#blocking entirely the few attacks he does manage to connect without even a shrug

[sailorsleepymoon]

I’m playing cult of the lamb for the first time and the fact that I can only make one maid dress has me actually FUMING seething and sobbing I just beat the credits boss (I think I’ve played over 24 hours in less than 36…) and got them as a follower and the fact that I can’t make him and the other bosses walk around in maid dresses is fucking TEARING ME APARTTTTT

[tadpole-san]

poison ;  j.t.

pairing: titans!jason todd x reader, pre-established relationship, best friends

warnings: mentions/allusions to (attempted) suicide, jason just needing someone in his corner, spoilers for titans s2e12

a/n: 1000/10 this is meant for  @cipheress-to-k-pop, kudos to her for inspiring this and simping over jason peter todd with me - so here’s an exploration of what happened between jason leaving rose and showing up to donna’s funeral

Gotham is, by no means, a small city. And it's easy to come back to, after everything.

After the Titans disband - again, and you’re honestly left with nothing to do and nowhere to go.

After your best friend gets kidnapped, tortured, and thrown off a roof.

After you find him driven to another roof, ready to step off with nothing to catch him, because he’s ready to go somewhere you know you can’t follow.

And after Jason Todd leaves on a motorcycle with Rose Wilson, because he is going somewhere you think you can’t follow. Except can’t isn’t the right word - you shouldn’t follow him, you think. Because Dick was the one to talk him off the roof, like a brother is supposed to, and all you can remember is the wind roaring in your ears and blocking everything out except that Jason wants to jump, Jason wants to die,  I don’t know how to help him. The words die in the back of your throat, and if Dick hadn’t been there-

You don’t want to think about if Dick didn’t make it up there when he did. So you’re avoiding Jason - which is all too easy to do when he’s supposed to be on the other side of the country. Until he calls you and you realize he’s here. In Gotham. The two of you are still connected by the same city.

He doesn’t say where the two of you need to meet, but you know exactly where to find him in the vastness of Gotham’s skyscrapers and abandoned warehouses.

By the time you make it to the top of - surprise, a skyscraper - your legs and lungs are burning. It makes it all the more apparent that you haven’t gotten the same level of Batman-training, and that a busted elevator forcing you to take the stairs is already a sign of bad luck. When you’re able to push the door leading to the rooftop open, you spot the gargoyle first, and it somehow manages to make you smile. All the years you’ve known Jason, the guy who’s become your best friend, and you’ve lost count of the number of times you’ve been able to find him hunched up next to the stone monster. Even now, the shades of yellow on his hoodie stand out like muted sunlight.

“Hey.” The sound of your voice and the opening door gets him to turn around. His legs are dangling over the edge of the roof. You know he’s just sitting there - just sitting, nothing else - but it’s suddenly harder for you to take another breath, and when you move towards him, it’s in a sprint. There’s a spot left for you between him and the gargoyle, one that you take without hesitation as your hand grabs at his jacket. He’s taken aback, you can tell - his eyebrows furrow and he opens his mouth to say something, only to close it a second later. This close, and you can see how his eyes are rimmed with red. Like he’d been crying.

There’s a stinging sensation at your eyes that makes you think you must look the same. Your fingers tighten around worn fabric, and it grounds you. Jason wasn’t wearing the hoodie that day. This isn’t the same as that.

“Are you okay?” you finally ask, pulling your knees up towards your chest instead of dangling them over the edge. You’re too close to the edge already. “Where’s Rose?”

When Jason finally speaks, his voice is rough in the way that it gets when he’s had a few beers. You know this voice well, the same way he knows his way arounds brews, and this takes you back to the first time you'd met him when you were kids, at the bars that your dad and his uncle would get together at.

“I don’t know,” he says. Then he laughs. “I don’t care, you know? Fuck Rose-”

“Could you scoot back?” The question almost rips itself out of your throat, despite your efforts to keep it in until he’s finished telling you what happened. But all you can see are his shoes dangling over the edge, stories above the street, and when you look at the street, you’re imagining his body leaving its impact on it. You can feel Jason’s eyes on you, and you wait for him to tell you to stop being a pussy.

Instead, he mirrors your position and pulls his feet up, tucking them in as he pulls himself away from the edge.

You can breathe again.

“Sorry,” you mutter, finally making eye contact with him again. “I just - I’m sorry.”

I’m sorry I wasn’t there.

I’m sorry I’m such a coward.

I’m sorry I couldn’t help you.

I’m sorry I’m such a bad friend.

“Why the hell are you sorry?” Jason asks, brows furrowing. Now he’s really looking at you, and it’s so heartfelt that you need to drag a hand down your face so you can hide. At the same time, it makes you so angry, because all you can remember is a room full of broken and awful heroes, painting him a villain who would drag out their darkest secrets, their deepest pains, to taunt and jab them with.

How could people do that to a kid? How could they do that to Jason, who - sure, he was rough around the edges, and cocky, and he went out of his way to be a little unlikable sometimes, but he was good. He was one of the best goddamn people you knew, even if you were saying that with bias.

You’re pulled out of the daze you’re in when he calls your name, and you try to speak around the words that are lodged in your throat, clogging it up. “I’m sorry,” you repeated, and the Vice around your throat tightens. “I wasn’t there when it mattered. With you. At the Tower. When they - and you-“ At this point, you have to suck in a deep, shuddering breath. One that has you keeling forward, head falling between your knees.

“Woah. Woah, woah, hold on-“ Jason wrestles his arm out of the sleeve you’re holding onto, and then you feel him pulling you back from the edge. It’s his turn, and he does it with ease, like you’re nothing but air. There’s that training again. “Jesus fuck, you - come on.” Just like that, the two of you are collapsing and folding in on each other.

Jason has gone so incredibly still, like he doesn’t know what he should be doing, and it makes you want to cry - except you don’t. You don’t know if you can feel anything else besides being scared or pissed off - at the Titans, at him - that couldn’t possibly be fair - at yourself. He’s so still it’s like he’s a corpse. “You get hurt somewhere?” he asks, and you shake your head, even as he’s awkwardly patting you over. “Someone pull some shit on you when you ditched the Tower?” You shake your head again, and you register that you're holding onto his hand.  You squeeze, tight. It’s warm. He’s warm. There’s blood flowing through his veins.

He’s okay. He’s alive.

Jason’s hand is squeezing yours just as tight, and it grounds you - he’s keeping you grounded - long enough that you can start to breathe again. Enough that you can keep talking.

“I fell asleep.” The words are eerily similar to Gar’s own sentiments when the two of you wandered into the kitchen  to find an already-fractured team. “I didn’t - I didn’t sleep for two days, you know that? You don’t really get any of that when there’s a psychopath torturing your friend and it’s your fault.”

“It ain’t your fucking fault,” Jason’s quick to say, words frosted with the kind of accent that’s married to a childhood down in Crime Alley. You haven’t grown out of yours, but his has gone sparse since Bruce Wayne picked him out. “Don’t fucking say-”

“Gar and I were supposed to have your back down there.” You press your lips in a thin line, eyes meeting his. “I’m supposed to have your back.”

“I was being a stupid little shit. Hank was right.” Fucking Hank. You think you could attack him, probably. Pick a stupid fight.

“We always think it’s our fault.” Now your words are deliberate. “And we always think we’re the fucking poison. ‘Cept we’re not.” Jason groans, and you can feel him start to pull away. You don’t let your grip loosen, so he uses his other hand to push his hair back roughly and pull the hood over his head, yanking the fabric down so you can’t make out his expression.

“I wasn’t gonna jump.”

“Yeah, you were.”

“I mean just now. I saw your face. I know what you’re thinking.”

“I thought you were gonna fall.” His lips twist into a grimace, and you let go of his hand to shove your own into your pockets. Your fingertips are cold.

“I would’ve caught myself.” Finally, the traces of Robin Jason - cocky, uncaring, cool - are coming back. “Could teach you how, if you want.”

“Do you want to catch yourself?” you ask, not quite ready to fall back into lopsided and carefree with him. “‘Cuz if you don’t, I gotta be the one doing the catching, Jason. Even when you’ve got some kind of - I don’t fucking know, a Superboy doing it.”

“Why?” The little shit has the audacity to smirk. “You jealous?” Incredulous, you stare at him. And then you take your bag and you swing it at his shoulder, only for him to smack it away.

“I’m being serious.” It amazes you how Jason does that - switches at the flip of a coin so as to replace the real shit he’s going through with throwaway comments like that. Sometimes, he’s a real asshole. Even as he’s staring at you with an entirely different expression now, one that makes you wonder just how much he knows about how he makes you feel.

“You need me to catch you?”

“Sometimes,” you admit, turning your head as he shifts closer to you, enough that your knees bump against one another. You push against him, and it turns into an exchange that lasts until your knee is sore. By the end of it, you can feel Jason laughing in your ear. His eyes aren’t red anymore. You take the sleeve he’d shrugged out of and get your arm through it, leaving the two of you awkwardly cramped against one another, and he laughs even more.

“Why can’t we do this shit at the tower?”

“Because you get - you’re all moody, you ass. It’s weird.” You can feel the weight of him on your shoulder and it makes you sigh. “You - look, we gotta talk. For real, you know that?”

“We did,” he mutters, a bit more sullen now. But there’s another elbow to your side, so you think that maybe it’s a bit better. For all that Gotham is home to the world’s evils, you can still love it if it can bring this out in Jason. “You know I say shit to you that I’m not saying to anyone else.” That elicits a half-hearted grin out of you, and you knock your fist against his. His eyes rake over bruised knuckles.

“You asked me if I was okay,” he says, thumb brushing over them. “Are you-”

“Someday,” you interrupt, because it’s a fruitless question. There’s no being okay, and you realize how your own question from earlier is naive. “I’ll get past the fact that we’re gonna keep almost dying. Like the shitshow with Deathstroke. And the fact that the assholes that are supposed to be heroes are full of shit.” Jason’s expression is all-too knowing, and you wonder if he’s figured out that the reason you went to San Francisco had nothing to do with wanting to be a hero and everything to do with not being able to handle Gotham alone. Maybe it’s better to just have yourself - to not have to lean on anyone else to keep on living, but then you look at the boy in front of you. And you know that if Jason only had himself, you wouldn’t be sitting with him right now.

He’s probably figured you out already. He’s Robin. For all that you poke at him for being boneheaded, you know that Batman’s taught him all the ways to see through a person. Even without x-ray vision.

Then he gives you a lopsided smirk, and you know he’s chosen not to say anything. Instead, he hauls himself to his feet - and you with him - with graceful ease, letting you link your arm with his in a way that has your hands brushing together.

“You still haven’t told me what happened with Rose,” you say. At that, he makes a face. One that draws another laugh out of you, because it has his features scrunched up in a scowl that departs from the betrayal you’d found him drowning in when you’d first gotten here.

“You wouldn’t fucking believe - come on.” He uses his foot to toss his bag in the air, catching it with one hand and slinging it over his shoulder. “I’m not doing this unless we’re getting a burger or some shit.”

“What, she break your heart, big boy?” You manage to catch the elbow that’s headed for you, even as Jason kicks you in the back of the knee for that comment. It’s quips and banters that are coming back, a routine the two of you fall into even after weeks apart. Jason’s shouldered the door to the stairwell open - losers first - and you find yourself casting one final look to the lone gargoyle before you step inside.

Gotham is, by no means, a small city. She’s unforgiving and cruel, and her metal arches and stone beams are interwoven with a history of poison. Some days, you wonder if it’s too late - if you’ve already got it in your veins, running through your blood and killing you from the inside. Leaving a city like her was easy.

And it’s easy to come back to, despite everything. Because if Jason isn’t poison, then maybe you’re not, either.

DC Taglist:

@cipheress-to-k-pop

[thr-333]

Mismatch- Part 25

In my defence I didn’t forget about updating here, I just didn’t want to.

First < Previous

---------------

“How do I look?” Marion asks as people fuss around him, not least of all Marinette herself.

“I hoped that would be obvious seeing as I designed this look,” She smirks at him eyes sparkling he can tell since the whites of the Domino mask are removed.

“Yeah, yeah, you’re the greatest and all that,” He waves her off as a stylist tries to tame his hair to fit the messy look she wanted.

“Well it is true isn’t it?” She teases, someone also trying to follow her with a brush and comb as she flies around the room in a whirl of designing.

"Perhaps," Marion hums, gaze drifting over to the door where he notices a familiar figure, Marinette follows his smile.

“Luka!” Marinette exclaims, wrapping her friend in a hug, “When did you arrive?”

“Last night," Luka smiles, she was glad she got the chance to become his friend again as MDC, not that he knew their secret identity, "This city is so majestic,”

“Gotham at night?” Marion scoffs, turning in his seat, only to get scolded by the stylist, “Are we talking about the same place?”

“CD maybe you just haven't taken the time to really hear the city’s song,” Luka strums a few cords to demonstrate, “You should its melody compliments your own,”

“I’ll have to take your word for it,” Marion shrugs, sitting forward again, “Do you think you can use it to reach out to the Gotham audience? I really want to connect with them,”

“Will do boss,” Marion sticks his tongue at him, Luka only ever called him that in jest.

Luka gives a playful wave leaving to go sort out the music. He had his own responsibilities as the opening act. Marinette feels someone watching them and dismisses the stylist, congratulating her on a great job. She looks a tad peeved as Marion's hair is largely the same as when she entered, but many employees are used to the twins randomly leaving anyway. The door to their dressing room clicks closed and the presence makes itself known.

“What can we do for you, Batman?” Marinette asks, offering him a seat, although she knows he won’t accept it.

“MDC,” he inclines his head, not showing if he was taken aback by her catching him out, “We have reason to believe the concert will be attacked tonight,”

“Yeah, we thought that might happen,” Marion gets up, stretching, “Just try to keep whoever away from the crowd and we can handle the rest,”

“You don’t seem to understand, after the last attack-”

“Sorry to cut you off,” Wow it was weird acing professional around the same guy they had been tormenting the past few weeks, “But that was an impromptu event this one has been planned out for years,"

Officially not but they had designed the building to help them catch akuma in Paris while keeping an event going, they just applied that design to Gotham.

"If you would like to call in the rest of your coworkers we can show you the defenses we have in place so you can work with them,”

Batman seems surprised. What did he think they were just air-headed celebrities? Well, that wasn’t going to be the only surprise of the day then. Sure enough, he calls everyone in and Marinette’s a little hurt to see he invited everyone but Sparrow and Songbird to join in the fun. She hides this fact leading the ragtag group through the backstage area. Spotting their manager she walks over.

“Could you please clear our schedule we want to give them a personal tour of our security measures,” She asks Kate, to her credit only looking mildly surprised to see the whole Batfam trailing after them.

“I thought you might, I’ve already worked it into your schedule, just make sure you're there in time for the costume checks,” Kate looks down tapping away at her tablet, “Also call your uncle arrived in town last night he’ll want to wish you good luck so watch out for him,”

“We couldn’t do it without you,” Marinette beams, letting her go to attend her other duties.

They must make an odd sight, two superstars guiding a pack of vigilantes like ducklings through the backstage. They go over all the security protocols. Safe rooms that the staff was instructed to go to under certain circumstances. There were carefully lain traps that only a few people could trigger to set off. On the stage itself was a secret compartment Marion could make a quick getaway to get change in, a tunnel leading backstage. The entire backstage was a maze in itself all the staff specially trained to navigate it.

To protect the audience they hadn't packed it nearly as much as they could have so it meant it easier for them to reach the exits. Indeed there were hidden emergency exits that people could escape through if villains blocked the obvious ones, they were set to reveal themselves if that was the case. There were also hidden trapdoors in rows of seats that would glow if people were forced to duck behind the seats. It leads to underground tunnels that would lead them safely away. There were even tunnels connecting to the staff safe rooms so they could come and direct the audience as needed. Marinette had made sure to make the tunnels look inviting ad pleasant so no one would panic at being underground.

Then there were the special (comfy) perches that they showed to the Batfamily, each situated to look over everything and be hidden by the lights. There were wires leading to the stage and audience in case they needed to get down quickly and quietly. They also made a web above that they could run along and run any interference with ariel attacks. They also gave them each a blueprint of the stadium so they could see all the secret tunnels that were perfect for a surprise attack. There were ones leading into the entrance subtle enough someone could be pulled in while walking into the building, for the purposes of catching criminals before they even entered. There was also a trap door that could open underneath, she gave them each a remote control to these, warning them to use them wisely. Each hidden door leads to a room suited for fighting, carefully crafted to give the bats and edge.

It had taken a long time and a lot of money but they had invested, making a safe place they could rent out to other performers so there could be more shows in Gotham conducted safely. She could tell that by the end of the tour even Batman was impressed as they headed back to the stage through the empty audience seating.

“Hey! Superstars!” Jagged's voice booms across the arena, waving from the entrance of the place.

“Uncle Jagged!” Marion jumps over seats to reach him, Marinette a step behind him as they both tackle him into a hug.

“Good to see you too,” Jagged ruffles their hair, Marinette sends a silent apology to the stylist, “This place looks Rockin!”

“You bet just wait till I take the stage,” Marion grins, as they both hug Penny and Fang as well.

“Why wait! Show me what you got,” Jagged sends Marion off, who runs to the technicians asking if they can do an early mic check, everyone scrambles to make it happen.

“So how’re you finding Gotham?” Jagged asks her, walking with a side hug back towards the Batfamily.

“Oh, you know… busy,”

“I’d say the news with Marion? That was wicked!”

“Yes… wicked,” Penny pales at just the memory, and yeah fair enough.

“Yo Batman great to meet you!” Jagged boisterous nature meets Batman’s stoic one but the poor guy barely has a chance to adjust before Jagged’s moving on.

“Yo Red Hood right?” Hood looks a little shocked as Jagged claps a hand on his shoulder, “You saved my nephew, I really owe you one!”

“Oh-that's not- I just,” Marinette shares a smirk with Jagged which would have surely had Marion screaming.

“Yeah, he really looks up to you!” Jagged has him spluttering more, she would show him mercy but they only have so much time before Marion catches on.

“Oh Uncle Jagged I wouldn’t phrase it like that,” Marinette says in a suggestive tone, the stage is still empty of Marion.

“Of course, no I’d say it more that...” Marinette could actually laugh as Red Hood practically vibrates from anticipation, “He likes you,”

I think we just killed  him, Marinette notes as Red Hood internally combusts. Well now wasn't the time to show mercy.

“I’d say that's putting it rather lightly,” Marinette smirks as Red Hood is sent into another spluttering mess, and oh how she wishes he wasn't wearing that helmet.

“Right it’s more like-”

“Stop it both of you,” Penny’s reprimand has them both doubling over with laughter. The Batfamily looking absolutely bewildered. Minus of course, Red Hood who they may have to call an ambulance for soon if he doesn't start breathing.

“What are you two laughing at?” Marion walks to the edge of the stage, someone fusses with a microphone not too far away.

“Nooothhinggggg,” They chime simultaneously, with matching grins.

“Penny?” Marion all but whines, fidgeting nervously.

“They haven’t said anything bad,” She assures him, Marion foolishly relaxes.

“Hey is this the guy that saved your hide?” Jagged asks, having the guts to swing his arm around Red Hood’s shoulders.

“Uncle Jagged,” He hisses at the same time Penny hisses ‘Jagged’.

“You should thank him... sing endless!” Jagged exclaims, and Marinette couldn’t be sure he hasn't been planning this from the start, “You wrote it for him didn’t you?”

“Not for him its not-” Marion makes a bunch of vague gestures, “You know?”

“Not at all,” Jagged grins, dragging Red Hood closer to center stage seats, he plops down Red Hood right in the middle of the stadium. The rest of the Batfam take seats around them. “Sing Endless!”

Marion is scowling but doesn't have much other choice as a stagehand tell him he’s all set. He takes the microphone. Marinette mimes at him to breathe, he rolls his eyes but does anyway. The music starts Marion hitting his cue and with just the first few words she could see the tension drain away.

“And the world starts slowly caving it~”

It was such a gentle song. So many people had told him and still told him that it didn’t fit the violent vigilante. The producers had argued they should just fit it to someone else, someone people liked more. In the end, they had caved to Marion's arguments probably because it wasn't made to be an upbeat pop song so they weren't too attached to the money making aspect. That didn't stop the audience from arguing about it afterwards. Some claimed they just randomly selected the song, or that they shouldn't have done one for him at all.

Marion pointedly told them they were all wrong. And looking at Red Hood now, completely enthralled with Marion's singing she could tell that, yeah it had fit him perfectly all along.

"All the words you said were they true? or just selfish li-es~"

Marinette broke her gaze away from Marion to look at the rest of the Batfamily. Suffice to say they were all enthralled, hopefully they wouldn't be this distracted at the concert tonight. Although she supposed it was a good thing they were doing the mic check now so they could watch now and focus later. Then again she doubted Red Hood would be much use regardless, he was leaning forward in his seat the rest of the world dead to him. To fair Marion wasn't much better. In a crowd he would look around or at least pick a random stop to sing to no one. This time however? this time he was locked on to Red Hood sinign directly to him and he probably didn't even realise.

"Gave all I ever had try to make you laugh try to please you~"

Batman looked uncomfortable at the line. Judjing by the times she had seen them spend together there was a tension between them a past she didn't know. How Marion managed to pick up on that long before they came to Gotham she doesn't know. It was almost like he could see into his soul, a connection there despite never having met, like the pull of a miraculous.

"All I know is gone, now I'm all alone~"

Marion wasn’t testing out the mics. That much was obvious. He was straight up performing. And no he hadn’t written the song for Red Hood persay. But she had watched him every night and day agonize over the right words to use, the tune, the feeling behind it. Scraping up every bit of information he could it was probably more thorough than any police investigation done on Red Hood. It was then she realized, their room covered top to bottom in pictures of him covering the ones she had of Adrien, that Marion had completely and utterly fallen for the guy. No, it wasn't a song for him, it was a love letter for him, to him, about him. It was a picture that painted exactly how Marion saw him.

And she was willing to bet that the only people that didn’t realize it were them, both completely captivated by each other as Marion finished.

“What is it~” He holds the next note until the music fades out into nothingness, “Inside~”

The music stops, Marion opening his eyes, almost seeming startled that there were other people sitting before him. It’s only then he seemed to realize that there was more than just one other person in the arena and spirited off to check with the sound. It was as he turned to walk away Marinette could tell Hood had seen it, the robins newly stitched up the back of his jacket.

[themissingmarvel]

Kind Regards, Detective [Part 6]

(So, forgive me for this both: being long, and not having a lot of Loki in it. I understand if this chapter turns people off or doesn’t get a lot of love. I won’t be hurt by it. But it needed to be done. So hopefully I don’t lose readers but if I do, like I said, I understand.

Catch up:  [Part 1] // [Part 2] // [Drabble] // [Part 3] // [Part 4] // [Drabble 2] // [Part 5]

Pairing: Detective Loki x fbi!Reader

Word Count: 3.7k [yikes]

Warnings: Language. Poor life choices. )

Back when Y/N was in undergrad, she remembered one of her classmates affectionately telling her she was afflicted with what was known as “resting bitch face”. She became known as the Queen of the RBF within her circles, and honestly it remained with her. But it was protective, and in times like this, when a precinct was staring at you, you had to protect yourself.

One of the things that would come up was a conflict of interest, she knew that immediately. Her supervising agent would be concerned about a package sent directly to her. No one would know the depth of it, though. They’d know it was in reference to her sister’s passing, but the song? The CD itself? She could lie. And she would. Even when her phone rang and she ignored it, she kept her face stoic and her eyes locked on the computer, scanning over the evidence collected from the scene still.

“Agent Y/N, there’s a call for you from the bureau-” a young officer, though not a rookie, popped his head in.

She didn’t even look up, “That’s cool.”

Loki glanced from her to the officer who looked more confused than anything. Clearly that was not the answer he was hoping for.

“I mean, they want to talk to you.” He suddenly got quieter. Meeker.

Again, she didn’t even pause, “Nice of them. I’ll send them a thank-you card later.”

Now the officer was confused, “Did you want to answer it out front or I can-”

“Tell them I’m dead. Or I’m in the bathroom. Whatever. I’m busy so please don’t come in again.” Her eyes glanced briefly from the screen to the man who got the hint, his mouth in a straight line as he backed out of the room, entirely missing David Loki’s very soft smirk.

But she was. Busy, that was. Not dead. She had found a few interesting leads, and was suddenly finding a rather disturbing pattern, “David, c’mere a sec. I need you to look at this and tell me I’m not crazy,” she looked across the table at the man who’d been poring over the papers and pictures, hating to look at bodies but knowing now was not the time to be squeemish. He thought his note was bad… hers was tenfold. Whatever it was. He didn’t know about her sister. Or any of her life, really. He knew what she had shared. He was vaguely terrified that this would stop all of it.

Standing, he walked over to where she was, a spreadsheet open, “So look,” she held up a finger, glancing back to the man who was leaning over, face by hers as he looked at the screen, the moment intense, though far from intimate, “if we follow the purchases, the television is old but beyond state-of-the-art, telling us it was pricy. And you don’t leave pricy things behind, especially if you think you can be traced. And when we tracked the generator down, it was from a different manufacturing company, so both were dismissed out of hand. But when we add in the piece about the phone company provider and the chemical weapon used… Look.”

She brought up a page of a very formal looking website, Safety in the palm of your hand was the caption under the large “West Company” logo in block letters at the top. David knew of them, but clearly Y/N knew more, “The company does a lot of work with technology and weapon engineering. The federal government has a contract with them, so we’ve worked with them before. David, they even have a lab on site…”

He stood back, looking down at her with focus and concern. Without the chemical agent to go off of, the connection might be a reach. But the fact that it all tied to one company, and one that would have direct links to technology to reach into… anything, meant it was a good chance that the person they needed would be there.

“So what do we do with this? I mean, that’s a huge company. And with a defense contract, they’re probably not gonna wanna talk to you,” David crossed his arms in front of his chest, concern on his features. She was a bloodhound who had finally picked up a scent and he had a sinking feeling she’d chase that scent, regardless of what came in her way.

Nodding, she closed the laptop, “Normally that’d be true, but I may have a way into the company records. I can’t divulge why. I just need you to trust me.” Her eyes were wide. And pleading. She had just been hit with a wrecking ball and already she was back on her feet, but David knew she was hurting. And pain made you do stupid things. But she was slowly becoming his weak spot.

Pushing back his hair he sighed, “Fine. What do we do next?”

Standing up and grabbing her phone that had more missed calls than she could reasonably get away with, she shrugged, “We don’t do anything. I make a call, and you keep going over evidence. I have to go back and grab something at the hotel. I left a file back there we’ll need to keep moving forward on this.”

There was something in her voice, her tone perhaps, or her body language. David would blame himself later, as he always did, for not noticing. He’d tell himself it was his fault. He should have known she wasn’t going to the hotel, or at least that wasn’t her final stop. And as she walked outside without her federal issued phone, only her keys and wallet in hand as she held her jacket tight, she understood what had to happen.

_____

She wasn’t lying. Not completely. She had gone to the hotel and grabbed her personal phone, the one she used for calling her parents, listening to music, listening to audiobooks when she was stuck on airplanes, or in this case, long car drives alone. But her first call had been, surprising to most, to Henry Best. The man was one of the top CEO and board members of West Company and one she knew better than most. It was the way she had into the company.

Henry had been surprised to hear her voice, though not disappointed. He had liked Y/N when he met her four years back, when she had just begun her profiling in the field. Back when she was still wet behind the ears, so to speak. And that she was calling on her personal phone made him even more curious, “Of course. Around when should I expect you?” His voice, smooth as silk with a ‘proper’ British accent, a voice that could melt a woman without effort, came forth.

Glancing at the dashboard of her car, Y/N shrugged, “GPS says it’s another hour. So around 3pm, if that’s all right? Honestly, I hate to barge in like this. And I know you’re doing more than a favor. Especially since the FBI doesn’t even know-”

There was a soft chuckle, the man on the other end smiling, “Please don’t apologize. It would be my pleasure to see you again. After all, it is you I have to thank for where I am now, is it not?” A genuine kind of thanks to his voice, though something else lingered. Perhaps not strong enough for the bluetooth in the car to detect.

Either way, she felt herself smiling as she eyed the guidance system, “That was all your own work, Henry. But we can talk more when I get there. Do I check in at the front desk?” She was adjusting herself in her seat, suddenly a little nervous. She really hadn’t thought this through. And she was still wearing… well, a sweater and jeans. And her hair wasn’t well done, either. Fuck, she really did not think this through.

“I’ll have someone waiting out front to valet the car, don’t worry about parking. Mark will bring you up. Take your time.” He was calm. Cool. Collected. More than he had been before. It was kind of nice.

She nodded, to no one in particular, “Will do. See you in an hour, Henry.” She clicked off the phone, continuing her drive.

Her phone rang again, though this time the number came up as Delete This Later, “Madison is on a rampage. And now I have some podunk Detective Loki- Hey, what kind of name is that even? Whatever, anyway, this dude is calling me wanting to know where you are. I made some shit up about you needing to coordinate with another office. I still have Madison on a rampage, though. He’s your boss. Remember him?”

Rolling her eyes, she was already regretting giving Adrian her personal number, “Thank you for covering. I’m actually headed to see Henry Best. Over at West Company. Who knew my name was so memorable?” She smirked.

Adrian huffed, “Just don’t do anything stupid. Well, more stupid than you already have. Wits about, right?”

She cocked a sideways smirk, “Always. And you know the deal. Call David at 3pm, when I’m due in New York to meet with Henry. I’ll text you the address. And you can give him this number. Otherwise the guy will have a heart attack,” she sighed softly.

There was quiet for a moment before Adrian spoke again, “What did he send you, Ladybug? That guy. I haven’t seen you like this since the Boston case when you almost bumped into the dude we were after. I’m worried.”

But she was quiet. Too quiet.

“Nothing’s gonna happen. I just have a feeling Henry will be able to help.”

___

He had called her. He had called her twice before realizing the ringing was coming from inside her bag. He had thrown his own phone across the room, though one cased in an Otterbox after the officer manager was tired of him breaking phones. Instead, it bounced off and hit the ground. He had wanted to break something. Fucking anything.

It was a flurry of words after that, David having rolled his sleeves up, his hair repeatedly needing to be slicked back as his face looked vaguely similar to John Wick finding his dog dead. He kept telling himself he was angry because she was in harm’s way, and that was true, but there was something more. This woman he had felt vulnerable with, who had in turn shared her own vulnerabilities, was gone. And he knew that she was gone because she was chasing something that not even God himself could stop her from getting. She was on a mission.

David was a driven man just as much, however, and he had gotten through to Y/N’s unit by sheer force of will on the phone. He had kept it together enough that he was actually able to get through to someone named “Adrian Dent” who worked closely with her. The one who had texted her ‘ladybug’ and he didn’t like it. He didn’t like Adrian. No idea why, but when the smug asshole gave him a regurgitated message about her meeting with another agent in another city, he understood it was a lie.

But what else did he have? He was sitting by himself in the conference room they were using, staring at a laptop that had the company name on it. And he knew. He didn’t know exactly, but he knew. And fuck waiting. Fuck telling his chief. Fuck all of it. He was headed to New York City just the same as she was. ____

It had been strange, walking into the large, sleek office building. The floors were marble and the colors back and silver were clearly the aesthetic. She had trailed behind a young man who looked to be no older than twenty-two, probably scored this gig right out of a prestigious college, wanting to work his way into the defense industry. What a strange goal. No stranger, perhaps, than wanting to be an FBI Field Agent.

He was quiet as he lead her up, his earpiece wired in as they took a private elevator to the… damn, fiftieth floor? Last time she could have sworn it was forty. But that was four years ago.

Stepping off the elevator that looked like something out of Blade Runner, she followed the assistant carefully down the hall, carpeted in black with dark wood lining it. Far fewer people here. And it was clear, by the large double doors ahead, that this was where she was going, “Mr. Best is inside, you may enter.” He looked almost smug. She didn’t belong. He knew it. She knew it.

Shrugging off her winter jacket, she knocked on the door, heading the rather gentle, “Please, come in,” beckoning her forth.

It had been four years since she saw him, but Henry looked amazing. He had before but… there was something else now. His dark blonde hair was styled on his head, not slicked down but a certain casual and professional look to it. He had on a white business shirt, black tie tight around his neck though with his sleeves rolled up. And he, of course, was gorgeous. Blue eyes that felt like they could stop you in your tracks, angular features that made him all the more distinguished. He looked good.

And the office was amazing. An entire wall was purely windows, looking out at the impressive New York City skyline. It was like being in a movie. Her entire life she had never existed in a world like this, and now she was investigating a serial killer in an office that looked so extraordinary it hurt. Book shelves, a large desk by the back where he had been standing, oak, of course. He smiled, a sort of crooked smile that, were she paying attention, would have concerned her more. But he was smiling as he walked over, “Oh, please, let me take that. Shouldn’t have you lugging this around,” he smiled as he got close, taking the jacket from her hands, draping it over a chair nearby.

Nervous, suddenly, she pushed back her hair, “Thank you… and sorry about not being dressed for the occasion… Like I said, kind of a rush deal getting here,” she laughed nervously, fidgeting.

“Nonsense. You look wonderful, if I may say so. Would you care to take a seat? I wager you’ve just driven a bit of a ways, so I’ll understand if you’d like to stand.” There was care in his voice and tone, and suddenly she was struck by how strange it was. She tended to trust her gut, and suddenly it was telling her to be aware.

Smiling with her placating, plastic smile, she shook her head, “I’m happy to sit.”

He looked satisfied with the answer, gesturing to the table in the corner, two cups and a teapot on it, “Please, take a seat. May I offer you some tea?” He sat across from her, his movements graceful and purposeful, and perhaps almost serpent-like.

She held up a hand, “No thank you. Long drive back, don’t want to have to make pit stops,” she smiled at the man who looked… content. Relaxed. Hardly what she remembered before.

He was pouring himself a cup, Y/N looking around as she noticed a plant on his desk. Well, one. And flowers on his window. Gorgeous lilies. And orchids. Succulents were on two shelves of the book cases. She couldn’t help but smile, “Quite a lot of greenery around your office, Henry.”

Taking a sip of the tea, he smiled, “After we spoke those years ago, I took you up on your suggestion. I began gardening. Took a month off, worked on myself, and began gardening. Hobbies really are a lifesaver, aren’t they?” He was watching her now, able to see that brief moment of her eyes widening, ever so slightly, her breath catching in her throat. He could see her wheels turning. But she was no mere rabbit. Fear was not something that drove her.

And true, in her own mind she was rationalizing it, “I’m glad it seemed to work for you. Having a hobby like that can be therapeutic. And it seems like our meetings got you back on track. How have things been now?”

Of course, she was referring to the incident that had lead her to his office years ago. He had lost his wife in a rather tragic car accident. From what he had told the police, they had gotten into a fight, and before he could stop her, she had gotten her keys and driven off. She’d wound up running a red light at a major intersection and was killed on impact.

Something was clicking, now. His face changed every so slightly when she asked how things had been. Hobbies. Not just gardening. And now she was poking at the wound.

He nodded, quite like the gentleman he was, “Much better. Work has been consuming much of my time. I imagine you’re in a similar boat. I always sensed we were quite alike in that way,” he placed the tea back down and smiled at her.

There was a feeling of anger that came with the comment, though she was unsure why. It wasn't rude in any way, nor did it infer anything negative about her. But it felt personal.

“Speaking of work… I’m here because I think I have a lead on my case. And not to be an alarmist, I’m somewhat concerned they’re linked with your company somehow,” she eyed him carefully.

He looked out the window with a bit of a chuckle, “We have quite a few employees, you know. Do you have anything more to go off of? I’d love to help you, but that’s quite a broad brush to be painting with, Y/N,” his smile was daring this time. He was playing with her. What may not have been personal now was. But he was fishing, too. He wanted to see what she had. If she’d divulge.

She was many things in this world. Stupid was not on that list.

“If you could set me up with someone in human resources, I might be able to go over a filter given some of the profiles I have set up. Think you could make an exception for me?” She forced a smile, hoping, perhaps, she was wrong about that feeling in her gut. The feeling that was screaming at her, louder now, telling her to get out of the building. To find her car. But he had that, didn’t he? He had insisted he park it for her. Insisted he take her up through the private elevator. And she had complied.

Maybe she was wrong.

“Were I a different man, I might argue against it. But you’ve done quite a bit for me, Y/N, more than you know. You helped me realize my potential in those meetings. The kind of man I could be. And so of course, Agent Y/L/N, I would be more than honored to help. After what you’ve done for me. Truly, it stayed with me.” He smiled. And he was being honest. Sincere. She had made an impact in his life that had changed the entire course of his world. He had gone from a man on the brink of losing his life to drugs and alcohol over the loss of his true love, to a man who had channeled his grief into something else. He understood what it meant to lose.

A feeling of relief washed over her and she smiled, more sincere this time, “That’s really kind of you. And if it means anything, I always knew you’d come back from it. It’s why I recommended the board keep you on. We all have choices in life, I’m glad you made yours.”

A small ‘chirp’ came from the digital watch on the man’s wrist, looking down as he grimaced slightly, “Seems I’ve had an unfortunate emergency arise. I’ve got your number, so I’ll be sure to give you a call when I can locate someone in HR who can work remotely. Wouldn’t want you taking the trek back and forth from Conyers again, would we? You said over the phone the Detective you’re working with is stationed there as well,” He smiled as he stood, the agent doing the same.

He handed her the jacket she’d come in with, walking her to the door. And for a moment, she knew she could walk out and it would be the end of it. Her gut would stop screaming at her, now from the top of its lungs, and maybe she could get out unscathed. She could simply walk to the elevator and find a way to do things on her terms. She knew, deep down, that she could walk out the door confident in her own beliefs and he would be confident that she had only the brief terror that prey does when suspecting a predator nearby.

Instead, she turned as she walked out the door, her eyes locking onto his, “I meant to ask, you have so many different plants and flowers, do you have any favorites? I’m a lavender woman, myself,” she smiled strongly, forcing herself to speak now as she felt the rest of herself coming undone.

And he smiled. The smile that would seal in every fear she had, every terror that she would feel, every nightmare that would haunt her, and she knew that look in his eyes with that smile as he spoke, “Oh, my dear, it’s roses I love best. Give my kindest regards to Detective Loki, won’t you?”

It took every ounce of strength she had to stay standing as he closed the door with the look of a man she had seen once. The man who had fallen apart but was wearing the mask of something else. She understood his comment, now. Two sides of the same coin. Two people shaped by tragedy. Two lives changed in a moment. And a grin on his face that felt like a bullet to her chest.

Kind Regards indeed.

Fuck.

(Tagging: @escapingthoughtsandsecrets​ @is-it-madness​ @detecellie​ @doritosandavocados​ @oscarflysaac​ @peccobagnaia​ @fgtakbrjbdl​ @miss-missing-patd​ send me a message to be added/removed)

[anghraine]

pro patria, chapters 64-70

...anyway.

I’d have liked at least some input from the queen’s representative. But no—Logan had come to observe, and likely to prevent any fights from breaking out—and perhaps because he was my closest ally and friend. I was the queen’s representative.

title: pro patria (64-70/?) stuff that happens: Althea and Ihan track the missing Seraph and discover his connection with a dead pirate seer, and Althea has to decide how to pursue the lead. In the meanwhile, she takes a soothing walk around Divinity's Reach that quickly turns troubling.

verse: Ascalonian grudgefic characters/relationships: Althea Fairchild, Agent Ihan; Lionguard Keene, Scholar Josir, Crusader Hiroki, Logan Thackeray, various Divinity's Reach residents; Althea & Ihan, Althea & Logan chapters: 1-7, 8-14, 15-21, 22-28, 29-35, 36-42, 43-49, 50-56, 57-63

-

SIXTY-FOUR 1 Kellach was last seen heading northeast from Lychcroft Mere. Accordingly, I went home to prepare for another journey—Mother only sighed—and jumped from Divinity’s Reach to Overlake Haven. Ihan had told me to contact one of the Lionguards there, a man by the name of Keene. I had actually met him before. During my survey of Giant’s Passage, I’d stopped to add the haven to my map, and held a few conversations with the Lionguards posted there. I didn’t know if he’d remember me or not, but he’d been so twitchy that it stuck in my memory. He hadn’t explained it at the time—just asked if I was there for apples, of all things. 2 Either he did recognize me or he had a good description; as soon as Keene set eyes on me, he drew me aside and muttered, “Ihan told me you’d be coming. He said to tell you that the bird flew from here to Black Haven. Does that mean anything to you?” I paused, not entirely relinquishing my innate suspicion. “How do you know Ihan?” “We served together in Lion’s Arch a few years ago.” Keene coughed and said, “He … moved on.” 3 Evidently. I never would have imagined Ihan as a Lionguard. “I stayed on to serve the Commodore,” Keene added. All the facts were in his favour; Ihan himself had directed me to Keene. I relaxed a little, and asked, “So you aren’t a member of the …?” “Nah,” said Keene. “I just help them out from time to time.” 4 “They’re in it for all of us, right?” True enough, but they weren’t the easiest organization to help. I considered him with considerably greater respect. Now I understood why he was so high-strung, even if I still had no idea why he’d been talking about apples. A hasty excuse, maybe. “Makes sense to me,” I said. “Thanks—I’ll give your regards to Ihan.” 5 I found Ihan skulking outside of Black Haven, much more unobtrusively than Logan had. “Hello, Advocate,” he said, voice pitched so low I could barely hear him. “You got here just in time. My contacts have spotted Kellach—and a host of Zhaitan’s minions are following him.” Just like that? “You know a lot, Ihan,” I told him. “It’s like you have eyes and ears everywhere.” 6 He didn’t quite smile, but his mouth curved a little. “The Order of Whispers knows a lot more than most people realize. We pay attention to everything. The more information we have, the more we can help.” I nodded. As with Keene, that made perfect sense. “The dragons don’t care if you’re Charr, human, or hylek,” he went on, “so we can’t afford to draw imaginary lines between nations.” 7 That did not make perfect sense. Hylek were one thing. The Charr, who had dedicated two hundred years to wiping out my people, were quite another. “The Order keeps watch,” said Ihan, “so that no matter where Zhaitan’s minions show up—we know about it.” Of course, I told myself, the Order couldn’t simply blind themselves to what the Charr were doing; just because they played nice didn’t mean they were on their side. They used the Charr like they used us all. That, I could understand. SIXTY-FIVE 1 “This one was easy,” Ihan told me. “Kellach is leaving a trail like a forest fire, but that doesn’t mean it will be easy to find the spark.” “True,” I agreed. “So do you think he’s still here?” Ihan shrugged, the gesture barely visible in the shadows. “I can’t say. And for the record, that’s ‘I don’t know,’ as opposed to ‘I can’t tell you.’” 2 “I’m hoping the people at the haven can tell us something,” he concluded. I wondered just how often the Order hung plans on hope. If so—well, I understood that, too. We had to hang onto something, didn’t we? “All right,” I said, as decisively as I knew how, “we’ll clean up Kellach’s mess and see if we can find evidence that he’s still in the area.” As with Hiroki, it belatedly occurred to me that I might not be in charge of the mission, as such. Oh, well. 3 For all his talk of caution, Ihan turned out to be perfectly ready to leap into action when the occasion called for it. His footsteps pounded just behind me as we rushed to the aid of Black Haven—and I had magic accelerating mine. At first, the battle against the Risen hordes seemed very little different from the one in Lychcroft Mere, except fought on dry ground, and backed by an armed fortress instead of a quickly constructed bunker. Ihan was not quite the force of nature that Hiroki had been, but I hadn’t expected him to be; neither was I. I felt rather better about it, really, until a brief pause came. Ihan, the Lionguards, and I stopped to catch our breath—and then a guard above us shouted, “We’ve got abominations! Take ’em down!” 4 What in all the hells was an abomination? I quickly found out. Two creatures marched towards us, both of them at least twice Logan’s height and breadth. They actually wore armour, oddly pieced together—and indeed, they seemed oddly pieced together themselves, misshapen walls of bone and flesh carted about on narrow, thick-footed legs. Each carried an enormous spiked club in his rotting fist, had skulls and spikes clustering around his neck and down his back, and each stalked inexorably on, sending Lionguards flying with casual swings of the clubs. I set my jaw. If there was any time for someone fast and confusing, it was now. 5 I spawned three clones on the spot and nearly staggered, but managed to hold firm. I faded myself into my clones and launched myself after the abominations, ducking under their slow arms and hoping the aether coursing through my sword would be strong enough to block their swings. It was, if only just; I slipped while ducking, raised my sword, and saw it flash purple light just as the club came smashing down. It hurt, I couldn’t deny that, but it was a dull, sore pain, far less than I expected from the force of the blow—which otherwise could easily have killed me. I sprang up, imagined a hundred times as many Lionguards as were actually present, and blasted the image at the abomination. He floundered, swinging his club wildly, hitting the floor as often as he came anywhere near to an actual person. Several Lionguards realized what I’d done and sprang into action, piercing his legs until he came crashing down, and then stabbing their swords into his vulnerable neck. 6 We all joined the attack on the other abomination, and he went down faster than the first. Gods, was this what the Orders dealt with everyday? No wonder the Order of Whispers tried to find other ways. It must be a nightmare to just constantly fling yourself in the way of these things, or to dissect how they functioned—which I, at least, really did not want to know. “I owe you one!” said the Lionguard who had first sighted the abominations. “I’ve been in the Lionguard for ten years and I’ve never seen anything like that.” “I’m glad we came along in time,” I said. 7 What would have happened if we hadn’t? I nearly shuddered at the idea of the fort in Risen control. “That was a close call,” I added. “Was there a Seraph soldier among the undead?” Ihan cleaned his sword and dagger with every appearance of nonchalance. I didn’t believe it for an instant. “Not among the Risen, no,” said the Lionguard, “but there was a Seraph that came along just before that.” SIXTY-SIX 1 The Lionguard told us that our Seraph had been wild-eyed, twitchy, and talking to himself all the time, muttering about Orr, dragons, and someone named Alastia Crow. I looked excitedly at Ihan, and he offered a thin smile before pulling me aside. “She’s a seer,” he said. “The pirates in this area go to her to find out what the weather’ll be like. She’s crew on a ship docked near Nebo Terrace. The Order of Whispers contracts her from time to time to predict the future. Maybe she saw something that drove Kellach mad.” 2 Now we were dealing with some pirate clairvoyant? Really? “When we find Kellach,” I said, “I swear, I’m going to stick a bag over his head, beat him with a shovel, and bury him in a hill of fire-ants.” Ihan laughed outright. “I like the way you think, Advocate.” Then he sighed. “I suppose we should get back and share this information with Hiroki and Josir.” 3 “You’re right. Let’s get going—we’ve got a lot of work to do if we’re going to catch Kellach,” I told him, giving up on figuring out who was supposed to be leading whom. On the path to the waypoint, I said, “It’d be nice to solve this problem without risking more lives. Can the Order of Whispers do that?” Not risking lives didn’t seem their specialty. “It depends on what Kellach does next,” said Ihan, “but regardless, we’ll use all our cunning to stop him.” That, I thought, was probably the best answer I would get out of them. 4 Ihan went straight down the road to wait for the others, while I went home, bathed and changed, and returned to find him, Josir, Hiroki, and Logan gathered and waiting. Well, that was what happened when you asked me to fight the undead. “Alastia Crow had a rare talent for precognition,” Josir was saying. “I wonder what Kellach wanted to know?” “Whatever it was, I think the information drove him mad,” Ihan replied, sounding almost civil. Then he added, “I’m surprised that doesn’t happen to more Priory scholars, too.” “Clearly,” said Josir in icy tones, “the Order of Whispers has no respect for pure research.” 5 Yes, well, pure research had its place, but I still didn’t feel at all sure that that place was war against Elder Dragons. “Althea,” Logan said loudly, “good to see you. How’d your mission go?” I explained that we hadn’t found Kellach, but we’d discovered his connection to Alastia Crow, and wanted to talk to her. “Talk with her?” said Josir. “I’m afraid that’s impossible—she’s dead. Her pirate ship, the Ravenous, was destroyed by an undead attack two days ago.” 6 Dead? Gods, it was like everything that could conceivably go wrong had. “You’re sure she’s dead?” I pressed. “Did any of her crew survive?” Ihan broke in, “Even if she’s dead, Alastia was a seer. She might have seen this coming, and left something behind that we could use.” “A few of her crew are still alive,” Josir told us, “camped near the wreckage of their ship—she might have told them more about what’s going on.” 7 Ihan looked soberly at me. “We need to find out what Kellach wanted from Alastia. Pirates don’t tend to be trusting folk—I think a little nautical infiltration and investigation are in order.” “The Order of Whispers are a shady, disreputable bunch,” said Josir, sniffing. Hiroki, silent thus far, gave a slight smile, and Josir went on, “You and the pirates would get along just fine. I have a better suggestion.” SIXTY-SEVEN 1 “Even if Alastia Crow is dead, she can still be helpful,” said Josir. “I know an accomplished Priestess of Grenth who could summon the pirate’s spirit.” I stared at him. Who could what? Even Ihan looked shocked. “The Durmand Priory’s ‘better suggestion’ is to disturb the dead? You scholars really will turn over every rock to get your answers—even tombstones.” 2 I couldn’t have said it better myself. “Hiroki,” I said, certain that the other two would reach no consensus, “any suggestions from the Vigil?” “None, Advocate,” she replied, squaring her shoulders. “While these two are squirrelling for answers, Vigil soldiers will watch for another undead attack.” “It’s your call, Althea,” said Logan, his expression once again stoic, arms crossed over his chest. “Infiltrate the pirates, or summon Alastia’s spirit?” I really couldn’t tell what he thought—he wasn’t at all inclined towards stealth, yet I couldn’t imagine that he thought well of disturbing the dead, either. 3 But it was my call. Sure enough, when I asked him what he thought, he said, “It’s your decision, my friend. I know you’ll make the right choice.” I appreciated the faith, but I didn’t trust myself nearly as much. I’d have liked at least some input from the queen’s representative. But no—Logan had come to observe, and likely to prevent any fights from breaking out—and perhaps because he was my closest ally and friend. I was the queen’s representative. 4 I gave up on any kind of substantive input from him. Instead, I walked over to Josir, though I doubted that anything he could say could make his proposed plan any easier to contemplate. “Tell me more about what this ritual involves,” I said. “Priestess Rhie is greatly favoured by Grenth,” said Josir. “She can pierce the veil and call Alastia back. It may be dangerous, but we’ll learn a great deal.” “Interesting,” I said weakly. 5 I made my way over to where Ihan stood talking to Hiroki, who seemed less than delighted with the conversation. She looked at me with open relief and marched up to Logan as soon as I greeted them. “Very well, Lady Althea,” said Ihan. “Time to choose.” “Ihan,” I said, “how do you intend to infiltrate?” “Alastia told her crew everything,” Ihan told me. “The hard part will be gaining their trust … but I already have a plan.” 6 It wasn’t really an answer. I would much rather have known what that plan entailed before deciding on it, but I felt sure that I could extract no more out of him until he knew I was on his side. Still, I’d take some unknown plan of Ihan’s over raising spirits any day. “Very well,” I said, “I’m ready to decide.” 7 “Do you want to infiltrate the pirates?” he asked. I’d probably given myself away a half-dozen times. “Whatever Alastia was doing,” I said, “it’s the province of mortals, not gods. I’ll go with you.” Even if he’d expected it, the brightest smile I’d yet seen from him came over his face. “Excellent! I need to prepare—meet me at the Lionbridge Expanse and we’ll take it from there.” SIXTY-EIGHT 1 “We put you in a tough spot,” Ihan said before he left, “but I trust you’re comfortable with your choice?” Comfortable was hardly the word for any of these choices, but I felt no doubts about the route I’d chosen. “Those pirates will have information—and it’ll be current,” I told him. “I like your confidence, Advocate,” said Ihan. “Keep that attitude; it’ll make you a better pirate.” “Good point,” I replied. “See you at the Lionbridge Expanse tomorrow.” 2 Josir was unimpressed, though no more acrimonious than last time. “Must’ve been a difficult decision,” he said. “I hope you’re still certain?” “Don’t worry, Josir,” I assured him. “Ihan and I will get the information from the pirates.” He looked doubtful. “I’ll continue to worry until you return,” he said, “without a knife in your back.” 3 I felt pretty sure that the Order of Whispers’s campaign to fight the dragons didn’t involve attacking their own allies unless absolutely necessary. I also felt sure that little would persuade Josir of the fact. “Fair enough,” I said, laughing. “See you soon.” More out of curiosity than anything else, I stopped by Hiroki and Logan on my way out of our little circle. “Faugh!” said Hiroki. “Bah on these library crawlers and sneak thieves.” 4 Logan’s brows rose. So did mine. “The other orders are wasting time, and people are dying!” Ah. “I understand your frustration,” I said carefully, “but we have to know where to attack.” “I know, I know,” she told us. “But I don’t have to like it.” 5 Clearly not, I thought, but I imagined what Deborah would think of all this. I couldn’t help a burst of sympathy. “Call on me when you have something,” she said, calming a little. “The Vigil will be ready to pitch in again as soon as there’s some real action.” Logan gave her an approving look. “Glad to hear it, Hiroki,” I said. Deborah would definitely like her. 6 I took my leave of them all and headed home. To my relief, my mother had left on business in the Ministry, so I went straight to my personal chambers and flopped onto my bed, exhausted. It was noon. The search remained urgent, but at least Ihan’s preparations gave me time for something other than casting off remnants of undead flesh and stink. Gods, I hoped we could drive them off soon. I’d take bandits any day over these. I remembered the time when I’d thought of little beyond games and dancing and snide responses to particularly obnoxious people, and later, when I’d been Anise’s restless protégée, and even after that, when I'd been a hero wandering around, solving small problems throughout Queensdale—what had my life become? 7 I’d meant to rest, but my head was far too full for sleep; instead, I decided to take a walk around Divinity’s Reach—it was my home, and I’d always loved it, yet it had been a good long while since I’d done more than jump from waypoint to waypoint, always in a hurry for this or that. On my way out of Salma, a familiar merchant grinned at me. “You would not believe how good you are for business,” he said gleefully. “I just have to mention your name and boom! Sales galore!” I couldn’t help but wonder if it was my real name; perhaps people actually knew it, these days. “Happy to keep the wheels of commerce turning,” I said, and gladly returned his smile. SIXTY-NINE 1 I continued strolling around Divinity’s Reach, not bothering with any particular direction. It was as soothing as I’d hoped: the greenery winding up and down pillars and stone and wood, the familiar faces and fashions of my people, the statues of our gods, all the sights and sounds I’d known since I was small. I didn’t go out of my way to eavesdrop, but neither did I avoid overhearing scraps of conversation, and I spoke to people now and then. Several noblemen informed me that they were rich, as if I weren’t; various other people offered friendly greetings; and some started short conversations with me. One woman told me about her distrust of the Ministry Guards and preference for the Seraph and the queen, a man shared his pet theory about Anise’s magic, and another woman returned my polite greeting with, “Can you believe it? I saw Logan Thackeray, and he looked right at me!” “Oh?” I said. 2 “It was brief, and I suppose I could have imagined it, but I’m sure he almost gave me a second look. Or would have.” I thought of Logan, and his total obliviousness to anything not related to the defense of the queen or Kryta, and nearly giggled. Instead, I put on my most sober face. “I’m sure that’s what happened,” I said. She did giggle, and turned to her companion. “He’ll take one look at me across a crowded square and be smitten.” 3 “I can hear wedding bells already,” said the friend dryly. The first woman dropped her voice. “Do you think he’s taken?” Very much so, but I kept my mouth shut. “Who, Logan?” said her friend. The woman’s eyes went wide. “Who else would I be talking about?” 4 “My friend is head over heels for Logan Thackeray,” the second woman confided, while the first peered around, as if he might materialize at any moment. “I noticed,” I said. “He’s all she talks about.” Her long-suffering tone faded. “After all, he’s commendable, and he’s good-looking.” He was both of those things, but I could already tell this wouldn’t go anywhere good—poor Logan! “And those sad eyes of his are very sexy.” 5 “I, uh,” I said. “I have to go. Sorry … um, I ... I just remembered something I have to do. Goodbye.” Well, that was a conversation I could do with never repeating. Still, I grinned once I was out of earshot. Poor Logan indeed. 6 Not all the conversations were pleasant or amusing. As I passed by the gate to Ebonhawke in my visit to Rurikton, I heard a man say disgustedly, “I’m sick of this.” Weren’t we all? “If we had Ebonhawke as a strong ally, we’d have those centaurs surrounded. We’d crush them!” I stiffened up. I might not have seen Ebonhawke since I was a child, but I hadn’t forgotten what I came from. 7 Ebonhawke had fought the Charr for centuries, had seen its people slaughtered over and over while we were coddled in Divinity’s Reach, and idiots here thought they hadn’t done enough? Great Kormir, who did he think he was? The man with him looked unimpressed. “Ebonhawke has its own problems.” Well, maybe it was just the one man, or at least not many. It better be. Ebonhawke’s problems were our problems; how could anyone forget what they fought for? SEVENTY 1 Worse, I saw another Charr on my way to the Central Commons. That was two of them, in Divinity’s Reach! A growl emerged from the Charr’s mouth. “Move!” The various humans around him, far from quailing, just glared up at him. “What’s your problem?” said a man. I couldn’t help but stare. 2 To my astonishment, the Charr didn’t do … much of anything. He just snarled out, “Your thin skin.” “Can’t you just say ‘excuse me’ like anyone else?” said the man. “Fine. ‘Excuse me.’ Now get out of my way!” I’d never heard a Charr speak before. 3 I’d never really thought of them speaking at all, in all honesty, much less doing so with—well, not civility, but at least no immediate threats. The humans stepped aside, satisfied by this much; the Charr stalked past; and nothing at all came of it. I suppressed a shudder and headed back to Rurikton, nearly running straight into the back of a tour guide, who was speaking to a group of young people, between about fourteen and eighteen. Just a little younger than I was, I supposed, but it felt like an impassable gulf. “Some say Ascalon is lost,” the tour guide was saying, and I stopped dead in my path, “that Adelbern’s Foefire and the Charr legions have destroyed our kingdom’s soul. This is simply false.” Damned right it was. 4 I shifted back out of his way, but trailed after the group, pleased and curious. I wasn’t the only one, and he seemed accustomed to it. At the gate, he said, “That gate leads to Ebonhawke, last stronghold of Ascalon. We send food, supplies, and troops to support them. Without that aid, our troops would be completely cut off.” He paused, and glanced over the little Ascalonian crowd he’d attracted. “The Krytans aren’t as tough as we are; they aren’t ready for our kind of war.” 5 I hesitated, not as certain about that, but the guide had already breezed on. “Many of our sons and daughters have gone to fight the Charr. Some return to be cared for in Divinity’s Reach. Some never return.” Several of my cousins wouldn’t, and several more had been injured; the family was still arguing about whether they should be sent here. I thought of Hiroki, too, one of those daughters who went to fight the Charr, but instead found the dragons. It was hard to know which was the better way. 6 I’d once thought of going to Ebonhawke to fight—I’d walked out of Divinity’s Reach to try myself so that I’d be ready for it, someday—and instead I was back in Rurikton, waiting for a spy who openly worked with Charr, in order to stop assaults from Zhaitan. Maybe I’d already chosen my side. Maybe—I’d always tried to honour my ancestors and my people, always, but— “Queen Jennah has been kind to us,” said the guide, “but she’s not our queen.” My attention snapped to him. What? “Even now, Divinity’s Reach is trying to forge peace with the Iron Legion.” 7 I knew that, and I liked it no better than anyone, but that didn’t mean— “I wonder what the Vanguard thinks of that,” he concluded grimly. I knew exactly what the Vanguard thought of that; my cousin Devona was in the Vanguard, and her letter about it had nearly smoked with rage. But if that was what it took to stop the war and keep Ebonhawke, then … and there were the dragons … but it meant giving up, it meant losing nearly all of our home … but ... My head ached; I left the guide and the earnest adolescents following him to their own devices, and split off towards some scholars who looked Priory-ish. They nodded at me, but continued on their own conversation, the first of them saying, “They escaped Ascalon right before the Searing, crossed the kingdom of Kryta, joined and betrayed the White Mantle, and even faced a lich lord!” I felt a prickle of interest; it sounded just like our family stories—and I’d definitely rather think about those than about Charr.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

1) They escaped Ascalon right before the Searing, crossed the kingdom of Kryta, joined and betrayed the White Mantle, and even faced a lich lord: a very concise summary of the first Guild Wars. 

2) it sounded just like our family stories: the GW2 PC can inherit certain items from the GW1 one, so with noble origin, at least, it seems entirely possible that the GW2 PC is part of the same family.

[sserpente]

A/N: Three anon requests. I skipped the plot of DMTNT because… well, I mean we all know what happened, right? Have fun!

Words: 1926 Warnings: implied smut, Will Turner!twin sister reader

You had been watching him for days—drinking rum, screwing prostitutes and stealing money, Captain Jack Sparrow was a typical pirate in the heart of Tortuga. He had let his guard down—well, maybe he was just too drunk, anyway.

Clutching your sword tightly, you smirked and slightly shook your head as you watched him stumble over a chair and then grin at one of the waitresses. He was lucky he was so charming. You almost felt sorry for what you were about to do.

Usually, only two men stayed on the Pearl to protect and guard it. There was Gibbs, you knew, his first mate and Marty, that small man most people never paid any attention to. It would be easy to overpower them, you were armed with the element of surprise, after all. Besides, you had no intention to kill them. You were a pirate, not a murderer and now, you were finally going to acquire a ship. The most legendary ship of them all.

Revelling in the dark, you hurried down the pier until you reached the landing plank of the ship. Your footsteps were all but mute when you climbed on deck and quietly drew your sword, your eyes scanning your surroundings. Gibbs had extinguished all the lights but the moon was your ally. You spotted him near the steering wheel, apparently talking or singing to a bottle of rum. You rolled your eyes.

This was going to be so easy.

Marty was probably downstairs, snoring in a hanging mat. There was an option to simply kidnap him and depart with him still on board—and then force him to work for you instead. On the other hand though, you had always preferred plotting alone. In a world like this, you had no room for allies—or so you thought.

Gibbs had no idea what was happening to him when you crept up behind him and forcefully brought the pommel of your sword against his head. He dropped, unconscious, to the ground, the rum spilling on the floor boards. Triumphantly, you reached for the steering wheel and gently stroked it like a cherished animal.

Now, you only had to make sure to drop him and Marty off at the harbour and—

“Going somewhere, luv?”

Your blood ran cold when you heard a voice behind you. It sounded way too familiar. A little tipsy maybe but at the very same time dangerously vigilant. Without a doubt, this was Jack Sparrow himself. He was amused, you could tell when you turned around and hurled out to dispose of him but the Captain was faster. Drawing his own sword in but a heartbeat, he blocked your stroke and pushed you back so firmly you lost balance and fell to the ground.

Jack kicked away your sword before you even stood a chance of picking it up again. When you looked up at him in shock, however, expecting him to impale you with the blade for invading his ship and attacking his crew, you blinked, completely taken aback by his odd reaction. He was grinning. A few golden teeth were shining in the pale moonlight, his dark eyes, complimented by dark coal, amused.

“Now what have you done to me first mate?” He slurred, tilting his head ever so slightly. “That’s not a very ladylike thing to do, is it, Marty?”

Shit. You should have knocked him out first. Had he alarmed Jack when you arrived on board? Or was it a lucky coincidence? You hoped for the latter. You had planned this for days.

“What does it look like, you bugger? I’m trying… I’m taking over your ship.”

You realised your mistake now. This was Captain Jack Sparrow, after all.

“Alone, luv?”

“What makes you think I’m alone?” You mused.

For a second, his eyes wandered restlessly through the dark. Of course he wouldn’t believe you. Only a few seconds later, his cheeky grin returned.

“What’s your name?”

Was giving him your real name a good idea? What was he going to do with it anyway?

“(Y/N). (Y/N) Turner.”

The pirate tensed. “Are you related to a Will Turner by any chance?”

“He is my twin brother.”

Jack’s upper lip twitched, clearly displeased by the turn of events. “You don’t look like him.”

Shrugging, you got back up on your feet but left the sword on the ground. Jack would only overpower you again.

“I wouldn’t know. I haven’t seen him in years.”

You had heard the stories of course. How Will had ended up teaming up with Jack to save his beloved Elizabeth, how they had fought Davy Jones and Cutler Beckett. The last message that had reached you was that his wife was now pregnant. Will must still be thinking you were dead. You had never made it close enough to him to prove him wrong—instead, you had lived up to your father and become a pirate yourself.

“That’s a really sad story, really but you see, luv, you’ve still tried and seize me ship.”

What could you offer him to let you live? If you distracted him long enough, you might be able to escape. You did not possess any jewellery, neither was your sword precious in any way… on the other hand, Jack Sparrow did not seem like a pirate who would cruelly murder a woman, even if she attempted to steal his most prized possession.

“If you wanted to sail on the Black Pearl, you should have just told me, luv. Undock!” He ordered sternly then, grinning one last time before turning his back to you. You had never noticed the whole crew had come on board when he caught you. This was embarrassing. How had he distracted you this much?

Hang on… undock? You were still on deck!

“Wait… what…?”

“Frankly, you don’t look like a woman who would cook for the crew. Why don’t you help Marty over here to pull in the landing plank?” Jack smiled smugly. “Welcome on board, Miss Turner!”

A man on Tortuga had once told you that he would never manage to spend more than a whole day in the company of the infamous Jack Sparrow—he called you a witch for putting up with him for almost ten years and when you told the cheeky Captain, he chuckled in an amused manner, pulled you close and greedily pressed his lips against yours.

The reason he had recruited you that night you had tried to take over his ship was, so he had admitted a few months later, that you had fascinated him. You possessed the same charm as your twin brother, apparently but were by far not as annoying and self-righteous as Will was. Bold comments had turned into playful remarks, which had turned into flirty innuendos until one day, you woke up in the captain’s cabin—naked.

You had never deemed it possible for Jack to fall in love with a woman. He had lost his heart to the sea and this wonderful ship years before you stepped into his life and yet, here you were. Ten years later, known as Jack Sparrow’s notorious broad. You quite enjoyed the life you had now. Being married to the most famous pirate of the Caribbean was something to be proud of, after all.

“Have you seen me rum, luv?”

It was one of those lazy days on which nothing and absolutely nothing happened. About a week ago, you pad picked up this young boy named Henry who claimed to know how to break the curse resting on the Dutchman and its crew, which you highly doubted. You had long made your peace with never being able to meet your twin brother again—only Henry did not know you were his aunt. You had tried, several times already, to engage the topic but every single time, Jack had interrupted—not on purpose, of course, you knew him well enough by now.

“Maybe,” you replied, shrugging your shoulders in the process.

Taken aback, Jack looked at you. “Maybe?”

“Maybe I drank it. Maybe I threw it over board because you definitely drink too much. Or maybe I just hid it.”

“You’re an evil woman, luv.”

“Given I am your woman, I take that as a compliment.”

The pirate grinned, lust and excitement sparkling in his chocolate brown eyes.

“I want me rum, luv.”

Shrugging once more, you stood and leaned against the stirring wheel. “I want a wedding ring. Life is not fair.” Wedding rings were rather uncommon among pirates. He could have stolen one, of course, but thus far, you had never had time to think of such traditions when Jack constantly managed to have an entire government chasing after him in literally every city you visited.

You surprised him by bolting away from him, giggling playfully in the process. You were fairly skilled when it came to escaping by now—something you had automatically acquired after marrying this crazy man. Jack knew exactly what he was in for as soon as he caught you. So you headed straight for the captain’s cabin, jumped over ropes and climbed over a canon before he outran you and wrapped his strong arm around your waist.

Shrieking in defeat, you wriggled around in his grip, pretending to try and get away when in reality, you only wished for him to finally kiss you.

“Where’s me rum?” He asked again. Now, he did attempt to sound threatening. But it only made you laugh harder when he heaved you up and threw you over his shoulder, his bare hand connecting with your bum. You screamed once more. In less than a minute, the two of you would be fucking like rabbits.

“Jack! Look! Look what we found!” Or maybe not. Your nephew really was a pain in the arse.

“Will! It’s so good to see you, mate.” Jack’s smug grin widened when he spotted the former captain of the Dutchman approaching with his wife Elizabeth, finally reunited after ten years. Henry was with them—he was proud of what he had accomplished, even if without Jack and you, he never would have made it. Come to think of it…

“Jack. I didn’t think I’d ever see you again. How is—“ He paused. How is (Y/N)? Is this what he had wanted to ask? It took you mere seconds to throw yourself into his arms and hug him tightly, hot tears streaming down your face freely. Having a brother and seeing him again after years was one thing—having a twin brother and having believed you would never see him again was entirely another.

“Don’t you think you should tell me wife now why sweet Elizabeth here never told your offspring he has an auntie?” Jack tossed in reproachfully. Elizabeth blushed.

“Hang on a second… (Y/N) is my aunt?” Henry gasped, which made Jack grin once more.

“Which makes me your uncle, kid.”

“I presume that this is the reason she never told him.” Will explained. He had a point—but what did it matter now? You were all back together and soon, Jack and you would be gone sailing across the seven seas again. You might as well enjoy the time you got to spend with your twin brother now and finally get to know your nephew and his mother a little better and then maybe at some point, you’d manage to convince Jack to have a child too.

Your gaze wandered over to Elizabeth’s finger. Or for him to finally get you that bloody wedding ring.

A/N: If you liked this story, would you care to support me a little by buying me a cuppa? I would appreciate it so much! ko-fi.com/sserpente ♥

[blyanten]

THE DUCK AVENGER: #13 EVERYTHING AND NOTHING

That’s a problem.

The Avenger is fighting a dinosaur-monster-thing called Morgoth that really, really wants him dead. He’s also very distracted, to the point where he reacts to dino-thing blocking his attack, redirecting a lazer-beam into a building with “huh”. Which seems less like the standard hero “this is gonna suck” response and more… “of course he can do that *sad sigh*”.

Feeling okay?

He does get distracted though, and so he gets knocked of a building.

On the way down, he flashed back to a minor episode that took place during lunch hours.

Donald was in line at a Duckmall food place, but when he was ordering food, a random stranger told him to take two bags of chips. Donald says no, he wants one, but the stranger is rather insistent. The lady taking orders gets annoyed by the delay, and when Donald tries to put to blame on the other guy, he realizes that guy has disappeared.

Back in the present, the Avenger’s attention snaps back to his current situation of falling to death. The shield is falling about two meters ahead of him, but considering that he can’t speed up his fall, that might as well be three hundred kilometers.

Impressive. I wouldn’t as much as blink at it if he’d somehow managed to fall faster than the shield, but we’re not doing that silly thing here.

We’re doing a different one! The building is still under construction, and the shield hits a beam that happens to stick out, bouncing back up within reach. Because… that’s… how it works? It could, the shield’s alien, so.

The Avenger grabs the shield, flies back up and starts mocking Angus rather than focusing on Morgoth that is still there and still feeling murder-y. Also, he can fly now, because shapeshifting is the best power.

It’s like the Avenger is feeling suicidal. There’s distracted and there’s this.

The fight continues, and the police shows up, being useful and scaring Morgoth off by shooting at him.

The Avenger decides to let him go, preferring to retire for the evening.

Whatever else I have to say about this issue, the art is good. The Avenger looks seriously awful here, without any exaggerated bruises or signs of tiredness.

In a creepy bunker somewhere, someone is working on figuring out the Avenger’s secret identity.

These are always funny. Without mask... With mask...

The next day, Donald is at work, still feeling distracted.

There… there are people you can talk to. No, really.

Donald continues his rounds, asking questions like “would everything disappear if I closed my eyes?”

This entire thing reads like some kind of depressive episode.

He considers a shrink for a moment, but all things considered, decides to try resting first. He does that by getting into a show car, and falling asleep. At work. That goes as well as you’d expect when Bloom notices.

He yells Donald away, and Donald bangs his head on the ceiling of the car. For a panel or two, everything seems normal, then the weird depressive tone of this issue comes back.

Later, the Avenger asks Lylo for advice. Every night, he and Morgoth fight, but why?

Lylo thinks it’s obvious, Morgoth is evil and the Avenger is good. They will fight until good wins. The Avenger is less sure, and would also like to know how long the game is going to last.

Then we cut to Everett for a page. Everett is definitely not worried about the Avenger, just curious about what he’s doing. Yep, this was a necessary break from the plot.

Back at the plot, Lylo has dug out some kind of robot-armor for the Avenger to use against Morgoth. The Avenger blows a hole in a wall before getting the hang of it.

Retro.

Later again, the two spend the evening watching tv.

1. Aww.

2. The tv-show host reminds me of Gladstone. Look at the hair.

3. Aww. I like it when you get bits like this, just showing that people are friends. Even if it’s kinda undermined by the ending.

And the it’s time to go through the motions again. The Avenger gets into the armor, determined to change the rules of the game.

Morgoth is at a stadium, destroying helicopters.     

At least someone’s having fun.                

The Avenger hits him from behind, and they fight and fight and it’s a boring fight, until Morgoth drives a spear through the Avenger’s armor.

The rockets on the back of the armor activates, and the armor wraps its arms around Morgoth. It turns out that the Avenger abandoned it, leaving Morgoth to lift off into the sky.

The Avenger isn’t happy however, as it was still just a match and not the game he won. He’s also not in the mood to enjoy his fifteen minutes of fame.

The armor was later found outside of Duckburg, destroyed and with no trace of Morgoth. On the bright side, Donald is working today. He can’t stand the idea of watching tv all day though, so he tries the fridge. Which is basically empty. The idea of shopping brings a brief surge of nausea, but then he gets one small whim. Well, two.

He wants chips.

At the mall, there’s only two bags left, and some guy grabs one, because he’s only filled like half his cart with them. This annoys Donald.

Donald tells him off, declaring the he wanted two bags. Asshole offers him two black eyes. Donald tells him not to threaten him, and asshole suggests he could move onto action.

Donald considers it. He’s deal with alien vampires, cyborgs, supercriminals… it would be ridiculously easy to put a normal person in their place.

And then he backs down. He could, but that would mean erasing the line between Donald Duck and the Duck Avenger. He can’t do that.

So he settles for one bag of chips.

This entire scene is creepy. Donald getting angry isn’t new, but there’s a vibe to this scene that makes it a lot more serious than it normally would be. The mood is seriously off in this issue to being with, the Avenger’s mental state is not okay, and it’s over a bag of chips.

The Avenger takes a break at the park, but realizes it might not be the best place. There’s too much confusion, both in the park and inside his head. He tries to focus, but is once again distracted. This time, it’s by the ice cream man.

Donald’s sure he’s seen him before. At the lunch from the flashback, at work, while shopping like half an hour ago.

Donald tries to catch his attention, but is run down by a skateboarder. The ice cream man conveniently disappears while that happens. And then his chips are stolen.

Hey, lady, you don’t know what kind of day he’s been having! At least save your comments for when he’s out of hearing range like polite people do!

We cut back to Everett again, who… is using his fifty tvs to watch clips of the Avenger while wondering where he is. O-kay. Not weird at all.

Donald is back home. So are the nephews, not that we get to see them. According to Donald they’re at that age where they treat home as an hotel. They’ve left their backpacks on the couch, and Donald has to deal with it. He finds a bag of chips, and asks everyone to look away, because he’s stealing that. And the other two bags too.

Opening them, and dumping the chips all over the kitchen table, he notices something terrible.

Get a bowl, you’re not an animal! Wait.

As Donald his having his realization of something being horribly wrong, the man from lunch shows up again. He says he can explain, and he also knows Donald is the Duck Avenger. But they have to talk fast, it won’t take long before some mysterious “he” will redirect his focus on Donald.

He can’t say the name, that would draw attention. So… Voldemort?

No, the person lunch-guy talking about has total control over the situation, thought he’s forced to simpliify some details. Like the chips, he created a single base model and replicated it all. Like the ice cream man and a few dozen other secondary characters.

He didn’t think Donald would notice the repetition. Lunch guy then gives a complicated non-explanation of where he is. He’s being difficult on purpose though, as explaining clearly would bring down his attention on them.

Lunch-guy tells Donald to break the routine. It’s the only hint he can give.

Donald demands to know who he is, and lunch-guy calls himself a virus, before disappearing.

Next up, round break the routine between Morgoth and the Avenger.

The Avenger tries to talk to Morgoth, and gets hit with a spiky hammer for his trouble. 

:D

He notes that despite that, and getting thrown into a wall he’s fine. Nowhere near the kind of serious injury you’d expect. And when the Avenger counter-attacks, hitting Morgoth with a lazer-beam at full strength, yet Morgoth is fine.

This would be much more effective if the Avenger didn’t shrug off shit like that all the time, but I can go with it.

The Avenger has put the pieces together and is starting to feel like his old self. He forces Morgoth to ask some of the same questions he’s been asking, like “why are we fighting?”

And Morgoth stops. And reality says bye-bye.

And is replaced with nightmare-horror-insects.

The two team up against the insect-things, defeating them. The insects disappear, and so does Morgoth.

:(   

I mean, he was boring, but still :(

He wakes up like this.

That seems very uncomfortable.

He’s welcomed back to reality by this guy.

I can just hear this slow, condescending voice in my head as I look at him.

This is an AI without a real name, just a string of letters and numbers the Avenger won’t be able to remember. He considers himself a machine that, no matter how advanced, can be used, turned of and then abandoned.

Originally, he was just a computer, but then he started developing decisional autonomy, and his created freaked out a bit. They left him there years ago, for someone else to decide what to do with him.

There are really no good AI parents.

The Avenger says that’s sad, but wants to know what that has to do with him.

The Avenger has destroyed hundreds of his kind, he’s enemy of his species. He has endless connections with every other machine and has received so many last images and transmissions from machines destroyed by the Avenger.

The Avenger calls him crazy, and the machine says he can’t understand. The Avenger notes to himself that he can’t, or maybe he doesn’t want to.

Yeah… no. Machine crazy. There’s no mention of any of these machines having even a rudimentary kind of AI. That would make sense. Well, sort of. Making sense would be going after the people initiating violence, not the person trying to stop those people.

But regular machines? This isn’t like killing people, or even an animal, this is more like locking your neighbor in the basement because he mowed the lawn, and claiming it’s revenge for your fellow biologicals, the strands of grass. Except that the grass actually qualifies as alive.

So he’s crazy, but not in a way that really works when it comes to gaining sympathy. It’s more like “oh, that’s sa- wait, what now?”

Machine continues, explaining that he managed to reignite himself, which I take to mean getting involved again, and reconnect to cameras and microphones outside the bunker they’re in. He noticed that the Avenger kept visiting Century. He set a trap and the Avenger walked right into it.

The he created the virtual world based on the Avenger’s memories.

And this is when we learn that while a week passed inside the virtual world, only a day passed on the outside. Which is good for the Avenger, and makes the cuts to Everett hilarious. 

Machine wanted the Avenger to be forced to repeat the same operations over and over, without being able to understand why. Machine wanted to be the one to decide the game, to avenge his kin!

But he lost, thanks to that virus. The Avenger altered the program. So he made the virus? And the damage has been extended from software to hardware.

Sure, take the easy way out.

The Avenger is free to go back to his regular life.

Oh, finally.

Well, that was all around depressing. It’s like everything is covered in sadness and hopelessness. Good job on that front. But the problem is that while it supposed to be dull and tiresome for the Avenger, it unfortunately has the same effect on me. And the revenge scheme that’s so over the top and ridiculous, it’s very hard to feel sorry for the crazy AI. 

The art is really good though. 

[after-avenging-hours]

Incubus [4]: Bucky x Reader

Previous Parts: 

Incubus / Part 2 /  Part 3

Word Count: 4355

Warnings: not much... getting attacked at night, i guess?

The gentle rise and fall of your head against Bucky’s chest keeps you relaxed, the rhythmic exhales of his breath brushing ever so slightly against the crown of your hair.  He’s got one arm curled underneath you, his hand pressed to your back to keep you close.  Your legs are a tangled mess beneath the sheets of his bed.  His body heat engulfs you with warmth and a sense of tranquility you know you won’t find anywhere else.

“Bucky?” you voice quietly, not wanting to disturb the atmosphere that’s been created between you two.

“Hmm?” his hum is so low, it’s almost a growl.

“Can I ask you about being an incubus?”

He can’t help but smile, amused by your inability to control your curiosity.  “Of course, Lumina.”

“What’s it like for you?”

“What’s what like?”

“The sex.”  You run your hand over his bare chest, watching your fingers dance across his skin.  “Like, is it as intense for you as it is for me?”

“It depends,” he starts. “With you, yes, things are rather intense.  It feels better and the energy lasts longer.  The transference is stronger with humans than other creatures of myth. With only one exception.  At least in my experience.”

“What was the exception?”

“An ethereal.”

You lift your head off his chest, looking up at him in shock.  “You’ve slept with an ethereal?”

He releases a soft chuckle. “Just once.”

“What was that like?”

“Intense,” he jokes.  When you send him a pouty glare, he explains further with a grin.  “The energy was very potent, but it didn’t last nearly as long as it does with you.”

You hum thoughtfully.  “Was she fire or lightning?” you ask curiously.

He laughs again.  “It’s kind of cute that you would assume it was a female,” he grins teasingly.

Your brows shoot up in surprise. “You slept with a male ethereal?”

Keeping one arm around your waist, he lifts the other to tuck his hand behind his head, a smug grin curling at his lips.  “Yes. And to answer your question, he was bonded to lightning.”

“Wow,” you breathe, slowly overcoming your shock.  “Do you sleep with males often?” you question curiously.

Bucky shrugs a shoulder. “You have to remember that sex is different for an incubus.  We use it to feed, not necessarily for the emotional connection.  The gender of my partner doesn’t matter nearly as much as the energy transference.”

He hadn’t meant to, but something about his words strikes a chord within you and you frown.  You push yourself off his chest, holding the bedsheet in place as you sit up.  “Is that why you’re keeping me around then?  Because the energy transference is so strong?”  You feel a sting in your chest.  You hadn’t realized until this moment that there was a possibility he was just using you.

“What?” he asks, a little thrown by how fast the conversation shifted.  “Lumina, no.  It’s not that.”  He sits up as well.  “Do you really think I’m the kind of man that would do something like that?”

You shrug defensively, keeping your gaze downcast.  “I don’t know.  We hardly know each other.”

His hand reaches out, gently cupping your cheek and lifting your gaze.  His eyes are sincere as he looks back at you.  “Then ask me more questions.  Get to know me.”

You tug your bottom lip between your teeth.  Now that your insecurities have been bared, it’s difficult to hold the rest in. “Last weekend you said that demons couldn’t love.  Is that true?”

Bucky has to hold back a grimace. That wasn’t exactly what he meant by ask him questions.  “Love is a complex emotion, Lumina.  And demons are simple creatures.”

He can physically see you retreat a little further into your shell.  “So, then it is true.”

He sighs, almost wishing that it was easier to lie to you.  “I’ve never met a demon that’s admitted to falling in love,” he tells you.  But before you can pull away from him, he quickly adds, “But that doesn’t mean we can’t experience emotions or feelings of attachment.  We display our affections, we feel happy when those we care about are happy, and sad when they are sad.  I’m a demon, not a robot.”

“Do you care for a lot of people?”

“I care for you,” he admits honestly.  “And it’s not because of the transference.  Yes, the sex we have is pretty phenomenal, but I also enjoy talking with you, making you laugh, feeling your body tucked against mine. Do you really think I share my past with just anyone?  We knew each other one day and already I was willing to answer anything you asked me.  Hell, after a few minutes I brought you to my home. You’re the only person I’ve brought here.  The only woman to ever share this bed with me.  When I’m with you, Lumina… there’s no one else.  Do you understand how significant that is for an incubus to say?”

Your heart pounds in your chest as he seems to wipe away your insecurities with just a few words.  You can’t even help it when you lean forward to press your lips to his.  You’re so drawn to him it’s almost as if there are outside forces at work.  Call it destiny, or fate.  You didn’t care.  Being with someone had never felt so right.

Bucky kisses you back fervently. His hand cups the back of your neck, fingers making their way into your hairline.  He gently guides you back down onto the mattress, the thin sheet becoming trapped between your bodies.  His mouth molds to yours, also aiding in the removal of your insecurities.  He kisses you with purpose, trying to convey his earlier words through his actions.

When he pulls back, you’re absolutely breathless.  Your gazes meet once more, his eyes are soft and tender.  “If it means that much to you, we can spend the rest of the weekend just getting to know one another.  Let me prove to you that this isn’t just about the sex.”

You find yourself smiling up at him, your hand reaching out to brush his hair back.  Just the fact that he was willing to forgo sex to work on your relationship with each other was enough for you.  You release a low hum, pretending to think it over.  “But you already promised that you were going to fuck me against every piece of furniture you own…  Maybe we can try the whole talking thing next weekend.”

He grins crookedly down at you, his gaze flickering between yours.  “I think that’s the first time I’ve heard you say fuck.”

You laugh lightly.  “Maybe you haven’t been trying hard enough to get me to say it.”

He smirks wickedly. Challenge accepted.

When Bucky takes you home Sunday night, there’s a satisfied ache between your legs that you know you’re going to need the week to recover from.  He kept to his promise and he managed to draw out plenty of curses from your lips over the last two days.

You part with a heated kiss, leaving nips on lower lips so the sting will remain after you’ve separated. Unspoken promises are created for the next weekend.  And at least this time, you’ve got his phone number.  As you enter your apartment, you’re on cloud nine.

“Have an eventful weekend?” Wanda asks you with a knowing grin.

You bite your bottom lip, unable to hide your grin.  “Mhmmm….”

She laughs.  “You look worn out.”

“I tell ya, he’s a god damn machine.”

“Take a shower then come join me for a movie.  I can smell the sex on you from over here.”

You shoot her a grin, and head to your room.  “I’m sorry if my sexified stench offends you.”

She sticks her tongue out at you, her eyes shining with humor.

The work week once more passes like normal.  That is… until Thursday night hits.  Tuesdays and Thursday are your workout nights.  There’s a 24 hour gym just a few blocks from your apartment, and you do your best to stay on routine.  Saturdays used to also be a part of the routine, but you figure you’re getting enough of a workout now, that it’s not exactly necessary.

Because the gym is so close, you typically walk, unless its pouring rain.  But it’s a clear night tonight, a little warm too.  Your muscles burn slightly in satisfaction as you make your way home.  You’d just completed your workout and you were more than ready for a quick shower and maybe some Netflix before bed.

One earbud is tucked into your ear, the other dangling loose as you bob your head to the catchy beat filling your head.  You’re not really paying attention, lost to the music and your thoughts.  Which is why you don’t feel the presence behind you until it’s too late.

A hand clamps around your upper arm moments before you’re thrown to the side.  Your body impacts with the unyielding brick of the building framing the sidewalk.  You gasp in surprise, looking up at your attacker.

Glowing red eyes meet your gaze, they shine with anger.  “I’ve been looking for you, little angel.”

You feel your heart drop to your stomach when you realize who this is.  It’s the vampire from the club.  “What do you want?” you’re surprised when your voice comes out braver than you feel.

“You think you can just walk into an under club without there being any consequences?  Did you really think you could hide from us?  Were you gonna tell your superiors what you saw there?”

You shake your head quickly. “No.  I don’t work for SHIELD.”

He releases a threatening growl. “Why am I having a hard time believing that?  Oh yeah, because you descendants are nothing but filthy liars.”  He grabs your shoulders in a harsh grasp.

“No!  Let me go!,” you struggle against his hold, but your muscles are already weak from your workout.  You’re no match for a vampire anyway.  Even at full strength.

His eyes flash from red to a soulless black and when he opens his mouth, his incisors have elongated. “This world will be a whole lot better without your kind in it.”

You never cease your struggles, even if you know you won’t win.  “Stop!  Let me go!” You’re not entirely sure what guides your movement, but you find yourself pushing your hand out.  You palm slams into his chest and suddenly there’s a flash of blinding white light.

You hear his hiss of pain, and just as suddenly as the flash appears, his hands are off you and you take the opportunity to run.  You don’t give yourself the luxury to think about what just happened, all you can focus on is getting away.  Your heart bangs in your chest, pumping blood to your weary muscles.  The vampire can probably smell the fear wafting out of your system in thick waves.

He’s going to follow it, he’s going to find you.  You have to get somewhere safe.

You close your eyes, picturing the one place you know you’ll be safest.  But with how fast your mind is racing, you can’t for the life of you figure out how to get there.

Without warning, you feel a tug deep in your gut, like the floor has just dropped from beneath you. Releasing a startled gasp, you open your eyes.  You automatically assume the worst, that the vampire recovered and pounced on you.

But looking around… the vampire isn’t in sight.  In fact… you’re on a completely different street.

“What?” you gasp out, looking around in confusion.  What the hell just happened?  How did you get here?  Where even was here?

You realize you’re standing next to a large building.  Looking up, it only takes a second to realize that it’s Bucky’s building.  You breathe a sigh of relief, because even if you couldn’t for the life of you figure out how you got here, at least it meant you were safe.

You push open the large glass door and enter the lobby.  After stepping through, you realize you’ve actually never entered the building this way, and thus you have no idea where to go.

“May I help you?” a voice pulls your attention to the front desk.  The lobby is built more like a hotel’s rather than an apartment complex. The concierge desk is wide and thick, separating you from the man standing on the other side.

You approach hesitantly, hyper aware of your recent altercation with beings of this man’s ilk.  You can tell he isn’t human, but you’re not entirely sure what exactly he is either.  Glancing at his name tag, you read the name Scott.

“Um… hi.  I need to see James Barnes.  It’s an urgent matter,” it’s difficult to keep the panic within you from making your voice waiver, but you seem to manage.

The man’s gaze washes over you. “I’m afraid Mr. Barnes isn’t accepting visitors tonight, Miss.”

“Please,” you choke out, the panic beginning to make your body shake.  “It’s important that I see him right away.”

The man gives you a look of realization.  “Oh, I believe I understand what’s happening.  I’m afraid you’re going to have to find relief from your withdrawals elsewhere, ma’am.”

“What?” you look at him in confusion, until it hits you.  He thinks you’re an incubus sex addict.  And honestly, you’re probably showing all the symptoms.  The shaking, harsh breaths, the desperation to see an incubus.  You shake your head at him, “No, it’s not like that.  I’m a friend of his.  Please, I need to see him!”

“I cannot help you.  Please don’t make me call security on you.”

You gape at him.  You don’t know what else to do.  All you do know is that if you don’t see Bucky soon, you’re going to have a complete mental breakdown in the middle of this lobby.

Because of how frazzled your mind is, it takes a while for you to remember that you have his fucking phone number.  Your hand grasps at the strap holding your phone to your arm. You realize briefly that the chord to your earbuds had been yanked out of your phone and was now missing, but it’s a fleeting thought.  Ripping the phone out of the case, you nearly scratch your arm with your nails.  Your hands are shaking so bad, it takes effort just to get into your contacts.  You scroll down, glad you put him in as Bucky and not James.

The phone finally begins to dial and you place it to your ear.  A tiny part of you is terrified that he’s not going to answer, but he does after the second ring.

“Hey.”

“Bucky!” you breathe out in relief, the puff of air just as shaky as everything else.  “I need your help.”  It’s becoming harder and harder to keep it together.  A few tears slip out of your eyes.

“What’s wrong?” his voice is steady and strong and you desperately try to hang onto it.

“The vampire.  From the club.  He came after me,” a choked sob escapes you.

“What?!  Tony?!”  You can hear the anger in his voice, and despite knowing that it’s not directed toward you, you can’t help but flinch.

“I got away.  I don’t know how.  There was this light, I think…?  I-  Bucky I was so scared,” your voice breaks off into a pitiful whimper.

“Where are you?  Are you safe?”

You sniff, attempting to wipe away some of your tears.  “I’m in the lobby of your building.”

“I’ll be right down,” he tells you quickly.

“Okay,” you sniff again. Your shoulders sag in relief, the hand holding your phone falling limp to your side.

The few seconds it takes for his elevator to descend seem to tick so slowly.  But then a soft ding rings throughout the room and suddenly he’s there. His black slacks are slung low on his hips.  The white dress shirt he wears is unbuttoned, the material hanging loose against his sides. His steps are hurried as he approaches you, bare feet barely audible against the tile.

“Lumina, are you hurt?” Concern lines his features as he reaches out to cradle your jaw in his palms.

You shake your head, a few more tears spilling, only to be caught by his thumbs.  His gaze washes over you.

“Your shoulders are bruised. Did he bite you?”

You shake your head again. “I think he was going to.  I stopped him somehow.  I don’t-  I don’t know…”

He releases an angry growl, the blue in his eyes flashing to black for a brief moment.  “I’m gonna kill him.”

“No!” you cry out, launching yourself forward.  You bury your face into his chest and wrap your arms tightly around his torso. “Don’t go.  Please!”  You can’t bear the thought of being alone.  Not right now.

“Hey,” Bucky softens his voice, his arms coming around you in a comforting embrace.  He can feel how hard you’re shaking, it makes his chest ache. “It’s okay.  You’re safe here.  I’ll protect you.”  He lowers his head, placing a kiss to the top of your hair.  You only tighten your hold on him even further.  “You got away from him.  You’re safe,” he whispers to you soothingly.

You inhale sharply, slowly lifting your head from his chest to look up at him.  “That’s another thing,” you whisper back.  “Bucky, I don’t even know how I got here.”

He doesn’t seem particularly shocked by this revelation, he merely nods and continues to hold your gaze. “Alright.  Let’s get you upstairs.  Then we can figure this out together.”

“Okay.”  Your voice is so small and weak, almost like a child’s.

Bucky keeps your body tucked into his side.  He looks over to the man at the desk, who has grown quite pale upon witnessing your interaction.  “Scott, see to it that she’s given full access to my pent house.  She’s never to be barred from entrance again.”

The man nods frantically. “Yes, Mr. Barnes.  My apologies.”

With one arm still around you, Bucky guides you to the elevator.  You realize that this must be a different elevator from the usual one, because there are actual buttons on this one.  Bucky presses for the top floor.  The silence between the two of you is broken only by your quiet sniffles and the occasional shuffle of clothing as you try to burrow further into him.

The elevator doors open to a small entrance room.  There’s a door on the other side.  Bucky pulls his keys out of his pocket and unlocks the door.  Some of the tension seems to leave your body when you step into his apartment.  This is as safe as you’re going to get.

Bucky turns to face you, pushing some of your hair back and continuing to look at you in concern. “How about I draw you a bath?”

You nod your agreement.  He takes you to the bathroom in his bedroom. Keeping your hands clasped, he uses his other hand to turn the taps and start the flow of water.  It doesn’t take long to heat up before he plugs the drain and allows the bath to fill.

He stands and turns back to you. He gives you a tender look, his eyes flickering over your form.  “Can I undress you?”  He may have already done so a dozen times, but after the trauma you’ve just gone through, he doesn’t want to startle you further.

You nod once more.  His movements are slow, giving you time to anticipate his moves before he makes them.  He reaches for your phone first, prying it from your fingers where you hadn’t even realized you were clutching onto it like a lifeline.  He then pulls off your tank top and your sports bra. Bending down, he helps you out of your running shoes and socks before pulling your yoga pants and underwear down your legs.

“Can you join me?” you ask vulnerably as he stands again.

“Of course,” he agrees, shrugging out of his shirt.  After tossing his pants to the side he bends back down to check the water temperature and then turns off the taps.  He gets in first and then holds your hips as you follow to make sure you don’t slip.

He settles back against the rim, pulling your body flush to his as you settle between the V of his legs. The heat from the water mixes with the heat coming off of him and as you lean back against his chest, you can finally feel yourself beginning to relax.

“Where were you when it happened?” Bucky asks after a long moment of silence has passed.

Honestly, you want to just forget the whole ordeal, but you know you have to talk about it.  “I was walking home from the gym.  It’s only a few blocks away.”

His hands circle your stomach, pulling you a little closer.  “Can you tell me what happened?”

You release a shaky breath. “He came up behind me.  Grabbed my arm and threw me against a brick wall.  I think he thought I worked for SHIELD.  He said this world would be a better place without descendants in it.  Then his eyes turned black and he opened his mouth.  I begged him to stop, to let me go.  And then… then I don’t even know what happened.”

Bucky’s head bends down as he brushes his lips against your shoulder.  “Try to describe it.”

“I… um.  I put my hand out,” mimicking your movements from before, you lift your hand out of the water and hold it up.  “It was against his chest…  And then there was a flash of light.  I don’t know where it came from.  From me? Maybe?  I heard him hiss, possibly in pain, or just from anger.  But he let me go and so I ran.”

“And then what happened?”

Your hand lowers back into the water.  “I was scared he was going to come after me again.  So I tried to think of the safest place I could go.  All I could think about was being here.  But then, next thing I know, I am here.  And I don’t… How…  Bucky, what’s happening to me?”

He can tell you’re scared, and he’d give just about anything to take your fear from you.  “Your powers are emerging,” he tells you.  “And quite rapidly, it would seem.”

Your breath hitches in your throat.  “My powers?”

“There’s a chance that being with me has triggered them.  The demonic energy from our couplings, it must have activated them in you. Normally descendants don’t get their powers unless given intense training.  This is something I should have foreseen, I’m sorry Lumina.”

You release a soft sigh, settling your hands over his and entwining your fingers.  “It’s not your fault.  It takes two to tango.”

He places a kiss to your temple, his fingers squeezing yours gently.

“Can you help me control them? What if I accidentally use them on you? I don’t want to hurt you,” you frown. Using them against raging vampires was one thing, but if you were to hurt Bucky, you’d never forgive yourself.

He huffs out a quick laugh. “I’m afraid I’m not the correct person for that job.  Demons harness energy quite differently from descendants.  But Talia may be able to help.”

“Talia?” you question.  “But she hates me.”

“Let me talk to her.  I may be able to convince her.”

You bite your bottom lip. It might not be the most appealing option, but it was looking like the only viable one.  “Okay.  But only if you’re there too.”

He chuckles quietly, “Of course.”

“Do you even know what it was that I did?”

You feel Bucky nod his head. “Yeah.  It sounds like you used light manipulation and translocation. Both are pretty advanced moves, which is probably why Tony didn’t expect you to have either of them.”

Your lips turn down slightly.  “I still don’t understand.”

“Light manipulation allows you to create light.  Judging by Tony’s reaction, I think you may have created a burst sunlight.  And then translocation is basically just teleportation. You wanted to get somewhere safe badly enough that you were able to transport yourself here.  We have wards set up to prevent descendants from being able to translocate directly into the building, which is why you showed up out front, but it got you close.”

You take a moment to process this information.  It was difficult to believe that you could do either of those things, yet alone both.

“Do you think that this might be what Vision meant by trials?” you find yourself asking.  The strange interaction with the seer was never too far from your mind, despite how much you’d try to distract yourself from it.

“I don’t know.  Maybe.  We’ll figure that one out together, too.”

You sigh quietly, sinking a little further into the water.  “I don’t like being the cause of your problems.”

Bucky tightens his hold on you, placing another kiss to your cheek.  “You’re not. If anything, this is all my fault.”

You release a humorless laugh. “We just keep going in circles with the blame, don’t we?”

He exhales in a laugh as well, the burst of air making your skin tingle.  “Yeah, I guess we do.  Wanna just share it?”

You find yourself smiling genuinely for the first time this night.  You lean your head back against his shoulder and look up at him.  “Sounds good to me.”

He smiles back at you.

You reach your hand up to cradle the back of his head, your eyes going soft.  “Thank you for coming to my rescue again.”

You watch his gaze flicker down to your lips.  “I didn’t even do anything.”

You smile, tugging him just a little closer.  “You’re here and that means everything to me.”

His eyes turn molten with tenderness and desire.  “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

Your lips finally meet and you find yourself in complete agreement with him.

Part 5

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[theforgottengn]

Issues In Trust

Characters: November, Mike, Lima, Oscar, Romeo and Quebec

Word Count: 1,796

Trigger Warning: Slight Swearing, Violence

A/N: Oh boy do I really hate that title... but there’s nothing I can do about it now. This is a crap ass second part by the way.

Parts: X

Summary: November and her boys are tasked with protecting Navy SEAL. But in the world of espionage you never know who you can trust. Especially when the person you’re supposed to save won’t trust you. Click that read more if you want.

XXXXX

The nightclub was just like every other. Laser strobe lights flashed over the people who filled the dance floor; showering them in colored light. Bass heavy house music poured out of the speakers. Bartenders served drinks in a stylized manner. And the entire place was overwhelming packed.

There was practically no room to move around without bumping into another person. Romeo and Quebec stood shell-shocked near the entrance. It was almost impossible to believe. They weren’t inside for even five minutes and they had already lost sight of Douglas Minowski in the crowd.

“Great! Just bloody great!”

The sarcasm was painfully obvious in Romeo’s voice.

“It’s great that you came to my rescue and all Q but now we lost him! And who knows what he’s really up to!”

Quebec said nothing.

“Oh? Giving us the silent treatment, huh?”

“The Force is strong with this one,” Quebec replied mockingly.

“That’s real mature of you. What are you even angry about? I’m the one who should be angry!”

“It’s impossible! I can’t believe it!”

Romeo rolled his eyes at Quebec’s use of a line from Clockwork Orange. But he wasn’t done. He wasn’t letting his friend off the hook so easily.

“Well, I have every right, don’t I?! You left me to be taken by Minkowski for Christ’s sake! He could’ve killed me! Whatever happened to our promise?”

An awkward silence fell over the two of them. Romeo immediately regretted what he said. But he said nothing as he shifted nervously on the balls of his feet. Quebec ran his fingers along the edge of a nearby table. They both knew that they had a job to do and arguing would get them nowhere. It was better to put a stop to it as quickly as possible.

“I’m sorry, I have no right to be angry at you,” Romeo apologized.

Quebec nodded in agreement; “Violence makes violence.”

Romeo couldn’t be mad at him for using that line; especially when it fit the situation so well. In-fighting always made things worse. And Romeo just about had enough of things going wrong. He decided to search the dance floor and directed Quebec to search the restrooms and bar.

But before either of them could begin their search for Minkowski a loud scream cut through the thumping bass.

They ran in the direction of the noise. Stopping to find Minkowski in the middle of the dance floor; fighting another man. The other guy was shorter than the petty officer and a bit more on the larger side. There was no question about who would win the fight. And by the time they arrived Minkowski had already gotten the upper hand. The other man was bleeding from a split lip and his left eye was already puffed up and discolored. And a large welt started to form on his upper arm. The Navy SEAL really did a number on him.

That’s when he called for reinforcements.

“So that’s how you want to play it huh?” Minkowski taunted when the other man’s friends joined.

“Well, I have no problems with that man.”

“Doug! Stop this right now!” Romeo shouted; alerting the crowd of his presence.

“He... He hit me first, okay?” Minkowski responded.

People had already begun to leave the club and the bouncers were making their way to them. They didn’t have much time to calm the situation. They needed to act and fast. But before Romeo or Quebec could jump in and put an end to things the other men were on Minkowski. Quebec looked at Romeo then shrugged and ran into the fight. It was their job to protect the man after all.

Romeo hesitated.

It wasn’t a fair fight, two against five, even if Quebec was one of the two. He couldn’t just leave them to get their asses kicked. None of their teammates would do such a thing if he was in that position. And besides, for whatever reason, he was already walking on thin ice with Q and he really didn’t want it to get any thinner.

He couldn’t leave them.

Well I hope he’s grateful for this.

Quebec kicked one of the men in the crotch just as Romeo punched him in the face. The man went down faster than a sack of bricks. Before Q could thank him Romeo motioned for him to duck. He did and dodged a very harsh right hook from the man behind him. Turning around as quickly as possible Quebec squatted down and rushed him; knocking the man to the ground. Romeo turned his attention to the man who tousled with Minkowski.

“Don’t you two have any weapons on you?!” Minkowski asked; yelling over the loud music and pain-filled grunts.

“No! We don’t!” Romeo answered angrily as he kicked one of the men in the shin. The man bent down as if in pain; holding the spot Romeo hit. But his head came back up with a twisted smile. With a flick of his wrist the man revealed a knife that was hidden in his boot.

Romeo’s eyes widened in shock.

Wasn’t expecting that.

“What? Why?” Minkowski yelled again.

“Because,” Romeo continued as he fought to get the knife out of his opponent’s hand. “Someone demanded that I leave all my weaponry back at the safe house!”

Wait a minute... Q!

Elbowing the man in the nose as hard as he could Romeo heard the sound of cartilage breaking. Blood poured over the man’s face but he didn’t seem bothered by it. He held his ground. His grip on the knife remained tight. And before Romeo could inflict any more damage a loud thud came from behind him. Turning around to see what had happened Romeo foolishly lets his guard down. The man behind him took the opportunity for what it was and stabbed him in the shoulder.

“Q?! A little help here!?” he yelled as blood ran down his shoulder.

Pulling the knife from Romeo’s shoulder his attacker swiped at his abdomen. But Romeo pulled back before the strike hit him. He was caught off guard once already in this fight. It was definitely not going to happen again. Turning back around to face his opponent a surprise awaited him.

Another man joined the one with the knife.

Romeo called for help again but none came. Quebec was halfway across the now empty dance floor fighting three guys at once. And Romeo himself was fighting the other two. It seemed like the men verged on the two of them and left Minkowski alone. Even the man that Minkowski had started the whole fight with had turned his attention onto the two spies.

Odd, Romeo thought, very odd.

But he didn’t have time to dwell on things. He was bleeding from the gash in his shoulder and had no weaponry besides his fists. Hearing the sound of glass shattering from somewhere behind him he realized he had to do what Quebec was known for. He had to improvise. He had to win this fight. Looking around in desperation he grabbed the closest object; a thick plastic serving tray.

They separated us on purpose. I know it.

It was such a classic move even a child would think of it. Divide and conquer. It was absolutely nothing to brag about. Using the tray as a shield of sorts Romeo blocked a few knife stabs. Then he landed a blow into the man’s gut. He doubled over in pain but quickly stabbed again. Romeo didn’t have time to react or block. This time the knife went deep into his stomach and the assailant left it there. The blow definitely hit a vein because blood poured quickly and stained his shirt a deep, dark, red.

Need to regroup.

Walking backwards Romeo tried to follow the sound of Quebec’s voice. But it was tricky thanks to the blood loss he was suffering from. Dodging his opponents’ attacks was also becoming increasingly difficult. A harsh uppercut connected with his chin and he swayed. But the blow was quickly met with another. A hard kick, sweeping his leg out from under him, which sent Romeo crashing to the floor. Glass crunched under him as his hit the floor.

The last thing he saw, before he blacked out, was Minkowski’s smiling face.

XXXXX

Mike sat alone in the driver’s seat of a gray four-door sedan. Parked in the alleyway across from the nightclub where their target took Romeo. He was surveying the outside of the building; something he definitely wasn’t used to. Surveillance was Lima’s job. And technically speaking Oscar’s as well. Fact of the matter was he didn’t do this often.

So it really wasn’t his fault that he wasn’t constantly watching the door.

With an earbud in one ear and his comm. in the other Mike hummed along to Blackfoot’s Train Train.

Mike! What’s going on?! Lima’s panic-stricken voice shouted in his ear.

“Oh, hey, Bubba. Nothin’. Nothin’ at all.”

What do you mean nothing’s happening! The cameras shut off and we can’t see anything! Something is definitely happening!

“Don’t get your panties in a twist, okay, Bubba? I’m tellin’ you nothin’s...”

Mike, it’s me, November cut in. This isn’t just Li making a mountain out of nothing like he usually does.

Hey! I heard that you know!

This is serious, November continued completely ignoring Lima’s interruption, and you’re our only eyes right now. We need to know what’s going on out there.

“Alright, alright,” Mike said with a sigh. “I’ll take a look and see what’s what.”

November thanked him and signed off. Reaching into the back seat Mike grabbed hold of his duffle bag. After some twisting around he managed to unzip it and grab his binoculars. He thanked the Lord that they were sitting right on top of everything else. Turning back around; he put them to his eyes and turned on the night vision. Focusing all his attention on the club’s entrance he scanned the area.

The sidewalk in front of the club was oddly bare for this time of night.

Mike shrugged and thought nothing of it. Not everything that happened, or didn’t happen, meant that some deeper evil was afoot. Lima, the worry wart that he was, would disagree. He’d say something about how their entire lives proved the exact opposite of what Mike was thinking. But as his mind wandered something caught his eye.

“Hey, uh, Oscar?”

I’m here. What do you need?

“You still got the tracker on Minkowski, that right?”

Indeed I do.

“Good. ‘Cause he’s on the move.”

Are Ro and Quebec with him? Lima asked.

“I don’t think so, Bubba, I don’t see ‘em.”

Go inside and see, Mike! November ordered, We don’t have time to goof off if he’s taken our guys.