeted. “I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure of meeting you, my dear. My name is Dominic Zinc, but a pretty thing like yourself can call me Dom, if you’d like. And you are?” 

You placed your hand in his, smiling politely as you spoke. “Katy Smith.” 

He brought your hand up to his lips and kissed the back of your knuckles. It was slobbery and wet, and it took everything in you not to gag. “I take it that a beautiful lady such as yourself didn’t come alone? After all, only married invitations were allowed into this gala.” Mr. Zinc continued, smiling. It was clear to you he was trying to single you out, see if you truly had brought company. Either way you’d be giving him some type of information. 

Your eyes quickly searched around for Bucky, finding him talking to target number two, a man in the back corner. “Yes,” You answered, then gracefully pointing out where Bucky was. “My husband, Dean Smith, he's quite the social butterfly, can never stay in one place for long.” You chuckled politely. 

“I see,” Dominic mused, smiling, but the lack of wrinkles and the pull of his skin at the corner of his mouth told you he was dissatisfied with what he saw. “You have quite the partner. I take it he doesn’t mind you mingling around with other men all alone?” 

You smiled politely, though you wanted to punch him square in the jaw as hard as you could. “What makes you say that, Mr. Zinc?” 

“Please, call me Dom, if not then Dominic, at the least.” He said, waving you off and smiling. “I just know if I had a beautiful thing such as yourself as my wife, I wouldn’t be able to keep my hands off of you, much less let you around to mingle with other men all alone.” 

You let out a polite, quiet chuckle. “Dominic, please. I can assure you, my husband and I trust each other to mingle with others in the crowd.” You said, trying to place at least some sort of boundary.

“Now, correct me if I’m mistaken, but I do believe that I saw you growing jealous as your husband spoke with Ms. Craven.” Dominic said, his eyes trained on you. 

Your eye twitched, and he caught it before you could school your expression back into a polite, charming act. 

“So I was right,” Demonic mused, smirking as if he had won something. “Darling, would you like to come with me?” 

You widened your eyes in an innocent act, your lips parted as you looked at him. “Where would we be going?” 

“Just downstairs, to the real party.” Dominic smiled, charming as ever. You glanced back over at Bucky, who was now on the third target, another woman. “I can assure you, we’ll be back before your husband can miss you, which by the looks of it, won’t be for a while.” Dominic pressed, his hand running up the back of your lower spine. 

“Dominic, I’m not sure it’s a good idea to leave without him.” You said, your voice soft, innocent. 

“He won’t even notice you’re gone, my dear. Look at him,” Dominic stood behind you, close enough you could feel the heat from his body. It rose the hairs on the back of your neck. Dominic gently put his hand underneath your jaw and tilted your chin in the direction of Bucky, who was still mingling with target number three. “He’s entranced by her, we’ll only be gone a moment.”

“Only gone for a moment?” You asked, stalling a little longer, your gaze trained on Bucky.

“We’ll be back before you know it, my dear.” Dominic said, whispering it into your ear. 

Bucky had been watching your every move, the way you let Mr. Zinc touch you, the way you spoke with him, how you seemed to be captivated by the enemy. It made him clench his jaw, his hands twitching, but when he saw you turning to leave the room with the man, his hands curled into tight fists.

 ‘Where the hell is she going?.’ Bucky thought to himself as he excused himself and slowly moved through the room. He followed at a distance, his movements inconspicuous as he moved through the crowd. ‘I knew she’d eventually be leaving with him, but this was earlier than expected.’ 

As Bucky followed behind you and Mr. Zinc at a distance, it became apparent to him that you weren’t going to one of the back rooms upstairs like you had planned, but instead you were headed farther down into the mansion. The downstairs part of the mansion hadn’t been on the blue prints you had shown him on the jet. 

He watched as Mr. Zinc handed you a drink, and he prayed that you wouldn’t drink it. 

“A little jump start for the real party, my dear.” Mr. Zinc smiled at you, and it made Bucky bristle in disgust. 

“Dominic, this really isn’t necessary.” You smiled politely, opting to just hold the drink in your hand.

“Nonsense my dear, your husband was flirting with another woman, remember? Not just one, but two, we saw him do it both times. Now you get to go to a real party, with real people who care about you.” Mr. Zinc smiled. “Bottoms up, my dear.” Mr. Zinc lifted the glass you held in your hand to your lips, gently pushing up the bottom of the glass until the liquid was gone. “Very nice, my dear. Now then, shall we?” He held out his arm, in which you laced your arm with his and he led you downstairs. 

Bucky cursed to himself quietly as he watched the situation. ‘Fuck.’ He thought as he followed behind. It was likely that the drink had been laced with something, and as beautiful as you looked tonight, it wouldn’t surprise him if you were the first one to be put onto Zinc’s list. Just as he was about to follow you downstairs, a man stepped in front of the entrance. 

“Not authorized.” He briskly spoke, crossing his arms and blocking Bucky’s path. 

“I was just going to retrieve my wife, I saw her walk down here a moment ago.” Bucky explained politely.

“I can assure you, your wife is fine, and will be back momentarily.” The man said.

Bucky stood straighter, trying to instill some sort of fear into the man. “I would like to see my wife, thank you.” He snapped.

“And you will momentarily,” The man eerily smiled, and Bucky bristled at it. “The show will start shortly, I won’t ask you to return to the main gala again, sir.” 

Bucky sneered at the man, but opted to return to the main gala. He would have to trust that you could handle yourself until he could find a way to get to you that wouldn’t cause a scene. When Bucky returned to the main gala, the lights dimmed repeatedly, and he followed the crowd into another room. A crowd that was once full of both men and women, and was now just men. His brow furrowed, and he wondered what had happened to the rest of the women who had arrived with their partners. 

He followed the crowd into the next room over, the doors closing behind the last few people in the crowd. The room was windowless, with plain white walls, and there was a roped off area in the middle of the room, the men crowding around it to get a spot at the front. The room smelled of sterile chemicals, and almost reminded Bucky of a medical unit.

“Gentlemen!” A voice was heard from the left side of the room. Dominic Zinc. “A pleasure having you all here today! I do appreciate you all bringing along your guest, as they will make wonderful centerpieces, wouldn’t you agree?” A series of laughs was heard around the room at the question, and Bucky smiled, if only to keep his cover. ‘The fuck does he mean, ‘centerpieces?’ Bucky thought to himself.

The floor to the roped off area in the room parted, and slid back, a platform underneath revealing the women that had attended the gala with partners. ‘What kind of sick game is this?’ Bucky thought to himself. On the platform were five unconscious women, laying there still in their gowns and all dolled up as they were previously. 

Bucky drowned out the noise as they started the bidding. His heart ached for those women, but right now, you were his partner, you were his mission, and he needed to find you before you ended up on that stage. His eyes searched the room, looking for some sort of out. The only way in and out, he realized, was the door he came out of. 

Steeling himself, he walked over to the door, another guard was by it. “Sir?” The guard asked, quirking a brow in suspicion. 

“My apologies,” Bucky replied smoothly. “It seems I’ve forgotten my wallet in the men’s room.” 

The man nodded, but didn’t budge. “You can retrieve it once the bidding has commenced.” 

Bucky withheld the urge to stab this man. “Please sir, it contains the cash I’ve brought for the bidding.” 

“You can retrieve it once the auction has finished.” The man repeated. 

Bucky bristled, and clenched his fist. He needed to find you, and he was running out of time, they had just moved onto the second girl. “How many times am I going to have to ask you to move so I can go take a shit in peace?” He snapped.

The guard chuckled, “Why didn’t you just say so?” And he stepped aside, opening the door for Bucky to walk through. 

Bucky stepped through the hallway and into the next room, where he was previously and made his way to the staircase he went to follow you down previously. The same guard was still there. Bucky paid no mind to him, moving along the shadows of the dim hallway and silencing the man, then hiding the body into a crook in the hallway, away from lights. The door you had been led down held a padlock on it, he snatched it with his metal arm and yanked, the padlock snapping from the force, and he quickly disposed of the lock and chains on the door and made his way down the stairs. 

The stairway grew dimmer as he moved, then was light with red  lighting the deeper down he got. His eyes easily adjusted, and what he found disgusted him. The women who had attended, all drugged and unconscious. He searched through the women, his heart aching at the sight of them. He finally saw you, slumped down against a wall, then getting hoisted up by another guard, who was carrying you to one of the empty platforms. 

Bucky drew his gun, the silencer already on, and fired, the bullet landing in the guard's head, making him collapse to the floor. It was seconds as Bucky saw four more guards, a bullet making its mark in each of their skulls. He quickly made his way over to you, snatching your body, and feeling for a pulse. It was weak, but there. He gazed down at your face. ‘God, she looks so peaceful, unaware of the danger she’s in.’ He scooped you up into his arms, cradling you to his chest as he quickly moved back to the stairwell, minding the other unconscious women on the floor. 

“Steve, I know you’re listening, you little shit, I need a team out here, now.” Bucky said into the comms. “Y/n’s unconscious, and I have at least thirty other women in the same state. There's an auction going on upstairs.” 

“Already heading towards your location.” Steve answered. “Did you take out Zinc?” 

“Negative.” Bucky answered, his focus solely on leaving the basement. 

“We can’t infiltrate until then.” Steve answered. “Logistics don’t add up.” 

“The fuck you mean logistics, Rodgers? There’s at least thirty unconscious women down here.” Bucky snapped into the comms. 

“Sooner you do your job, iceman, the sooner we can do ours.” Tony said into the comms. 

Bucky muttered something underneath his breath, still carrying you in his arms as he made his way to the top of the staircase. He peeked his head out of the door and then slipped out of the stairwell, and back into the shadows. He was listening to the surroundings as he moved, he was quick, it wouldn’t belong till they found the bodies downstairs. 

“Bucky?” You mumbled, your head lulling to the side and into the crook of his neck. 

Bucky’s ears perked up at the sound of your voice. “Hey, dollface.” He said softly, still moving quickly till he found himself upstairs and melted further into the shadows. “How drugged do you feel, on a scale of one to ten?’ 

“Mmm,” You hummed in response. Bucky nodded as he found a nook in the wall, one that you were small enough to hide in. 

“Take that as a nine? Eight?” He asked, bending you down to nestle you into the nook. 

“Eleven.” You mumbled, settling against the crook of the wall. 

“Considering you answered my question coherently, I’m going to mark it as a seven.” Bucky muttered, his voice gentle. “Stay here, don’t move, and don’t you dare get caught, you understand me?”

“Nope.” You slurred. Bucky moved your arms into the nook, and then moved your dress to cover your skin. 

“I’ll be back soon.” He mumbled, his hand lingering on your cheek, his eyes concerned before he turned and left you in the shadows. 

Bucky moved with practiced clandestine, his movements silent and meticulous. He moved along the walls in the shadows until he emerged from what looked like the men’s room, and walked back to the room where the auction was being held. The guard stood there waiting for him, opening the door for Bucky. 

Bucky stood back in his previous spot, looking around at the unconscious women before looking back at the crowd of men, and finally his eyes landed on Mr. Zinc, who now had three other people he had extracted information from earlier. Four shots, clear line.

Bucky took another look around the room, ten guards, two on each side of the room, another by the door, and the last standing with Zinc. Bucky tilted his head slightly as he looked around at the crowd again, it was almost impossible to tell who was armed and who wasn’t, after all they didn’t check Bucky or you when you first arrived at the gala. It was likely that those who were armed would target Bucky as soon as he started the spree. 

‘This is going to be a bloodbath.’ Bucky thought to himself, moving positions in the crowd to see if he could get any closer to Zinc, though it just looked like he was moving up the crowd to get another look at the women. Bucky’s eyes flicked around the room till he saw a flicker of dark movement high in the rafters of the room. 

“Keep staring and you’ll give up my position, Barnes.” The voice crackled through the comms. 

‘Barton.’ Bucky thought, and turned his gaze away from the shadowed area, and turned back to Zinc. 

Bucky’s gaze swept through the room once more before he pulled a gun, and fired four shots. Zinc, Craven, the two others he’d talked to all fell to the floor, bleeding profusely. As soon as the bodies fell to the floor, multiple shield agents infiltrated through the front door, Hawkeye blowing a hole through the eastside wall, Shield agents flooding the room from there as well. 

Bucky moved, taking out guards that stood in his way with knives and his fist, practically throwing them to the side. He finally got out of the room, and quickly made his way back to you. You were unconscious once again, and he scooped you up into his arms. “I have Ghost, exfiltrating now.” Bucky said into the comms, then left the manion, found the car, and drove you back to the mansion. 

Tags:

@greatenthusiattidalwave @sebbymybaby21 @vicmc624 @cinnamon-bun47 @capswife @440mxs-wife @supersoldiers1xt @missvelvetsstuff @bonnyclydecat @marajade1974 @caity1995 @buckitostan @httpswilloww @cjand10 @valckenaux

[gellavonhamster]

a haunted house with a picket fence

One Piece || gen || Perona & Mihawk || set before the Egghead Arc ao3 link rus || ao3 link eng

The transponder snail booth is just across the street. Perona keeps glancing at it out of the cafeteria window as she eats her dinner. After finishing it, she carefully wraps a napkin around the salad leaf she had taken out of her sandwich, takes it with her, and steps out – and stops in indignation when some guy jumps out of the nearest back alley and slides into the booth right before her. The gall!

“Would you look at that,” Perona mutters, and releases a Negative Hollow.

The guy has already closed the door of the booth, but walls are no obstacle for Hollows, and a moment later the jerk drops crying to the ground. Perona has to give it to him – it’s really nice of him to lean against the door in despair and open it on accident. It’s not like she’s going to stoop to throwing coins into the machine, after all! What a humiliation for a pirate and a princess!

“Oh, I’m a wretched worm,” sobs the stranger, smearing snot all over his face. “I deserve no love, no happiness…”

“Uh-huh, that’s right. Move it, mister,” Perona steps over him into the booth and closes the door behind her. The snail stares at her with indifferent round eyes. Perona offers it a salad leaf from the sandwich and, while it is chewing, dials a number from memory. After the first tone, a sudden urge to hang up washes over her, and she moves the handset away from her ear; then, after a slight pause, presses it back.

“Yes?” a cold voice finally speaks. Not a wary one – not a hint of unease, just clearly expecting no good.

“Hey, Hawkeyes,” Perona says, trying to sound as carefree as she can.

“Ghost girl,” the voice gets about a degree warmer. Half a degree. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“No reason, just saw your ad in the paper and decided to call. It’s so cute that you finally have friends your age. I’m happy for you!”

“They’re not my friends,” Mihawk says through his teeth. Noise is coming through the receiver – someone’s arguing unintelligibly, someone’s yelping. “What is it that you really want, ghost girl? The Marines may trace where you’re calling from.”

“You think I’m scared of them? Ha! And besides, they won’t get here in time.”

“I am asking you, what is it that you want?”

Perona herself isn’t sure why she’s calling him. When the idea to call Mihawk had just crossed her mind, she was about to cast it aside in anger – what is this, is she scared? She, the Ghost Princess, and scared? However, on reflection, she concluded that the disturbing feeling that won’t leave her alone wasn’t fear. She has no doubt about the success of her venture, although she sees that it won’t be easy. It is true that she’s got no army of zombies anymore, and in the past couple of years she fought weeds and mole crickets more often than she fought other pirates, but is she a general or what? So no, she isn’t scared, but something keeps gnawing at her relentlessly and won’t let her focus on her plan, and she has to focus. And for some reason she feels like it’ll get better if she talks to somebody. Terrible. The two years and a bit that she spent on Kuraigana made her too soft.

Oh, right. Kuraigana.

“I was just gonna ask, what news of the castle? Not a word in the papers or on the streets.”

“As far as I know,” Mihawk’s voice turns icy again, “the Marines conducted a search there and commandeered it for the needs of the World Government.”

“Whaaat?!” Perona is so furious she almost drops the handset. She snatches it, uses her shoulder to press it to her ear, adjusts her hat that has slipped down to her eyes. She had four more hats back on Kuraigana – wait, no, five. Five hats. And so many dresses! The black lace one, but not the kind she’s currently wearing – the other black lace one; the black one with balloon sleeves; the pink one with skulls. The wine-red one she and Zoro sewed from old curtains – or rather, she sewed and Zoro just sat on the floor helping her mark out the hemline in chalk, and did it lopsidedly, at that. And a good many more. Not to mention the rest of stuff she didn’t take with her when she went looking for Lord Moria because she thought she could come back later and pick it up. Apparently, she cannot. “How dare they?! Those dicks! And the garden?”

“And the garden what? Did you expect me to pack it in a bag and take it with me? Let us hope they haven’t burned it down, at least.”

“Our vineyard,” Perona murmurs confusedly, and the fact that Mihawk does not correct her that actually it is his vineyard, his garden, his castle, as he never tired of reminding Zoro and her for two years, is a testament to his own low spirits. “And the wine cellar… oh, they must’ve been so pleased…”

“Indeed. For once, they are going to have some quality alcohol. Have you ever been to any functions organized by the top brass of the Navy?” She doesn’t need to see his face to picture the exact way he rolls his eyes in disdain. “Pathetic.”

“I guess everything’s gonna wither and overgrow without us…”

“Those are just garden beds,” Mihawk says firmly. Like he’s trying to convince himself. “One can always make new ones.”

“And the castle? Can you find a new one too?”

Silence hangs on the line.

“No,” Mihawk replies at last. “No, hardly another one like that.”

Homesickness. That is what’s gnawing at her: homesickness. She failed to recognize this feeling at once because she has never experienced it before. Her memory was gracious enough to erase her entire childhood before meeting Lord Moria, leaving her just the vague images that sometimes caught up with her in her sleep. As to the Thriller Bark, it was great, of course – but it was not a dream come true. When Bartholomew Kuma asked her where she would want to go if she could go anywhere, she described to him her perfect home – and it turned out it existed. It turned out she could live there the way she could never imagine before but found truly enjoyable, with people she found nice to stay under the same roof with. And now her dream has been… commandeered. Zoro also left, but he had another home waiting for him – his crew, his ship. She and Mihawk, on the other hand, were now homeless. No, she didn’t call him because she was afraid she would fail and needed an adult – as in, more of an adult than herself – to tell her it will be all right. She did it because she knew he was going to understand what it feels like. Because he misses Kuraigana, too.

Perhaps picking at her wounds will make the matters worse, but the pain it causes energizes her, weirdly. A powerful, very powerful blast of rage. If the Marines who barged into their home were here, the sheer tsunami of her hate would have knocked them down, no Hollows needed.

“We will return yet,” Perona says, and her voice isn’t even trembling, for the most part. She tilts her head, and a tear falls on the floor; she steps on it with the tip of her boot. “We’ll take it back from them.”

“And what plan of action do you propose, pray tell?”

“Oh, I have a plan.” She giggles. “But I won’t tell you yet. Because first I have to secure a gift for you! I don’t wanna ruin the surprise.”

“Perona,” says Mihawk. Not ghost girl, not young lady – it is her name that he says, and it is unbearable. Like when they were bickering right before she left and he dropped a be careful out there and she wanted to sit down on the floor and cry because she was leaving home. Such a short time since she’d found it, and she was already leaving. “Whatever you’re up to, take care.”

“Yeah, you do too.”

“Thank you.” He doesn’t even act outraged that she dares to imply that the world’s greatest swordsman has to watch out for something or someone. 

If they keep talking, she’ll burst into tears for sure.

“Well, gotta go,” she says with affected cheerfulness. “Bye-bye, Hawkeyes! Tell your new friends I said hi!” and she hangs up before he can answer.

A queue has already formed by the entrance to the booth, and when Perona swings the door open, the first person in that queue gets hit on the forehead.

“Oops!” Perona cries out and soars into the air before he can grab her. “Watch where you stand next time!”

If she ought to apologize to someone, it is to Lord Moria. But he’ll never know she called him a gift. And she is sure she’ll be able to persuade him to join the Cross Guild – he has lost his crew again, which means that new allies could come in handy. The World Government shut down the Warlord program far too late. By now, as proven by Mihawk and his new partners, the mightiest pirates in the world have learned to sit down at the same table, even if with their teeth gritted, and join forces if necessary. Where there are three, there is room for a fourth – and then they’ll see how it goes. The Marines will regret driving them out of Kuraigana yet.

But first, to Hachinosu.

[quietblueriver]

Still Bright to Me (Kate/Yelena, 1/5)

Rewatched Hawkeye and this happened. I love them so much.

Post canon.

Kate's struggling, so Clint sends some backup in the form of a (former?) black widow assassin, who offers Kate a trade: she'll protect Kate from the tracksuits and Kate will show her the best of New York. Their deal ends, but their friendship doesn't, and suddenly Kate's pretty sure it's becoming something else entirely. Something big and scary and really, really good.

Read below or on AO3.

-

Kate could almost pretend this was a normal Tuesday morning. 

She walked into Bishop Security, tossed her bag behind the front desk, and took a right toward her mom’s office. She could see her through the glass walls, legs crossed as she looked over a set of files spread on the coffee table, a Bishop Security coffee mug waiting near her right hand on a cream coaster. Her suit was familiar, a favorite–navy with white pinstripes, wide legs, a white silk blouse. 

And then, of course, visible between the hem of her pants and the black leather of her heel, the shining black box strapped to her ankle, with its two tiny white lights signaling Eleanor Bishop’s location to the federal government at all times. 

It wasn’t a normal Tuesday morning. 

Her mom looked up as she got close, a tight smile working its way onto her face, and Kate felt the warring urges to run, cry, and vomit. Instead of any of that, Eleanor Bishop’s daughter did what she had been taught to do and kept her shit together, her own fake smile glued in place and her hands steady. 

Eleanor stood as Kate pushed open the door, walking around the coffee table and opening her arms. “I’ve missed you.” 

The words rang more than a little hollow in the face of the two sentence email Eleanor sent to set up this meeting and the total radio silence that preceded it. She’d been out on bail within like a day, which Kate knew because she got a Christmas NYT alert with a courthouse shot of her mom looking perfectly put together as she made her way down the steps to the towncar. (Nate won that round of Mario Kart.) 

From her mom? Not a word. Nothing until a week into the new year, when Kate did a double take at the sender on an email notification with the subject line: Meeting Tuesday. 

So yeah, Kate didn’t feel particularly missed. She felt like an hour on Eleanor’s work calendar. 

Still, she wrapped her arms around her mother, a stiff, quiet, awkward hug that she wasn’t sad to break. 

The tension between them hurt in a way Kate couldn’t have prepared herself for, and despite all her Bishop training, it took more than a little effort to hold back the tears pressing at the back of her eyes as she settled in the chair across from Eleanor. Eleanor, who, in addition to being a pretty major player in the organized crime scene in New York and several other major cities, was still her mom. 

It might never have been easy between them the way it had been between her and her dad, but she’d never doubted that her mom loved her. Not really. Not until she looked her in the eye and said, cold and hard and distant enough that Kate wondered if she regretted running that car through the window and into Kingpin, “Is this what heroes do? Arrest their mother on Christmas?” Not until she followed that up with silence loud enough to make Kate wonder if she’d become Hawkeye and lost her second parent on the same day. 

“How are you?” 

The question snapped Kate back to the moment, and she blinked away flashing blue lights and the smell of smoke and the pain of a cracked rib as she sobbed in the shower. 

“Fine,” she said on instinct, twirling the silver ring on her index finger. It was bullshit, but so was the question. Eleanor’s eyes locked on her ring and Kate stopped twisting, stood and got a bottle of water from the fridge under the counter, stared at the marble as she uncapped it and took a slow sip. 

“Kate.” 

Kate took a deep breath and another sip of water before she turned around and met Eleanor’s eyes. 

“Mom.” 

She could see her mom’s jaw grinding, considered very seriously walking out and calling Clint and going back to Iowa for as long as she fucking could. Laura had offered and meant it. Clint had nodded beside her and meant it just as much when he said, “Call anytime.” She’d only been back for like a day anyway; her stuff was still packed and PD would be pumped to be back on the farm. 

She didn’t leave. She sat back down in the chair. She wasn’t even close to sure that was the right decision. 

Her mom grabbed the small remote on the coffee table and hit a button and suddenly the glass behind them was frosted, she and her mother in a more private space. Chest tightening unpleasantly, Kate’s mind ran everything through a new filter. How much of that interaction had been calculated? How much of the hug, of Kate’s presence, of Eleanor’s smile, had been meant for the employees still at Bishop Security? For the attorneys Kate knew were waiting in a conference room just across the hall? For whoever might leak a picture or a quote to one of the reporters hanging around? For whoever her mom might’ve paid to do that? 

She pushed the tears away for another minute, let anger take the lead. It was, after all, much higher on the list of acceptable emotions than hurt. “What am I doing here, mom? What do you need from me?” 

It was hurt, though, that flashed across Eleanor’s face, brief but obvious, and shame bubbled in Kate’s stomach. She didn’t take it back. She didn’t look away either, watched as her mom schooled her features into something neutral and reached for a folder on the table, opening it and turning it toward Kate. 

“This is the information on your trust fund. There are two numbers on the last page, one for my attorney and one for my accountant. I’ve worked with them both for a long time. Call them and they’ll help you get the account handled.”

Kate took the folder and tucked it into the side of the chair. “Thanks.” 

It was a relief. She was, for the first time in her life, worried about money, and it sucked. She’d been working out how long she could make it on what little she had in her own account from her Bishop Security “paychecks” plus an envelope of cash Clint or Laura had snuck into her bag before she left the farm and refused to discuss when Kate found it. 

Her mother nodded. “It’s yours. It has always been yours. Whatever happens with my assets and the company, they can’t touch that. Or the apartment.”

Kate knew, vaguely, that she had a trust fund from her dad’s parents. She was from the kind of money, at least on her dad’s side, that meant her grandparents had set her up from the day she was born. She had never bothered with it before, couldn’t even access it until her last birthday, but she was really fucking glad for it now. 

And for whatever laws stopped her mom (and her dad, maybe, but she really didn’t like thinking about that either) from touching it. 

“Okay.”

Her mom sighed, lips turning down in that way they did when Kate disappointed her. It was a familiar look, and it was how Kate knew the next words from her mouth were the starting point of a negotiation, rather than an end in themselves. 

“I’m sorry, Kate, if what I said that night hurt you. And for taking some time to get in touch. I was angry, which I think is understandable.”

When Kate didn’t immediately respond, Eleanor added, “You obviously weren’t ready to talk either.”

Yeah. There it was. An accusation dressed as an observation. An invitation for Kate to apologize. 

Instead of guilt, Kate felt Laura’s arm wrapped tightly around her shoulders as she cried late on Christmas night, the photo from the Times article shining up at them from Kate’s phone screen on the coffee table. Heard the soft, “Oh, honey,” as Kate whispered her fears aloud, rasped and broken questions about whether her mom would ever want to talk to her again, whether she should call, whether it would hurt worse if she didn’t answer. 

“I didn’t think you’d want to hear from me. You made it pretty clear on Christmas Eve I’d disappointed you, and then I heard from the Times about your bail before I heard from you. Wasn’t really interested in leaving a voicemail.”

Eleanor’s frown deepened, deepened further when Kate didn’t flinch. Or, Hawkeye didn’t flinch. Kate would cry later, but her mom didn’t need to know that. Didn’t deserve to know that. 

Eleanor sighed, and her words had a resigned quality to them on the surface, but Kate knew veiled anger when she heard it. “I understand you probably didn’t know what you were doing when you made that call to the police. I know you can be rash. Impulsive. That’s my fault. Confidence is one thing, but I clearly should’ve reined you in a long time ago.”

Kate bit her tongue and started thinking about trick arrows, reminded herself that she could leave. 

“But now, Kate.” She gestured at her ankle, in the vague direction of her army of lawyers a few rooms over. “Now we’re all paying for your choices. Don’t you see that?”

Yeah. She could leave. Kate took a deep breath and another sip of water and leaned forward. 

“No. I don’t. I see you paying for the choices you made and trying to blame me for it.” Anger slashed ugly across her mother’s face, eyes sharp and chin jutting out in a way that Kate knew her own did in a challenge. “I don’t regret what I did. I wish I hadn’t had to. I wish you hadn’t…” Kate shook her head and stood. Her mom matched her. 

“Katherine Elizabeth Bishop, you do not walk away from me.” 

Her voice was tight and low and Kate had heard it like this a few times in her life, but it had never scared her before. She fought a sob and squared her shoulders. 

“If you were who I thought you were, and I was alone in a room with someone who had done the things you’ve done, you would tell me to run .” Kate shrugged, bent to take the folder. “Guess I know better now. Thanks for this.” She didn’t have it in her to hold her mom’s eyes but pride and resentment and molten anger at least kept her voice steady as she added, “Merry Christmas, by the way. One for the books.”

She turned to go, made it two steps before she felt the hand on her shoulder. She had broken the hold and turned, hands out and eyes assessing her mom like a threat, before she could stop herself. Her mom understood, if the look in her eyes was real, and she jerked her hand back. Kate wasn’t sure whether Eleanor was ashamed or afraid that Kate might break it, and fuck. Fuck. Fuck. How did they get here.

“Kate. Just…” She stepped back, sat. “I’m sorry. Give me two more minutes. And then,” she swallowed, and Kate saw her mom, just her mom, sad and exhausted, “I promise you can go. It’s important. Please.”

Kate hesitated for a second but walked back to the chair, perched on the edge. 

“Thank you.” 

The relief was genuine, and Kate nodded, gripped at the folder in her hands. Her mom cleared her throat and took another folder but kept it herself, thumbing at the tab. 

“I’m going to go away for a little while.” Kate tensed, eyed the ankle monitor before she could stop herself. Eleanor’s eyes followed hers and she shook her head. “No. No. They’re facilitating it. Fisk…Well, things are complicated right now, but he’s not a forgiving man.”

“I thought he was…out of the picture. For now.” It was one of the only reasons Clint hadn’t pushed harder for her to stay in Iowa. He’d heard through channels that Fisk had been shot. That Maya had shot him. That the whole organization was a mess and Maya was on the run and Fisk might actually be gone, although Clint said not to bank on that. 

Eleanor sighed. “Nobody knows for certain his condition. And it’s true that they appear to be distracted right now, but they won’t forget about me, especially if they think I’m cooperating.” 

Kate sucked in a breath. “Are you? Cooperating?”

Eleanor smiled ruefully. “The case against Fisk is much bigger than me. He…well, I’m honestly surprised there even is one, given the number of people in the city on his payroll or his hit list, but it seems like his influence hasn’t reached certain corners of the federal government.

“In any case, as far as he or anyone else knows, I’m not cooperating, but that doesn’t mean he wants to take chances.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

Eleanor shook her head and smiled an almost fond smile, although it had sharper edges than Kate was used to. “No, Hawkeye, I didn’t.” She leaned forward, extended her hand over the table between them. “Kate, these people are dangerous. I’m going away, at least through the trial, and I would ask you to come, but…”

“I won’t.”

“Right.”

Eleanor watched as Kate leaned back, began twirling her ring again. 

“So, I need you to be careful. Call Clint Barton. Call…whoever. I have people from the company who…”

“Mom.”

“Let me finish, Kate. I have people from the company who are and will continue doing minimally invasive work to keep you safe.”

Kate raised her eyebrows and Eleanor ground her teeth but did not snap as Kate said, “I have no interest in anyone from Bishop Security keeping tabs on me. Even minimally invasive ones.”

Unyielding and unapologetic, her mom said, “I didn’t tell you to ask for your permission. I told you so that you wouldn’t shoot Ari or the company SUV he’s driving when you eventually noticed he was keeping track of you.”

At one point, the tone would’ve made her hesitate, but today it just pissed her off. Kate met her mom’s eyes as she responded. “Yeah, okay.” She made a note to look Ari up in the company directory. “I won’t shoot him, but I will lose him, and if he keeps trying, I just made a knockout arrow that works pretty well.”

Her mom rubbed at the spot at the base of her neck that meant she had the beginnings of a tension headache. 

“What do you want me to do here, Kate? This is serious, and whatever you might think of me, I’m still your mother, and I love you. I won’t just leave you.”

What Kate wanted was for her mom to not be facing a list of charges so long and violent that reading it had made Kate dizzy. What Kate wanted was for her mom to have never fucked with Wilson Fisk. For her dad to have never fucked with Wilson Fisk. For the people responsible for taking care of her to have been better and more careful. 

She said, instead, “I’ll install new security at the apartment. Non-Bishop Security stuff.” She clarified, and her mom barely suppressed an eye roll. “It’s all being redone anyway.” Thank fuck for insurance, Laura Barton’s ability to make a checklist, and contractors used to SHIELD’s specific need for quick and secure repairs to explosive damage. “And I will check in once a day with someone from the company to confirm that I’m alright.” 

Eleanor’s sigh could’ve been used as the model for disappointed and exasperated mothers. Sadly for her, her only audience was Kate, who was growing less affected by her mom’s opinion by the minute. (Still affected. Probably always affected. But realizing that her decision not to cover up a murder made her mom more disappointed than, y’know, aiding and abetting would have really did wonders in blunting the effects of maternal guilt.) 

“This is the best I’m going to get, isn’t it?”

Kate leaned back into her chair. “Yes. And if you try anything more, and you know I’ll know if you do, then I’ll stop checking in.” She paused, added even though she was sure her mom already knew, “Also, I’ll take whatever or whoever, wrap them up in a bow, and drop them somewhere super embarrassing for the company.” 

“You’re a shit,” she said, with clear fondness below the frustration. 

Part of Kate resented it. The familiarity. It was fucked, that her mom thought she had the right to act like the last month hadn’t happened. Or worse, that she had fixed everything with a non-apology and a little bit of worry and a cream folder full of financial security that was there despite Eleanor’s best efforts and not because of them. 

Another part of Kate clung to the small piece of evidence that her mom still loved her the way she hoped. Hard not to feel pathetic about that. 

She shrugged, picking at the skin around her thumbnail. “Maybe. But it’s your fault.”

“Yes,” Eleanor said softly. “It is.” She took a pen and legal pad, wrote something quickly on a sheet which she tore and folded in half before brushing nonexistent lint from her pants and standing. “I’ll walk you out.”

She took Kate to the front desk and hugged her. It was still stiff and quiet and awkward, but it made Kate want to cry less. And then that made her want to cry more.  

“Here’s protocol for contact.” She handed Kate the folded piece of legal paper. “I don’t need to tell you to—“

“Destroy it after I read it. Yeah. I got it.” 

“Shit,” her mom said again, and again, Kate shrugged. 

She bit her lip, conflicted, but in the end forced the words past her pride. “Stay safe, mom.”

She didn’t bother trying to decipher the momentary slip of her mom’s mask, what it meant that it was back in place by the time she responded, “You stay safe. I love you.”

The words landed like a thumb on a bruise, the doubt a dull ache sharpened with pressure. 

“I love you too.” It felt more like an admission of weakness than anything else, and god, she needed to get out of here. 

Eleanor raised her hand a fraction but she didn’t reach out, and Kate didn’t either, and then she was gone, heels clicking and back ramrod straight as she made her way to the sea of lawyers waiting for her. 

-

Clint answered on the second ring, just as Kate was turning into the park with PD. 

“How’s it going, Hawkeye?” 

She grinned, even in the midst of her absolutely shit family crisis, because that was still so fucking cool . 

“Not gonna lie, Hawkeye. Hasn’t been the greatest day.” She gave an emotionally abridged rundown of the encounter with her mother, Clint humming and making concerned noises as she glossed over the warning her mom provided about her safety. He didn’t question her decision to decline Bishop Security’s interventions, but she could practically see the crease in his brow through the phone. “Actually,” she said, tugging PD away from a very suspect paper bag covered in grease and…things, “you might be able to help me out. You wouldn’t happen to know anyone who could hook me up with a solid security system?”

Clint laughed. It wasn’t quite his Christmas-with-the-family-in-Iowa laugh, but it was close, which made Kate relax a little. Couldn’t be too bad if Clint wasn’t stuck in Avenger mode. “Yeah. Yeah. I think I’ve got a few people for that. May or may not have already asked some folks. Mind sending me basics on the layout? I’m hoping moldy blown-out hole above a pizza joint doesn’t work anymore.”

“Nah, baby.” Kate kicked at a rock on the path. “I’ve got walls . Windows , even.”

“Livin’ the life,” Clint said seriously. 

“That’s me.” 

-

After a solid but unsuccessful (can’t win ‘em all) attempt to exorcize some trauma with a three hour workout, Kate left messages with the trust fund contacts and then spent the evening in her mostly repaired but also mostly empty apartment watching Wipe Out on the IKEA sofa she and Clint had lugged up before he left. It was fun to viciously critique contestant strategy to PD, who was a good audience and thumped his tail gamely every time Kate looked his way.

At 9:30pm, as promised, she called her designated Bishop Security agent with the safe word. It wasn’t her mom. She hadn’t heard anything more from her mom, and the sting of that was only a little soothed by the fact that she didn’t really want to have to navigate any more awkward and unpleasant conversations with her remaining bio parent. 

In an attempt at productive distraction, she made the mistake of checking her email (she’d turned off notifications after her mom’s request, hadn’t wanted any more surprises in public spaces), where she found a message from the school administration about finding a time to discuss “alternative options” for her final semester. Weirdly, they weren’t falling over themselves to welcome back a property destroying security threat whose well of money, so far as they knew, had dried up. 

Kate wasn’t thrilled at the thought of going back either. There had been plenty of nasty headlines already, and there would only be more. 

When she left campus at the beginning of winter break, she was Kate Bishop: charming archer who won nationals; fun to play beer pong with; a little loud but good on a group project; cocky and sometimes reckless but in the mostly attractive, rugged way. 

Maybe it wasn’t giving her classmates enough credit, but it felt too naive to think that she’d go back and be anything other than Kate Bishop: daughter of a massive criminal; annoyingly vocal in class; unapologetic destroyer of a beloved school landmark and a national seasonal treasure; spoiled rich kid with a massive ego who only got in because of her money. 

Kate was also self-aware enough to know that they wouldn’t be totally wrong on any of those points, including the last one, probably. The Bishop dorm that had been on campus for like a hundred years and an endowed professorship definitely didn’t hurt her application. 

Even though her mom seemed convinced that Kate didn’t realize everything she’d been given, Kate had always tried to be more than a legacy admit and a snotty, old money New Yorker and she thought, hoped, that she had been kind of successful. The last few weeks had definitely undone most of that work. Maybe all of it. 

Anyway, whatever. She’d finish with minimal time on campus her last semester, and that would be fine. Not to sound like a massive dick but Kate had never really had to try that hard to do well so it wasn’t like missing in-person classes would hurt her, and her archery season was basically over anyway. Yeah, it would be a little more lonely, but that was the life of a superhero. She had Clint. Campus was close enough that Franny and Greer could come visit whenever. And she’d make other friends. People made friends after graduation, right? That was a thing? 

She sent an email back confirming a meeting time and slammed her laptop closed a little too forcefully. 

Fighting the temptation to stare at the wall and contemplate her mom’s potential hideout locations while feeling super sorry for herself, she took PD for a last walk around the block before falling asleep to reruns of Community . Not the healthiest of habits but whatever, she needed rest and distractions. She’d worry about sleep hygiene later. (Or never.) 

She made it through three check-ins, seven walks, a depressing call with Clint confirming Fisk was still alive and likely to stay that way, four workouts, a very awkward conversation with the Dean of Students and her academic advisors, three boxes of Junior Mints, zero words from her mother, a sighting of one tracksuit goon, and the delivery and installation of what was 1000% a SHIELD-developed security system before she finally lost it, which, all things considered, was pretty impressive. 

And of course, it was a small thing. That’s how this shit went. She stumbled over one of PD’s rope toys in the kitchen, slammed her hip into the counter, and suddenly she was crying. Like, big crying. The kind of heaving, sobbing crying that hurt . She sank to the floor, where PD came to press against her in a full body lean, and she stayed there, running her fingers through his fluff, until her kitchen timer beeped annoyingly at her seventeen minutes later. 

Thankfully–also a small thing, but one that really, really helped–she had managed to get her pizza into the oven before her breakdown. She pulled it out, contemplated tearing it into pieces (wouldn’t be the first time) but was pretty sure eating hand-ripped frozen pizza over her sink wouldn’t make her feel better , so she grabbed the surprisingly useful pizza cutter gadget thing she got during a freshman year Dirty Santa exchange with the archery team and cut the BBQ chicken into squares on a cutting board, took the whole thing over to her sofa, and turned on Community again.  

She thought she was good, or as good as she could be, but when Clint called, she was back to blubbering within like 30 seconds of his, “Hawkeye,” gross, snotty, embarrassing sobs traveling through the air to Iowa. Nice, Kate. 

“Okay,” he said calmly, in a voice that Kate imagined he might use in a hostage negotiation. “Hold on. I’m getting Laura.” 

Forty-five minutes later, it was just the two of them again, Laura having worked her magic (Kindness. Kate was pretty sure it was kindness, and it was good to know that someone who had definitely been a SHIELD agent could hold on to that.) and gone to handle Nate’s bathtime routine. 

“I really don’t mind coming, Kate. This is big stuff. You don’t need to do it alone, and I don’t like that you saw one of the tracksuits in your neighborhood.” 

“I know. I know. I promise I’ll call you if I need you, but right now I’m okay. I just…it was a rough night. Look, though! I talked about it! Also, like, it definitely could have been a random dude with terrible taste in clothing and a bad haircut, okay?”  

“Mmm.” It was skeptical at best. 

“Trust me, Clint? I’ll feel bad if you come right now. There’s a kickass security system and nobody is throwing molotovs at me or even really paying attention.” This part, at least, was true. The tracksuit she’d seen was at a popular Thai place a few blocks over, seemingly just picking up takeout, and Kate hadn’t noticed any activity closer than that. “I’m a little lonely and sad, yeah, but it’s not, like, a Grey Gardens situation. PD and I are fine and we’re getting out in the world and we’re safe. I’ll SOS if things get dire. Really.” 

He sighed in concession. “Okay. I trust you. But I’m serious, Kate. Even if you’re not in immediate danger. Partners, remember? It means more than just trick arrows and car chases.” 

She’d gotten to know the Bartons over Christmas, which meant she got to know Natasha, too–through photos; Lila’s favorite sleep shirt; a post-it on the fridge saying she’d gone for a run and would be back for lunch; stories, so many stories; a late night of them ended with Nate’s sleepy voice mumbling from Kate’s lap, “I get to have her name.” There was a room upstairs that was the one place Nate didn’t explore during hide and seek, a table in Clint’s workshop that had been painted red, tiny black Barton handprints made to look like little spiders over the top, initials marked in white. Laura took a breath like she’d been punched when a recipe card fell from one of her cookbooks, neat, distinct handwriting with a PS at the bottom: Clint–Add extra cinnamon if you’re making this for Laura. 

More than trick arrows and car chases. 

“Partners. I remember. Thanks, Clint.”

- 

She wouldn’t have been surprised to see Clint on her mopey midday walk, even after their conversation. She hadn’t sounded great last night, and she knew partners also meant sometimes telling the other person to sit down and shut up and take their medicine (or ice their knee with a frozen margarita).   

It wasn’t Clint, though, who was propped casually against a tree on her regular route with PD through the park, familiar black and yellow jacket unbuttoned over a gray t-shirt and high-waisted jeans. It was, instead, the widow who almost killed him, using the combat boot resting against the tree behind her to press forward and toward Kate, grinning big while Kate stared at her like a fucking idiot. 

“Kate Bishop! Look at this coincidence!” 

She bent to greet PD, letting him sniff her hand before going in for pets. He was belly-up within seconds, and Yelena seemed delighted, kneeling to get a better angle and running dark green nails through white fur. 

It gave Kate, who was still feeling sorry for herself and definitely not ready for human interaction, much less human interaction with Yelena Belova , a chance to try to get her shit together. It also gave her a chance to admire Yelena’s hair, which was down and like, glowing, basically. Totally ridiculous, because it was gray as hell and January in New York. 

Kate, who had taken her beanie off like ten minutes ago, was pretty sure she had managed to untangle the worst of the mess before she left the apartment and was suddenly grateful she had bothered to shower, at least. 

Not that Yelena hadn’t seen her looking a lot worse. 

The assassin continued loving on her totally smitten dog, who was going to be fully disgusting from wagging and squirming all over the slushy sidewalk while Yelena praised him in Russian. 

“Yelena.”

The widow grinned up at her, giving PD another scratch before pressing to stand in front of Kate. 

“Coincidence, huh?”

Yelena shrugged, and it was annoyingly charming, her whole deal. Deadly charming. 

She wasn’t afraid, a little bit because yeah, if Yelena wanted Kate dead, she’d be dead already, but mostly because she knew more now. Clint had told her, over beer and gingerbread and conversation about Natasha, some things about his fight with Yelena, who she was to Natasha and what that meant to him. He told her a little less about the Red Room and less than that about what it was to be a widow. He told her nothing about the call he made a few days after Christmas, stepping outside speaking Russian, but Kate didn’t ask. She didn’t need to. So yeah, deadly charming but also no longer trying to murder her or her mentor.

Apparently so much in the not-murdering lane that Clint had sent Yelena to check in on her, which, weird choice, but maybe they were talking in a real way now. Clint seemed pretty hellbent on at least trying with the person who had meant so much to his person. Maybe Yelena felt the same. 

As if she were reading Kate’s mind, Yelena said, cheery as ever, “Don’t worry. Barton and I are okay. We are not best friends,” she snorted at herself, somehow making it attractive, “but we have an understanding, and I am no longer going to kill him.” 

It was nice of Yelena, not to mention why she had been out to kill Clint in the first place. Someone has hired a black widow assassin . Yeah. Someone. Kate sagged a little. God, she was tired. 

Yelena said, tilting her head down the path, “Let’s walk and talk?”

Kate couldn’t take her anger out on her mom, but Yelena was right there, so Kate, who had never been accused of not being a brat, frowned a little and took a step back. Yelena definitely noticed, because she was a fucking super spy and Kate wasn’t subtle, but she acted like she didn’t, patting PD’s head gently where he was pressing into her thigh, smile still firmly in place. 

“I…” 

“Barton sent me, if that helps.”

“Yeah. I figured.”

Yelena pointedly eyed the new distance between them with a raised brow but waited, silent and steady, for Kate to make a move. 

She could have argued. She could totally have argued. She had plenty of reasons to say no.  A few good ones, even. But she was tired and she was lonely and she had just enough sense in her to overwhelm the stubbornness and brattiness and consider what pushing away the person her friend had sent to check on her would get her. The answer was a pretty swift nothing. She already had a lot of nothing. She didn’t love it. 

“Yeah. Okay. Let’s walk and talk.” 

Yelena’s smile grew, and Kate offered one in return, a little less than full Bishop charm but more real for it. Yelena clapped her hands in front of her and turned with purpose down the path to their left, PD sticking happily by her side. 

“So what did Clint tell you?”

Yelena eyed her. “Straight to business then. Fair enough.” 

“Did you have…non…business…things you wanted to talk about?”

The quirk of Yelena’s lips made Kate’s cheeks heat. So she wasn’t the most articulate right now. Whatever. 

“Well, last time I was here, you said something about a drink.” Her lips turned down slightly. “But I think maybe you were not serious, which I have to say, is a little disappointing. I thought we had fun.” 

“Fun?” Kate said, tone disbelieving and eyebrows raised. “The part where you broke into my apartment and threatened me over mac and cheese?” Yelena made a noise of protest, which Kate ignored. “Or the part where you kicked my ass on the way to kill my mentor?” 

“Still so defensive.” Yelena tsked at her. “So for you, maybe not so much the girls’ night.” Kate snorted, which Yelena ignored. “Okay. But the sparring was fun. And you said you liked me!”

Kate shook her head but was smiling despite herself. “Sparring. That was sparring for you. God, how fast could you have kicked my ass with a little effort?” Yelena shrugged, unconcerned. “Okay well belated thanks for not breaking me in half, or whatever.”

“Removing an obstacle,” Yelena said. “I was a little annoyed, but I had a good time, in the end. I am learning to be more flexible.”

Kate’s smile widened. “Glad I could help. I meant it, about liking you. Only because you didn’t actually kill Clint, though. We would not be chill if you’d gone through with that.”

“But now we are chill?” She was definitely teasing, but it was soft, friendly, and Kate was grateful for it.

“Yeah. We’re chill. And, uh,” the calculation of her pride to loneliness ratio was depressingly quick, “I’d be down for a drink. Or food. Whatever. If you want.”

“See? Non…business…things,” Yelena drawled, imitating Kate’s accent perfectly. 

“Okay, I take it back. Drink invitation revoked.”

Yelena laughed, low and loud, eyes crinkling as she ruffled PD’s fur when he yelped a half-bark in happy solidarity. 

“So I have lost my drink privilege because I am funny. This seems unfair, but I notice you said nothing about food. That is still on the table?”

“Cute,” Kate blurted before her brain could stop her mouth, and at Yelena’s confused expression she added, a little flustered, “The pun, I mean.”

Yelena winked at her, all signs of confusion gone, and Kate rolled her eyes and ignored the uptick in her heartbeat at Yelena’s smile because not right now, Kate .

“Clint sent you?” Kate shot for exasperated but in, like, a friendly way, and it seemed to be fine, if Yelena’s nod was anything to go by. 

“Yes, yes. Barton said you’re having a bit of a shit time. I told him yes of course she’s having a shit time because her mother hired me to kill you and she also killed that rich white man who shares his name with twenty other people and then did many many other illegal things and now she is arrested.”

It was a tone Kate herself used, often in back and forth with Lila, when Clint was being dense. The hand not occasionally patting PD waved in the air in a series of gestures indicating both that Clint was an idiot and that her point was obvious. 

Kate grimaced. “Well. You’re not wrong.”

One side of Yelena’s face scrunched apologetically. “Sorry. Possibly I was too blunt?”

“Nah, it’s nice, honestly. No use dancing around it.”

“Hmm.” She continued, “Well, Barton was worried and wanted me to come see you. To make sure you are okay, which I told him was stupid for all of those reasons but also, to make sure you are safe from those idiots in bad workout clothes and whoever else, which is less stupid and is something I can actually do.”

“He…hired you?”

Yelena laughed and shook her head. “No. No. He could not afford me. But like I said, we have an understanding, and you are important to him. I was already in New York for work, and I will be here for some time, I think. So. Easy enough to find you.” Her brow furrowed slightly as she added, “We should probably work on that.”

“We?” Kate breathed to herself. 

“We,” Yelena confirmed. “I have a proposal, if you are interested.” 

PD’s tail thwacked against Kate’s leg, Yelena’s hand scratching behind his ear where he had moved to walk between them. 

“Yes, for you, too, хороший мальчик.” 

“His name’s PD, by the way,” Kate offered absently. “Short for Pizza Dog. Or Lucky.” 

Speaking down to PD, Yelena murmured something in Russian, that, based on vibes alone, was, “ Your mother has given you a series of stupid names ,” and then brought her eyes, a little judgmental, back to Kate’s. “I have been told by an associate that I need to take a vacation.” 

Her lips pulled down into a pout, and Kate tried very hard not to focus on her mouth. She was only halfway successful. 

“She was very rude about it, but also, probably, she was right. So, I finished the job that brought me back to New York and I am not taking another one right now. I want to see the city. And Clint Barton does not want to see you die.” 

“Um,” Kate said lamely. 

Yelena plowed on. “Clearly, you are not very good at self-preservation.” “Hey, that’s not…” 

She might as well not have been talking. “For example, I told you to stay out of my way and you decided to do the opposite of that.” Yelena looked at her the way Lila looked at Clint after he spent a solid minute trying to figure out how to get the Switch on. Idiot , her face said. “In fact, you slapped me in an elevator. Now. You are still alive, but that is because I like you.” 

“Gee, thanks.” 

“You are welcome.” So now Yelena heard her. “But the tracksuit idiots will not be so nice, I don’t think. This brings me to my proposal. I will help you to stay alive, and you will show me New York.” 

Well, that was an easy yes. 

Option A: hang out and eat with Yelena and PD, watch Yelena enjoy tourist shit, and maybe, hopefully, learn some black-widow-y things from her while also not dying embarrassingly at the hands of a bunch of Grand Theft Auto rejects. 

Option B: continue to do everything she had been doing for the past five days, plus work super hard not to die embarrassingly at the hands of a bunch of Grand Theft Auto rejects. 

As much as Kate loved crying over her frozen dinner for one while her dog tried to comfort her, she was willing to try something new, even if it hurt her pride a little. 

And it did. 

She was Hawkeye. It didn’t feel great, needing protection, but something about the offer coming from an assassin skilled enough to kill a literal Avenger took the sting out of it. Also, the help came from Clint and Yelena, not her mom, which was pretty key right now. Plus it was a trade, even if Yelena was only making it feel that way to preserve a little of Kate’s dignity, a kindness that Kate didn’t know if she deserved but really appreciated. 

“Yeah,” she said. “Yeah, okay.” 

“Excellent!” Yelena stopped and bent to PD, who immediately flopped onto his back again. Kate watched the brown, icy water move under his tail and winced preemptively at the inevitable state of her bathroom post-dog bath. He was gonna look so sad in the tub. She was gonna be so sad trying to get him there. “Do you hear that? We are going to spend lots more time together.” 

When she stood again, her eyes wandered and caught eagerly on an ice cream cart. 

A list started forming in Kate’s mind, food and drinks and cute neighborhood walks, options for a good first Broadway show. The trade wasn’t exactly equal–Yelena protecting Kate in exchange for Kate acting as a glorified tour guide/personal Yelp–but Kate could still hold up her end of the bargain and do it well. She was a New Yorker, and she had opinions about most things in the city and those opinions were, of course, right. 

“There’s an ice cream shop six blocks away. Best waffle cones in the city. And I can recommend like 15 flavors. Good place to start?” 

It had been obvious to Kate, that first time in her apartment, that Yelena was performing–her eagerness about New York, the invitation to share food, her laughter and openness. Kate felt it again in their fight. Stop making me like you . Because she had been, and even though Kate knew who she was dealing with, she couldn’t help but be drawn in.

Yelena was beautiful and magnetic and god, so dangerous. Deadly in her charm. Deadly in her ability to disarm. Kate knew. She knew. 

Still, as Yelena’s face lit up at the prospect of ice cream, eyes defiantly bright against the gloom of the day, she found herself drawn in again, and more, something in her pushed back hard against the idea that being a widow meant Yelena wasn’t also a person. A weird, funny, vibrant person. 

“How many flavors will fit in a waffle cone?” She asked, gesturing for Kate to lead the way. She continued before Kate could answer. “We must try some other places to compare. Not to get us off on the wrong leg. It is not that I do not trust you, Kate Bishop the New Yorker, but I would like to learn what makes a waffle cone good. It is important to understand why the best is the best.” 

There was something about the tilt of her lips that made Kate say with confidence, “You 100% know it’s the wrong foot.” 

Yelena looked down at her feet, brow furrowing and head tilting as she considered. Kate’s momentary panic that she’d been a whole ass already dissipated as Yelena winked at her, and she shoved her with her shoulder on instinct, like she would have done with Franny or Greer or Clint. 

It was gone almost as soon as it appeared, but there was real surprise on Yelena’s face as she braced against the contact, obvious enough for Kate to follow up. “Sorry, was that okay?” She waved a hand between them. “The shoulder thing, I mean. I didn’t think about it but I know not everyone likes to be touched casually like that. I know we’ve fought, or whatever, but that’s different. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.” 

“It’s okay,” she said. After a beat, she added, “Thank you for asking me.” 

“For sure.” Yelena was holding herself tightly, and Kate was pretty sure she got it, not being a huge fan of vulnerability herself, so she rerouted. “Back to the art of waffle cones. The question is really how many flavors do you want to combine? Because creating a complementary situation is essential to cone enjoyment.

“And yes, you’re totally right. We’ve gotta try at least a few other places so you can form your own opinion.” Yelena’s shoulders relaxed minutely, and Kate would probably spend a lot of time later thinking about how much of their interaction was organic and how much was Yelena carefully crafting, but for now, she took the win. “To be clear, though, I’m right about this. PD agrees.” 

Yelena offered her an incredibly unimpressed look. “I hope you are joking.” As Kate’s lips pressed into a line, Yelena sighed. “Kate Bishop. This is not for dogs. You know this.” 

“Hey! They have a pup cup!” 

“Pup cup,” Yelena mocked in an American accent, rolling her eyes. “Is the waffle cone part of this?” 

“I mean…” 

“Mmm.” Yelena nodded and hummed through pursed lips. “That is what I thought.” 

“Careful, PD,” Kate stage whispered. “Your new best friend is gonna take your treats away.” 

Yelena tsked at her with a shake of her head before ruffling the hair behind PD’s ears. “Do not try to turn him against me. He is too smart for that.” 

Kate watched as PD turned his little eye up at Yelena, tongue lolling and tail going hard. Smart wasn’t the word she’d use, but she wasn’t out here trying to shoot arrows in a glass house. She and PD clearly shared a deficient interest in self-preservation when it came to Yelena, both of them a little desperate and belly-up with trust, weak in the face of a beautiful, lethal weirdo. 

Kate really, really wanted to believe it wouldn’t turn out to be a mistake. 

[velvetvexations]

I saw a post recently deriding the take that superheroes are inherently fascist, but I think it's complicated.

They DID all come from that seed of vigilante bullshit where they all practically worshipped the cops (except early Superman who didn't spit on them but neither was he especially respectful) and warred against vague Crime as a concept, often represented by "the Underworld" conceptualized in a way that's very familiar to anyone whose seen people rant about antifa.

However, they started to inch away from that in the Bronze Age. It was a very, very gradual process, with some regressions like how post-Crisis Batman swung hard into Gotham being a nightmare of New York at it's worst in the 80s (although that came with plenty of criticism of the cops and elite), but by the time of the MCU it's notable that none of the Avengers fought crime. We could get into how it used a modified version of the Ultimates-set up (which was explicitly designed to be a little fucked, which is something I love about the first two Ultimates minis and especially the second) and that version of Hawkeye and Black Widow who are basically heroic CIA ("wOrLd SeCuRiTy CoUnCiL") assassins played totally straight that then shifts to being a billionaire's world shaping pet project, but at least in terms of vigilantism it takes until Spider-Man for someone to be like, going out at night to stop muggings like a "classic" superhero and I think his age does a lot to dial down the eyebrow you can raise at the fact that he's going up against a gang of ordinary criminals doing ordinary criminal things (just, you know, with scavenged alien tech).

Then we get Daredevil, which takes pains to portray the Kingpin as a very rich man gentrifying neighborhoods and terrorizing the underprivileged. Then season two introduces the Punisher, who I really thought would have already been absolved if you just limit his crusade to the specific mafiosos who killed his family, but despite killing a bunch of mafiosos anyway it still turns out to have been at the behest of a rogue element of the US military - I guess because they just needed a twist. It's hard to stretch out a Punisher story for too long for obvious reasons. Then in season one of the Punisher it's a PMC (including yet more rogue US military).

I didn't watch season two of the Punisher because I'd heard it was going to adapt The Slavers and got really excited, but then it turned out to not adapt The Slavers and I lost all interest. But that makes sense and fits into my thesis here, because even aside from how soul-crushingly bleak The Slavers was, THERE IS NO FUCKING WAY Netflix or Disney or ANYONE would EVER do the window scene, or at least not without changing it to a guy and that really feels like it'd drain the scene of half it's impact. But here we again see concern for optics.

Luke Cage was interesting because by starring an underprivileged Black man on the run for crimes he didn't commit, he was able to fight criminals without it being weird, and what's more they were Black criminals, reinforcing Black people are perfectly capable of being both villains and heroes in a narrative without white people one way or another. This was crucial, since racism is another common element of the problematic soup of traditional superhero narratives.

But while I haven't really been paying attention to cape stuff at all lately, other than that I don't really think there's been a lot that wasn't total sci-fi fantasy bullshit, including the following two Spider-Man movies.

Except, I guess, The Batman (2022). But that movie fucking RULED so it's fine.

[hawkzeyes]

Spoilers for Black Widow & Hawkeye:

Well he certainly changed. Didn’t he marvel 🙃

AlSo how dare he look adorable while admitting to homicide?

I’m so very serious Marvel I’m really hoping you have come up with a hell of a reason for this other than just literally throwing his morals out the window ☹️ cause that’s just lazy

[doctorstrangereview]

0106: Defenders #9

Cover Date: October 1973 On-Sale Date: July 24, 1973

This issue of the Defenders continues the Avengers/Defenders war and Doc doesn't just sit around contemplating the Black Knight's stone navel. He gets involved! Let's watch as the two groups continue their Three's Company type misunderstandings and collect more pieces of The Evil Eye!

The Surfer has just finished battling the Vision in a refreshing bath of molten lava and seizing the fragment of the evil eye after the Vision has to rescue his girlfriends who was about to find out how the residents of Pompeii felt back in October of 79. (That's a hefty run-on sentence!) The Surfer returns to Doc's Sanctum Sanctorum with his mini-eye. The Surfer warns Doc that the Avengers are being spoil-sports and trying to keep them from reassembling the eye. Doc can't believe it. We then get a caption box with a summary of the action to date.

Doc uses the Orb of Agamotto to peek into Avengers Mansion. It's empty, but Doc feels Loki's presence. He also finds out that former criminal Swordsman is now an Avenger. This is stoking the fires of suspicion in Doc's brain and he believes the Avengers have gone to the dark side where they have cookies. Doc decides to get in on the action asks the Surfer to watch over the Knight's fossilized carcass for a while.

It appears the radio from the wrecked Avengers jet is still working and Vision uses it to warn his teammates. The mic looks like one from a CB radio. Ten-four good buddy! Gotta love the 70s.

The Avengers also think the Defenders are the bad dudes and fret about it because, so far, they are wiping the floor with Earth's Mightiest Heroes.

We now look in on Valkyrie and Hawkeye visiting lovely Mexico. Riding Valkyrie's the Black Knight's winged horse they land. Fortunately Google is able to translate Spanish in image and reveal that Mr. Englehart's view of the Mexican people isn't as enlightened as one would like.

After they land, Doc sends out a message on the telepathic telephone and warns the pair that the Avengers have been corrupted by Loki and they should probably look out for that, or something. Suddenly Val and Hawkeye both crave "action!"

Each of them have a somewhat different interpretation of this statement. Hawkeye's, being a 1970s male, is what you think it is.

Val takes off for Bolivia to retrieve her mini-eye. Hawkeye is mentally comparing Val to his ex, Natasha when the assigned sparring partner, Iron Man arrives. Iron Man doesn't see Hawkeye and proceeds to the local university and manages to find the professor in current possession of the eye fragment in moments.

Hawkeye may have been a bit slower on the uptake, but has caught up. As Iron Man looks at the fragment, an arrow shoots through the office window and knocks it out of his hand. The arrow returns the device to Hawkeye and now the two are masked face to masked face.

Iron Man shoots down the next arrow before it can hit him. He hits Hawkeye with a repulsor ray and advances on him. Hawkeye takes an acid arrow from his quiver and smashes it on Iron Man's helmet, which begins to dissolve. Iron Man flies fast enough to erode the acid off his armor and returns to the fight. He starts to get the upper hand. Hawkeye manages to fire an arrow up in the sky and when it returns it's magnet causes Iron Man's ray to misfire and collapse a nearby construction site. While Iron Man is rescuing the occupants, Hawkeye slips away with the eye fragment. Looks like the Defenders win another round.

Doc has gone to an Indiana cornfield to retrieve the next piece. Mantis and Black Panther are already there, but Doc has managed to grab the fragment. Doc attempts to avoid the fight by slipping away. The Panther and Mantis see his trail and follow. They confront several people waiting for a bus and ask what direction they saw Doc go. The group pleads ignorance, but Mantis isn't fooled. One of the passengers is Doc in disguise!

Mantis decides the old lady is Doc and knocks her/him under the waiting bus. Turns out she was right!

Doc attempts to fly away, but the Panther jumps into the sky and collides with him. He attempts to keep Doc from incanting, but Doc uses the All-Purpose Amulet to knock him away. The Panther is now falling to his death. Not wishing to commit more murders like he did in the Shuma Gorath affair Doc rescues him. The Panther then attacks Doc, while the homeowner of the farm they are landing in grabs a rifle to get the heroes off his lawn. Mantis see this and manages to know the two out of the bullet's way at the last moment.

After Mantis takes care of the gunman, she and Doc confront each other. We learn that Doc ain't too bad at the martial arts thing.

Doc has had enough at this point and casts a spell that drains the Panther's and Mantis's strength and then flies away with the eye fragment. The Defenders are three for three.

This arc is a forerunner to events like Secret Wars II where the action ran through multiple titles. The only thing absent is the accompanying limited series. That concept would have to wait another nine years for the Marvel Super Hero Contest of Champions series. This arc may have been an inspiration for that title with a series of battles between individual or small groups of heroes.

I would imagine contemporary readers would have been surprised by the Defenders successes so far. Despite not being a formal team and not having been together for very long, the Defenders prove to be clever and resourceful. The large cast doesn't allow for much character growth, but we know Hawkeye is horny and Valkyrie may be a cock tease. Doc is reluctant to fight and tries to flee instead of putting his metaphorical feet on his opponents throats. Iron Man is his usual jerk self.

The story isn't rife with action or plot exposition. It fulfils the necessity to gather more items of the quest and move the story along, but not anything more. Buscema's art is serviceable, but not really spectacular. His style is simple (but not simplistic) and lacks detail, making things look a bit cartoony. While he'll always retain these traits, his ability to wow will improve by the time he starts penciling Rom.

So the story isn't anything spectacular but it serves a purpose and I don't hate it.

[jamiedc-they-them]

BEING KATES YOUNGER ADOPTED SIBLING:

Requested by @paultiteuf360

You were an orphan. Always had been.

You survived mainly by running, too skinny to fully fight, but your ability to run kept you alive.

Unfortunate though, height was not one of your strong suits, so you were cornered.

You knew it would be a fight, so you got yourself ready.

Only for a voice to let out a whistle, and you and your chasers turned to see a girl, glaring at the people that wanted to do whatever it was to you.

“Pick on someone your own size.” She says, before being able to send them running. She’s skilled.

She then turns to you, gentle smile on her face; she bends down to your height, “are you ok?” She asks softly.

You mid, if a bit scared. But no one ever asked you that before, it makes you feel safe.

“Do you have anywhere to go?” She asks, but she can guess the answer given your state.

So, with you on her back, she gives you a piggy back ride to her home.

Her mum is nice, taking pity on you and letting you stay.

A few months later, they officially adopt you, and Kate is overjoyed; she’s always wanted a younger sibling.

Wherever she goes, you go; normally on her back.

As she learns archery, you give her the arrows, you become a double team.

With the Hawkeye thing, she doesn’t want to involve you, but she also knows you’d be worried sick and probably do something rash.

Clint is pretty much against your involvement, but Kate is stubborn, and he does have to admit you both make a good team with your system.

That, and he sees how much you care for each other,p; she’s gentle with you - both in the way she talks to you, even when stressed, and when she gives you hugs or other actions of affections like kissing you on the forehead or cheek after a close call or before you go to sleep. She’s a good older sister to you; and you’re a protective sibling, always watching her back and warning her of any dangers.

It’s not all fun and games, however, the world takes an ugly turn when a black widow is involved. When she’s unmasked, her eyes soften a bit at you; someone so young, yet invited in this? You two were never the targets.

Despite the team you make, Kate sees the danger you’re in; one sadly that you’ve been in your whole life. But you assure her you can help, and she knows you can, but she’s scared now.

So, as much as Clint has apparently left her, she pulls away as well.

She’s not cold. She’s still the caring and loving sister, there’s just some hesitance and worry.

She feels the distance, but everything is getting to her as well. Something is going on with your mother, she won’t share and there’s a widow involved.

You find her one night, wide awake on the sofa, curled up. You go and sit next to her, “I’m sorry if I did something.”

“Oh. Oh, no,” she says, sitting up and bring you into her side, “no, you didn’t do anything, trust me, Y/N,” she kisses your head, “it’s just…it’s a lot.”

Then the big moment comes, Kingpin is involved.

Clint says he has her back on this, then he looks to you, “what about you, kid?”

You look to your sister, then to someone who has become a guiding light to you both, “I go with Kate.”

“Y/N,” Kate says, crouching down, even if touched by your loyalty, “you don’t have to do this. We can handle this. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“You helped me. I help you. You said family does that.”

Tears appear in her eyes, you listened to her rambles, not just humoured her.

“I did, yeah. I did,” she then looks to a Clint, holding your hand, “let’s do this,”

You two are more in sync than ever.

Yelena, despite the goal she has, does find you both somewhat likeable. She sees the fire you have, and the loyalty you both display. She goes easier on you both, despite Kate holding her own.

“Hold onto me tight ok?” Kate says before going out the window on the rope. She lands well, making sure to hold you too.

When it comes to the ice rink, you even throw Clint some arrows. Or try, but he catches them; like mentioned, strength wasn’t your thing, but he appreciates you having his back too.

You both go to confront kingpin, but Kate forces you to stay outside, “you trust me, right?” You nod, “then do this for me, please?” You hug her, and stay there…

For about five seconds, but then the crashes and bangs come from inside. You crawl in through a broken window, using your small smile to move through gaps, before stabbing kingpin with an arrow you had stolen from Kate’s quiver. Kingpin turns, and grabs you by the throat.

“I’m sorry, little one,” he says, sounding genuinely sorry.

Your lack of air soon stops as Kate hits him with another, and she has a fire in her eyes.

“No one hurts my sibling,” she holds her hand out to you, and you’re on her back once again, handing her one more arrow.

And just like that, he’s down.

Your mother is taken away, Kate hugs you close to her side.

Your mother, the woman who brought you into this family may be gone, but the one who gave you this family is by your side.

Just as you’ll be by hers.

Clint gives you both another family as well.

Kate sees you happy, getting to know your new siblings, and she’s happy.

You’re a team. Always having each other’s backs.

[google1000]

Harry Potter- Marauders Era Masterlist

Oldest ~ Top Of Section

Youngest~ Bottom of Section

⭐️-Smut ❤️-Fluff 💔-Angst 🚫-None 💙-Incorrect Quote

🪢- Polyamorous 🍷-Alcohol🩸-Blood ☠️-Death 🤰-Pregnancy

🚺-Female Character 🚹-Male Character ⚧- Gender Neutral Character

Sirius Black (HE’S 18+ IN ALL SMUTS)

Study Time by SelenesHeart⭐️🚺

Detention ➸ Sirius Black by SiriusLoveBot⭐️🚺

Remus Lupin (HE’S 18+ IN ALL SMUTS)

Tell Me Again On A Good Day by LuveLine⭐️🤰🚺

I Just Know It’s Yummy, Duh by SweetieCutie⭐️🚺

Squirting With Remmy by DDejavvu⭐️🚺

Sunshine And Midnight Rain by DwindlingHaze❤️🚺

James Potter (HE’S 18+ IN ALL SMUTS)

The Bet by Solemnly-Mischievous⭐️🚺

Pillowtalk by MiiaMour⭐️🚺

Prongs & Hawkeye by RomCnovas❤️🚺

Foam (Fratboy James) by SunRiseFairy⭐️🍷🚺

Better Kisser (Part 1) by QuinDolyn⭐️🍷🚺

Better Kisser (Part 2) by QuinDolyn⭐️🚺

Sub Best Friend James Coming Back From A Bad Date by EddiesBug⭐️🚺

Room Service by GxTitoBxby⭐️🚺

Darling Boy by JamesPottersMommy⭐️🚺

James Potter x Lily Evans x Reader by PinkAndBlueBlurbs⭐️🚺

Day One by OhWowLMLonley⭐️🚺

Nipple Sucking by QuinDolyn⭐️🚺

Nipple Sucking & Cockwarming by PinkAndBlueBlurbs⭐️🚺

Birthday Boy by BellatrixsCurls⭐️🚺

Quidditch Shirt by IKinRemu⭐️🚺

Switching Positions by AxelSageWrites⭐️🚺

Drunk In Love by HowlyYourMelancholy⭐️🚺

James Potter x Lily Evans x Reader by RoonilWazLibImagines⭐️🪢🚺

James Potter x Lily Evans x Reader Blurb by RoonilWazLibImagines⭐️🪢🚺

Teaching You How To Ride Him by DDeJavvu⭐️🚺

Bad Girls Do It The Best by SingMyAUBade⭐️🚺

James With Busty!Reader by FutureCorps3⭐️🚺

Poly! Jily Have To Take Care Of their Needy Baby In Public by LetterToTheFlre🚺⭐️

Post Quidditch Games Shower by TheEmporium⭐️🚺

James Potter With A Thick!Reader by FutureCorps3⭐️🚺

Sub!James Potter by TheEmporium⭐️🚺

First Time With James Potter by StrGrlXox⭐️🚺

James With A Chubby!Reader by FutureCorps3⭐️🚺

Perv!BF James by Sleyu⭐️🚺

James Potter X Shy Reader by LuveLine❤️🚺

Cockwarming With James Potter by Nevermore-Baby⭐️🚺

The Perfect Hat-Trick by Lizard-On-A-Window-Pane⭐️🚺

And I Don't Need Anything Other Than U by StrGrlXox⭐️🚺

Regulus Black (HE’S 18+ IN ALL SMUTS)

Caught Masturbating by HpImaginesAndBlurbs⭐️🚺

Incorrect Quotes

Sirius & Remus & James & Lily & Baby Harry Incorrect Quote by PunkHarryP0tt3r💙

Andromeda to Sirius Incorrect Quotes by MischiefHasBeenManaged💙

Bellatrix & Sirius Incorrect Quotes by Hxuse-Xf-Black💙

Sirius & Remus & Peter Incorrect Quotes by Just-A-Random-Bookworm💙

James & Evan & Barty Incorrect Quotes by Loz-TearsOfAHomo💙

Remus & Y/N Incorrect Quotes by MilesMoraleSluvs💙

Sirius & James & Lily & Remus & Baby Harry Incorrect Quotes by PunkHarryP0tt3r💙

James & Sirius Incorrect Quotes by MelsTinyBrain💙

Sirius & Remus Incorrect Quotes by My-Castles-Crumbling💙

Sirius & James & Lily Incorrect Quotes by APoetsWorld💙

[shadoedseptmbr]

20 Questions for fic writers

tagged by @wrathoscribbles Thank you!!! <3

hmm, i am where these things go to die but feel free to tag me if you get the urge to run with it!

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

115 uh, doesn't seem like that much, really

2. What’s your total A03 word count?

832,340

3. What fandoms do you write for?

well, let's see- Mass Effect, Dragon Age, MCU (caveat, all my Marvel knowledge goes into anything I write. My Hawkeye is an amalgam of the Clint i grew up with, the Clint from Fraction's run of Hawkeye, and what we were given in the MCU with all the...uh, blatantly weird dad vibes thrown out the window. I really like Laura and the kids but i have no idea what to do with Dad!Clint. He is the least Dad-shaped Avenger and i'm including like, Speedball). I haven't written Buffy or the fandom that shall not be named in literally over a decade but i do have a couple stories for each on my AO3.

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

In Cupid's Little Bag of Trix

Fandoms: Thor, The Avengers (2012), MCU by way of every Marvel 'verse M Clint Barton/Darcy Lewis background Natasha/Steve Summary Darcy might have a little crush. And possibly a kink. Look, it's been a long couple of years.

Shelter

Fandoms: Dragon Age 2 E OCf!Hawke/Sebastian Summary In whom do we seek shelter? Sebastian and Hawke, figuring things out over the course of a story. mind the tags, this one goes dark and sideways but ends happy. Written before extreme tagging was a thing.

apodyopis (SO *thirsty* lol)

Fandoms: Thor The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types M Clint Barton/Darcy Lewis voyeurism but not like...no one is actually having sex Clint's just like that

Summary

Clint likes to watch his girl work. Kind of a sequel to Cupid's Little Bag of Trix but can be read alone

Steal Away Home

Fandoms: Dragon Age 2 Explicit Graphic Depictions Of Violence F/M, Multi Work in Progress Sebastian Vael/Hawke (F) Aeryn is a menace Aeryn is also an assassin Child endangerment Panic attacks fantasy PTSD childhood neglect everyone here has issues

Summary Post-game adventure including the reclaiming of Starkhaven. Sequel to Shelter. This one needs tags updated, too. Several panic attacks, several people with control issues, lots of childhood neglect and out right abuse and endangerment. We used to just assume everyone knew that was par for the course with DA but honestly.

anchor the night

Fandoms: Mass Effect Teen And Up Audiences Choose Not To Use Archive Warnings F/M Summary After the date at Apollo’s. After the bit that would fade to black, too. Mind the tags.

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

oh absolutely, fandom is built on the life blood of comments and i've made some of my dearest friends fangirling over each other's fic. Plus, i've never been particularly overwhelmed by comments so it's never been a particular hardship.

6. What’s the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

dolore broke my own heart with that one

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

In Cupid's Little Bag of Trix, probably. Clint and Darcy are a barrel of monkeys and they're both so fucking full of zest.

8. Do you get hate on your fic?

Not that I've ever noticed. I'm fortunate enough to just get readers who want to be chill. i had someone once scold me for being mean to Alec Ryder, lol.

9. Do you write smut?

so much smut- less in Mass Effect, which is mildly hilarious given Aedan's penchants, lol.

10. Do you write crossovers?

Not unless you count the various branchings of Marvel. I don't really get the appeal.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not as far as I know.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

again, not as far as I know

13. Have you ever co-written a fic?

I have! I had the high honor of writing Shep/Shep with my buddy @nightmarestudio606 with The End is Where We Begin

14. What‘s your all-time favourite ship?

I sail an armada, lol. I multiship and my favorite varies with what day it is. Right now, Codywan is winning, heh. My favorite to *write* though... Shenko is right up there but Clint/Darcy was so much fun.

15. What’s the WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

none of my WIPs are abandoned. I don't know if I'll ever finish Steal Away Home the way i want to, though.

16. What’s your writing strengths?

Dialogue and characterization, I think. Structurally, I have an excellent grasp of nuance when it comes to word choice in a way that lets me say a lot with not much.

17. What’s your writing weaknesses?

I'm not particularly focused and it can take a long time for me to finish work. And I tend to write without outline and that can lead to a wandering, meander of a fic.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

Do it all the time, do my best to make it accurate. I use a smattering of Scots Gaelic for my version of Starkhaven and my source is mostly old books because i like the archaic texture of it. Several of my characters have american south accents and i elide words and use slang and drop g's. '"I am going to the store, mother," she said in her Texas twang' does not read like "Goin' t'the store, ma." and you can't make me believe you don't lose vast amounts of characterization by trying to force it to work. And overly correct dialogue is one of the first reasons i'll drop out of reading fic.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

First written? The Black Stallion (book not movie) First published online? Trixie Belden

20. Favourite fic you’ve ever written?

hard to pick from my favorite children, lol

Cupid's Little Bag of Trix is a (now fairly heavily edited) mess of stream of consciousness that grew a plot from when i was writing quick switch omniscient pov and just expected my readers to figure it out. But i love it. And it remains the biggest boost to my writing ego as ten years after posting, i still get kudos Verge (post Omega DLC) is when i really figured out who Aedan and Kaidan are, together and it manages to wreck me all over again, every time i re-read it.

[wlw-stanbot]

Yelena drank. She drank and threw knives. One. Two. Three. All in the red circle. 10 paces to pull them out again. 10 paces back to her throwing spot. One long drink of clear liquid from a clear glass bottle. Three more throws. The pattern repeated, until the black backing behind the red dot was the only thing she was striking. 

Half a bottle of liquid later, her aim was still true, but her body was failing. The rolling chair was closest. She sat in it, remembering how Kate looked when she was sitting here earlier. Perturbed with Valentina, but hiding it well, keeping her emotions and expressions under control. Kate had learned so much, changed immeasurably since they first met. She wasn’t a child, or a brat, or any of the terrible things she had said. Three more knives flew through the air but the assassin’s legs were too tired to get up and retrieve them. 

Yelena’s hazy eyes wandered to the monitors above her. The house was quiet but she was only watching one screen, the one showing a hallway with a door that had remained open almost every minute for the last few days. The door was closed. She didn’t know if she wanted it to open, and for a moment she imagined driving nails into the frame so it couldn’t. It wouldn’t work though, Kate would just break a window if she wanted to leave. Kate does whatever she wants. Kate wants…wanted her - there’s no way it’s still present tense. 

Lacking a current view on Kate, the alcohol flooding her decision making drew her attention to a small box at the back of the desk, hidden behind the one dark monitor there. She took another swig before reaching for it. Her shaky fingers pawed at the combination, taking an infinite amount of time to enter it. One two one…more vodka…one…god, why are there so many one’s in her birthday? This is not a very secure code… zero two. She kept glancing up at the hallway screen between each number entry. Still no movement. 

The lock clicked and Yelena took a deep breath before opening the small metal box. Inside was the smallest thing. It wasn't a trinket exactly, though someone might mistake it for one. It was a simple silver colored flash drive with a key ring at one end that was attached to a cork sparrow. 

Yelena had put it in there just a few hours ago, and she felt pathetic reaching for it so quickly. But, her need was greater than her embarrassment. She pulled it out and gripped it gently. The softness of the cork contrasted the cool hard metal casing of the flash drive and there was a metaphor here but the assassin was too drunk to see it. 

Up to chapter 13 on this boy...not sure I posted the last one so make sure you read that one first.

<3 You guys (and these guys)

[voicesinthedarkness]

Child

TRIGGER WARNING: IMPLIED CHILD NEGLECT

Chapter One

He finds her in a safe house.

Shots are fired. Three arrows leave black marks on the wall next to a window. Finally, he pins her to the floor and holds a knife to her throat. Something flashes in her eyes, something that makes him stop.

It is not anger, or hate, or vengeance.

It is regret.

Remorse.

Fear.

Sorrow.

He stares down at her, panting. She stares up at him, no longer struggling. Resigned to her fate. “Black Widow,” he says, voice still rough as he tries to catch his breath. “Hawkeye,” she replies steadily, her Russian accent thick.

“Do you want to live?”

“I… I don’t know.”

His voice softens. “If I roll off of you right now, are you going to attack me?” Her breath shudders in surprise. “No.”

And she doesn’t.

“What’s your name?” he asks, dabbing at the small scrape on her throat. She hesitates, thinking, then answers, “Natalia. But… but my friends call me Natasha.” He smiles. “Hi, Natasha. I’m Clint.”

~ ~ ~

Natasha Romanoff

“We need confirmation Dreykov’s in the building,” Clint says, eyes focused on said building from his perch a few roofs away. “His car is pulling up now,” Natasha reports. She watches as a young girl, no more than four or five years old, with hair even redder than Natasha’s exits the car and is ushered inside. Her eyes follow the girl to the second floor, heading to a room with a familiar figure inside. This is wrong, she thinks suddenly. The girl shouldn’t be killed for Dreykov’s sins. But if Dreykov dies…

Maybe my own sins can be forgiven.

“Natasha, we clear?”

“Yes,” she answers automatically and promptly regrets it. “Wai—”

But the building is already exploding. The girl’s tiny body is wreathed in flames and propelled through a window. She lands below Natasha’s hiding spot on an apartment building fire escape, bruised, bleeding, and unconscious, but strangely unburned. Natasha easily slips from her hiding spot into the alley, feet thudding on the gravel-strewn asphalt next to the girl. Clint runs up to them, a first-aid pack in his hands. “Hey,” he pants, kneeling and taking out a couple alcohol wipes and some bandages. “How’d you find her?” he asks, cleaning a scrape on the girl’s arm. “She was flung out of the building by the explosion,” Natasha explains, bandaging a cut on her leg. “So… probably part of the Red Room?” Natasha nods. “I… I couldn’t leave her. To be… made into another Widow.” The girl’s hair is coated in ash and dust, but a few of the fiery red-gold curls still glitter in the light. Clint nods too, touching Natasha’s arm gently. “I don’t want that either.”

They work together in silence for the next several minutes, until a gunshot hits the brick of the building behind them, not far above Clint’s head. Immediately he’s up, the girl in his arms, zipping down the alley. Natasha fires her own gun while packing up the first aid kit as fast as possible and follows him.

The gunman chases them for several blocks and into a train station. They dart around a couple corners, until Natasha spots a grate in the ceiling, leading to an air vent. She gestures to it and Clint nods, shifting the girl in his arms so that he can reach up and swing it open. He lifts the girl inside, pulls himself up, and holds out his hands to help Natasha up. “Come on!” he hisses impatiently when Natasha pauses, her independent instincts warring with the critical goal of hiding. Finally, she gives the first aid kit to Clint and grabs his hands once he’s shoved it behind him. He pulls her up easily and gets the vent closed once more just before the gunman comes around the corner, raging about what he’s going to do to someone named Iskra Khozyaikova.

He searches for a long time, so long that Clint eventually takes out a Sharpie and draws a strange grid on the wall of the vent. Natasha can only give him a look of complete confusion. He draws an x in one space, holding the permanent marker out to her. Hesitantly, she takes it and draws her own x. Clint’s eyes widen with surprise. “Do you know how to play tic tac toe?” he whispers. Natasha shakes her head mutely. Clint's expression saddens, but at the look on Natasha's face, he wipes it away quickly. “One person draws x’s and the other draws o’s,” he explains, still whispering. “The first person who gets a line of three wins.” Natasha nods in understanding and draws a new grid, then an o in the far-right middle space, and hands the marker to Clint.

They play two or three dozen games before they both decide it’s safe to leave. Natasha wins the most by far.

~ ~ ~

Clint leads Natasha, the girl in her arms, to a safe house. She wakes up at the sound of the door creaking open, her golden eyes instantly filling with fear. She twists and writhes, but her body is so small and her strength so little that Natasha keeps hold of her easily. “Ты в безопасности,” (you’re safe) she soothes, carefully setting her down when she pauses for a moment. Clint heads to the tiny kitchen, taking three cans of baked beans from the pantry, dumping them in bowls, and putting them in the microwave. “Хотите немного еды?” (Would you like some food?) Natasha asks, leading the girl into the kitchen. She nods after a moment, tentatively climbing onto a chair. “She looks really malnourished. Don’t let her eat too much,” Clint warns. Natasha makes a noise of agreement, watching carefully as the three of them eat and nudging the girl’s bowl away when the amount of beans in the bowl has visibly decreased. “Остальное вы сможете получить позже,” (you can have the rest later) Natasha reassures in response to the girl’s sound of protest. “Как тебя зовут?” (What's your name?) Natasha says. The girl just stares at her silently, clearly still suspicious. Natasha exhales. “Хорошо, ну, меня зовут Наташа, а моего друга зовут Клинт.” (Okay, well, my name is Natasha, and my friend’s name is Clint.) The girl flinches when she hears друга (friend). “Что не так?” (What's wrong?) Natasha asks, reaching out to take the girl's hand, but she jerks away, eyes wide. “Нет,” (no) she whispers. “Пожалуйста.” (Please.) Natasha nods, pulling away. “Ты безопасности здесь,” (you're safe here) she repeats. “Обещать.” (promise)

Chapter Two

[scienceoftheidiot]

Ao3 First Lines Tag Game

Rules: Share the first lines of ten of your most recent fanfics and tag ten people. If you have written fewer than ten, don’t be shy and share anyway.

I've been tagged by @klainelynch @dairogo and @goneadrift 😳🥰 thank you all ❤️ (and I'll take it as fic recs 👀 many links yayy)

So this will be Royai only 😅 I don't really know what counts as the first line, so I've taken the first part, that would make sense enough?

I'll put all under the cut, meanwhile I tag @heirsoflilith, @qs63, @musing-and-music, @residentdormouse, @riotbrrrd, @trombonesinspace, @littleragondin, @shutterbug-12, @waterloou, and @lassusog

Bro's night out (Maes visits Roy in East City, canon compliant, humor and angst)

"FINALLY!" A happy voice boomed as the doors to the empty cafeteria of the East City army HQ burst open. Roy, who was convinced he was alone in there, startled, spilling his coffee on his hands, saving his uniform in extremis thanks to the reflex of spreading his arms. He turned to see Maes Hughes walking towards him, beaming.

2. Every dog has its day (Black Hayate has fun driving Roy crazy (Riza is mortified), canon compliant, humor)

"You can have him off leash, he's got a great recall. Let him sniff around for a while. Just, beware of cats. He doesn't attack them, but he's curious. Call him back if you see one." Hawkeye's weak, muffled and croaky voice echoed again in Roy's mind. Good recall. As if.

3. Everyone learns faster on fire (AU - Roy stays blind after Promised Day, post canon, angst (with a happy ending))

"Lieutenant Hawkeye will be my eyes." And she also became Roy's guide. And his cook. And his overall caretaker. A fucking nanny, that's what she was. This time, for real. He'd already hated that nickname for her before, but now? He loathed it.

4. Burn (Riza needs Roy's touch to stay sane, canon compliant, secret relationship, angst/smut fic (explicit))

Some days, Riza could not help it. She knew it was dangerous. She knew she was putting them both in the line of fire. And most of the time, she managed to resist temptation because she cared about him. His plan. His vision. It was much more important. He was more important. And some days, she wanted to throw everything into the fire. Some days she thought, she felt in her gut, that she would happily face a firing squad if it meant that she would be allowed to once, just once again, feel his hands on her. Today was one of such days.

5. The Night After (happens immediately after Promised Day, canon compliant, angst and fluff or hurt/comfort)

This silence was deafening.

It was dark, cold, empty. Like this hospital room. No, of course, there was some noise. From the open window, a light, warm breeze was coming in, bringing the singing of some nocturnal insects, making the curtains sway slightly in a rustle of fabric. From his bed, these were the only things that linked Roy Mustang, newly appointed General, to the outside world.

6. Gunshot - (Riza witnesses Roy getting shot through her sniper sight, hurt/comfort, post canon)(Tumblr prompt)

No. No, no, no, no. Riza froze behind her sight, for a split second, then she started frantically searching through her lens for the black form on the ground, the one she was supposed to have protected from this. But she had seen nothing, even if the moon was on her side, her full face drenching the scene in an eerily cold but surprisingly bright light, and pitch black shadows.

7. Phonecall (Riza has nightmares, angst, fluff, post canon)(prompt)

The phone startled Roy awake. Disoriented, he got up in a hurry, groaned when he blindly walked into the door, pawed at the wall to find the light switch, put the lights on, and ran to the living room, blinking under the sudden harsh light. He had no idea what time it was, where he was, who it could be - probably late at night, his appartement in Central, and at this time, the only person who could call was -

8. Poker night (Team Mustang plays poker and someone is a bad sport, humor, canon compliant)

The atmosphere in the office was tense. Or maybe it was just him. Roy shot a suspicious glance over his hand at the whole party, sat at the table with him. The office was filled with Havoc's cigarette smoke, and lit brightly by the neons on the ceiling. The whole team sat around the central table, cards and multi coloured chips disorderly spread on the dark wooden surface.

9. Dancing with our hands tied (or, flirting under the frat laws, canon compliant, fluff)(Tumblr prompt)

Riza was used to being overlooked by her superiors. It had less to do with being a woman - though in some cases it did, of course - and more with being a lower ranked officer, and above all, being Colonel Mustang’s litteral shadow. Everyone was so used to see her follow him everywhere that she didn’t matter anymore.

10. Anticipation (Roy and Riza are undercover at an event, canon compliant, humor (very short!)) (Tumblr prompt)

Roy knew it was going to be hard not to react and stay in his role, but he had not expected it’d be that hard.

[mystic-hunter]

I did it again! Another chapter of this little fanfiction of a fanfiction. Go read Rage Against the Calamity by @bugcatcherwill. It's been really fun reading the story and writing my own story. Little thing though. This chapter was going to be longer but it was getting to long. So I've already started work on a 3rd chapter.

I was the first to rouse myself awake.  This was not surprising.  I got out of my bedroll and put my doctor's mask back on.  My mind went to the rumors as I began my daily preparations.  It had been a few days before since the duelist had heard them and relayed that information to us.  This did not come as a shock to me.  Especially given the letter I had received that set me and my little group on this adventure.  But even before I should have seen the clues.  Accepted the facts.  The many autopsies I conducted on the monstrous creatures.  It made way too much sense now.  I was blinded by magic when I should have kept my eyes on science.  Well the past is the past.  Nothing to be done about it except reevaluate and retheorize.

But in my deep thoughts I failed to notice the other early riser of our group The Duelist was overlooking the northern cliff we camped out on.  He had his specially designed Hawkeye Binoculars on.

“Hello Duelist.  What do you see on our path today?”

“Ah Magpie I should have known you would be up.  But to answer your question… nothing.  We should reach the lab by this afternoon with any luck.”

“Good.  Well I believe everything is packed and ready to go when our other two allies awaken and pack their personal effects.”

And so we waited.  When everyone awoke and was ready we once again started to move across the yellow and orange trees of Akkala.  Soon I saw our goal at the top of the hill.  Ferrous broke into a sprint to get there faster.  As the rest of us ran to catch up we saw something interesting.  There was already a Sheikah at the door.  Lab equipment adorned his form.  He spoke in a questioning and stern tone, “What business do you all have to be in this little corner of the world?”

It is at this point I take out a letter emblazoned with the insignia of the Sheikah from my coat pocket.  I quickly push to the front of the group and hand the letter to the man, “You sent this letter to me Doctor Robbie.  You said you had something of great importance to discuss and could use my knowledge of anatomy.”

At the mention of the meeting and letter the man immediately softened his tone, “Ah you must be Magpie then?”

“That is correct.”

I was able to catch the looks of my comrades as we were ushered inside by Doctor Robbie.  They all had either confusion or anger plastered on them.  Only Ferrous was unreadable given the mask and hood they wore.  I could tell they wanted to ask questions but were rushed in too quickly to get words out.

Immediately We all were face to face with a whole small group of monsters.  A red bokoblin, a blue moblin, a green lizalfos.  I swore I even saw a glimpse of a hinox through the back window.  It was clear this was more than a simple house call like the letter I got insinuated.  Although there were two missing.  The wizzrobes I read about were missing from the little group.  Before I could linger on that any longer though, the lizalfos immediately ran up and greeted us with the butt of a spear in front of me, “Hello there!  My name is Zayl.  Who are you?”

The spear in my face immediately put some of my allies on alert.  Specifically Ferrous, who’s hand started crackling with a black lightning and Duelist, who had half drawn their rapier.  I simply hooked my arm around the spear and responded, “You may call me Doctor Magpie while I am here.”

Ferrous’ hand lowered but still crackled with energy as they spoke, “Magpie.  We have to talk.  First of all, what the fuck?!  Second, HOW!?”

“Please let us not swear so freely in the presence of patients.  To answer both your questions,” I took out the letter again, “I was called here by Doctor Robbie as he needed a professional anatomist and medical doctor to help him with some and I quote ‘unique’ patients.”

This time Duelist spoke, clearly upset, “Magpie I hope you know this was a complete breach in our trust of you.  You lied about why you wanted to come here.”

“I never lied.  I said I got a call to collaborate with a fellow doctor and was needed in North Eastern Akkala.  Where was the lie?”

Duelist simply grumbled as he turned to leave the building.  He will come around.  I know it.  I then turn my attention back to Zayl and the other monsters, “So I will be upfront about why I am here.  I was called by Doctor Robbie to do some medical check ups for all of you.”

They all seemed to be off put so I corrected my statement, “There will be no use of a scalpel or cutting open of you unless I find something truly wrong with you.  But I highly doubt that will be necessary considering my glancing diagnosis.”

Doctor Robbie cut me off as he got everyone's attention, “alright folks I think we should let the good Doctor do his job shall we?  So Doctor!  Who shall you look at first?”

“I think there is no better place to start than this one in front of me,” motioning to Zayl.

“Excellent.  Alright so you can use the little back room to do your work,” as he pointed to a small room in a small corner of the home.

Zayl spoke up clearly distressed, “Wait um when you said no cutting open were you serious?”

“Of course, I am a doctor not a tyrant.  My job is to heal.  Well let us have a look at you.  The rest of you.  Do not be afraid of my little posse.  They do not mean any harm,” and so I took Zayl into the little back room.  It was well lit and had a simple high seat for patients.  “Please sit up on here if you would not mind Zayl.”  It took its place on the seat, “You do not have to say but I am curious as to what happened to your tail,” I could tell by it grabbing its tail and cuddling it close that it did not like the topic, “Understood.  We will leave that question forgotten then.  Now open your mouth please.”  It did so without fuss.  I took a look inside and did my normal routine.  Even with the difference in species it wasn’t all that different in terms of health.  Slightly stained but clean sharp teeth made to hold fish after being grabbed by that long tongue.  “Okay.  Now please change your colors to your surroundings please,” again Zayl did so without fuss.  Its skin goes from the vibrant and slightly shiny green to a dull brick-like texture that matches perfectly if it were not for one eye trained on me and the other constantly zipping to other parts of the room.  It is stressed out.  I should wrap this up quickly.  “Alright.  One last thing and then you can take a break.  Please grab this with your tongue but do not swallow it,” as I threw an empty bottle up in the air, there was a flash of pink flesh and I saw the bottle dangling from Zayls tongue.  “Alright that should be about everything for now.  We will pick this back up when you are more comfortable.”  Zayl seems to let out a breath I did not even realize it was holding.  It quickly gathered itself and left the room.  This was going to be a challenge if Zayl was supposed to be the most outgoing. This was going to be much harder.

I also hope I wrote everyone well enough! I mentioned I got stuck on Zayl's cadence and speech pattern so I do hope I did good. I always did think it would feel uncomfortable in a doctors office given the tail thing.