#but he's up there with them. my street punk speech kids one and all and leon (poor fucking leon)

[goldentigerfestival]

re: my tags on my last post

yeah fuck it im gonna tl all of yuri's lines in vesperia and simultaneously love and hate myself for it

all this bc i find the amount of times he says "well" and "hey" adorable

update: im adding "then"/"well then" to the mix (usually said before moving on/leaving/etc, ironically no relation to his "ma" form of "well")

update: "ma" is at 42 times by the time of leaving torim harbor's first visit (JUST main story). ✌️

update: if you're wondering why i want to translate his lines and just specifically yuri, it's because i've found i REALLY enjoy tling his lines and his personality/attitude, which was mostly removed from the loc (i.e. the personality in his lines got pretty dimmed down and flattened, and i'm super interested in tling his lines the way they should look. not that all the lines, specifically, themselves, are wrong, but they often lacked his personality and i want that in his lines bc it's part of why i adore him!).

[b4mpyre-k1zz3s]

Hooters Waitress Y/N HC’s!

Johnny Knoxville X Fem!Reader, Bam Margera X Fem!Reader, Steve-O X Fem!Reader, Ryan Dunn X Fem!Reader, Chris Pontius X Fem!Reader

Warnings: Suggestive content, flirting, creepy guy mention

An: Thank you so much for sending in requests!! These headcannons were inspired by this fic by @dunnswrld and one of my friends who once jokingly told me she was going to work at Hooters someday! Some of these HC’s were actually based on real events that happened to me or people I know XD anyways, thank you for sending in requests and please keep them coming!

After Jeff had to bail the guys out of jail due to their drunken antics, they were barred from partying for a couple nights,

And yes, that did include any trips down to the hotel bar. This was a huge boner killer because there’s only so much fun you can have getting hammered in your room.

“I mean, I like the guy-” Steve mused about Jeff as he laid back against one of the beds, “but I feel like a caged animal stuck in this joint...“

Inspired by their desperate predicament, Knoxville got an idea everyone was onboard with,

“I think there’s a Hooters across the street…Why don’t we go there?”

Technically a restaurant, Hooters was something that Jeff could let slide.

Now, you didn’t recognize all of them when they walked in, because you only paid attention to Jackass when the cute one was half naked on screen, but you could tell they were famous

Nearly shoving your coworker out of the way, you rushed over to where they had already gotten seated,

“Hiiii! My name’s Y/N, and I’ll be your server tonight!”

Flipping open your little notepad, you turned to the table, “Now, what can I get you boys to drink?”

Johnny spoke up first, sweet as always, “How about a round of beers for me and the guys? Miller High Life if you’ve got 'em, ma’am.”

As you jotted it down, the guys exchanged ‘woah, she’s hot’ glances. I mean, even in the world of Hooter’s waitresses, this lady was something…

And remember how you didn’t recognize all of them at first?

Well, given the fact your main customer base were middle aged men, Bam’s whole skate punk look with the black hoodies and eyeliner and whatnot didn’t exactly scream maturity to you

I’m not even going to mention his height…

Point is, you kinda assumed he was one of their teenage sons or step kids or something, so you bent down and asked him in that patronizing coo,

“Can I get the little prince of darkness anything to drink? We’ve got Sprite, Pepsi…”

After connecting the dots, Bam’s face flushed bright pink.

Part of him was pissed that you thought he was some prepubescent twerp, but at the same time he couldn’t be that mad because this hot piece of ass was being all sweet to him

Ry interjected, putting a paternal hand on his back before Bam could correct you, “The little guy’ll take a chocolate milk.”

That earned him a good, silverware rattling kick under the table.

After you dropped off their beers, you tottered off to tend to other customers and the crew got to discussing their smoking hot waitress.

Johnny, all of a sudden Mr. Polite, stepped in once the conversation got a little too raunchy for his taste, “Alright, boys- let’s be gentlemen here.”

“We’re at Hooters!” Bam scoffed at his resistance, “We don’t have t’be gentlemen!”

Ryan, who never really got the guys’ whole obsession with boobs, rolled his eyes at him, “You’re startin’ to sound like your uncle.”

Taking a sip of his beer, Dunn imitated Vito’s…unique manner of speech, “‘Oh, we’re at hooters! We don’t gotta be gentlemen!’”

“Fuck you.” “Fuck me? Fuck you!”

Finally breaking up the squabble was Steve, who had been busy eyeing your fine ass from across the room, and he leaned over to Bam,

“Hey, little prince of darkness- think’y could knock your crayons on the floor?”

Dropping off their drinks, you glanced around the table at the sleazy expressions that were all looking back at you and you asked if they wanted to order any wings

Flashing you a charming smile, Chris playfully wiggles his eyebrows at you as he put down his menu, “I was gonna ask if you were on the menu, but I’m a vegetarian!”

Steve saw his chance and quickly piped up from across the table, “I’m not!”

It was like some animal planet show, but instead of fighting for territory, they were all competing with each other to see who could get the pretty girl to look at them more.

Sure, it may have been against company policy to give out your number, but that’s only in instances when creepy men pester you about it,

Not so much if you happened to jot down your digits on the bill of a group of very handsome, very charming customers.

[nicodrawings]

Dump time featuring Billie Morales aka Silly Billie

Update 2: oh! Also the first two illustrations are based on Yotsuba art!

Update: ok HC time, if you wanna know more keep reading as usual.

BILLIE SECTION

-I made Billie 5 years old.

-I’ve mentioned this before but Billie has Asperger’s.

-She didn’t talk until she was like 3 going on 4.

-Her nickname is "silly billy"

-Miles always says "how's my favorite girl in the whole wide world?" when he comes home from school on the weekends.

-Miles is a doting big brother and helps take care of her as well as connecting with her interests.

-As much as she loves her parents, she thinks the world of Miles. She's up under him the most, especially when she's over stimulated, stressed or sleepy. His heartbeat calms her.

-She has a limit to physical contact and taps when she’s ready to let go. She usually only hugs her family. Her and Ganke do hand touches instead of hugs.

-The family helps her navigate her environment and her emotions as well as socializing but never push anything that makes her uncomfortable. They always ask questions and have special routines to help her.

-A part of her routine is on Saturdays they go to the park so she can see the pigeons.

-Miles does not like pigeons, but tolerates them for Billies sake.

-They also have special songs for her like "🎶when you walk across the street take ur eyes off your feet🎶" to remind her to look both ways and pay attention when walking across the street since she can get distracted easily.

-The songs they use also attach her to music. So whenever they go to ganke he plays the piano for her and they make songs up and when she hears a song she likes she starts stimming and wiggling.

-She also takes interest in drawing because she sees Miles drawing and they draw animals and watch Steve Irwin on Saturdays too.

-She doesn't understand figure of speeches so if you say "don't sweat it" she would be like "...sweat what?"

-she doesn’t show a lot of emotions unless she’s feeling something intense.

-She rarely sees Miles in superhero mode in public but when she does she just goes “SPIDER!” and smiles and he waves at her.

-Moral of this story, she is loved.

HOBIE

-He lives with his grandparents in the Bronx area (I’m not sure which side yet tho).

-He loves his grandparents very much.

-One time at a punk rock concert a wise man told him “the most punk thing to do is to take care of yourself, don’t be reliant on the system to do so, cuz they ain’t”

-He told his grandpa the following day and they had a heart to heart about it considering that Hobie was very depressed at the time.

-So with that being said, health is incredibly important to him.

-Some ppl tease him and call him “straight-edge” but it don’t bother him much.

-Hobie officially meets the other spiders when he’s 16.

-Clicks with Gwen and Miles almost immediately.

-Especially Miles, Peter always jokes and says that they were definitely brothers in their past lives.

-Gwen and Hobie bond over music.

-Gwen gets the crush first.

-But unlike Miles she’s more forward and doesn’t wait a billion years so she’s asks him out.

-Hobie says yes.

-Only one that knows how to drive by the time he’s 18.

OTHER STUFF

-Gwen’s relationship with her father just…never gets better in my AU. He’s just an ass and as far as Gwen is concerned they’re not family, they’re just related. With that being said, although it’s never acknowledged, Gwen definitely sees Peter as a father figure in her life. She even has him as her top emergency contact. Peter started to understand this when she was 16, he never questioned it and sees her as his oldest daughter. When she’s had really bad arguments with her father she goes to Peters and spends the night.

-Peter and MJ’s home is open to all the spiderkids. No questions asked.

-Peter and MJ always say “On our taxes we have one kid” when people ask them how many kids they have.

-When Peter gets home he sees how many pairs of shoes are at the door then yells “how many kids are in the house?" They usually yell in response which gives him an idea as to how many kids are there.

-On average there’s no less than 2.

-One time he asked and a really deep voice responded along with the kids.

-It was Venom.

-All the spiders have their own therapist’s but every other weekend there’s a group therapy session for kids with powers funded by S.H.E.I.L.D. It’s not required that they go but it’s open for them regardless, just sign up and come in.

-Ganke donates some of his legos to the program and helps assist sometimes with running it since it’s not ran in the best shape.

-This connects to a bigger problem of helping hero’s with their mental health and stability, especially when they decide to retire.

-If you read the other AU list I had, this is the reason why Ganke switches his major to Social Work when he goes to college.

NICKNAMES

Peter’s nicknames for the kids:

Miles-“Junior/Little Man”

May-“Mayday”

Gwen-"Gwennie Pie”

Ganke-“Goober”

Hobie-“Hobie” (obviously)

Anya-“Ani”

Ganke’s nicknames:

Friends-“Gee” judge calls him “G-money”

Miles’s mom-“Honey”

Ganke’s mom-“Gee-Chan”

The boy that bullies him AKA Sean “Gay-ke”

Peter-“Goober” (as I’ve said before)

Venom and Eddie-“Boy”

Miles’s for when he’s feeling affectionate-“Cariño”

Anyway that’s all I got for now! If you have any questions about my AU please feel free to ask away. I love talking about it as you can see.

[inkwell1013]

Meeting once more - Good Omens

Pairing: Aziraphale/Crowley (but only a little), Crowley & Warlock (familial)

Genre: Fluff, Found Family, Oneshot.

Inspired by: This Post.

Word count: 912.

Warnings: Strained parental relationships, transphobia (referenced/background) 

Summary: A sixteen year old Warlock stumbles upon Aziraphale’s bookshop and meets Crowley again after five years. But Crowley looks rather different from last time Warlock saw him. The boy connects all the dots, just poorly.

- - - - -

Warlock was loitering about the high street, doing basically nothing. His father had brought him into the city for some ‘father son bonding time’ and had promptly dumped him as soon as there was a minor political emergency. He had promised that he would pick Warlock up by three o’clock but Warlock was not holding his breath. His father had a habit of breaking promises.

Warlock suddenly missed Miss Ashtoreth. She would never dump him like this. Then again, she did abandon him too. He still remembered the day clearly. It had happened exactly one week before his eleventh birthday.

She had woken him up for school and made him breakfast like normal, but something was clearly wrong. Right as she was about to take him to school, she pulled him close.

“I love you kid,” she had said. “And I don’t want to leave, but I have no choice. If you only remember one thing I’ve told you, remember this. Don’t let anyone tell you who you can and can’t be.”

Then she had rustled her hair and driven him to school. He never saw her again after that. When he asked his father about it, he had received no answer.

He shoved his hands in his pockets as he walked down the bustling street. Why was he thinking of Nanny Ashtoreth again? It had been five years; he assumed he was over all that stuff.

At least people in London were nice, he thought. Most of them were smiling and nodding at him as he walked by. He was also pleased at how anonymous he was here. Back in his hometown, everyone knew him as the son of the ambassador. They were never mean – his father was too important and influential for that – but very few people let themselves get too friendly. School sucked because of it.

He didn’t really know where he was going – he was just wandering really – but when he found himself outside a small bookshop street corner he had the strangest feeling that there was something special about it.

So he went inside.

The place was remarkably clean. It looked like someone had gone through the whole place with a duster moments ago. However, there was no owner to be seen. The shelves were stuffed full of neat leather-bound volumes, that looked far to expensive for a sixteen-year-old’s bookshelf. Then again, it wasn’t like he didn’t have the money. One of the few perks of having a rich father he smirked. Whilst he was here, he decided to pick up a couple.

While he was browsing, he was startled by the sound of a man’s voice coming from upstairs. “Are you sure it’s not downstairs Angel?” they said. Was it the owner?

“Because I think I saw it in the back room,” said the voice. There was a muffled response before the voice spoke again. “I’ll go check.”

Warlock turned around so he could see the kind of person who would own such a shop. The man did not look how he expected.

He was younger for one. He had bright red hair that was cropped short at the sides and slightly longer on the top. There was something slightly punk about his fashion sense.

And then Warlock recognised him. “Nanny Ashtoreth ?” he stammered.

“Warlock…”

Both stood still, trapped in place by their own shock. The voice from upstairs called again – louder this time and slightly annoyed. “Crowley, have you found it or not?”

Warlock was a little startled, but tried to keep it from showing on his face. Crowley... It was new. He didn’t hate it, but it was new.

But why would Nanny Ashtoreth – Crowley – change their name?

Then it all clicked.

Crowley was trans.

It all made sense now! Even his strange speech the day he left. Don’t let anyone tell you who you can and can’t be.

Then Warlock realised something else. His father had fired Crowley over it. It didn’t come as a surprise to him really. His father was a bigot of almost every form. Thinking he would fire someone for being trans wasn’t a stretch of the imagination.

Warlock rushed up and threw his arms around Crowley’s shoulders. Crowley returned the gesture and squeezed Warlock so tightly it was like he believed the kid. would disappear if he let go.

“You’re all grown up now. I can’t believe it,” mumbled Crowley, stroking Warlock’s hair just how he did when the boy was younger.

Warlock felt as if he was going to cry. He hadn’t felt this loved in years. “I haven’t seen you in so long Nanny!” he said. “I missed you so much.”

“I missed you too kid. I’m sorry I had to leave but it was out of my control.” Crowley’s voice cracked on the last word, like he was going to cry too.

“It’s okay. I understand why you left. But I’m so glad I came here today and got to see you again.” There was a comfortable silence between them. Warlock felt so safe wrapped up in Crowley’s arms.

A moment later, a white-haired man stomped down the stairs, wearing a dressing gown and fluffy pink slippers. Warlock had the strange feeling that he knew him. Wait a minute…

“Is that you Brother Francis?”

Brother Francis turned bright red, caught in the act.

Warlock quickly glanced between the two, then pointed an accusing finger at Crowley. “I knew you two were fucking!” he exclaimed.

[the-bau-quinjet]

Blessing

Steve x Barnes!reader, Bucky x platonic!reader

Sequel to Plum Cobbler

Summary: Steve has a question for you, but he has one for Bucky first.

Warnings: none!

Word Count: 1437

a/n: Thank you to @sourpatchspinster for this idea! It was just too cute for me not to write.

Series Masterlist

Masterlist

You couldn't believe it had already been three years since you met Steve and Bucky. So much has happened since then that has changed your life for the better.

You formed relationships with all of the Avengers, gaining so many new friends.

You spent countless hours talking to Bucky about your parents and grandparents, helping him feel closer to his family. He even went with you to visit your parents graves.

Plus, you moved into the compound with Steve. After that first night talking to Bucky, Steve asked out out to dinner. Everything since then has been bliss.

While almost everything. You could do without the constant worrying when either one of them is on a mission, but it comes with the territory of knowing the Avengers.

Of course, the two of you had fought but nothing serious. That is, until now.

"I'm seriously freaking out. Steve is acting so weird, and I have no idea why." You burst into Nat's room for girls night, not even bothering to wait for a greeting.

"Why, hello to you to Y/N. How as your day?" Wanda joked with you, but immediately sat up at the look on your face.

"Weird how?" Nat questioned, needing more information.

"He's been all fidgety lately. He never sits still. He won't look me in the eye unless I force him to. I think he's even avoiding Bucky, which is really not helping." You were nervously pacing back and forth until Nat stopped you, one hand on each shoulder.

"First of all, that man is so in love with you. He wouldn't do anything to hurt you. Second of all, have you asked him about it." Nat, ever the voice of reason, questioned you.

"I have." You held your breath, trying not to start rambling again.

"And?" The two women looked at you expectantly.

"He said he was just tired. I don't know. It started after that mission in London. He came back really late, so I figured he just needed to sleep. But then yesterday and today, it's been the same things!"

Nat and Wanda shared a look, unsure of what was going on.

"Look, maybe him and Bucky fought on the mission. It used to happen from time to time, so why not now?" Wanda suggested, trying to reassure you.

"Wanda's probably right. Steve wouldn't want to put you in the middle of a fight with Bucky." Nat nodded resolutely. "I'll talk to Bucky tomorrow, see what I can find out. Until then, let's just enjoy girl's night."

"What did I do to deserve you both?" You chuckled to yourself, already feeling less anxious.

"You sat outside like a creepy stalker for 5 weeks." Nat quipped, causing all three of you to burst out laughing.

-

Meanwhile, Steve took your presence at girl's night as the perfect opportunity to talk to Bucky.

He was pacing outside of his door for nearly an hour before he worked up the courage to knock.

Bucky swung the door open, slightly surprised to see Steve. "Honestly, I thought you were avoiding me." He stepped back, gesturing for Steve to come in.

Steve sighed, deciding to just reply truthfully. "I was."

Bucky narrowed his eyes, unsure as to what he did. "Care to share why?"

"That's why I'm here." He took a deep breath, preparing himself for his little speech. "I did something impulsive in London."

Immediately, Bucky was on edge. Steve was a reliable person. He didn't do impulsive well.

"The more I think about it, the more I know it was the right decision. I just, I know what I want out of my life now, and I know who I want to be there with me."

"I swear to every god out there, if you break her heart I still reserve the right to kill you." Bucky was staring daggers at his friend, waiting for him to continue.

"No! No, Buck, I love her so much. I love waking up with her every day. I love the way she scrunches her nose when she doesn't like something. I love the way she laughs, even when it's not funny. I love how she spent months trying to find you to connect with family. I love every single thing about her, and I want to spend the rest of my life with her."

Steve took a dark green velvet box out of his pocket, handing it Bucky. Bucky, admittedly surprised, opened the box to confirm it was indeed an engagement ring.

"Why didn't you tell me you were planning this?" Bucky questioned, elated at the idea of the two of you getting married.

"Honestly, I didn't plan it. I was walking down the street in London, and I passed a jewelry store. Before I knew it, I was walking out with the ring in my pocket." Steve smiled fondly, thinking about you.

"Why have you been so nervous then?" Bucky continued questioning him.

"Honestly?" Bucky nodded. "Because I hadn't told you. You're the only family she has, and I know it's old fashioned but I wanted to ask you-"

“For my permission?” Bucky balked, eyes going wide.

“No! Not really, I know enough about modern proposals to know permission is a sexist concept. I just... want your blessing.” Steve blushed, feeling a bit odd at asking his life long friend such a question.

Bucky ran a hand through his hair, this conversation I not something he imagined having before he had any kids, and especially it with Steve. "Steve, you're my best friend. It would be an honor for you to officially join the family."

The two men were close to tears. Having been through so many hardships together, dating all the way back to fighting in the war, it was refreshingly happy to add such a joyous memory.

"Now I just have to ask her." Steve chuckled, already feeling less nervous.

"Don't worry, punk. She'll say yes."

-

After girl's night, Steve's behavior was back to normal. Maybe he really had just had a fight with Bucky. Either way, you were relieved to have him back to being his regular goofy self.

"Y/N, do you want to go out tonight?" Steve smiled at you from the other side of the room.

"I would love to. What's the occasion?" You made you way over to him, eagerly burying your head in his chest.

"I just think you deserve a nice night out." Steve grinned as you hugged him tighter.

"You're perfect." You released the words with a sigh, snuggling closer to the love of your life, wondering how you got so lucky.

-

Dinner was as perfect as you expected. Dessert was even better.

"Let's go for a walk?" Steve asked when you got out of the car back at the compound.

"Yeah? Where to?" You took his hand, ready to follow him anywhere.

"The lake?" Steve knew you would never turn down a walk around the lake.

"Wow, a man after my own heart." You squeezed his hand, laughing together.

Steve couldn't help but think, "you have no idea."

You made your way toward the lake, stopping every few feet just to look up at the stars.

Steve tugged you along until you were both standing at your favorite tree.

"My favorite tree!" You squealed, looking up at the maze of branches. When you turned around again, Steve was on one knee.

"Y/N, I have known you for three years, and I have loved you for every single one of them. Since the moment you told me why you wanted to talk to Bucky, I knew you were special. You were so determined, and although you thought it was selfish, I knew you thought he deserved to know just as much as you. Every moment since then, I have been thankful for you entering my life. I don't know where I would be if you weren't with me. Everyday I wake up and see your face is a perfect day. Will you do me the honor of waking up with you as my wife?"

Silent tears fell down your cheeks as you threw yourself at him. "Steve, I love you so much. When I first found out about Bucky, I never in a million years would have thought it would lead me here. I would love to marry you." You cried as you hugged him, separating only long enough for him to put the ring on your finger.

"I love you." He whispered, kissing you between every word.

"I love you too." You whispered back, looking forward to the rest of your life with him.

[summersun4youforever]

✨ Tag 9 people to learn more about their interests!

tagged by my fav @loulovehome thank you pu hope that this quells your curiosity! 

MUSIC

fav genre? not to be that person but i think i have a toe in most genres, i suppose my favorites have got to be anything taylor swift does, pop punk, r&b pop/new age r&b, and bluegrass

fav artist? again, not to be that person but i love so many artists! let’s do this based off of genre: taylor swift, 1D, 5sos, massive focus on ZAYN, the Avett brothers, and counting crows

fav song? fav song of all time (since i was young) is going to be come around by rhett miller but more currently i’d say you are in love by taylor swift and dRuNk by ZAYN

song currently stuck in your head? i have no idea how it got there but i have stressed out by 21 pilots stuck in my head??

5 fav lyrics? ok let’s do this kids. edit: this went in a “fav love song lyrics” way so sorry in advance.

1)  I hope that I don't sound to insane when I say / There is darkness all around us / I don't feel weak but I do need sometimes for her to protect me / And reconnect me to the beauty that I'm missin' (January Wedding - The Avett Brothers)

2)  Hands around my waist / You're counting up the hills across the sheets / And I'm a falling star / A glimmer lighting up these cotton streets / I admit I'm a bit of a fool for playing by the rules / But I've found my sweet escape when I'm alone with you (Disconnected - 5sos)

3)  This is the worthwhile fight / Love is a ruthless game / Unless you play it good and right / These are the hands of fate / You're my Achilles heel / This is the golden age of something good / And right and real (State of Grace - Taylor Swift) 

4)  What if I changed my mind / What if I said it's over / I been flying so long / Can't remember what it was like to be sober / What if I lost my lives? / What if I said "Game over"? / What if I forget my lies? / And I lose all my composure (Back to Life - ZAYN)

5)   I never said I was perfect / Or you don't deserve a good person to carry your baggage / I know a few girls that can handle it / I ain't that kind of chick, but I can call 'em for you if you want / I never said that you wasn't attractive / Your style and that beard, ooh, don't get me distracted / I'm tryna be patient, and patience takes practice / The fact is I'm leaving, so just let me have this (Jerome - Lizzo)

radio or your own playlist | solo artists or bands | pop or indie | loud or silent volume I slow or fast songs | music video or lyrics video | speakers or headset | riding a bus in silence or while listening to music | driving in silence or with radio on

BOOKS

fav book genre? murder mystery and young love!

fav writer? jane austen, lisa jewell, and rick riordan (nostalgia ok?!)

fav book? the way i used to be my amber smith, rebecca by daphane du maurier, and then she was gone OR watching you (both by Lisa Jewell)

fav book series? i guess the whole percy jackson situations? i have everything RR every wrote, and i liked it all but i havent touched the older ones in ages

comfort book? not one specifically but the nancy drew books

perfect book to read on a rainy day? bird summons by leila aboulela

5 quotes from your fav book that you know by heart? i hope i can name five...

1)  “The point is, life has to be endured, and lived. But how to live it is the problem.” “I am no traveller, you are my world.” (both are My Cousin Rachel by Daphne Du Maurier)

2)  “And I’m terrified he’ll see through the tough iceberg layer, and he’ll discover not a soft, sweet girl, but an ugly fucking disaster underneath.” (The Way I Used to Be by Amber Smith)

3)  "I cannot make speeches, Emma," he soon resumed; and in a tone of such sincere, decided, intelligible tenderness as was tolerably convincing. "If I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more. But you know what I am. You hear nothing but truth from me. I have blamed you, and lectured you, and you have borne it as no other woman in England would have borne it. Bear with the truths I would tell you now, dearest Emma, as well as you have borne with them. The manner, perhaps, may have as little to recommend them. God knows, I have been a very indifferent lover. But you understand me. Yes, you see, you understand my feelings and will return them if you can. At present, I ask only to hear, once to hear your voice.” (Emma by Jane Austen) (sorry for the length, the shortened versions were not cutting it for me)

4)  “Read, read, read. That's all I can say.” (The Secret of the Old Clock by Carolyn Keene)

5)  “...amazing how boring you can get away with being when you’re pretty. No one seems to notice. When you’re pretty everyone just assumes you must have a great life. People are so short-sighted, sometimes. People are so stupid. I have a dark past and I have dark thoughts. I do dark things and I scare myself sometimes.” (Invisible Girl by Lisa Jewell)

hardcover or paperback | buy or rent | standalone novels or book series | ebook or physical copy | reading at night or during the day | reading at home or in nature | listening to music while reading or reading in silence | reading in order or reading the ending first | reliable or unreliable narrator | realism or fantasy | one or multiple POVS | judging by the covers or by the summary (im a very judgmental reader) | rereading or reading just once

TV AND MOVIES

fav tv/movie genre? i like dramedies, mockumentaries, and procedurals 

fav movie? ive got a massive list on my phone but ill pick Doob (No Bed of Roses) and 3-Iron as my favs for today

comfort movie? 2000s romcoms, im talking clueless, 13 going on 30, how to loe a guy in ten days, ten things i hate abt you, legally blonde

movie you watch every year? mamma mia and all listed in prev question

fav tv show? too many, currently im rewatching arrested development

comfort tv show? new girl

most rewatched tv show? new girl

ultimate otp? shawn and jules from psych (ultimate bc ive been watching since diapers literally)

5 fav characters? winston bishop, stiles stilinski, bellamy blake, clarke griffin, lydia martin

tv shows or movies | short seasons (8-13 episodes) or full seasons (22 episodes or more) | one episode a week or binging | one season or multiple seasons | one part or saga | half hour or one hour long episodes | subtitles on or off | rewatching or watching just once | downloads or watches online

super fun even though it took me an hour lmao, I'm tagging @technosoot @hometothecanyonmoon @sassylilnoodle @sushiniall @rosegold-thorns no pressure and sorry if youve already been tagged!

edit: i somehow managed to forget what i consider to be one of the greatest opening verses ever???? so bonus lyrics:

Step out the front door like a ghost into the fog / Where no one notices the contrast of white on white / And in between the moon and you / The angels get a better view / Of the crumbling difference between wrong and right (Round Here - Counting Crows)

[prince-toffee]

Alleyways

Hordak x Shadow Weaver

Canon Divergence | Alt Universe

Season One | Episode 14: Alleyways

Beatrix scoffed and threw the brown ration bar and the rest of her food tray across the prison cell, she far preferred the grey ones. She gave a defeated sigh lowering her head down. She rubbed her fingers over the scratched part of her mask, in the spot where a chip of the Black Garnet used to reside. Her shoulders slouched down, all tension in her muscles left her as she gave up. She felt so powerless. So weak. Just a few days ago she was still one of the most powerful witches on the planet, every magic user feared her name.

Shadow Weaver.

Now, she sat in a prison cell, rank-less. She didn’t know if she should’ve felt honoured, or disgusted by the fact that the cell was specially attuned and adjusted for her specifically. Which meant it was probably designed and constructed, in secret, long before her treason. This place was full of secrets and surprises, usually unpleasant ones. Hec-Tor would’ve probably said it was an honour, he was an architect that truly thought of everything. And The Fright Zone was one of his most haunting creations.

Beatrix wasn’t disgusted, per say. She knew she didn’t have many fans, and plenty of enemies at every corner. This outcome was inevitable, she knew deep down she was getting too greedy for her own good. But the power felt too good to give up. What a fool she was. She saw it all clearly now. Where her addiction led her. Her very unsubtle disregard for orders, her greed peering through her emotionless, cold stature. She knew she was on thin ice with Hec-Tor, the control freak he was. He desired order and expected subordinance. He always disliked her - everybody back home knew she was a wildcard, deceptive, insidious. Looking out for only herself - she never really cared about the cause.

Perhaps she should’ve been more surprised that he didn’t do it earlier. She knew he wasn’t fond of her, and vice versa of course - she couldn’t stand his patriotic and prideful attitude. Acting as if being apart of The Horde was a gift from god. He was an old blind fool. Beatrix wouldn't have thought twice before leaving this place and selling her loyalty and inside information to the most welcoming bidder - The Alliance, or even maybe try her luck with The Empire of Talon Mountain. So any choices to choose from, now if only she could manage to escape her imprisonment.

Unfortunately, if she knew Hec-Tor, and she did, The Hordak had probably thought of every possibility of escape she would think of, and countered it. He was paranoid like that. The spherical pure white containment cell she was unceremoniously thrown into was made out of Glowmoon-Dwarfstone, the surface layer anyway. A magical element only found on one of the moons of Etheria, able to absorb darkness itself. Bad news for the Weaver of Shadows, she was powerless here. She despised feeling weak, vulnerable. She was meant to be the predator, not the prey.

She had no shadow. The stone absorbed it. She felt two dimensional. She didn’t know if that made sense, but she heard the stone had negative effects on the mind if in close proximity for too long. Speaking of which, she had no idea how long she had been locked up, she lost the track of time. No windows. So no sky. No clock. No space. The spherical cell was the size of a small closet. At least they were still feeding her, but the food in there was never anything to gloat about.

She placed her face into her hands, she was loosing it. She couldn’t break! But she was close. She didn’t want anyone to have the satisfaction of seeing her beg, and pled. She was strong, stronger than them. She was going to win in the end, she just had to wait it out, play the long ga-

“Inmate-667. Place your forehead on the wall behind you and position your hands behind your back. The containment unit door will open, and a commanding official will commence your questioning. And Weaver, you’re gonna like this one, hehe.”

Beatrix narrowed her eyes and growled at the announcement. She recognised the voice, Force-Commander Grizzlor. She never liked him. The feeling was seemingly mutual. She did as she was ordered. A groan reverberated through her throat, she knew exactly what this was, she could tell from Grizzlor’s smug voice. Catra. She was back to berate her. It seemed like her former ward’s ego had grown three times the size, rather than her heart. Beatrix dreaded these visits. Catra came over from time to time, to insult and demean the dark sorceress, rub her victory into Beatrix’s face. Insolent little brat! She got lucky! Beatrix was weak when she caught her off guard, too drained by the toll the Black Garnet’s power took on her. If only- if only she could take hold of the Garnet’s power! S- She didn’t need much, just a little, it would’ve cleared her mind, beat her heart faster. If she had just a little more she could’ve had taken out Catra, and her two stooges. Everything would have been all better if only she had a little more. Damn that girl! And her mother!

The cell opened up. A side panel gave out a hiss as it dislodged, pulled out and off to the side. Weaver felt the colder air pour in. The closest shadow cast onto her was too weak for her to do anything with, the upper layer of the walls draining it’s ethereal cosmic weight. Or perhaps she was the one who was too weak. Catra loomed over her. The teen thought she could intimidate her, not a chance.

“Well? Come on then, you spoiled brat! Got anything to say? Came here to gloat and mock me, you think you have won, but one wrong move with Hordak and he’ll throw you to the dogs, he’s-”

“Weaver.”

The sorceress silenced herself. The voice that called to her was cold and smooth, in other words not Catra’s. The single word was followed by a pair of footsteps, metal boots clanking against the stone’s surface. The sound of cybernetics hissing as his joins moved. He was close now. The cell entrance slide back into place closing the cell. They were alone now. Beatrix had to admit, even though she knew Hec-Tor for most of her life, seen him at his most vulnerable, even shared some intimate moments with him, but still even after all that - he was terrifying.

She turned her head around, and there he was. He looked different in the light, stranger. She almost never saw him outside of his ThroneHall. Always cloaked in darkness and smoke. She sometimes wondered if he bought smoke machines on purpose to scare any kids that would accidently wonder into the room. Hec-Tor certainly had a taste for the dramatic. Beatrix turned around and seated herself comfortably looking up at the Overlord, well, as comfortably as possible. There he was, in all his glory, out of shadows - a glorified toaster. The same Hec-Tor that used to write poetry for girls that would never go out with him. The same Hec-Tor that dyed his hair blue, because kids from the neighbourhood made fun of him being ginger. The same Hec-Tor that beat his own father within an inch of his life, and conquered half of the galaxy...

Same old, same old.

She swallowed down quietly, she couldn’t show him she was weak. The mask helped hide most emotions, most weaknesses, she had to control the rest of her body language. Beatrix lifted one leg over the other and intertwined her fingers together, giving off a relaxed posture.

“Lord Hordak. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

She looked over him - blood red eyes, and teeth, grey skin, military regulation hair cut, his two prostatic arms, which could crush boulders, his imperial purple cape, and the neon lit armour implants. She was actually curious as to what he was actually going to say. His eyes narrowed, anger was apparent, but an air of irritation was present too. He gave out a long tiresome sigh, as he moved his fingers to rub the bridge of his nasal cavity, even venturing as far as his eyes. She was in for it.

“Why? Why can’t you just follow orders? Beatrix Hallows, always struggling with adhering to reason and common sense.”

Shadow Weaver’s eyes widened she couldn’t believe what she was hearing, he actually had the audacity to school her, to talk down to her. This was almost worse than Catra, hearing her full name spoken out in a mocking tone, like lecturing a child, slapping them on the hand, this was humiliating. And from Hec-Tor too. When angered by her he’d usually give her the cold shoulder, take her off a mission, reassign command to someone else, like Catra. She thought he had given up on talking to her ages ago. But she wasn’t going to have it.

“Having fun? Look you’re not covering any new ground here. Catra already had multiple pitstops here to make me her new donkey. If you think you get to insult me like that, just remember your punk rear wouldn’t have made it back home if it weren’t there for me. You owe me. Several.”

It was true. Back on HordeWorld, back on the streets. They had nothing. Had to rummage through trash, and steal for food. Stomach empty all day. Times were tough. They had to rely on each other. One distracted the passer-by and the other pickpocketed, on a lucky day, thanks to Hec-Tor’s puppy eyes the stranger would hand them some pennies on top of that. But man, on days like these she wished she had never stood up to those bullies shoving little young Hec-Tor around, should have never allowed him to follow her. But how couldn’t she, he was so adorable.

“I am not here to appoint you my personal laughing stock. And I thought I told Catra talking to prisoners was forbidden. I’ll have a chat with her about the regulations... I am here to understand. Finally. I have been putting this off for far too long.”

This was curious, and unexpected. She would’ve lied if she said she wasn’t interested in what was about to exit that mouth. He had avoided her for years. Often said she was ‘not worth wasting words on’. The feeling was mutual. She heard that mouth declare rousing speeches, bone-chilling monologues, and the softest of kisses. Versatility was everything. He continued.

“We never saw eye to eye, never liked each other, you always went your own way. Chose to differ from others, always take the other path. You talk back to me, you waste resources on personal escapades, and often break protocol... But back there, at such a crucial point, disobeying my orders, for what? Just because of a child that did follow orders?”

Putting faith in that girl was going to be his undoing. Unless she was going to get to him first. Catra was always a nuisance, untrustworthy, going off on her own, not listening to what she was told. She had a rebellious spirit, that drove her away from Weaver’s lessons, she often managed to drag others away with her. She was too smart for her own good.

She’ll be biting down on Hec-Tor’s ankles soon enough. She supposed that an upside of being stuck in the cell was that he had to deal with Catra’s antics now. That was his mess to clean.

“How did she even get a drop on you? Was it the Garnet? I told you to tell me if the artefact displayed any negative effects-”

“Are you done? I know you didn’t come here to talk about my feelings. If you care to know your magic weapon is fine. And Catra. She’s nothing but a brat, that you’re letting walk all over you.”

She wasn’t having any of this, she had to speak up for herself. Call it a warning, that girl is not to be dismissed, she’s trouble - like her mother. But deep down she felt a hint of embarrassment herself, she was one of the most powerful sorceresses, years ago when she first drained the power of the Garnet she did it effortlessly. Even though Hec-Tor didn’t trust her, he handed her the responsibility, because he knew she was the only one who could hold its power. He knew she was mighty. But now, the Garnet rejects her, resists her, no longer bows down to her might. It hurt sometimes. But she could never show weakness.

The infamous Hordak stared down at her, judgementally, much like how he looked down at everybody. He looked off to the side at the thrown away tray, mashed potato and peas smeared on the floor, tray flipped over, and the brown rations crumbled on the floor.

“You’re not eating.”

What was that? She wondered to herself. Was that genuine worry? She noticed he stayed on the ration bars for a second too long, noting her preference perhaps. He seemingly had no idea where to go from there, so she helped him out, she asked.

“Why are you here Hec-Tor?”

This time using his real name rather than his title. More personal, it cut to the point. Plus he was always going to be Hec-Tor to her. That puppy eyed scaredy-bat, the one always picked on, by bullies twice his weight, the nerd allergic to flowers, and the same geek that used to write poems for her. She dismissed them of course, just a bunce of nonsense if you’d ask her. The change never really quite settled in, even when the Council made the public announcement of picking the new Hordak. Even when Hec-Tor’s face came on every screen on the planet. Even when the death of He-Ro shocked the nation. Nothing changed.

Well, maybe not until that day at Vix’s Diner. It was the strangest circumstance. He was the one who called her over. She guessed it was just a nostalgic meet up, like in the old days. 'The Hordak' was present, so they ate for free. Their conversation would be constantly interrupted by randos bowing and giving respects to him. He dismissed them.

But there was something different about the man that sat in front of her, he was colder, more stiff. Beatrix treated herself to the unlimited free breakfast meals, best she’d eaten in years. She half listened to his ramblings, something about the war with the Light and the Ones Who Won’t Be Named escalating, the Council was abolishing anti-terraforming laws, and Horde warships were launching on the offensive against the enemy. The wannabe poet gone, all that was left of the boy was a patriot, and a soldier. Well, what do you do? That’s what the government spoon feeds people.

But the strangest thing was. He asked her to be his 'Weaver' - his second in command. An honour placed apon only those who are seen as worthy, or chosen by the Council. But this wasn’t an ask of desperation or of fear. This was an order. Firm, and powerful. That day in the diner, if Beatrix would’ve refused him, she didn’t know if she would’ve walked out of there with her head on.

The Hordak is no mere man you can refuse after all.

He is the 'Beast of HordeWorld'.

And so, they set off. Boarded the warship: Annihilation, and rocketed into the stars. And the newly appointed Shadow Weaver pondered, that it was quite curious that HordeWorld was completely decimated only few days after they left. Curious indeed. Blah. Blah. Blah. Couple of thousand years, some food shortages and dead bodies later: Etheria. Crash landing in the back fields of King Niro’s Kingdom of Scorpion Hill. And it was through Weaver’s highly skilled dark magic on display, that the kingdoms bowed down to them, Mysticore even building a statue in her honour. They looked up to her, marvelled at her magical abilities. Her Horde magic was far more advanced than what the wizards held in their possession. She taught, and trained them. But good things never last. They turned on her.

“Like I said, Beatrix. I am here to understand.”

Now it was his time to use her name. She was still curious yet cautious. Whatever side-tracks Hec-Tor from the main mission, can’t be good. All this was strangely personal. Was the Beast in fact capable of concern and closeness? She let him continue.

“We’ve known each other longer than most beings live. But in my quest into the unknown, I never even dared to explore what was nearest me. Tell me, why break, why snap at me at a point of victory? And why, why the girl? It’s that Magicat that sets you off at every moment. Why? Why do you hate the girl?”

“Will, you free me?”

“...No. We both know I won’t, I can’t. It is against the protocols, and I gave you too many passes, vouched for you too many times, I overlooked your actions for too long. And that’s why I am here.”

Well, that wasn’t going to work. No freedom, no deal, no talking. She was surprised by the fact that this entire situation was simply a genuine attempt at a heart to heart. But he knew nothing. And that’s how Beatrix liked to keep things. Much like Hec-Tor, she wished to be a bogeyman, imagination was always the greatest deterrent.

And what was there to explain? Catra was a pain, undisciplined, and unwilling to learn. Beatrix wasn’t about to just let that brat walk over her, of course she snapped! Everything Catra got, every punishment, was because she deserved it. Though... no. No, he couldn’t know. Could he? Did he? Hec-Tor was a master tactician and strategist, he always researched and analysed everything before the attack - what if the Beast already knew the answer to his own question?

Did he know about Melendy?

Beatrix never spoke to anyone about her personal life, especially not her love life. And she had made sure she was back for check-ins, erased her tracks, she was sneaky. She didn’t slip up often. How would he know? Could it be? Was the grand Lord Hordak jealous? A curious stalker.

But perhaps it wasn’t that outside of the realm of possibly. The Queen of Magicats. The Lord of the Horde. Hec-Tor set up many negotiations in the time before the war, people talk.

And what now, he expected her to sit here listen to him give her therapy? As if. If that bastard knew about Melendy’s choice... about her leaving, and didn’t say anything, just holding it over her head as bait - then damn him to the Light! But did he truly know? He couldn’t possibly understand. She was in love. Nothing ever came close to making her feel like that. Not even him. Beatrix loved her, and she chose to leave, just because of tradition, culture. To Light with it!

But what prompted him to care? Perhaps he looked back fondly on the past, reminiscing? Hordak and her didn’t sleep together often, but when the duty became too much, too stressful - they aided each other to settle the nerve. Heh, it took practice to get used to each other, their first time, wasn’t pretty.

She still remembered that night, or well, it was day actually. She always misremembered, since the skies over the city of Catrax were always grey from the city’s pollution. Kids used to come over to their windows and watch the rare instances when sunshine would penetrate the dark clouds above. Very little hope shone down on the people of the lower levels. But the kids of the higher levels, the ones on the first floor, above the clouds, they had all the sunshine they wanted, and took it all for granted.

So when Beatrix and Hec-Tor pickpocketed and stole a little, just to keep living, just to have. It wasn’t that selfish. When the two crash landed on Etheria for the first time they ventured throughout the land, claiming everything they could, stealing and conquering, taking - just to have. Just because they couldn’t in previous lives.

On that day, after Beatrix stole old Mister Scurvy’s wallet as Hec-Tor distracted him, they both ran off away from the yelling man. Ran faster than they ever ran before, too afraid that the man’s screaming would attract the attention of any local law enforcement, if they got them, it was Confinement for sure, no matter that they were teens.

She huffed and panted so hard she almost fell off her own feet. She had to lean herself on the side of a brick wall in the alleyway she ran into. Just as Hec-Tor joined her, the rain began to pour. He bowed down, arms holding his knees, trying to support his upper body. His ears tilted down. His exhausted cough turning into a cackling laugh, which clearly infected Beatrix since she burst into laughter with him. She didn’t really know how it happened, but he got closer to her, with her pinned against the wall, looking straight into each other’s eyes. As their chuckles settled, her hand ventured down to his hip as her lips made their way to his own. And then, well, they were teenagers, you know what else.

Good memories.

Perhaps memories were just the advantage she needed, perhaps Hordak didn’t despise her as much as she had previously thought. Could it be? The All-Mighty Lord of The Horde feeling... lonely?

“Do you remember the alleyway?”

“Eh, there were... many alleyways.”

True that, after it felt so good, the first time, it sort of became a daily routine for them. Partners with benefits. They used each other to feel better, to feel something. There was nothing between the two, or so Beatrix thought. But perhaps she was wrong yet again. She wished to test that.

She took off her mask. The Weaver mask was a totemic symbol back on HordeWorld - representing strength and authority. And underneath that mask, was a woman. A broken woman, with scars and stiches, missing flesh. Something many would call a monster. But Hec-Tor Kur of House Kur saw nothing but beauty. A magnificent beast that saved him many a times. The girl he fell for so long ago. And Beatrix knew that, knew it was the moment she locked her toxic waste green eyes with his blood red, which shimmered in the light of the cell. She knew straight away, his weakness.

“Look at me, Hec-Tor. So frail. I wasted away. So little of me left... The Council was right. No matter what power I aim to tame, I fail, I never amounted to anything, like they predicted. I know you’re disappointed to have me as a partner on this venture... But… I miss the alleyways. When we had nothing. Back when so little felt like so much.”

It worked. The seemingly cold and calculated persona cracked. His facial expression changed, from irritation, and anger to a certain softness, maybe pity. He breathed in heavy, and out through the nose. He took a step closer to her. The cell was a snug fit so his leg was already brushing hers.

“We do have nothing, Beatrix. We are the last of our kind. We have little, but we can have it all. You are not a failure. We are not failures. There is a reason why I haven’t just simply executed you like a common thug... I miss those days too. But we still have time.”

The Hordak kneeled down, lowered himself to be closer to her. This was it - the moment of truth. He clearly had no idea what to do with his hands, so one rubbed its thumb and pointing finger together in anticipation, while the other hovered in the air half open awaiting her permission to proceed. The Weaver of Shadows accepted it, took hold of the old vampire’s hand into her own, intertwining their talons. Old scared skin taking comfort in one another, something familiar, in an unfamiliar world.

“We will have our people back. We will terraform this miserable planet! And we will be the new gods of a new utopia... And... though we never seem to see eye to eye... even if all it was, was physical, there is no one I would rather stand with and watch this world transform into hope, because you are my partner. This is our mission.”

Beatrix was the first to move forward. And Hec-Tor quickly followed suit, he closed his eyes and opened his fanged mouth. And the blissful moment was brief, but glorious, the space bat even let a pleasing hum escape him. And perhaps Beatrix would’ve let it go on longer, it wasn’t often that she had pleasures like these. But this situation was dire, and also, she was really tired of looking at the same white walls all day. She decided she earned herself a little walk to stretch her legs.

Hordak knew there was something wrong - his mouth became colder, and something wriggled inside that made him choke on his own breaths. Shadow Weaver rose up, straightening her legs completely, while Hordak bent down, onto his knees. The Dwarf Stone absorbed all darkness present on all surfaces, rendering her powerless, but the magic stone’s reach was limited. Cause Hordak’s entire inside of his body was nothing but darkness - so many shadows coating all of his vulnerable entrails and organs. She wasn’t going to paralyse him permanently, she wasn’t that cruel - just because of their history, she could show mercy.

Hec-Tor’s face pale and sick, his body limp, blood pooling around his organs, he fell on the floor. Shadow Weaver took a good long heavy breath, perfect. She placed the mask back over her face, and approached the wall of the cell through which Hec-Tor entered. Firmly placed her palms on the stone and pushed against the wall. The ethereal shadows twisted and morphed and drilled into the wall, she didn’t have much time. Every second the walls drained away the shadows, Hec-Tor had very little left in him, and the bright magic of the material weakened her, so little strength was left in her.

But there it was, the sound of the stone cracking. She wormed her fingers into the crack, enlarging it, chipping on it. The rock crumbled down, exposing the metallic layer underneath it. That was it, her window of opportunity. She commanded the shadows to bore into the mechanisms, and the shadow beast tore the panel wide open. The steel bending and ripping was extremely satisfying. Weaver loved the look on Grizzlor’s face as he took in what just happened. The witch made quick work of him, throwing him off to the side with the dark mass. She sighed in relief, she wasn’t free yet, but she had plenty of material to work with. The shadows from smallest corner to the largest corridor converged around her, swirling like a vortex.

“Now this is something I can work with.”

[what-is-your-plan-today]

CSI: Rogers and Barnes The Serious Cereal Serial Killer

Prologue: Aye Aye Captain.

Series Intro: Captain Steve Rogers and Sergeant James ‘Bucky’ Barnes are hot on the tail of Brooklyn’s latest criminal- The Serious Cereal Serial Killer. Captain Rogers assembles the best officers from the Brooklyn 101 Murder Unit. This specialist team, nicknamed The Avengers, are working in the dark as the killer leaves behind no clues, other than their choice of murder weapon- whichever beige cereal he/she chooses.

The team are in a race against time as the bodies begin to mount. Can they catch the perp before it’s too late?

Episode Summary: There’s a lake, and Steve’s in a suit. Someone he clearly has feelings for appears and we get the impression that he may have done something a little bit dumbassy… Episode Warnings: Bad Language words. Dark Comedy themes.  CSI:NY + Brooklyn 99 = CSI: Steeb!

Episode Pairings:  Steve Rogers x OFC Katie Stark (will they, won’t they, did they???)

Song for Episode:  Alien by Cary Brothers  

A/N: Inspired by THAT picture of Mr Evans on set in his suit by the lake, myself and @icanfeelastormbrewing put our heads together and we present to you CSI: Rogers and Barnes- The Serious Serial Cereal Killer. I really hope you’re ready because this is a journey into our very, very odd minds but we promise there is a decent plot underneath all our Avengers and Stark Spangled Banner Easter Eggs and jokes! You don’t need to have read that series to understand or enjoy this, but we’ve used the Universe to spin this from. 

Our knowledge of American Policing is limited, so bear with us if we slip up, but at the end of the day this is a fiction so we’ll claim any mistakes as creative license!!

Episodes will be given individual warnings, summaries, pairings and songs so please pay attention to those.

PLEASE REBLOG and COMMENT! 

Tags are open. 

CSI Rogers and Barnes Master List 

 Main Masterlist 

“Nice suit, punk.” Sergeant James Barnes smiled at his Captain, Steve Rogers, who sighed, dropping his hands to his hips.

“You’re a jerk, Bucky” Steve replied simply, eyeing his best friend through his Aviators, a small smile playing on his face.

“Ready for your big speech?” Bucky questioned.

Steve took a breath and looked around. It was a gorgeous, sunny May evening. The Lakehouse which had been hired by the NYPD for the Ceremony was full of people all milling around inside and out. 

“Yeah.” he nodded “I think so.”

“Think so ain’t gonna cut it Steve.” Bucky chuckled “You got half the force out there. The Deputy Commissioner, the Commissioner…” “Buck, just don’t” Steve sighed “I’m well aware of who’s here, thanks.” “Well it’s hardly surprising…” Bucky said, taking a pull from his beer “It was a pretty big case. Thanos and The Children were terrorising Brooklyn for years. “And it was the 101that put him away.” Steve smiled “It was a good team effort.” “You gonna take that time out?” Bucky asked. Steve shrugged.

“I dunno.” 

“You work too hard.” “Criminals don’t exactly take time out because we want to a holiday you know.” Steve said, looking at him. “I’m sure the Unit wouldn’t fall apart if you took a week out.” Bucky said “Stark’s right, you need to get a life man.” “Fuck you.” Steve shot back and Bucky snorted a laugh. 

“Whatever.” 

At that point, Deputy Commissioner Nick Fury approached them, and Steve nodded to him

“Sir.” 

“They’re ready for you now Captain.” he said “You do your speech and then Senator Ross will join you on stage to hand out the Commendation to you and your Unit.” “Yes Sir.” he nodded.

“Knock ‘em dead Punk.” Bucky smiled, and Steve shot him one last look, before he took off his aviators and tucked them into his pocket, Bucky making his way to his seat.

He passed by the other members of his specialist unit, smiling as he went. Detectives Clint Barton and Natasha Romanoff aka Clintasha on account of them hardly ever being apart, Patrol Officer Odinson, aka the Bungalow on account of him ‘not having much upstairs’ according to Bucky (which was ironic seeing a the guy was about 8 feet tall) and then on to his support staff- Tony Stark and Bruce Banner his forensic experts aka the Science Brothers, their Assistant Peter Parker, Sam Wilson, the lead Pathologist and Police Technician Wanda Maximoff. 

After acknowledging them all, he walked up the steps to the stage to a round of applause and wolf whistles, and smiling he pulled his pre-written speech out of his pocket. 

“Thank you.” he spoke into the microphone, squinting slightly against the sun “It’s my pleasure to welcome you to this celebration of achievement for the Brooklyn 101 and their efforts which led to the removal of a dangerous crime lord from our streets.” he paused as Clint gave a little cheer, followed by a shout.

“Go Avengers!”

More cheering and Steve smiled at his team before signalling with his large hands for them to settle down. As the noise died down he cleared his throat and glanced down at his notes again. 

Bucky watched him, smiling to himself. Steve was good a public speaker, his ability to command an audience and simply make people listen was one of the many reasons he had risen through the ranks so quickly, alongside the fact that he had an impressive ability to manage people and a huge number of solved crimes to his name. Bucky was incredibly proud of his best friend. The tall, broad man on the stage was a far cry from that skinny little blonde haired punk he had grown up with, bailing out of fights constantly on the streets they had roamed as kids. 

Steve caught Bucky’s eye, and his Sergeant flashed him a wink and he smiled before continuing.

“Months of hard work, long days and even longer nights went into putting Thanos away. And each and every single member of the 101 had a huge role to play. From Sergeant Barnes who commanded and led the team to Wanda who kept all our paperwork and reports water tight. No matter how meaningless you may have felt your contribution seemed on the outside, every single bit of it was influential in bringing Thanos to justice, and he I am over the moon to be able to thank you all for your efforts and service today.”

He paused and looked out and that was when he spotted her, gently weaving her way through the crowd that was stood up at the back of the seats. Not that it took much effort, he could have found those big green emeralds among millions of people. Her hair was different, not only shorter, but different. It curled round her left ear and her bangs swept across her face sweeping down and finishing in a longer point along the right hand side of her jaw. But those eyes were piercing through him the same way that they had always done. Steve had seen them shine with excitement, sparkle with laughter, darken with lust and close with utter bliss… he had also seen them water with disappointment and shrink with anger.

Just like they were doing now.

Steve had always been one for containment and keeping his emotions at bay, he was the righteous Captain everyone in his team looked up to after all and couldn't afford to let his emotions get in the way. At that moment though he struggled to focus on the page in his hands which he was surprised to find were shaking slightly.  With a deep breath he steeled himself, cleared his throat and resumed his speech. Had he let that scrawny Brooklyn kid he once was come out, he would have stayed there slack jawed with nothing to say.

Bucky sensed something was off, he knew Steve too well not to notice. He turned around to follow his best friend gaze only to find a brunette young woman with gorgeous green eyes dressed in a sleeveless dark green cocktail dress adorned with little golden pineapples. Bucky turned back to the front and glanced at Natasha, whose sharp eye had also noticed Steve’s reaction. Bucky shrugged and motioned with his head to the back of the seats where the woman was stood. Natasha glanced back and her eyebrows shot up in surprise. She nudged Clint who turned to look, before he shared an imperceptible knowing glance with Natasha. 

Ok, so they knew who she was. Bucky still had no idea. 

When Steve finished his speech and the crowd erupted in a big round of applause, Senator Ross approached his spot on the stage and handed out the Commendation, giving Steve a brief hug and pat him on the back. Steve then showed it to his team mates who were now stood, cheering him from the front row under the stage and that was when Bucky saw Katie approach Tony, dropping a kiss to his cheek. As he looked at the faint resemblance between the two, understanding suddenly flooded his system. This had to be Katie Stark, the youngest child of the late Commander Howard Stark, Steve’s one time boss and mentor.

As Steve was dragged to the side for photos with the Senator and Chief, he continued to watch the unit out of the side of his eye. Tony said something to Katie’s ear as his arm curled round her shoulders and that smile Steve would have died for threatened to spread across her pretty face. Steve swallowed, and allowed himself to be rearranged for more photos with the Senator and Chief, before all to soon he was being dismissed to leave the spotlight to mingle with his friends to celebrate. 

Get yourself together Steve, you can do this.

He took a moment to inhale deeply and give himself a pep talk, before he drew himself tall and walked over to where the members of the 101st .and Katie were.

As he approached he saw Thor sweep Katie into a huge hug and drop a kiss to her cheek. "Little Stark, you look fantastic. It's good to see you." "You too big guy" she grinned before she stepped forward to hug Clint and Natasha, her one time team mates "and you two." Steve shuffled uncomfortably, his collar and tie felt real tight. His hands slipped into his pockets and he rocked to and fro on the balls of his feet, a little tick he had whenever he got nervous. One that didn’t go unnoticed by Bucky. 

"Not that we're not happy to see you but...what you doing here?" Clint asked, releasing her. "Was on a rare few days off and came to visit Tone" she said, smiling at her brother. "He insisted I come...share your success. Was a pretty big case you guys smashed." "Well me and Bruce were the ones that actually linked him to 30 crimes forensically but I don’t wanna brag..." Tony quipped and Katie rolled her eyes. "And he’s so modest about it too." Bucky grinned, flashing a huge smile at the girl in front of him "James Barnes, Bucky." "Pleasure to finally meet you Bucky." She smiled "I heard a lot about you. I'm Katie, Tony's sister." "You're Howard's daughter?" Bucky cocked his head to one side and she nodded. "Your dad was a legend. Sucks what happened to him and your mom. Choking on fondue...no way to go." "Thanks. He was good man." Katie said. And then her eyes flickered to the blonde Captain who took a deep breath as her green eyes grew colder. "Hi Katie" he said softly.

"Captain Rogers." Her reply was a little curt, and it cut him to the bone that she could be cold towards him, especially after everything they had been through over the past almost 10 years. But deep down he couldn't blame her. He had been a total jerk. He deserved her indignation.

“How are you?” he asked. 

“Good thank you.” she said. 

“I hear you made Sergeant.” he said, and she nodded. 

“Yeah, month or so back.” “Congratulations, you deserve it.” “Yeah, thanks, err…” She turned to Tony “Any chance we can get a drink, I’m gasping.” “For you kiddo, anything. Anyone else want one?”

Pretty much the entire unit nodded and they headed off to the bar leaving Steve and Bucky alone.

“Ok…” Bucky turned to his friend “What the fuck was that about?”

“I don’t know what you mean.” Steve sighed, looking back at him.

“Bull crap.” Bucky shot back “I thought you and here were fiends. When I was in Russia, for 5 years all I got was emails and shit telling me about her and what you’d been up to…now she looks like she wants to kill you.” Steve snorted “She probably does.”  

“Wait, did you…” Bucky frowned, before his mouth fell open “You did didn’t you! You slept with Howard’s daughter!” “Shhhhh keep your voice down.” Steve hissed.

“Was that before or after he died?” “Bucky shut up.” Steve pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head, looking at his friend. 

“Does Tony know?”

Steve gave a derisive laugh “Do you think I’d still be alive if he did?”

“Good point, he’d have probably designed some kind of murder-bot to kill you in your sleep…” Bucky mused. “You sly little punk, I didn’t know you had it in you. Well, she had it in her more like, but that’s by the by…”

“Buck, I swear to God…” Steve’s nostrils flared at his friend’s crassness and Bucky gave a howl of a laugh.

“I’m just toying with ya Stevie…I’m impressed. She’s hot.”

“Not a word.” Steve glared at his friend as the unit started to make their way back, various beers and glasses of wine clutched in their hand.

Bucky mimed a zip closing across his mouth and smiled, slightly surprised as Natasha handed both him and Steve a beer.

“Thought you might need a drink.” Natasha said quietly to Steve, shooting him a knowing look as Clint did the same. Steve groaned, he should have known. Nothing got past Clintasha. He swore the pair of them had been fucking spies or secret agents in a past life.

“So Katie…” Clint turned to the youngest Stark. “How’s DC?”

She smiled “I love it. It’s a beautiful place. Not home though.” “She misses me.” Tony interjected and Katie slapped him on his shoulder, rolling her eyes.

“Like a hole in the head.” 

Bucky laughed “What made you move over there?” he asked, ignoring the deep breath of annoyance from Steve to his left.

“Well, I wanted my Sergeant stripes” she said, nonchalantly “I was told there was no progression available in the 101st so imagine my chagrin when they replaced me with one.” Steve bristled slightly but he didn’t reply.

“Wait…I was your replacement?” Bucky frowned, looking at Steve.

“It wasn’t like that.” Steve said gently “The budget for a sergeant was only provided to me after you left Katie.” “Sure.” she shrugged “Anyway, it’s irrelevant now. The position in the SHIELD unit was too good to turn down so…” “Yeah you guys got a good result on the Mandarin Case.” Peter Parker looked at Katie 

“It was hard going…” she nodded “I was undercover pretty much for a month, hence the haircut.” “Ha Steve knows all about being undercover….” Bucky snorted 

“Shut up.” Steve said.

“What?” Bucky looked at him innocently “I was merely referring to your impressive moustache man…” Steve gave a groan as the unit began to laugh.

“As part of the Thanos op, Steve had to infiltrate the gang.” Tony looked at Katie who was frowning, not understanding the reference. “He basically shaved his beard off but left this God awful tache…he looked like a 1970s German Pornstar.” Katie snorted “Beard murdering…” she looked at Steve who simply shrugged giving her a small smile.

“Yeah well its coming back.” he shrugged, gently stroking his chin where there was a faint smattering of stubble.

“Hmmm.” she made a small noise, and then looked around, and smiled with a wave as Deputy Fury caught her eyes “Excuse me guys, I’ll be back in a moment.”

Steve watched her leave before he turned back to his team listening to their conversation.  But he couldn’t focus. Just seeing her again was enough to send his head into an absolute whirl. She looked amazing, not that she hadn’t always. Maybe it was the fact he hadn’t seen her for 5 months that was making it worse. But all he could remember was her touch, the way her head would rest against his chest when he hugged her, the smell of her shampoo, the softness of her hand when she would take his…and then the feel of her lips on his, the smoothness of her skin…

Fuck! He had been a grade A jack ass.

Steve took another long pull from his bottle of Stella and looked around. Katie was just finishing a conversation with Fury and Pierce, before she excused herself and headed for the bar after shaking hands with both men. 

Now or never, Rogers…

"I’m, err, going to get a refill..." speaking for the first time as he showed his team mates his almost empty beer bottle, "be right back."

“Course you are…” Bucky mumbled, as he watched Steve slope off. He turned to Natasha.

“So what’s the deal…” he asked, dropping his voice and turning side on to face her so that Tony wasn’t looking. “I mean I kinda figured something went down but…” “Well we don’t know for sure…” Natasha said “But they went home together after the Christmas party in December. Was a long time coming, they’d been dodging around each other for years.” “Yeah, both dating other people when it was clearly obvious they were head over heels for one another.” Clint added. 

“But it got frosty. Like real frosty and she put in for a transfer request.”

Bucky sighed and looked over at Steve who was now stood by the woman. Stevie had always been useless with women, Bucky had all the luck in that department when they were growing up. That was until Steve went to University and discovered the Gym and signed up for an experimental Nutritional Programme called ‘Operation Rebirth’. 3 months later Steve’s physique had changed dramatically. Gone was the lanky, twig thin kid and in his place was a stocky, ripped, 6ft 2 adonis. Frankly it had put Bucky’s nose well out of joint as the women flocked around him. But he needn’t have bothered, he was still as fucking hopeless has he always had been,

And seemed he still was.

“What?” a voice said, and Bucky turned to see Tony stood there, looking at them, his brown eyes flashing as he glanced from Natasha to Clint and then to him. 

Shit. 

****************

When Steve reached the spot by the bar where Katie was waiting patiently for her Martini to be served (made with gin, obviously, he recalled as he had bought her enough- I’m not a heathen, Steve…) he gently touched her forearm and she turned around slowly with a sigh to face him. Steve know she had sensed his presence even before he touched her, she always could. Many years of friendship did that to you.

"Are you avoiding me?"  he asked lightly.

"Does that surprise you?" she replied looking at him directly in the eyes.

"No, not really." he said looking shyly at the grass beneath his shiny black oxfords. With a sigh he looked back up, straight into those deep green orbs "Look, Katie, I hate how we ended things, I..."

"How WE ended things?" she cut in, "Are you for real? I didn't end anything, Steve, because there wasn’t actually anything to end was there? You made sure of that!" 

"I'm sorry, Katie, I truly am." he spoke again.

"Sorry for what exactly?" she fired back.

She was pissed. He could sense it in the rising tone of her voice and the way her eyes seemed to squint in the way they always did when she was winding up for an argument. He had to do something before they attracted too much attention and Tony made an entrance.

"Look, can we maybe go for a walk by the lake?" he looked at her, his eyes pleading. "We can talk and errm..." 

She sighed "Fine."  and with that she started to make her way through the rest of the people at the reception heading towards the calm water.  Once they reached a spot under a tree near a small jetty she stopped and turned to look at him. 

"What do you want, Steve?" she asked shielding her eyes with her right hand from the sun that was beginning to set.

"To check in. I care about you, Katie" he answered looking at her with an almost apologetically.

"So, you care about me.” She snorted “That's rich."

"Of course, I do!" he almost yelled. "We've been best friends for what, almost ten years?" 

“Were, Steve.” she stared at him, “Past Tense…”

He took a deep breath and looked away, the lump in his throat growing even larger. Her words feeling like a slap in the face, but he wasn’t sure exactly what else he had expected. Things hadn’t been the same. They hadn’t actually spoken since she had left for DC. And he was the reason she had left, regardless of how she dressed it up and pretended otherwise to everyone else.

He looked back at her, and saw her eyes. They bored right through him, a mixture of anger and melancholy.

He had to try and fix this, he had to….

“Look, Katie, I know you must hate me..."

"Steve..." she said putting a hand over his forearm, before pulling it back immediately, almost like it had been an involuntary reaction. And the fact she wasn’t comfortable showing him that type of friendly affection anymore made him feel even shittier than he already did.  "I..."  she was fumbling with the words and he remained silent whilst he waited for her to gather her thoughts. “You know what, you’re right, I did hate you. I hated what you did but…you know what the worst thing about all of this was?”

He looked at her waiting for her to continue.

“Was that I mostly hated myself" she finished quietly, her voice beginning to break and she looked away.

Steve was aghast at her statement. "Wha... what do you mean?" he asked stuttering. He wasn't prepared for something like that. Over the last few months his mined had conjured thousands of possible conversations and things she would say to him when they finally met each other again…but not that.

"I hated myself for letting you in, Steve" she inhaled deeply before looking back at him and continuing, trying to keep the tears at bay. "You knew how long it took me to get over Grant, you knew what that bastard did to me because you were there, you were my best friend. You wiped my tears, held me when I cried myself to sleep, you helped me pick up the pieces of myself,  told me I was worth more. But then, when it came down to it…I clearly wasn’t, not to you anyway.” 

Steve couldn't stand her gaze and looked down to his shoes, jaw clenching. "Katie, I..." he started to speak but did he know what to say? 

"Let me finish, let me say this, Steve, please." she pleaded. "I trusted you, you knew how I felt about you, and you know how much it took to tell you that and let you in…" she swallowed hard "You broke through every goddamned wall I put up around me and what’s more, you broke me too."

"Breaking your heart was never my intention, doll" was the only thing he managed to say, swallowing thickly. He didn't even know how he could have possibly formed those words in his brain and actually uttered them, he was numb and wanted to tell her she meant so much to him, so much more than she could ever imagine…but the words just wouldn’t come. 

"But you did." she said quietly, tears now threatening to spill. "And I need time to heal, Steve. There’s not going back from what happened. We can’t just go back to being best friends and hanging out…it doesn’t work like that.”

“Kiddo?” They both jerked a little at Tony’s voice as he approached. She hastily wiped at her eyes and Steve stood back, taking a deep breath. “You two alright?” “Yeah, just catching up.” Katie said, smiling at Tony. 

“Huh, that what they call it?” Tony said, his voice somewhat steely and Steve felt himself blanche. He turned to Tony but before he could say anything, the man’s fist had connected with his face, cracking his nose, making him reel backwards.

“Tony!” he heard Katie say, loudly, and as Steve recovered from the blow he looked up to see her stood with her hands on his chest, pushing him away gently.

“I can’t believe you, you son of a bitch!” Tony was spewing, glaring at Steve. The Captain was relieved to see that Bucky and Thor were hastily making their way over. They were well enough removed from the crowd for this not to be seen, thankfully. 

“Stark…” Thor said in his deep breath “Come on, calm down…” “Calm down, calm down?” Tony’s face contorted with fury “I just find out, he slept with my sister, and then…”

“I’m a big girl Tony.” Katie said gently “I don’t need you fighting my battles for me, not like I did when we were kids…”

“I knew there was a reason you ran off to DC, and all the time it’s been him!” he said, looking at her, before he glared back at Steve. “You’re a piece of shit, Rogers…”

Steve waved off Bucky who had stepped forward to check he was ok. 

“Come on…” Katie said, pushing Tony’s chest, “Time we left…” With that she turned to Thor and Bucky, gave them both a smile before she locked eyes with the Captain “Bye, Steve" she said turning around and beginning to walk away with Tony.  Steve could do nothing else but watch as she walked out of his life for the second time in less than 6 months. 

“I’m sorry” Bucky looked at his friend as he wiped at his bleeding nose with a handkerchief. “He overheard me and Natasha and…”

“I’m surprised it’s stayed a secret as long as it has.” Steve sighed “I deserved it, he’s right, I am a piece of shit.”

“We all do stupid shit bud.” Thor said, “Doesn’t make us bad people.” Bucky looked at Thor “That’s pretty smart for you.”

“I have my moments.” Thor shrugged, before he frowned “Unless you’re my brother, of course. He is inherently bad…but that’s another story.”

There was a pause, and then Bucky looked at Steve.

“Think you need another drink.” he said, clapping him on the shoulder. “I’ll go grab you one.”

Steve smiled, knowing full well it was Bucky’s way of saying “I’ll give you a moment…”

His friend squeezed his shoulder before he turned and walked away leaving Steve stood, looking out across the lake. The tall blonde stood there, mulling the conversation they’d just had over and over in his mind. He knew he’d hurt her but now he understood the extent of that, he hated himself even more. 

Steve Rogers was a man of honesty and principles. A man who believed that you faced up to your actions and took the consequences whatever they were, not merely hid from them. But here he had gone against every single thing he stood for. He’d let Katie walk away all those months ago without so much as a fight. Because it was easier, easier than being honest and explaining why he had done what he had done.  

If time travel was possible, he’d go back and do everything differently.

@the-omni-princess  @momobaby227 @geekofmanythings16 @angelofhell-666 @thewackywriter @marvelfansworld  @cobalt-gear @asgardlover75 @jennmurawski13  @jtargaryen18 @saiyanprincessswanie  @navispalace @patzammit  @joannaliceevans-fanficblog  @djeniiscorner  @ayamenimthiriel  @coldmuffinbanditshoe  @disneylovingal​  @madzmilllz​  @sgtjaamesbaarnes​ @sweater-daddiesdumbdork​  @southerngracela​ @goldenfightergir​ @kellymat​ @official-and-unstable-satan​

[docsnotes]

Views on Cancel Culture, Woke-ness, Political Correctness & Other Related Issues From The Perspective of an Irrelevant Nobody: Why People Think it Helps & Why it Does Not. By Bradley “Holliday” Rozier I had hoped this first post would be a lot more light-hearted, but after an article and the related tweets I read yesterday, I had to write and share this. So, it is roughly November 2017, I decided to join Greenpeace because I felt it would be a great way to put my mind and anxiety to good use.  Through the connections I made, I ended up with some really good friends and some people who I thought would be a positive asset to my growth and recovery, but ended up not being so.  However, we will get to THAT part later.  First I want to say, generally speaking, I am against most everything the “Woke” movement is against, I simply feel that, tactically speaking, it could and should be handled differently.I was born September 9, 1984 at 10 something PM at what was then “University of Florida Medical Center”, but is now called “UF Health Shands” (Named so after William Augustine Shands, fun fact, W. Shands was not a Doctor, but a politician)  on 8th street in Jacksonville, Florida.  I grew up in culturally and ethnically diverse neighborhood on the northside of town called “Highlands” (named so because it is at a slightly higher elevation than most of the rest of the city) as well as various other places (my biological mother moved, A LOT) so, from an early age, I was presented a multitude of other cultures and backgrounds to embrace and learn from.  The most important factor in this point is my Grandmother, Geraldine Rozier, and my Aunt, Donna Ogle.  Both of whom drilled two very important lessons. Love your neighbor as yourself. (Mark 12:31) Treat others as you want to be treated. (‎Matthew 7:12) Now, as many of you know, I have particular disdain for organized religion, as more often than not I see it bring out the worst in people, if you doubt my words, wait for the next thing I post.  Yet, even I can find value in these teachings.  These teachings also come into play with the topic at hand and I feel that this was a necessary preface for what may come out as being exceptionally harsh.  I need you to understand: this is all coming from a place of love and compassion, though I understand how this may be hard to believe as this is my first blog post. This morning, as I drank my coffee and smoked my first cigarette of the day, I was reading a Revolver article about Glenn Danzig (who is easily one of my favorite musicians).  The article was basically him talking about how punk rock could have never have happened in today’s sociopolitical climate. It received A LOT of hate, but the simple fact is, he was right.  Think about this: The Ramones, New York Dolls, The Clash and The Sex Pistols all put out songs that were offencive to some people, however, that was kind of the point.  In 1976 the Ramones put out their self titled debut, on this album was a song called “Beat on The Brat” the 6 repeated lines from this song involve beating some annoying kid with a baseball bat.  On the 1973 self titled New York Dolls debut there is a track called “Looking For A Kiss” which is about pressuring someone to be intimate with the singer.  The Clash, in 1977,again with the self titled debut, has a song called “Protex Blue” which is a song shaming a girl for not being “wholesome” enough.  Finally, The Sex Pistols, who’s name alone may be enough to get them cancelled these days, finally straying from the “self titled” trend with their 1977 debut album “Never Mind The Bollocks, Here's The Sex Pistols” had a song called “God Save the Queen” which was about anything except saving the Queen.  In today’s world, these bands would have been stopped dead in their tracks and with them, almost 50 years of other artists. Which brings me to what led me to start this and with it, I hope, a dialogue.

The reason people THINK that cancel culture, woke-ness and political correctness works is because it makes THEM feel warm and fuzzy inside.  They got to “stand up” for the “little guy”.  The reality is these people do this for themselves and that is what I am going to illustrate in the next part. The first point I want to make, which I almost didn’t because I didn’t want to seem nationalist, is the Freedom of Speech.  Now, this is often something people mention when trying to explain how “America is the greatest nation on earth.” However, this is not strictly an American right, Article 19 of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights (United Nations General Assembly Resolution 217A - 10DEC1948 Code-A/RES/3/217A) which was voted for by 48 Nations, and 8 nations abstained1 states that Freedom of Expression as a fundamental human right.  So, I say this with the full certainty that it is absolutely imperative that ALL people should be allowed to express themselves.

My second point, it is insanely important that we teach ourselves that reality is sometimes offensive.  The world does not walk on eggshells and people will be insensitive, it is a simple fact.  Preparing our children (and ourselves) for this fact is a quintessential part of life.  Now, it would be great if everyone was nice and perfectly well mannered all the time.  If you prepare your children for a flat tire you should prepare them for hurt feelings, conversely, it is also a useful tool in teaching children how they should behave by showing them how they should not act.  Using a negative to teach a positive can be a very effective method.  

Third, let’s talk about being “woke” which will bring us back to one of the people I met through my Greenpeace affiliation who was a negative influence on my life. I have no desire to smear this person, so I will simply refer to her by her initials D.H. I met her at a coffee shop where we met to discuss racism in general, but, primarily in Jacksonville. Our introduction was uneventful, but informative for me.  Over the next few months, we would communicate multiple times and meet up at multiple events. At one point she would call me “one of the most ‘woke’ white guys she ever met” which, at the time, I took as a great compliment.  As time would pass we would start to disagree on certain things, mostly things of basic morality. The final straw was when a mutual “friend” of ours decided that it was morally acceptable to lie to someone who was going through a catastrophic period in her life. She made a comment that I completely agreed with in the general context, however in this exact situation it was incorrect.  She said “He didn’t owe her anything”, which is correct, except for the fact that he broke a promise.  I was raised that if you give your word, you honor it. So, yes, he owed her his word, if not,at least an answer as to why he broke it (which was all she wanted). I mention this to say the biggest problem/misconception with ”woke culture” and it is simply this: Being “woke” does not make you a good person.  I also would like to point out that being “woke” 75% of the time does not undo the 25% that you are an asshole.In conclusion, the idea that “wokeness” and Cancel Culture will fix the problems of our society is absolute garbage.  I feel that the only way we can actually fix things is with a dialogue, not by simply throwing people out when they say things that we don’t agree with. Alienation is not fixing anything, in fact, I would argue that it makes things worse.  It is better to extend a hand than slam a door. Thank you for taking time out of your busy day to read this, I hope to see you next time.

1- For (48) - Afghanistan, Argentina, Australia, Belgium, Bolivia, Brazil, Burma, Canada, Chile, China, Colombia, Costa Rica, Cuba, Denmark, Dominican Republic, Ecuador, Egypt, El Salvador, Ethiopia, France, Greece, Guatemala, Haiti, Iceland, India, Iran, Iraq, Lebanon, Liberia, Luxembourg, Mexico, Netherlands, New Zealand, Nicaragua, Norway, Pakistan, Panama, Paraguay, Peru, Philippines, Siam, Sweden, Syria, Turkey, United Kingdom, United States, Uruguay and Venezuela.

Against (0) - Zero

Abstained (8) - Byelorussian SSR, Czechoslovakia, Poland, Saudi Arabia, Ukrainian SSR, South Africa, Soviet Union and Yugoslavia ( artwork is by marisa deroma @marisa_deroma on instagram)

[archivednerdfics]

Never Prouder

Fandom: The Adventure Zone (Balance)

Summery: Angus gets in trouble at school and Taako is actually quite proud of this (and also hates Lucas Miller).

Requested: Yes - @punks-n-rec (I'm so sorry it took me so long to post this!)

Word Count: 1,164

----

"...Mr. Taako?" Angus's small voice came through Taako's stone of far speech.

The elven man was sitting in his office at his school, desk covered in papers -- both for the school and ideas for new dishes and different things for the brand in general. ...It was all a lot of work to keep up with, and he was prone to distraction, which was why he kept everything on the desk at once. Made it easier to concentrate. 

"What's up, bubula?" Taako asked, pulling out his stone of farspeech.

"I… need you to come get me." The boy sounded upset and Taako frowned. 

"You still at school?"

"Yes, sir. ...Mr. Miller wants to talk to you…"

"What? Why?"

"I'll explain when you get here… it'll be easier."

Taako didn't really like the sound of that, but he figured it would be better to get to Angus quickly and go from there, so he said, "Okay, I'm on my way. Hang tight, I'll be there soon."

"Okay, sir."

The stone frequencies disconnected as Taako stood up, grabbed his cloak, and made his way to Lucas Miller's school.

__

The moment he made it to the school, Taako went straight to Lucas's office, only to find Angus sitting on a bench outside of it. 

"Hey, Pumpkin," he said, making a B-line for the boy and sitting next to him, "What the fuck is going on?" He was acting as nonchalant as he could, but there was a tinge of worry in his voice that he couldn't shake, despite his best efforts. 

"...Something happened."

"Okay… I'm gonna need some context here, Ango."

"...I was late to a test."

"...And?"

"And they wouldn't let me take it…"

"Because you were late?"

Angus nodded and Taako frowned, "How late?"

"Ten minutes."

"...They wouldn't… let you take a test because you were just ten minutes late…?" Taako asked, his voice that certain kind of even that meant he was angry -- though Angus knew it wasn't with him, and he nodded. 

"...Okay," Taako said and stood up. "Okay," he said again and went to the office door and abruptly threw it open, yelling, "Miller!"

Lucas practically jumped out of his skin when the elf bounded in, "T-Taako…! Uh, good, you're here. We… we need to talk."

"Yeah, we fuckin' do!" Taako said, going over to the human's desk where he was sitting and slamming a hand down on it, "You got something against my kid?"

"Of course not," Lucas said, "He's been struggling in class… and then today…"

"And then today you idiots wouldn't let him take a test."

"They were just following the rules, Taako."

"Rules that you make!"

"You don't have a time limit on tests in your school?"

"Not like that! They show up late they just have less time to take it, I don't make them fucking leave!"

"Taako it's not just that," Lucas sighed. 

"What else, then?" Taako asked, crossing his arms and narrowing his eyes at the human man.

"...Angus… had a little outburst in class…"

"...The point, Miller. Get to the point."

"That… is the point. He yelled at a teacher. And several students."

"Well then they probably deserved it," Taako said. 

"I know you don't like me," Lucas said, "But this is serious."

It was at this point that Angus entered the office, going to stand next to his adoptive father, a bit nervously. 

"What makes this serious? Did he injure anybody?"

"Well, no… but--"

"Did he start an uncontrollable fire?"

"What? No. Taako--"

"So he just yelled at some people?"

"...I did… yell at a teacher, sir…" Angus said, looking up at Taako anxiously, possibly even ashamed, and then looked to Lucas, "I'm sorry. I'll take my punishment--"

"Nope," Taako said, interrupting the boy. He placed a hand on his shoulder and took a step in front of him, "Stop talking. Let me do one thing right and get behind me. Now here's what's gonna happen," he added to Lucas, in an almost dangerous voice, "You are going to leave my kid alone, you're going to let him make up that test for full credit, and I'm not going to have to come back to this school until he graduates. Are we understood?"

"...I suppose… as long as it doesn't happen again," Lucas said, mostly because he was afraid of Taako. 

"Good," Taako said with a short nod before swiftly turning on his heel and leading Angus from the room. 

Neither said a word until they were out of the building and making their way down the street, when Taako spoke, "...So how long have you been havin' trouble?"

"...Not long, sir," Angus said, averting his eyes. 

"Angus," Taako said, giving the boy a look. The fact that his mentor was using his real name was enough to tell him that he was serious, though. He didn't need to see the look. 

"...Since the beginning of the semester…"

"Why didn't you come to me for help? Or Krav, or Lup?"

"...I didn't want to bother any of you. I thought I could handle it. I'm sorry, sir."

"Don't be sorry, I don't care if you yell at people. ...But you usually do care about shit like that, so if you lost it, obviously something's up."

"I just got frustrated," Angus sighed, "I was studying all night, which is why I was late, and I was sure I knew everything for the test and that I was ready, but then they wouldn't let me take it, and…"

"It caught up to you," Taako said, nodding in understanding. 

"...Yes… I really am sorry, sir."

"You really don't have to be." He gave the boy a small smile, "I've never been prouder."

"Sir!" The boy looked reprimandingly at Taako, who laughed. 

"You don't have to be perfect, Ango. Just do your best, and for Pan's sake, ask me for help when you need it! ...And remember, when in doubt, tell Lucas you're gonna call Killian. She really hates that guy. ...But then, don't we all."

"I don't hate him. I just feel I was treated a bit unfairly…"

"You were, and you should hate him. But you'll learn," Taako said, patting Angus on the back. "...Now. What do you say we go get some ice cream?"

"I don't know… I don't feel like I should be rewarded for how I acted today."

"Well, I do. But if you really insist on punishing yourself, then you can just watch me eat said ice cream." Taako gave the young boy a loving smirk, and Angus smiled back up at him. 

"...Thank you, sir."

"You got it. ...Just next time, call me before you yell at people so I can come take pictures."

"Mr. Taako!" Angus said incredulously.

"Let me have this, Agnes," Taako said, and it put Angus at ease to hear him use the incorrect name like that. 

"Yes, sir," Ango said with a small, slightly amused smile.

"Good boy." Taako smiled and ruffled the kid's hair.

[quicklyseverebird]

An intervention for an Antifa friend

Written to a sweet friend of mine who is, I learned, a member of the Portland Antifa. Ok, so maybe I just need to get this off my chest so i can move past it.  I just don't believe you, XXXXXX.  There is an utter lack of any evidence to your claim.  

Consider this, the Proud Boys, to use the biggest example, are castigated on every media channel as white supremacists and alt right bigots, despite the fact that their leader--in fact several of their local leaders as well--are men of color.  So the media is already skewed against them and hostile to anything they might say or do, regardless of logic or common sense.  Whenever an act of violence breaks out and there's even a RUMOR that someone is a PB, they jump on it as proof of this, even when the PB's own leaders state that there is no record of that person ever being a member of any of their chapters.  Still, despite that, with a media seeking to demonize them, every video we see of your altercations is them having their rallies, marching about, waving flags, etc, and then you show up and attack them, and they fight back.  Not only that, but even when they just SAY they are going to show up, and then don't, just to punk you, you guys show up and riot and damage things anyways, without a proud boy in sight.  So no.  I do not believe you.  Nor do I believe that "nothing has been laid to waste" when we can literally view videos of buildings being burned, businesses looted, people killed, etc.  Streets vandalized and boarded up, shopkeepers being subjected to protection rackets, then looted anyways.  Your people post the videos *yourself* showing evidence of this.  So no.  I do not for a moment believe you. And no, this has nothing to do with my "news sources."  The news bends over backwards defending you.  The politicians defend you, say Antifa doesn't exist, or is just "an idea."  The politicians justify and defend these riots, and even raise support to pay for bail.  When you attack a PB rally, they call the PB's white supremacists, and blame them, though they were standing there minding their own business and having a rally, which is their constitutional right to do.  When you attack a man in his home, threatening to kill him and burn his house, it's the man who's arrested.  When you break into private property and threaten a home owner with death, and they brandish non-functioning weapons as a deterrent, as they are legally allowed to do (they actually would have been legally justified by castle doctrine to open fire on those people the moment they entered the gate), it's the home owners charged with crimes, and evidence is tampered with in order to make a case against them.  When your rioters are arrested, the DA's let them go without charges.  Your own mayor stands in the front lines with you in an assault on federal property, and then has his own home attacked and tried to set on fire, yet he STILL defends you. The establishment is defending you at every turn.  You are not the victims of demonization.  You are not "the underdog/oppressed."  You are the ones committing brutalization and when people try and defend themselves from you, you cry "victim."  You are the oppressors. Because...and here I need to make a distinction between you the individual and your organization and those like them.  I like and care about you.  I believe you are at heart a good person.  I can hear the passion you have for prisoners and while I might disagree with some of your beliefs and arguments, I can acknowledge and even admire your idealism and desire to make things better.  Even your belief in socialism is rooted in a desire to make things better, and I can respect that, even though I find socialism morally repugnant and stupid. But your organization and those like it: Antifa, BLM and the whole cult of intersectionality are *EVIL*.  I am not using this term to be hyperbolic.  I mean it quite literally.  They are actively, objectively, factually, morally evil.  I mean it in the same way I say that grass is green.  I place them on the same moral level that the KKK or neo-Nazi's are.  In actuality, I believe they are worse than those.  The KKK is a couple thousand deluded, sad, old, little white men, and the neo-nazis are a couple thousand deluded young white men seeking identity and purpose.  Stupid, sad, disgusting, but irrelevant, and scorned by the general public and in public opinion.   It's not the KKK rioting through cities, burning businesses, buildings, looting and destroying primarily minority-owned property.  It's not NN's today stirring up racial hatred and attacking people based on their skin color.  It's not the KKK who have killed something like 35 people in the past 140 days of violent rioting, most of them POC's as well.  It's not the neo-Nazi's who stalked two guys walking down the street minding their own business who had just driven around town and caused no damage or violence, then screamed "we have a Trump supporter here" and then executed an unarmed man.  It's not the KKK that showed up at a detention facility armed to the teeth with weapons for a shoot-out.  It's not NN's chasing down a kid who literally hours before had been cheering BLM's position, cleaning up damage and providing first aid to rioters, while shooting at him, and forcing the kid to defend himself with lethal force, then claiming he was a white supremacist.  It's not the KKK tearing down statues of Lincoln, paid for by freed slaves, or Frederick Douglas, or of abolitionists who died fighting slavery, or hell, even a statue of an elk!  It's not NN's who go to a black man's house and demand that he take down his american flag or they will burn his home down.  It's not the KKK who burned down an apartment building where families were living because there was a rumor the building was used in trafficking, without evidence.  It's not the NN's marching through suburbs, frightening normal people and using their presence as a shield against police actions.  It's not the KKK writing justifications for looting, and calling Jews the face of capitalism. (sound familiar?)  It's not NN's who walk up to people they don't like, away from the people they were allegedly and illegally hired to protect and use the excuse that a man has pepper spray in his hand, to shoot them in the face.  That's all you. I am, admittedly, lumping you all into one pot, so some of my accusations blur the boundaries between these groups, but you are more or less the same in my eyes.  Same drink, different flavors, in my view.  I do feel like I am living in pre-war Germany.  But you are the Nazi's.  In a very real sense, I mean that.  You are the Nazi's in today's society, waiting for your Hitler to arise.  You are the ones going about advocating against free speech...with violence.  You are the ones justifying your actions with claims of socialistic reform and revolution, with violence.  You are the ones burning books, both figuratively and literally.  You are the ones with cancel culture as part of your methodology.  Even you.  I've literally watched you do it, XXXXX, though you said you think cancel culture is stupid.  YOU did it yourself and I watched you do so because someone dared to speak and eat with people you don't like.  You are the ones stoking the fires of racial hatred.  You are the racists and identitarians.  Even in your racism against white people (and POC's who disagree with you, which justifies you in calling them racial slurs) you are, ironically, the actual white supremacists. I'm not scared of the KKK.  I'm not scared of Neo nazis.  I'm not scared of the Alt Right.  I'm not scared of the Proud boys or patriot prayer.  I don't see any of them committing acts of violence.  I AM scared of you.  I DO see your violence.  The PB's could march down my street, and I'd watch from my porch and drink a coke.  If you marched down my street, I'd get my gun and watch through my window blinds.  You are the Nazis.  You are the violent racists.  You are the fascists, in a very real sense of the word.  You are the authoritarians seeking a revolution of society to place your own bigoted views in a place of power.

And just to be clear, I'm not condoning the actions of the groups you fight.  I'm not saying I agree with them. I gather there have been some violent acts with PB's in the past.  They had a "4th degree" in their organization that you reached if you were involved in a fight, but they've stepped back from that I gather.  They seem more like a fraternity, and I don't like fraternities (or sororities for that matter).  I am not aware of any violent activity perpetrated by Patriot Prayer.  And any group has its own, individual crazies.  I don't have to agree with them, or even like them to acknowledge that Antifa, BLM and company are worse.  For them, violence is a primary means and goal, not something that pops up accidentally. No.  You are not right.  You are not noble.  Your organizations are literally, morally evil and the closest thing to a Nazi party in existence right now in our country by any metric or standard.  I just wish you would recognize this and get out before its too late.  I adore you, and I hate to think of you as part of them, just as I would, had I learned you had joined the KKK.

[writeyourownlifestory]

L I GH T S  U P

Chapters: 1/20 Fandom: IT Rating: M Warnings: No warnings at this time  Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Beverly Marsh/Ben Hanscom Additional Tags: PunkRocker!Eddie, Writer!Richie, Beveddie!Friendship, No Clown Written by: myself & @ahardlife Tag list: @richietoaster, @beproudtozier, @that-weird-girls-blog, @s-onora, @s-s-georgie, @bellarosewrites, @iamcupcakefrosting, @reddieonwheels, @bi-gemini1983

Puff piece writer Richie Tozier is given the chance of a lifetime to interview his celebrity crush: Dr. K, the lead singer of punk rock band, Trashmouth. Dr. K is about to release his first solo album and Richie wants to get all the dirty details. But all is not what it appears to be and the two realize they know each other from a different time, in a different place, when they were both very different people.

One: Cruel To Be Kind: Nick Lowe

Oh I can't take another heartache Though you say you're my friend, I'm at my wit's end You say your love is bonafide, but that don't coincide With the things that you do And when I ask you to be nice, you say

You've gotta be cruel to be kind, in the right measure Cruel to be kind, it's a very good sign Cruel to be kind, means that I love you, baby (You've gotta be cruel) You gotta be cruel to be kind

Richie Tozier didn’t know what he wanted to do with his life.

That wasn’t a very unique statement but Richie wasn’t a very unique person. An average guy who was as blind as a bat, born in bumblefuck nowhere and eventually making it out of there and into the big wild city, making a living working at a big-name magazine.

Okay, the last part was pretty impressive, but he didn’t actually work very hard for that job.

He used to dream of writing comedy. Of telling jokes or writing for amazing shows like Saturday Night Life or something on Comedy Central. He wanted to be a comedian. To make people laugh. Sure, he is seen as the funny guy around the watering tank, but thats just because the rest of the people he worked with were a bunch of yuppies with impressive college degrees and no real personalities. They’re no better than the robots who work for Buzzfeed.

They had paperback covers and an app for people who didn’t want to go to the store to buy an actual copy. They had their own YouTube channel that hit millions of hits thanks to interviews and other shit that Richie took part in.

When Bill decided he wanted to make this into a real thing, he wanted it to make some sense. It wasn’t some balls to the ball insanity mag that people read for juicy gossip. It was real. The people who subscribed were real and the people featured in it were real.

Richie’s writing, not so much.

He mostly did puff pieces. Little things that didn’t take a lot of effort but were mostly filler in between the larger stories. It was something Bill had done for them after the magazine got big. You see, he and Bill had been buddies in college. Both young and naive about the world. Neither really knew what they wanted, but they had dreams and that was all that mattered back then.

It was Bill that had the real talent with writing and despite publishers being interested, he never took into account just how much time, effort, and money went into getting a book published. Richie, always believing in his best friend, decided to give him all the cash he had saved up for spring break so he would make the first move on getting his novel out.

He didn’t mind much as he found that he could eat, sleep, and drink on the couch the same way he could out on the beach.  

That novel ended up being a best seller and skyrocketed Bill’s career. Bill always remembered that, so when his second and third books became such a thrill, he decided to take the chance and create a magazine and brought Richie along for the ride.

It was easy work and he made good money for doing very little, but he found that was the main cause of his quarter-life crisis. He wanted so much more than he had been given that Richie was actually feeling guilty for wanting more.

He had done stand up in the city and even took an improv class, but nothing seemed to stick to him. Now he was over thirty and found himself in a rut. He lived alone in a small apartment filled with things he didn’t need but purchased because he thought they would bring out a sense of excitement.

He was single, though that was a whole nother issue as it took Richie an embarrassingly long time to come to terms with his own sexuality. Growing up in a small town where people were cruel and the world didn’t understand left marks on an impressionable kid. It wasn’t until he was halfway through college that he did anything with a guy and well-passed gradation that he realized that it was more than okay to be gay, it was normal.

So yeah, he was open and fine with it, but still lonely as hell. He had been with people in the past, but he found that he mostly just shut himself off from the world. He wasn’t happy about anything anymore and it seemed the only thing that got him by was that ending it all would have proved his teenage bullies right; that he was better off dead.

And if there was anything Richie wanted to live for, it was spite.

And also music.

Despite not being musically inclined at all, Richie loved music with all his heart. He spent a good portion of his time listening to records as a kid. He used to go around carrying a walkman and CD player and Zune throughout his life. He paid for the mom's gigs on his phone because he needed to have all his favorite songs ready to blast at the tap of a finger.

While they already had a guy that wrote specifically about music for the magazine, he had always been able to sweet talk Bill into allowing him to have a few moments to shine and write something about some artist. Those were the pieces that really mattered to him. The ones that gave Richie the chance to dive deep into the thing he loved.

Sure, he had written a whole expose on Street Fighter and perhaps he did make a big deal out of the Star Wars franchise, but it was the moments when Richie could reel back and listen before writing that got him going.

They rarely did full-length articles on performers as the magazine was something of a clusterfuck of topics. Bill Denbrough never wanted to settle on just one thing. Paper Boat was more than just one specific topic. It was everything and they would be damned if they ever settled on its something.

But of course, now and then something would come along and the whole team would be scrambling to put together a magazine dedicated to that one specific person. It wasn’t always a celebrity. Bill meant what he said when he wanted to keep the magazine aimed at the everyday people.

Their biggest seller to date had been when they put out issues all about Ben Hanscom the architect. Richie had no idea why anybody would want to read about the guy other than to enjoy the pictures that were taken of him, but low and behold, the world wanted to know.

As it turned out, Ben was a decent human being who just wanted to make the world a better place and he also happened to be extremely hot while doing it. Who knew that was possible!

The physical copies sold out everywhere and the website crashed thanks to all the promotions they did on it. Like, what the actual fuck?

Bill was that good at what he did and it also helped that he was writing his books on the side. He had people from all over coming through wanting to see what they could do and it only proved to be more impressive as time went on.

Now the magazine needed something new, something fresh and it seemed Bill had it all planned out.

“Here at Paper Boat, we don’t choose a good looking celebrity because we want to make money. You know, I’m not going to call up Jennifer Aniston and ask her to do me a favor -- I could, but I won’t -- because that isn’t what we do here.” Bill explained as they went over the board meeting for the next issue. “The people featured on our cover are interesting. People who want to bring the world together and make a change. Or maybe they’re just batshit insane and look good while doing it. Who knows.”

A small array of laughter came over the place. Richie leaned back in his chair, half paying attention. He knew how these things went. Bill made a big, exciting speech before revealing who or what they’d be focusing on. The assignments would be passed around and Richie would be given something soft and fun.

He got the dumb shit that got the people who didn’t want to read involved. Sometimes he’d do interviews while vlogging. They’d try food they never tried before or do something stupid. One of the most interesting had been when he got assigned to interview Kristen Wiig while bobbing for apples. Certainly interesting and the flow to the website was wonderful.

Richie was the writer they went to when they wanted it to seem kitsch and gimmicky. Enough for it to garner actual attention, but nothing worth anybody's time.

He tossed his stress ball up in the air, catching it as it followed the natural path and came back down. He got bored easily as meetings like this and he waited for Bill to just get on with it and assign everybody their respected jobs.

Bill hit a button on his computer, revealing a picture that Richie was all too familiar with. It was of a punk rock band that he had followed since he graduated from college. Trashmouth was one of the greatest bands that had ever come into Richie’s life. They were like if Queen and the Ramones were put together, had a baby, and then that baby had a baby with Green Day: that weirdly insane combination would be Trashmouth.

There were five members, but the main focus was and always had been the lead singer and guitarist Dr. K. Nobody knew why he went by that nor did he ever give an answer. Richie had googled him a couple of times, wanting to find out more, but the guy was a fucking mystery. It was like he just appeared on the scene, completely out of his mind with cut off sleeves and steller vocals.

It was safe to say Richie had a big gay crush on Dr. K.

And that was fine because Dr. K was just as gay.

He had never been seen with anybody, always choosing to keep his personal life private, but his songs were obvious enough even if most of them seemed pretty genderless. He had done one interview where the person asking the questions kept using the term ‘she’ or ‘her’ until finally, the guy replied that he writes songs about guys.

That took the world by fucking storm and Richie Tozier had never been the same.

“Some of you may be familiar with Trashmouth. Multiple Grammy noms and wins. Always in the top 40 listings despite repeatedly being told that punk rock was dead.”

“Please tell me we’re going to be featuring the band,” Mike, the music specialist for the magazine, piped up eagerly.

“I can’t because we won’t,” Bill replied. “Our focus is on him.” Bill hit another button and a solo picture of Dr. K popped up.

Richie’s mouth was watering and he sat up straight. He had the same picture in a small poster in his apartment. It was set up alongside some other pictures in what he called his “Rock and Roll Hall of Fame Wall” because he was just that big of a fan. He looked at it often, always finding himself thankful for all the music that had been created and got him through some pretty dark days as a kid.

Did it also help that Dr. K was incredibly attractive and gave Richie a little bit of encouragement just by looking so good? Yes, yes it did.

“It seems Dr. K will be going off on his own. My sources tell me he’ll be putting out a solo album by the end of the year and I want to know everything about it. Mikey, that’s your job. Speak to whoever you have to to find out what is going to be on that album. Audra, speak to the rest of the band, find out how they feel about the ending of an era. Georgie, get your camera ready because we’re doing a photo shoot with him in three days.”

“Who is doing the main exposé?” Greta asked, popping her gum as she spoke.

Bill smirked, turning back to his computer. “I’ll pick someone later. For now, you’re all dismissed.”

The group got up from their chairs and left Bill’s office. All except for Richie, who was too fucking flabbergasted to do a damn thing. As Bill began to head out, he finally scrambled to his feet to follow him. His long legs led him there quickly, though he mostly sidestepped around his coworkers to finally reach their boss.

“Bill! Big Bill! Wait up.” He called, following him to the elevator.

“What's up, Rich? I’m about to head out for lunch.” Bill said, turning to face him. “You hungry? We could check out that new sandwich place that opened across the way.

“Oh, no. I’m time. Stuffed.” Richie patted his stomach lamely, offering a large smile to his friend and boss. “Hey! So, just checking in to see about that latest pitch.”

“Oh right,” Bill paused, hitting the elevator button. “You were a fan of that band, right? Oof. Sorry about the breakup buddy. Haven’t you seen them like six times?”

“It’s sixteen, but that’s not important right now.” Richie corrected. “Bill. Buddy. You have to listen to me.”

“You got it, Rich.”

“I know you only trust me with the puff pieces because I’m not as talented as Mike or even Greta, but I need you to trust me on this.”

“You can do the exposé, Rich.”

“I have gotten better over time and I swear, if you just give me the chance, I promise. I won’t do a single embarrassing voice or anything to get Paper Boat blacklisted.”

“I’m sure you’ll embarrass yourself in one way or another, but that’s your issue. You have two days.”

“Until what?”

“Until your interview with Dr. K,” Bill said, stepping into the elevator as the doors opened. “If you’d stopped rambling you would have heard me tell you that you’re going to be the one doing the expose. You’ll be meeting him in two days, so you better come up with some good questions.”

“Holy shit,” Richie muttered.

“Holy shit, indeed Tozier,” Bill smirked. “I know you’ve been in some sort of funk lately, so I hope that this will shake you up a bit. Better keep your fanboy boner under control.” Bill warned, smiling as the elevator doors closed between them.

Whether Richie realized it or not, Bill believed in him and his writing ability. He may not have the raw talent like himself, but he knew what Richie was capable of. He has a way with people that allowed them to loosen up and relax and nothing was better for a good interview than someone comfortable with the person asking the questions.

Bill couldn’t think of a single person who would be better for this specific project and having Richie be an uber-fan of the artist was just a bonus. If Richie made an ass of himself, that would be his problem, not the magazines.

Richie stood there, not knowing what to do next. He looked to his watch, realizing he had less than 72 hours to come up with a buttload of questions for his idol. He ran back to his cubby to brainstorm.

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

White Knight Syndrome: One

A/N: I know I said I wasn’t posting this weekend. I am a dirty fucking liar. I had a Biker!Bucky story kicking around in my head so... Merry Halloween?

In the cool fall morning, Bucky Barnes woke to two things. A splitting headache and the cacophony of move-in day. He gave up on sleep when the clatter of feet on a metal ramp echoed in his head. “Fucking fuck.” he groused through the haze of the hangover. In his head, he cursed Sam up one side and down the other. Him and that fucking mason jar of Moonshine he had brought back from his last trip to Virginia. He couldn’t think of anything other than coffee. 

So that’s what he did. He made coffee and watched the show across the street. Big burly movers hefting boxes and a girl in the middle of it all directing traffic and keeping it all organized. Her hair is in a messy bun and she’s wearing jeans and a men’s flannel over a t-shirt.  She’s cute. Petite. Even from across the street she looks like a hippie. She just has an air that says “I shop at farmers markets and burn incense.” He snorts to himself and takes a sip of coffee. He half wonders if your coffee table is made of crystals. Just a giant slab of quartz. 

The coffee starts to kick in and he supposes he should go be neighborly. Introduce himself. But a knock on the door keeps him from examining that thought further. The knock is perfunctory. More the last vestige of a formality than a knock and is followed by Sam and Steve half stumbling through his door. 

The blonde muscular asshole he’d known since they were kids on the same block. Steve hadn’t always been built like a brick shit house. He’d been a sickly little kid with asthma and a big mouth. It had taken joining the track team and then the Army to bulk him up like that. Steve might be able to take care of himself now but in the back of Bucky’s mind, he was still a scrawny little punk. The other asshole, the African American man with a cocky smile and an eye for a girl with black and grey tats was Sam. He’d been friends with Steve and Bucky since they all met at a support group for vets. That had been the origin of their little motorcycle shop. Working on Customs and doing charity rides for whatever legitimate cause they got hit up for. 

“Hey,” he said over his coffee cup. Steve and Sam both had hangovers of their own to nurse. There wasn’t much more than grunts and nods as they helped themselves to coffee and raised the fridge for breakfast before they got to work on the new bike they were about to have to ship out. 

Coffee and breakfast in their stomachs, the other two men were eager to get to work. It was Afternoon and the chaos across the street was a dull roar now that the moving van had left. A van pulled in behind the little Jeep in the drive and a woman and her kids got out. You were greeted with hugs and giggles as you swung kids up off their feet one at a time. It was a good time, looks like. 90′s alternative music played, bumping through speakers and on towards evening, pizza was ordered. The men worked on the bike, mostly ignoring the chaos across the street but, Bucky was a little glad to know you weren’t on your own. This wasn’t a rough neighborhood or anything but moving sucked. A lot. Even with Sam and Steve it had been a fucking miserable experience. 

As the sunset and the guys celebrated another job done with a round of beers, you helped your unpacking party into the van with leftover pizza and hugs. You wave them off and blow kisses, waiting until the van has rounded the corner before turning and walking up the steps rubbing the back of your neck. Steve jerks his head your direction and smirks, “She’s cute, Buck. You gonna go say hi?” Bucky snorted, “Nah,” he said, “Not really into crystals and patchouli.” Sam rolled his eyes, “Mother fucker,” he said, “You’re not exactly drowning in pussy over here. Pretty sure Barton gets more ass than you do and he’s married with four kids. Shit. Natasha gets more pussy than you.” Bucky opened another beer and laughed, “Nat gets more girls than all of us combined. Don’t use that as a metric. Even girls can’t turn down a redhead. Even girls that don’t like girls.” Steve smirked, “He’s got a point, Sam.” 

Sam rolled his eyes but let the matter drop. Bucky was grateful. The two of them meant well. Blind dates, Tinder, getting Natasha to introduce him to pretty girls she knew but wasn’t fucking. The works. Hell. Once they’d even sent a dating resume around the bar to try and get him a girl. Bucky hated it. He was happy working. Happy adjusting to this life where there were no bullets flying. Lonely, but happy anyway. It wasn’t just that you probably weren’t his type personality-wise. He didn’t think he could take having a girl in his bed when the nightmares came out of nowhere and woke him up screaming. He didn’t want the pity and the trying to make it work for a hot minute before giving him the let's be friends speech. It was just better to leave you be. 

__________________________

He watches you for a few weeks. Not in a creepy way, he tells himself. Just. Nosy. He’s curious. You stay to yourself, you don’t really have a ton of people in or out. And from what you leave the house in sometimes, you seem to work long shifts in some kind of medical thing. Maybe a paramedic or a nurse in a trauma ward or something. You wear dark scrubs. Maybe it helps hide blood. And prevent stains. It made sense he guessed. You only went to work three or four days a week and seemed to be off the rest of the week. You tinker on furniture and stuff in your garage and he isn’t sure what you’re doing but, as often as you bring stuff in, you load it up completely redone and take it somewhere. He figures you sell it to boutiques in the tourist trap stores downtown. 

Nothing is really amiss. You potter around doing some groundwork for what’s probably going to be raised garden beds. You start a compost pile. It confirms his assessment of “Hippie” but at the very least you seem like a socially conscious hippie. One that actually walks the walk. It isn’t until a strange car pulls up in your driveway when you aren’t home that anything looks out of the ordinary. The man that gets out of the car sets Bucky on edge. He looks pissed. The guy bangs on your door and looks through windows. He yells for you, making Steve jerk his head up. He and Bucky trade looks, silently agreeing that they should probably tell you about this as the guy gets in his car and drives away. 

By the time you get home, in the wee small hours of the morning, Bucky is waiting for you. He’s tinkering in the garage, killing time. He’d thought about waiting for you on your porch but figured coming home to a random man waiting for you in the dark would probably not be a good first impression to make. He doesn’t, contrary to what the realtor says, make a habit of scaring off neighbors. You get out of your jeep and stop for a moment, staring up at the sky like you’re looking for answers. Bucky crosses the street slowly, hands in his pockets to try and make himself smaller. He doesn’t know why. You’re half his size. But you look like your nerves are frayed. The careful efficient bun you had put your hair in the morning is a rats nest. Snarled and chaotic. You move slowly, like your joints ache or your balance is off and as he creeps closer, you smell of disinfectant. A sharp, sterile, hospital smell that doesn’t fit with you’re will o the whisp features and big eyes. “Hey,” he says, stopping a good distance away to avoid startling you. “Hey,” you say guardedly, turning slowly. Bucky clears his throat, “Bucky, I’m the big scary biker the realtor warned you about,” he says offering a hand. You smile a little, looking tired “Y/N,” you say, offering him a hand in return. 

Your hands are clean. Your nails are short and pristine. The skin is dry and cracked from constant washing and sanitizing. The difference between your hands and his own startle him for a minute. Your hands don’t fit you either.

He half smiled, “Look. I don’t wanna be nosy of anything but there was a guy nosing around earlier. He seemed pretty pissed.” Bucky watches several emotions flit across your face until finally your head falls forward and your pinch the bridge of your nose. Feeling defeated. “Thanks for the heads up,” you tell him, standing up straight again. “I’ll get it taken care of,” you tell him, “I’m sorry if it disturbed you. Have a good night.” You turn to go and Bucky catches your arm gently, “Y/N?” he said, “Is there anything I can do? I mean... I’ll scare the hell out of a guy for some beer and a pizza.” You snort but shake your head, “It’s my ex-husband,” you tell him, “I guess moving halfway across the country wasn’t far enough.” Bucky lets go of your arm, nodding, “That’s rough. I’m sorry.” You sigh, “It’s fine. I knew he’d find me eventually... He never did like the idea of someone else playing with his toys. I’ll go talk to the cops tomorrow. Get them to do some drive-bys and take them a copy of all the court orders. You won’t have to listen to that again. I’m sorry.” 

You turn and go back into the house and Bucky watches you go feeling about 3 feet tall. You had clearly had a bad day. There was blood on your shoes and you looked wrecked. He watched you take your shoes off in the garage and then turned to go into the house. He turned and to go back across the street. He could see the defeated look on your face even as he sprawled on his bed, staring at the ceiling in the dark. It bothered him. You were obviously sweet but he hadn’t realized you were brave. He figured you kept to yourself because of your work hours. Not because you were hiding. Or feeling vulnerable on your own without much of a support network. He wondered about your family. If they knew where you were or if you had anyone to care that you were gone. That worried him. It wouldn’t take long for this guy to get violent. Bucky was willing to bet that he’d put his hands on you before and that made his stomach turn. No one deserved that. 

Bucky didn’t doubt that the cops were good guys. That they’d do their best. But, he wasn’t going to leave anything to chance. He’d talk to his crew tomorrow and have them keep tabs on you. Keep an eye on things and not so gently discourage him from coming around. He didn’t know why it was so important to him, but it was. There was something about the defeat on your face that broke his heart. He knew that look. He saw it in the mirror all the time. 

________

“I’m telling you, Nat,” he said handing the redhead a beer, “He’s been here every day this week. Y/N doesn’t even come home. She’s been picking up shifts at the hospital left, right, and center. Just to avoid her own house.” The woman quirked an eyebrow, “And how exactly, James Buchanan Barnes, do you know that?” Bucky blushed and looked away, “I might check on her a couple nights a week when she gets home.” Nat smiled a little and swallowed the sip of her beer, “And what did you find out?”

Bucky shrugs, “It’s a story we’ve all heard. Sweet girl with a shit home life married the first scumball that was nice to her. She got pregnant, he didn’t want her to be and put her in ICU. After that he fucked around on her and took potshots at her from time to time. Once he started bringing girls to their house, she had enough and took a job over here. Left in the middle of the night and until she moved in here she was living out of hotels.” Nat shook her head, “Christ,” she said, “Poor kid.” Bucky snorted, “She’s not that much younger than us. She’s in her mid 20′s. She’s just baby faced.” Nat nodded, “So what does she do exactly?” Bucky stretched, “She’s a nurse in a level one ER... Explains all the scrubs. I figured it was something like that.” Nat sighed, “So pretty, smart, sweet girl, married an asshole and now you have white knight syndrome. Got it.” Bucky frowned, “I do not,” he said. “Yes you do,” Sam said strolling into the garage from the house. “ Bucky turned and mimed throwing a wrench at his friend, “Do you even know what we’re talking about?”

“No,” Sam snorted, “I just know Nat is probably right about whatever she said.” Nat snorted, “Bucky has white Knight syndrome. He loves him a damsel in distress.”  Sam laughs, “Oh christ. Yeah, he does.” Bucky blushed and coughed, “I fucking don’t,” he said. He can’t look at either of them as you lope up the drive with a six-pack in your hand. You’re dressed in a hoodie, trying to stay warm in the chill outside. “Hey,” you say, hovering awkwardly just outside, “Saw this at the store. You didn’t seem like pumpkin spice flavored beer kinda guy but... I’ve heard this is pretty popular locally.” You hold out the six-pack with a wry smile. Bucky takes it and smiles a little, “Thanks,” he said, “Is this a bribe?” 

You snort, “More of a thank you. I appreciate the help getting that dresser out of the back of my jeep.” Bucky chuckled at the memory, “If it hadn’t been twice your size you would have had it.” You’d been pretty close but Bucky had been a little afraid that you were about to drop it on yourself.

“Girl,” Sam said, “I know your house isn’t that big. What do you do with all the furniture you buy?” You grin, “I sell it to bitchy wine moms after I make it look bougie and expensive. The dresser I made into a changing table and I’ve got a piece of shit changing table that I’m making into a bar cart.”  Sam whistled, “That’s a nice little racket.” You nod, “Works better out here than it does at home.” You yawn, “I better get back, I got super on the stove and I think the insurance company would get suspicious if my house burned down.” You turn and go, leaving Bucky to face the teasing from his friends alone. He can’t help it. He watches you go wishing he would have been a little smoother. Wishing he would have offered you a drink and asked you to stay for a minute. 

“Damn,” Sam murmured to Natasha, “She’s got him fucked up.” The redhead nodded, “Yup... Wanna put money on it?”

Tags: @lancsnerd​ @stevieang​ @golddaggers​ @blameitonthecauseway @qxeen-of-hearts​ @process-pending​ @xmarveled​ @beautybyfire, @etherealwaifgoddess, @mschellehitt, @mistressoftorture @thorfanficwriter, @ctinadiva, @innerpaperexpertcloud @amalthea9

[shireness-says]

The Song Remains the Same

Summary: The more things change, the more they stay the same - including Emma’s teenage crush on Killian Jones. Will she finally work up the nerve to act on it at their ten year high school reunion? ~5.6K. Rated T for language. Also on AO3.

~~~~~

A/N: Here it is: my contribution to @csseptembersunshine! It’s been a lot of fun to write. Funny story: the inspiration for this comes from me watching the music episode of CNN’s 2000s documentary, and getting really annoyed that they didn’t touch on that pop-punk phase we all went through around 2008. Somehow it turned into this. I don’t know. The song title is actually taken from a Led Zeppelin song, though I didn’t know that when I originally chose it. Still trying to figure out where else I’ve heard that phrase.

Super thanks to @snidgetsafan for her last minute beta-ing, and to @awkwardnessandbaseball for her encouragement as I slogged through it.

Tagging the usual suspects and a few extras: @snowbellewells, @kmomof4, @teamhook, @profdanglaisstuff, @thisonesatellite, @captainsjedi, @let-it-raines, @optomisticgirl, @welllpthisishappening, @scientificapricot, @winterbaby89, @thejollyroger-writer

Enjoy, and let me know what you think!

~~~~~

Gymnasium 2 of Storybrooke High - the larger of their sports facilities, as any alumnus knows - hasn’t changed a bit in ten years.

Emma remembers the way it looked at the one homecoming dance she’d attended - blue and gold streamers everywhere, with a balloon arch behind the DJ and another against a sloppily-curtained wall for formal photos. The gym today is much the same - all that’s been added are the buffet and a collection of tables where people can eat. The same people who couldn’t be trusted with food in the gym ten years ago maybe shouldn’t be trusted to have gained that maturity now, but Emma’s not one to argue against hors d'oeuvres. It’s odd, in a way, that she’d expect it to change. This is Storybrooke, after all; they thrive on that vague air of nostalgia, and most of the town hasn’t been updated since the 80s. Hell, the local diner will abandon their 50s soda shoppe aesthetic when hell itself freezes over, and maybe not even then. But in the ten years since Emma’s left town, she’s changed in such foundational ways that it’s jarring to discover that it’s not the case everywhere.

There can be a comfort to the sameness, too. Emma has a kid, now, and there’s an appeal to raising him in a place where the whole town is your neighbor and neighbors look out for each other. Plus, the closest thing she has to family lives here. As much as Emma had wanted to get out and see the world when she was 18, there’s a point where you just want to come home. Home for Emma has been Ruth and David and Mary Margaret, and home for them has been Storybrooke. Maybe it’s about time Emma makes it her home too - if not for her own sake, then for Henry’s.

The nostalgia oozing from every inch of the gymnasium isn’t the reassuring kind of sameness, unfortunately, probably because Emma never felt comfortable here in the first place. Years in the system left Emma struggling to fit in and really find her place at school, emotionally and socially, even after the Nolans had taken her in for good. It had been hard enough to open herself up to Ruby and Mary Margaret and her adoptive family; anything more than that was a stretch too far, and Emma never really bonded with her classmates. All those streamer-festooned walls don’t hold any sentimental value for her, even if this was the school she graduated from. All things considered, it seems pretty stupid to be showing up to this ten-year reunion at all.

Mary Margaret had decorated the walls, though, had sent out invitations and implored Emma to attend. Mary Margaret, who had been Emma’s first real friend, and is still her best friend in the world. And even after all these years - especially after all these years - Emma can’t say no to that earnest pleading. 

So she’d left her three year old with Ruth for the night, wiggled into one of the more tasteful of her honeytrap dresses, and set out to her ten-year high school reunion. The last place she wants to be.

There’s already a good crowd here, mingling around as Lady Gaga blares in the background like no time has passed at all - which doesn’t help Emma’s nerves in the least. The people, not the music. The faces are still recognizable, even if ten years have passed and left their mark. Ashley and Sean are over by the buffet, apparently still together; if Emma remembers what she’s heard from Mary Margaret, they’ve got a couple of kids now. Kris and his wife are over talking to Victor, who hopefully hasn’t just come from the hospital. Aurora’s still got that unpleasant look on her face, though her boyfriend or husband or whatever else seems friendly enough. Hell, even Will Scarlet has somehow managed to clean up well in a dress shirt and tie, holding hands with a beautiful brunette with a ring as he points out something on the photo slideshow. Who’d have thought their resident troublemaker capable of such a domestic display. 

With the exception of Ruby, who Emma knows will be running late out of long-ingrained habit, it seems like the gang’s all here. As Emma scans the room, there’s only one obvious character missing from the bunch; somewhere around here should be blue eyes and dark hair and a smile that —

“Fancy meeting you here, Swan.”

— looks exactly as she remembers. It starts out as a smirk when Emma first whips around to face the man who’d whispered in her ear, but it softens into something more genuine as she laughs - almost like that’s the exact sound he’d been waiting for. Just like always.

As it turns out, that’s another thing that hasn’t changed in ten years: her hopeless crush on Killian Jones.

He’d been handsome, even in high school, with all that dark hair and his confident swagger. He’d earned that confidence too, as captain of the speech team and a champion swimmer. Somehow, even if it had made him cocky, he had still been kind, and it was that kindness that had attracted Emma in the first place - the way he’d always been happy to smile and help her in math class, even though he didn’t have to. Emma wasn’t used to that; it was its own kind of intoxicating.

He’s just as handsome now, and if that smile she’s so loved is any indication, just as kind. He’d joined the Navy after graduation, Emma knows, and it had obviously done him good, filling him out in all the right ways. The trim fitted suit is new too; probably a good thing too, as the cut of those pants would have driven Emma to distraction back in high school. Otherwise, he’s almost just the same as always; if it wasn’t for the prosthetic peeking out of his sleeve where a left hand should be, the Killian in front of her now could be mistaken for a blast from the past. 

“Well, look what the cat dragged in,” Emma grins back at him. 

“I might say the same thing,” he quips. “After all, I live here now. You’re the one who had to drive in.”

“You’re shitting me.”

“I absolutely am not,” Killian confirms with a laugh. “Just finished up my first year of teaching at good old Storybrooke High. American History. Go Knights.”

“Damn. Well, congrats, I bet you’re great.” Weirdly enough, Emma really can picture him as a history teacher. It was always his best subject, and she’d be willing to bet he’s one of the cool teachers all the kids love.

“I do my best,” he shrugs modestly. It’s a new look on the cocky, smooth-talking Killian Jones she used to know, and not a bad one. It makes him seem… adult. Like he’s got his ducks in a row now in a way neither of them were capable of when they were young. She almost misses his next question considering it. “I seem to remember David mentioning that you live in Boston these days?”

That snaps her back. “Yeah, Boston. I work in bail bonds there. Though lately…”

“You’re thinking about moving back?” he finishes. At Emma’s puzzled look, he continues. “Like I said, your brother mentioned it. He’s a bit of a gossip, I’ve rediscovered.”

Ah, of course. “Yeah, that sounds like him.”

“Well, if you end up deciding to come home… let me know. I’d be happy to see your face around these streets again.” He even smiles like he means it. It’s a nice surprise again; Killian Jones is just full of those today. She’d thought that there would only be a handful of people who’d be happy to see her - David and Ruth, Mary Margaret, Ruby and Granny - but maybe there’s some others, too. For whatever reason, Killian seems to be counting himself among them.

“Thanks,” she finally replies, somewhat awkwardly. What are you supposed to say to such an unexpected, purely kind thing, after all?  It’s just the kind of thing the boy she remembered would have said - though she has to wonder if that’s a true memory, or something she inflated from her own childish crush and even more childish tendency to latch onto even the smallest kindness in the way only those starved for affection do. “I’ll make sure to do that. I’ll let you go mingle or whatever, but I’ll, uh… I’ll see you around?”

“Absolutely, Swan,” he winks. Or tries to, in the same way he’s apparently never learned how. “Save a dance for me?”

Dancing has never been her strong suit, but weirdly enough - or perhaps, not weirdly at all, considering who made the offer - Emma finds herself wanting that too, finds herself agreeing. “Sure,” she shrugs, making her best display of nonchalance even if her pulse has picked up at the very prospect. “I’ll catch you later.”

What harm could it do? After all, it’s just one dance.

———

It’s weird how time can change people, or at least change her perceptions of them, Emma notes. With some notable exceptions - Aurora Stephenson, now… whatever the hell her last name is, who will probably never grow out of her tendency to look down her nose at everyone and everything - most of the people she graduated with have turned into more adult versions of themselves, whether that means happier or more responsible or just more tired. It’s refreshing to see in a room otherwise so mired in the past, from the decor to the never-ending 2010-era playlist constantly piped overhead. Emma’s a little worried she’ll hear Fall Out Boy’s entire discography before the night is over - weird, considering she’d never have pegged Mary Margaret for a fan. 

But Scarlet turns out to be funny now that he’s dropped the class clown screwup act, and Ashley is actually sweet now that she’s allowed to be more than just a mouse under her stepmother’s thumb. Her older child is about Henry’s age, a little girl named Alexandra, and it’s a comfort that Emma never knew she was denying herself just to have someone else to talk to about all the trials and tribulations of toddlerhood with. She’s never been one of those mothers, but she’s never had anyone she could be one with, either. Mary Margaret and David have only recently announced that they’re expecting a baby, and Emma’s been somewhat isolated in Boston for a long time. But if she ends up returning to Storybrooke… it’d be nice, already knowing Henry has a playmate. Maybe they can set something up for before they return to Boston.

Still, as much as Emma’s enjoying herself - against her will, really - there reaches a point where she needs to get away from it all. By some miracle she’s never sure she’ll deserve, Henry calls to say goodnight just when she’s becoming too overwhelmed. There’s been a pair of picnic tables just outside of the gym for as long as Emma’s been here to see them - much longer, she’d bet, if she knows anything about Storybrooke - and it’s another thing that hasn’t changed in all this time, the tables appearing to have been replaced sometime in the past decade and then positioned in the exact same place as before. It’s the perfect place to take the call and collect her thoughts again - close enough to still hear the music faintly (Panic! at the Disco now, because none of them have actually grown out of their teenage taste in music apparently) without it overwhelming her senses.

Nothing’s the matter, of course - just some three year old affection. It doesn’t stop Emma from seizing the opportunity to take a moment for herself. It’s been a long time since she’s spent this much time with this many adults in a situation where she’s expected to actually interact; after almost four years of cartoons and make-believe and bedtime stories, it’s a little taxing. In a good way, she thinks, or at least not a bad one.

“Ah, there you are,” a familiar voice calls. Killian again. He’s everywhere tonight - the man himself before her eyes as he settles onto the bench beside her, back braced against the wooden tabletop, and memories of their time in school embedded in every wall.

“Did Mary Margaret send you?” Emma asks. It would be perfectly in character - Emma’s sister-in-law trying to make sure that she’s socializing properly.

Killian shakes his head though. “No, I just needed a bit of air. Victor’s trying to break out some of his old dance moves, which is just as scarring as ever, so I figured that was my cue to step out for a moment. Noticed you were missing too, figured that maybe you had the same idea.”

“Not exactly,” Emma laughs. “I mean, I can’t blame you for avoiding that nightmare. But no, I, uh… I had to take a call.” 

“Ah. Yeah, no, you definitely couldn’t manage that inside.”

Oddly enough, Emma feels the urge to open up to Killian, to tell him about Henry. It’s not something she does, typically; after so long searching for a family of her own, she still finds it hard sometimes to share Henry with others, even if it’s just bragging. She’d never keep him from making friends, of course - she’s not that kind of overprotective mother, and besides, his time at daycare has shown that the kid is unstoppably friendly - but in her own life, she keeps him to herself. Minimal talk with her coworkers. No mention at all to strangers, not even the vaguest reference.

But then again, Killian isn’t really a stranger, is he? Even after all this time, Emma’s instincts still say she can trust him. He’s never been anything but kind and generous. 

“I’ve, uh… I ‘ve got a son,” she offers, with a weak smile. “Henry. He’ll be four in August. Pretty much the best thing that ever happened to me, you know? He’s just… the best. So, yeah, I came out here because he called to say goodnight.”

“He seems like a lovely boy,” Killian replies, something fond tinging his tone. The familiarity of it alarms Emma, and makes her eyes widen. To his credit, Killian seems to notice it right away, his brows furrowing into a frown. “Oh, now that sounded a bit creepy, didn’t it?” he asks. “It’s much less concerning than anything you’re thinking, Swan, I promise. Mrs. Nolan has an endearing habit of showing off any and all new photos of the lad she gets her hands on when she comes into Granny’s in the morning. A proud grandmother, that one, not that I can blame her if your boy is even half as bright and curious and sweet as she claims.”

That… makes sense.  Even if it means Emma maybe needs to invest in muzzles for her entire family at the rate they’re blabbing her business around town. “Sorry if I looked like I was about to clock you,” she admits sheepishly. “It’s just… he’s everything. I worry.”

“I think that’s your prerogative as his mother,” Killian laughs good-naturedly. At least he’s not holding that little freak out against her.

Things fall into silence. Somehow, the quiet is more intimate than any conversation, almost cloyingly so. It keeps both of them from looking at each other, both turning towards the stars instead as P!nk blares distantly in the background. God, the last time Emma actually took a moment to look at the stars was probably in high school.

Killian, of course, is the one to break the quiet. He always was bolder than her. “Is the little lad with his father tonight, then?” He asks, almost too casually. Like he might care more about the answer than he wants to admit. Emma can’t imagine why.

“No,” she replies on a snort. “He wasn’t exactly interested in sticking around, for better or worse.”

“I’m sorry, love,” Killian murmurs. “It’s his loss.”

“It really is. Henry’s a great kid. It was hard at the time, though. I felt like I had found someone who really loved me and wanted me, but that obviously wasn’t the case. Should have known it was too good to be true.”

“You can’t possibly think this is your fault,” Killian prods, concern cooling his voice. 

Emma shrugs. “I mean, I know that it was up to him. I didn’t force him out the door or anything. But at the same time… I know I’m difficult to love.” She tries to keep her voice nonchalant, but isn’t entirely convinced that it worked. That’s the problem with admitting one of your deepest fears.

“That’s not true,” Killian chides back gently

“Yeah, well, it sure seems like it a lot of the time. I don’t have much evidence to the contrary.”

The silence this time is almost anticipatory, somehow. Emma finds herself practically holding her breath as she waits for what’s next.

“You know, I had the biggest crush on you back in school,” Killian finally says, almost absentmindedly, still gazing up at the sky instead of at Emma.

“You did not.” It’s not one of her better responses, but it’s her gut response all the same. There’s no way - absolutely no way that Killian Jones, the Killian Jones of Storybrooke High, had a thing for her back when they were both still teenagers. 

“Aye, I did,” he chuckles. She’d almost call it fond, if she didn’t know better. Fond is too big a stretch for someone you haven’t seen in ten years.

“I can’t imagine why.”

Killian stares at her blankly for a moment, like the words don’t process. “Oh, don’t say that.”

“Look, I was a mess in high school —”

“You were lovely, even then,” he interrupts. “Maybe that sounds a little cliche, but you were. To me, if no one else. There was so much drama and bullshit going on in high school, but somehow, in the middle of all that, you seemed like you couldn’t give less of a fuck about the whole thing. You were strong, and fierce, and… I guess I had a thing for that kind of attitude back then. Still do, really.”

Honestly, Emma doesn’t even know how to take that - any of that. Especially not that last bit. She’s just not equipped to process it. But at the same time… she owes it to herself to try. Both of them, really, and her past self to boot. He wasn’t the only one with a crush, after all. As much as it terrifies Emma to think that just maybe, after all this time, he might still think she’s lovely and fierce, it’s exhilarating at the same time. With that in mind, Emma takes a deep breath and forces herself to respond.

“Maybe you should have done something about that,” she replies with butterflies swarming in her stomach like she’s still a nervous high schooler. 

For what it’s worth, Killian looks a little stunned. “I’m sorry?”

“I kind of had a thing for you too,” Emma confides. “You were kind of a dreamboat, you know.”

“Were?”

“Oh, don’t get cocky on me,” she laughs. “But yeah. If you had asked… I probably would have said yes. Almost definitely, actually.” It’s hard to say that she’d change things, if given the chance; after all, the path that took her here gave her Henry. But she still can’t help but wonder what might have been. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t, then.” His voice is almost wistful, longing for something he’ll never grasp. “Out of curiosity, why didn’t you?”

“Oh, you know, the usual. Not brave enough.” Emma waves a hand casually, like it wasn’t a big deal, despite remembering all the emotional turmoil of that same subject back in high school. “Plus, it seemed like you had a thing going with Tink half the time - which, trust me, I know sounds ridiculous now that she’s shown up to this with a girlfriend. Still.”

“Aye, that’d do it,” Killian laughs. “We’ve always been just close friends, though. For what it’s worth.”

“I know.”

The anticipatory silence is back, and this time, Emma knows what it’s waiting for. In any cheesy movie, this would be the moment they kissed, two former somethings reunited under the stars. She’s not ready for that, though - not with the pain of her last relationship’s abrupt dissolution still hanging over her head, just reinforcing all her concerns about abandonment. She’s already used up her bold quota for the day.

Quickly, she breezes past it to a new subject. “So what are you doing back here, anyways? I thought you were off to the Navy, gonna see the world.”

She regrets it as soon as she asks as Killian’s whole body suddenly seizes with tension. 

“I was,” he says carefully. “I did. I was going to. But for better or worse, the Navy doesn’t have much use for a man with one hand.”

“I’m sorry. That was a stupid thing to ask, wasn’t it?”

Killian sighs. “No, it’s fine. I know you didn’t mean any harm by it, it’s still just a subject I’m a bit touchy about.”

“I’m sure,” Emma murmurs. It’s hard to toe the line between wanting to seem sympathetic and coming off as prying.

“Before you ask, it was a car accident. Not at all related to my service,” Killian explains, seemingly seeing the hesitance in her eyes. “Someone ran a red light, and that was that. So I took advantage of servicemember scholarships to go to school instead, and six years later, here I am. It’s hard to claim that it’s all worked out for the best, considering I’m missing a pretty crucial limb, but I’m happy with where I’m at.”

“I was just thinking earlier, I bet you’re a great teacher,” Emma contributes. “One of the fun ones, but who still knows what they’re talking about and holds the kids accountable.”

It turns out, Killian still scratches at his ear when he’s embarrassed, just the way he did in high school. The red flush is the same too. “I do try. And what about you? Bail bonds, you said?”

“Yeah. I mean, it’s not a dream job by any stretch, but they were hiring when my ex and I first moved to Boston, close enough for me to walk to work, and I’ve kind of just stayed. It’s something I’m good at, as it turns out - a little bit of research and a little undercover work and a lot of being willing to chase down people doing their best to get away from you. It’s a living. The money can be good, if sporadic,” she shrugs. “One of the biggest appeals of the deputy position here, though, besides coming home, is the steady paycheck. I don’t know. Moving is hard, but it’s very tempting.”

“Well, I’m sure you’d be a brilliant deputy,” Killian smiles. As Emma stares back, the anticipatory silence falls again, but this time, she’s almost ready for it. With a few more seconds, maybe she could make a move, and it wouldn’t truly hurt to shift an inch closer…

“Emma, there you are!” Mary Margaret’s voice calls, shattering the intimacy of the moment. “David’s about to do his speech, and you wouldn’t want to —” she cuts off abruptly when she sees Emma’s not alone. “Oh, hello, Killian! I’m sorry, am I interrupting something?”

“No, not at all,” Killian smiles. Meanwhile, Emma wants to scream Yes! back at her friend. Timing has never been her strong suit. “Go ahead and get David all set up, we’ll be right behind you.”

As Mary Margaret scurries off again, Killian hoists himself to his feet before offering Emma a hand of assistance - one she’s only too happy to accept. God, his hand is just the perfect balance between soft and callused, the hands of a man who might not work with his hands (so to speak) every day, but might have a hobby where he gets to. She’ll have to ask. “Well, Swan? Shall we go see what our erstwhile class president has to say?”

“Lead on.” It’s probably best that they were interrupted, anyways. This is just one night, after all. 

———

Poor David - he’s never been much for public speaking. Emma will never understand why they needed a speech at this thing in the first place, let alone why Mary Margaret couldn’t have just made the remarks instead as the organizer of this whole thing. 

Still, somehow they make it through, even if David’s practically swimming in sweat by the time he exits the stage. That suit jacket is definitely going to need a trip to the cleaner. Emma manages to park herself close to the dessert table while the whole spectacle unfolds, sampling all the little bars and cookies and cupcakes while everyone else is distracted. She’ll have to thank David for that later.

She’s just reaching for a cookies and cream cupcake - she can’t quite remember who opened a bakery, but God bless them for it - when Killian appears by her side again.

“Might I steal you for a dance, Swan?” he asks. “I have it on good authority that they’re about to play a slow song.”

Emma laughs. “You bribed Mary Margaret, didn’t you?”

“Oh, shamelessly. So what do you say, Swan?” He offers his hand.

Maybe she should think about it more. Maybe it’s committing to something she’ll regret later. But for now, Emma takes his hand without hesitation. “Yeah. Let’s dance.”

There’s a little section of floor left open as if just for them, allowing Killian to lead her around to face him. Emma can’t help but chuckle as they come together, twining arms around necks and waists like any respectable high schooler faced with a slow song. And what a song it is: three beat time, Paramore. The soundtrack of her most fanciful imaginings way back when. Perfect.

“What are you giggling about?” he teases. If she didn’t know any better, she’d almost say there’s affection in his voice.

“Nothing. It’s kind of stupid.” Still, Killian watches until she continues, until she caves. “It’s just… I used to dream about this, you know? My own personal fantasy - and not like that, don’t even start with the eyebrows,” she warns. “But… even if I tried not to show it and even if I believed that love wasn’t in the cards for me, there was still a little bit of me that wanted. I’d imagine a moment, just like this. It’d be like a movie. We’d be dancing at prom or winter formal or something, and the whole world would melt away. I’m pretty sure I choreographed the camera movements in my head. And then, at the end… there’d be a moment. We’d kiss. And it would be my first kiss, and it’d be perfect.” Emma laughs just hearing herself. It’s almost disgustingly romantic, really. “Pretty silly, honestly.”

“I don’t know, Swan. I think it sounds nice.” He takes a moment to carefully twirl her underneath his arm, followed by a few moments of silence once they’ve floated back together again. “We still could, you know. Make that fantasy happen.”

Emma snorts a laugh, even as a huge part of her heart yearns, practically pulling towards his. “I’ve got a kid, Jones. Trust me, the first kiss boat has long since sailed.”

Killian smiles down at her with those calm, kind eyes she fell in love with a decade ago. There’s no denying that she’s still held in their thrall all these years later. “Maybe so. But we could still have our first kiss.”

The words hang in the air between them, full of hope. Still, Emma knows he won’t make a move unless she’s right there with him. “I’m not that girl anymore,” she tells him - warns him, against everything her heart is screaming. “I’ve changed a lot since high school.”

“I know.”

“And even with that… you’re sure?”

“I’ve never been more sure. We’ve both changed, but all I know is that you’ve become even more lovely and enchanting in that time, and I’d be honored to kiss you to the greatest hits of 2009 and 2010.”

“I think Mary Margaret included some stuff from before then too,” Emma replies, stalling for time.

“Ah, well, that’s almost a dealbreaker, but I suppose I’d be willing to kiss you to the greatest hits pre-2009 as well,” Killian teases. “If you want me to, that is.”

And that’s the question, isn’t it? It’s a thin, fragile line between wanting something so badly and being afraid to just reach out and take it, especially when you’re given the chance to do just that. 

“I’m afraid,” she finally admits. “I can’t tell you that I’m moving home. I don’t even know that. And what if I don’t? Is this just a fling from the old days? Some belated wish fulfillment? A one time thing?”

“I hope not,”  Killian replies calmly. “ I hope this is more than just two people giving into an old crush and never seeing each other again. I know that I wanted you then, and I wanted you for a long time after we went our separate ways, and I wanted you again when I spotted you from across the room tonight. Do I hope that you’ll decide to move back to Storybrooke? Yes. But only if it makes you happy. And if you decide that you’ll be happier in Boston, that you and your boy belong there… well, I suppose I’ll have to start looking for date night spots in the city, because I want more than just this one kiss, and I’m willing to fight for it. But that all depends on whether you want that too.” As her silence persists, Emma searching for her courage and her words, Killian’s face drops into a twist of uncertainty. It’s not a look Emma’s used to seeing on his face, and she doesn’t particularly like it. At all. “Would you like that?” he asks softly, the uncertainty even coloring his tone.

“Yes.” Emma only whispers it, but stares into his eyes intently all the while. Hopefully that can convince him of her sincerity, even if her words can’t. When she tries to speak up, it only comes out in a jumble anyways. “I… yeah. Yeah, I would.”

His answering smile seems to spread from the very center of him, blooming across his face slowly like the most delicate flower. Maybe a water lily; that seems fitting, somehow. “In that case…” His hand travels from where it had rested on her waist to cup her cheek instead. “May I?”

Emma barely takes the time to nod before she’s pressing up that last half inch in her heels to capture his lips within her own. 

The thing about imagining what a kiss might be like for so long is that you’ve run it so many times in your head at a certain point that the real thing is never going to live up to everything you imagined. What’s even better is that this kiss, this particular realization of all that longing? It doesn’t need to live up to anything, instead a perfect expression all its own. That little romantic voice still hiding deep inside Emma wants to call it a fairytale dream come true; the rest of her is more than happy to just savor the moment as it shifts from teasing, exploratory brushes of her lips against his to something deeper and more determined. Her arms wind fully around his neck and his more tightly around her waist, leaving them twined together as tongues begin to seek and probe and stroke. For a moment, it’s like they’re the only two people in the world - like some kind of teenaged dream, if she can ever be forgiven for such an awful, topical joke.

When they finally separate, it’s only by scant inches, bodies still pressed together and foreheads touching with only space left for their mouths to gasp for air.

“That was…” she starts, unsure frankly how to finish. There’s still not nearly enough oxygen reaching her brain to properly think, her body and all its functions far more interested in diving back in for more than any stupid thinking. Or talking. Or… anything, really.

Thankfully, Killian is there to pick up where her words fail. “Bloody earth-shattering.” Even if Emma can’t see his goofy grin with her eyes still closed, she can still hear it in his voice. 

“Yeah. Yeah, it definitely was.” Somewhere in the middle of their dance floor makeout, the song has changed to something more upbeat - a dance tune that Emma doesn’t recognize, but knows Mary Margaret would insist was absolutely definitely played at every school dance when they were in high school. She doesn’t really want this to end - doesn’t want it at all, in fact - but it’s probably about time they stopped standing in the middle of the floor. With great reluctance, she unwinds her arms from his neck and steps back, but makes sure to meet Killian’s gaze with a smirk. “So. You mentioned a date? Where are you taking me?”

Killian laughs before moving to dig in an inner jacket pocket, ultimately producing a flask. “Well, for the moment, what do you say to a drink? I think I see some glasses of punch over there just waiting to be spiked.”

“It’s a date.”

And if she has anything to say about it, the first of many.

[biavastarr]

Co-Workers

Pairing: steve rogers x you (fem!reader)

Warnings: language, mild (?) violence, injuries, inaccurate medical descriptions, inaccurate passage of time

Word Count: 3,968

Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to any of the media or characters mentioned in this story.

Author’s Notes: okay so this is my first fic that I’ve written since seventh/eighth grade and since the theme is nostalgia and I’m the writer who has the power to do whatever I want I’m gonna disregard like half of canon and make this fic post-Civil War except they all got along and everyone’s alive and happy and Pietro and Bucky are living at the tower too and it’s not the compound mainly bc I want it to be in the city. reader is an ex-SHIELD agent who joined the Avengers like a month ago bc she’s been on the run since it fell. I just,, I love them both. I’m definitely being overindulgent and this is way too much exposition for stuff I don’t think really gets mentioned.

this is for @whirlybirbs and her endgame writing challenge, the nostalgic thing in this being the innocent “they all lived in the tower together” era that I loved so much. this is my first time writing for Marvel but I hope you guys enjoy!

Summary: Being a former SHIELD agent left you with a lot of walls that a certain blonde super-soldier is all too good at tearing down.

This mirror, you decided, has got to go. You were staring at yourself from ten different angles and the A.I. was reciting a full rundown of your skincare routine and it was quite frankly creeping you out. Ever since you moved in to Stark Tower last month, Tony had been trying to charm you with increasingly technologically enhanced appliances and you were starting to feel like Belle, what with having to tell your fridge that no, you are not hungry but thank you for the concern.

You carefully smoothed over your dress, a black, crushed-velvet thing with a high neck and flowing sleeves, a cinched waist, and wide skirt that fell delicately at your knee. If you could appreciate one thing about the mirror, you mused, you could admit that it let you know you look damn good. You slipped on a pair of pumps and left your little pseudo-apartment as quietly as you could manage, praying that your years of SHIELD training didn’t fail you in your time of - dare you say desperate? - need.

Tragically, as though the gods themselves had it out for you - you’d curse Thor for this later - you only managed to make it down the hall before delighted crowing from one genius billionaire playboy philanthropist made himself known. You turned slowly, bracing yourself for this inevitable interrogation-slash-please-be-friends-with-us speech. The man strolled over to you with a smirk on his face, Captain America himself trailing awkwardly behind him. Your heart fluttered pathetically at the sight of the blonde soldier. No, you reminded yourself sternly. Coworkers are coworkers.

Blissfully oblivious to your sour expression, Tony clasped your hand and spun you wildly, your dress flaring out around you. “Do my eyes deceive me, or are you finally gracing us acquaintances with your presence at movie night tonight?” He drawled out his comment, glancing far-too-knowingly at a certain slack-jawed supersoldier.

You winced, knowing that he’d just quoted you from a check-in report you had given Fury the other day that the other Avengers had found and pouted over. You didn’t have any specific issues with them, you knew, but they were your coworkers. The last time you had trusted the people you worked with, you had ended up with a gun to your head in a room full of Hydra members. It was easier - both for you and your heart - not to mix business with pleasure. That being said, you also knew that it’s never wise to be rude to a man who’s quite literally housing and paying you. Ever since SHIELD fell, Tony Stark had taken it upon himself to finance this whole initiative.

You sighed dramatically, faking a put-upon tone. “I suppose I can promote you all to glorified roommates, if you would like, but no, I’ve got a date.” Your eyes subconsciously drifted to Steve, drinking in his appearance as you admired his absurdly tight shirt straining over his chest.

At this, Tony lit up, his grin only widening further, eyebrows dancing high on his forehead. “Oh, really,” he questioned, “and with whom, may I ask, are you going out with? Can they really outmatch ole’ Capsicle here with his puppy eyes?” He winked at Steve, who was doing his best (which was not very successful) not to stare too deep into your eyes.

Smiling playfully, you pinched Tony’s cheek, laughing at the blush that painted his face in reaction. “Aw, Stark, that’s for me to know, and for you to never find out.” With a swish of your dress, you stepped around him, nodding kindly at a still-silent Steve Rogers, and entered the elevator.

As the doors closed, you waved shyly at the pair, trying not to think too hard about how none of the walls you had built, those defenses so painstakingly made, could ever really protect you from those incredibly blue eyes that still looked your way.

---

Steve hated when Pietro picked for movie nights. The last three time in a row had granted the Sokovian complete and utter control and he was dying, he was sure of it.

While they normally rotated turns, last week was what the Avengers had hoped to be your turn, but you had shrugged and said you had a mission, passing it off to Pietro, despite him literally picking the week before, not that Steve was still bitter about it or anything. Not at all. Tonight it was supposed to be Tony’s turn, but he had picked up on Steve’s exasperation with the speedster’s movie taste and gleefully handed the reins to Pietro once more.

Wiggling his eyebrows (ridiculously), Pietro popped the DVD for Not Another Teen Movie into the player, flopping down into the seat beside his sister with a bright grin. “Look, Captain,” his heavily accented voice drew Steve from his thoughts. “You may even like this one, it’s a play off all the other flicks we’ve been watching. Also, the guy who plays Jake is hot.” He winked unabashedly at Steve, who was now contemplating how hard it was to fake a heart attack if it meant he could leave the inevitable teasing that would come from tonight.

No, not because he was an “old man who can’t appreciate fine cinema” (Natasha’s cutting words after he said he didn’t particularly enjoy High School Musical 3), but because your absence meant that the others could safely - and loudly - tease him about you.

Bucky, whose metal arm was slung casually around the seat next to him, was currently bearing a shark-like grin, and Nat, who had draped herself across an entire half of the couch, much to Tony’s chagrin, had a smirk painted on her face as they watched everyone settle in, easily noting that you, like always, had elected not to come.

“Where’s our new recruit?” Wanda inquired with an air of fake innocence, oh, Wanda, not you too, not you, thought Steve in alarm, the young witch looking around as if she really needed to search for a person she knew was not attending.

“Oh, haven’t you heard? She’s got a date.” Tony said, drawing out the last word as if he treasured it dearly.

“No!” Wanda mock gasped. “How did I not know this!” She turned to Steve, the bowl of popcorn shifting dangerously in her lap. Sam nimbly scooped it up before it fell, and Tony mumbled something grateful about stains in his carpeting before stuffing his face with the buttery popped kernels. “Who’s she out with?”

Sam grinned at her slyly as he tossed a piece of popcorn at Natasha, watching her catch it deftly in her mouth. “It’s probably Pepper’s new assistant, Jared, I think? He’s always staring at her like she hung the moon or something, bet he finally got the balls to ask her out.”

Natasha shook her head incredulously. “No way, that kid is so nervous he rivals Steve in his eloquence around her, I swear. Maybe she met someone outside of the Tower. She does go out without us a lot.”

Steve flushed considerably, cursing his Irish skin for betraying him so. He tried to focus on the movie again, preferring the embarrassment of the whipped cream-covered protagonist to the current situation he was facing. “I do not get nervous around her,” he grumbled, more to himself than anything. Bucky’s head shot up at this, his damn super-hearing once again being the bane of Steve’s existence.

“Yeah, punk, and I don’t have an arm made of Vibranium,” Bucky snarked, throwing his metal hand up for emphasis. “What, like it’s just natural for you to fall off your chair mid-debriefing?” Steve, again, bemoaned his reddening state, doing his best to ignore the group around him smirking at the memory.

Sam patted his leg consolingly, having stretched out on the pillow-laden floor for better access to the snacks. “Look, man,” he started carefully, “you’ve just gotta say something, sometime. You don’t want to wait until it’s too late and you definitely don’t want to say it when you don’t mean to. She’s an Avenger, just like the rest of us, despite how much she tries to act like she’s not, and it’s not going to make life any less complicated for her if you’re stewing on feelings she doesn’t know about.”

Steve laughed a little disbelievingly. “What, you think I’ll tell her in the middle of battle? C’mon, man, give me some credit.” Sam rolled his eyes eerily in sync with Nat and Bucky.

“Alright, Rogers, whatever. Act like you don’t need us.”

---

Oh fucking hell, you thought, sprinting frantically through the streets of Paris as the city lights twinkled tauntingly above you.

Your date, as you had called it eighteen hours ago, was actually at a gala hosted by an arms dealer Fury suspected was Hydra, and now, with a gash carved across your leg and a head wound that wouldn’t stop bleeding, you felt that he had been quite justified.

Pausing for a moment in a flower-covered alcove, you held your breath, hoping that whoever had been tailing you had finally called it quits and moved on. You were tapping out a message on your phone, letting him know what went down, when you caught sight of the man tracking you.

Shit, you thought to yourself. It was the man whose very arm you had entered the gala on, and he was the most trusted goon of the suspect you had been investigating. You knew it was safer to head back to the Tower, check in with Maria and Fury, and then return for further evidence, especially considering the USB drive you had tucked into the pocket of your dress, but you had already gotten so much from this mission that you hadn’t expected and by god if you weren’t a relentless and slightly reckless pursuer of justice.

Narrowing your eyes as you continued to observe your oblivious pursuer, you opened up your purse, quickly wrapped your calf wound, and carefully slipped on the stealth suit and matching boots, packing away the dress and frowning slightly at the new tear in the seam. One of the surprise pains of being an Avenger was the tragically short lifespan of your closet.

Padding behind the man silently, you finished your message to Fury, punctuating it with the update of your plans to infiltrate whatever base the man was headed to. Breathing in deeply, you slid your phone into one of the straps across your thigh and winced slightly at the pain still screaming in your leg, hurrying on behind the burly man.

---

Maria groaned exasperatedly at the message blinking on her monitor, swinging her chair around to face Fury. “You see this?” She pointed at it in frustration, finding no other words for your stupidity.

“Fucking dumbass. She always does this. Thinks she can get all the motherfuckers out of sheer will.”

“God, I mean, she’s a good agent, but she has no regard for her personal safety. It is such a pain, Nick, I’m telling you, I’m going to get gray hair just from having to be her handler.” Maria tugged at her dark locks as if to display them for inspection. She and Nick both loved you, but they forgot how dumb it was to send you on a solo mission with no back-up; you were never sated with just satisfying mission objectives; with no one to stop you, you wouldn’t be finished with the job until at least an entire base was wiped out or you were carried away on a stretcher.

Nick shook his head and picked up his phone again, signalling to Maria that she needed to respond to you, well-aware that you’d ignore their protests anyways. Dialing his backup plan, he internally groaned at the voice that picked up.

“Hey, Stark. So I borrowed your new agent-”

---

Oh fucking hell, for real this time, you thought, wincing at the heavy manacles they left you in. You were a little grossed out that these things looked like they came out of a medieval torture museum, and had the rust to prove it, but you supposed that was a later issue. You had gotten your tetanus shot, you reminded yourself as a new grimace shook you when the metal dug painfully into your wrists.

No, your current issue were the two Hydra agents staring you down in the harshly lit room. You assumed it was the designated unwillful-interrogation room, but you clocked no less than three potential exit points, from the door to the vents to poorly concealed hollow panel you bet you could kick in with a hearty shove. Finishing your assessment of the room, you waited until one of the agents cleared their throat before turning back to them.

“Who do you work for?” His gruff voice ground out, grabbing the chain that kept your bulky cuffs suspended in the air. Your lips curled into an expression of disgust at his proximity.

“I mean, a) cliche line, seriously, and b) why do you even ask? If I’m from anywhere worth being from, it’s not like I’d tell you. Also, you guys should have, like, basic investigative skills. Facial recognition technology. Literally anything.”

The man growled again, rattling the chain as if he was trying to shake you around like a ragdoll. Your head swam and you were reminded of the blood draining out of you from a wound with an ever-slipping wrap.

Figuring that waiting longer would only worsen the situation, you yanked your arms up and wound the chain tightly around the agent, choking him out while his partner sprang up towards you. She shot straight at you through him, clearly not caring whether he survived this attack, but you launched yourself up and over his shoulders, snapping his thick neck with a twist of the chains. Angling your wrists up so that the next bullets hit the cuffs, you wriggled your hands out of the pinched, burning hot metal and lunged at her before she could react.

Scrabbling at her hands while trying to grab the gun, she managed to sling you over her shoulder so you landed with a thud on the ground. You kicked out at her feet and she fell heavily on top of you, but you flipped yourself over, straddling yourself over her hips. She tried to jerk her head up, but you dodged quickly, circling her throat with your hands and forcing your knee down on her thigh so you could follow the momentum and twist with a loud crack of her neck.

Letting her body slump to the ground, you dusted yourself off and looked around. Electing to exit via the vents, as it seemed to be the safest way to stay out of sight, you braced yourself against the chains hanging from the ceiling and pulled yourself up and out of the room.

---

“Barnes, Rogers, Romanoff, Wilson, c’mon, we’ve got a mission to ‘supplement,’ as Nick so delicately put it.” Tony was speedwalking through the common area, ignoring groans of protest as he smacked the whining assassins. “Shut up, Barnes, you can lose to Natasha at chess on the quinjet, we’ll have plenty of time on our way to Paris.”

“Paris?” Steve parroted, joining Tony at his side. “Does this have anything to do with the fact that this alleged ‘date’ has lasted a day and a half?”

“Relax, Cap, your girlfriend is fine-”

“She’s not my girlfrien-”

“Right, you wish!” Natasha cackled loudly, high-fiving Sam and Bucky while Steve turned and gave her the best kicked puppy expression he could. This only served to make them laugh more, and Steve once again questioned why he ever let these dorks - his dorks - all meet.

---

“Yes!” You whispered quietly to yourself, beaming at the storage room full of explosives you could see below you. Dropping down as quietly as you could manage, you let yourself land on the shoulders of the lone guard and knock him to the ground, stabbing him in the stomach with knife you had pulled out of your boots. Pausing once again to readjust the bandage you had tied around your leg, you let yourself lean against a crate for a moment, your vision wavering.

---

“Tony?” Natasha’s concerned voice rang out from the cockpit, causing everyone to worriedly look in her direction. “Was this base supposed to be on fire?”

Steve stood up and rushed to the windows, his own eyes confirming one of his biggest fears. He had a team member down there, and he didn’t know if she was alive or dead, and worst of all, he didn’t know what he could do to help her.

“Sam, Tony, you guys get out now. Fly over and try to get us visual on any activity going down. Let us know if, if you see her.” Steve shook his head at his stumble, pausing momentarily. “Bucky, Nat, as soon as we land this thing, we’re all going to split up. Cover as much ground as we can. Where’s our closest landing point?”

“I’ve got it, Cap, calm your beautiful, beefy-”

“Do not even finish that sentence right now.”

“Rogers that.”

“That doesn’t even work, Tony!”

---

It had been a whole 273 seconds since Steve had touched down on the ground and there was still no sign of you, and with the few Hydra agents stationed at this base being found dead or dropped already, this left his mind all too open to thinking up terrible situations that you could’ve found yourself in.

Don’t be ridiculous, he chided himself, the knocked out agents, the explosions are a good sign. She’s a capable agent; if she did that, she’s out here somewhere. He clenched his jaw in concern over the state of the base, though. He was guessing that it was you who blew it to near pieces, and rubble was still crumbling and settling. He just hoped he didn’t find you trapped under any of it.

Suddenly, a piercing scream curled out from around a corner, and he whipped his head in search of the chilling sound. Jogging into another collapsing room, he breathed a weighty sigh of relief upon discovering your bloody but intact body on the ground. He followed your horrified line of sight to discover a kevlar-clad severed leg, drenched in blood and soot.

He knelt before you, bringing your head to his chest and wrapping his arms gently around you, trying to quiet your panicked cries, though puzzled at the sight - as an agent and then Avenger, you certainly were no stranger to gore. Steve rocked you slightly, and your shrieks quieted enough for him to bring his face level with yours and search your eyes earnestly. You watched him, your face blank, as his large thumb brushed tenderly against your cheek, wiping the stray tears and dust from your face.

“Hey,” Steve whispered, “are you okay?” He took your hand in his, gingerly stroking the back of your hand in soothing circles, and you marveled at his soft touch despite the rough leather of his gloves.

“I,” you started helplessly, “I’m, uh.” Tears continued to escape you, and you tried to fight the humiliation of crying at work, no matter how grave your situation was. You nodded brokenly at the bloody calf across the room from you, hoping he would put two and two together, and your shoulders shook once more. Steve looked at you quizzically, fighting the urge to kiss your fluttering lashes until the unidentified pain went away.

“....What?”

“What do you mean what?”

“I, just, what?”

You wailed again, throwing up your hands in frustration and instinctively standing to go and show him yourself when suddenly you glanced down in wonder. No, your eyes did not deceive you, you were standing on the same two legs you had entered this mission with. “Oh, that’s not my leg!” You gestured excitedly at the limb you had mistaken for your own, glancing back at your own leg that had a matching gash down the back of the calf. “I had just assumed I couldn’t feel it because of shock, y’know, and-”

“Do you wanna go on a date with me?” Steve’s breath hitched as he realized what he just said. Oh god, he groaned internally, this isn’t technically in the middle of battle, but-

“What?” You were blinking, a lot, more so than what Steve thought was normal. He tried not to read too much into your eyes, those eyes he found himself lost in, prettily framed by those long lashes and holding a gaze he couldn’t understand.

Shit, his mind was racing, stumbling over his words once more. “I, uh, I don’t, um, know why? Why I said that? Oh, god, I mean, we’re not even there yet, not that I’m expecting you to have to be there, ever, oh god, I am so sorry, I’ll just-”

“Steve,” you cut in, gasping a little and clutching a ridiculously thick arm of his for balance. “Fuck, uh, my leg, my actual leg this time-” With a painful whine, your body toppled against his as you blacked out, warm blood still trickling down your calf.

---

You squinted your eyes open, trying to avoid the glaring fluorescent light the filled the room. The hospital room, you realized, turning your head with a wince to see a large window whose natural light was tragically obstructed by cream-colored blinds. You let your eyelids droop again, hoping that you could avoid the effort of revamping your lighting by just falling asleep, but you had no such luck. You settled for letting your gaze wander aimlessly around the area, which you assumed to be a local Parisian medical center and not the Avengers medbay you had yet to visit - Tony would never allow such an ugly tile pattern within fifty feet of his home.

Shifting carefully, all too aware of the throbbing pain that still burned in your leg, you looked to the other half of the room and stifled a gasp - the one and only Captain America was asleep at your side, leaning heavily to the side of his fragile-looking plastic chair. Your eyes fell to his still-gloved hand, which was clasped in your own, and you briefly wondered how out of it you were that you hadn’t noticed this immediately.

Dragging your free hand over to cradle his face, you called his name softly. Bleary-eyed and painfully cute, Steve blinked his way awake, coming back to you. His shoulders sagged in relief at the smile on your face.

“Hey.” You weren’t necessarily one for feelings or overaffection, but you hoped Steve didn’t notice the embarrassingly obvious adoration in your voice as your eyes drank him in.

“Hey.” His tone matched yours, sleep-husky voice still loving and velvet. You started to draw your hand away, relishing the warmth that emanated from his skin, but he caught your wrist cautiously, gentle enough to let you slip away if you wanted but firm in his request.

You stayed like that, together, for a dreamy few seconds, before he cleared his throat awkwardly. “Listen, uh, so, I’m sorry, about asking, not that I didn’t want to ask because I did, but it was unprofessional and unfair to you and-”

“Yes.”

“What?”

“I said yes, Steve.” He blinked at you adorably in question.

“But I thought you didn’t want anything like that with a, um, coworker?”

You swallowed and looked down at your clasped hands. You had spent far too long keeping people at arm’s length because of your fear, and you knew you could trust the Avengers. You made a tiny, tentative promise to yourself, to give people chances like they had given you. Bringing your eyes to match his, you gave him a small smile.

“Well, I guess it’s a good thing that Captain America is my coworker, and it’s Steve Rogers who’s asking.”

[ragewerthers]

Worth

Summary: Regis can't stand his father's new bodyguard Cor Leonis. He's too young, too inexperienced and too much of a stick in the mud for the young Prince.However, the worth of a person can't be measured in outward appearances alone.

A/n: This is for a prompt from my friend @bgn846 and a fantastic prompt she gave me for our F3S!!! Her prompt was: ”Random thought what if when Cor was working as Mors bodyguard Regis didn’t like him until he saved his life or something and then there were BFF’s forever.” This was intense to write and I hope I was able to convey all the feelings I had when I read the prompt! You can also read it on AO3 at: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19823827 Happy reading!!! :D

Word Count: 6607

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

Regis snorted himself awake as he sat beside his father in the Council room.

Gods, but this was the most boring meeting he’d been to in a long time.  He couldn’t help but to let his mind wander now and again.  What 21 year old wasn’t allowed to daydream while doing something they found tedious?  Granted… most twenty somethings didn’t have quite the weight on their shoulders as he did or needed to stay focused quite as intently as he should’ve been… but that was for future Regis to worry about.  The here and now Regis was debating if he could warp strike over Councilman Nevus’s head and out into the hallways without anyone noticing.

Half the members in attendance today were already nodding off, the other half doodling in lieu of taking actual notes pretending that they were honestly interested in the change in fertilizers being used in Duscae for the upcoming harvest seasons and what it meant for trade with Insomnia.

Regis actually found himself smiling a bit in amusement at the scene, letting his gaze move around the room and taking in everyone’s inattentive features until his eyes landed on him.

Cor Leonis.  One of the youngest, if not the youngest, members to ever join and rise up the ranks of the Crownsguard.  He was only sixteen, but had already accomplished more than half the men twice his age.

And Regis couldn’t stand him.

There was just something so… off about him.  Regis had never once seen Cor crack a smile.  Never seen him with his guard down or joking.  Never seen him as anything other than a silent, brooding figure always stood to the right of his father, King Mors.

Mors had seen something in the kid, and granted he did have some qualifications behind him, but honestly!  How could his father think that some… sixteen year old punk had the merit and strength to protect him and stand as one of the King’s bodyguards?

Regis could tell he was glaring, perhaps he even hoped that Cor would notice and react or do something, but he never so much as got a single twitch out of him.

Grumbling a bit to himself he was only drawn out of his stupor when he felt a nudge to his side.  Glancing to his left he noted the subtle look Clarus was giving him and sighed, refocusing on listening to all of these fertilizer changes.

Surely one clean warp strike would get him out of the room… two if Councilman Nevus shifted to the left...

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

“I can’t feel my legs, Clarus,” Regis groaned as he and his Shield stood just outside of the councilroom.  The meeting had only just adjourned and there was a slight chance that both of his legs and possibly one buttcheek were never going to get the feeling back in them ever again.

Clarus snorted at the dramatics, rolling his eyes as he crossed his arms over his chest.

“Obviously you can or you wouldn’t have been able to walk out of there, your Highness,” he pointed out simply, making Regis scowl over at him as he leaned against the wall just beside the open doors.

“There is no length I wouldn’t go to get out of there, even if it meant hobbling out on legs that don’t work,” Regis shot back.

Clarus only hummed before quirking an eyebrow at him.  “You were thinking of warping out of there again weren’t you?” he asked in a tone that said he could read Regis like a book.

“And what if I was?  Don’t tell me you wouldn’t have joined me,” Regis said lightly, earning a little snort from his friend.

“I’m your Shield, Regis.  Obviously I would’ve followed you.  Nitwit that you are,” the man joked in return.

Regis opened his mouth to retort only to quiet himself as he watched his father exit the room to head toward his main office.  His eyes instantly narrowed as he watched Cor Leonis follow, trailing just behind his father as they moved away.

“You’re doing it again,” Clarus remarked simply, startling the prince from what he was doing if for only a moment before a lighter scowl made its presence known.

“Doing what?  I’m not doing anything,” he replied, waving a dismissive hand in the air before beginning to follow the same path his father had just taken down the hall so that they could head to the elevators.

“You know what I mean.  You were giving Cor that ‘look’ again.  The one you were giving him in the councilroom.  The one you give him every time you two are within a ten foot radius of one another.  What have you got against him?  He’s just a kid?” Clarus asked, inadvertently hitting on the crux of the problem and making Regis bristle.

“That’s the exact reason!  He’s a kid!  A… a teen!  And yet my father thinks he is completely capable of protecting him and willing to put his life in the hands of a child and what’s worse!  What’s worse, Clarus, is that the kid thinks he can do it!”

“You’ve heard of what he’s done.  The kids got heart and skill.  Just because he’s young shouldn’t take away from what he’s accomplished, Regis,” Clarus tried to reason, but the Prince was having none of it.

Regis merely snorted and lifted his chin a bit higher, unable to take the words to heart after the impression he had already cemented in his mind of Cor.

“All I’m saying is that while he has indeed done a few things in his time in the Crownsguard there are people with far more experience and far more merit who would be better at protecting my Father.  You have to admit that I’m right on this point, Clarus.  There are bigger, stronger, tougher soldiers with more military background who would be far more adept at the job then… that kid.”

Sadly, Clarus really didn’t have a rebuke for this because it was true that there were more seasoned soldiers who could do the job that Mors had given to Cor.

Seeing that no comment was forthcoming, a cocky little smile appeared over Regis’s lips and he chuckled. “See?  Even you have to admit I’m right sometimes,” he joked.  Though after scoring a point in this little argument he couldn’t help but to speak his mind a little more.

“I’m surprised my Father’s kept him around for so long.  I know that if it were me I’d have gone mad being followed around by someone with the emotional range of a stump.  I mean… I’ve never so much as seen him crack a smile or say anything other than ‘Yes, Majesty’.  Really, I can’t think of a larger bore than Cor Leoni-...”

Just as they were rounding the corner, Regis found himself almost face to face with the very person he’d been making comments on and glaring at for the better part of the afternoon.

Cor took a quick step to the side, allowing for the quick adjustment of them suddenly appearing and keeping them from colliding.

Regis had actually balked at the sudden appearance and had stopped mid sentence.  Obviously it wasn’t princely behaviour to make such comments out and about where anyone could hear you, but surely the kid hadn’t heard him, right?

The problem was that Cor’s expression held the same seriousness that it always did.  No mirth, no anger, no sadness, just that stony expression that looked foreign and odd on such a young face.

“Your Highness,” the young soldier greeted with a bow.  “His Majesty wishes to speak with you about the upcoming Sylleblossom Festival to be held in Somnus Park this upcoming week.  He requests your presence in his offices.”

“Oh… uh… yes.  Of course.  Thank you,” Regis got out after his moment of shock and slight embarrassment.

With another bow, Cor pardoned himself from their presence before making his way back down the hallway from which he’d come on the King’s errand leaving Clarus and Regis to stand staring at his retreating back.

Regis could feel the moment Clarus’s eyes were turned back on him and he growled slightly in his chest.  “Don’t give me that look, Clarus.  How was I supposed to know he was just around the corner?” he sniped, looking over to see his Shield practically glowering at him.

“What if he heard what you were saying?” Clarus asked after a moment, only getting a little huff from his Prince.

“I doubt it.  Apart from having little to no personality I doubt he actually has feelings to hurt.  If a bodyguard can’t stand up to a critique then he definitely can’t stand up for anything.  Now, let’s get to my father’s study before he sends that kid to come looking for us again,” he said, trying to brush off the incident, though the sickly feeling of guilt was already easily settling in his stomach like a rock.

Perhaps his penance for saying such things out in the open for anyone to hear would be having to go and talk to his Father about the speeches they were to make at this upcoming festival.

Sadly as they continued to walk toward his Father’s office in silence he knew that he’d made an error, but he was far too proud to own up to it.

Besides… was he really so wrong in what he said?

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

The day of the Sylleblossom Festival was one that the majority of Insomnia loved to attend.  It was always held in early summer, the streets lined with even more vendors selling everything from flower shaped hats, to stuffed animals, to foods that were far too unhealthy for any normal person to eat on a regular basis.

There was also a carnival set up in the center of Somnus park with rides, games and all sorts of attractions to draw the attention of Insomnian citizens.  All in all it was a celebration for celebrations sake.  A time to just have fun and enjoy the day without worry.

However, even with all of the frivolity of the day there were still certain royal duties that had to be held.  One of which was a speech to be given by both the King and his son to their citizens, mostly thanking them for all that they had done for Insomnia and giving a days pardon to all to simply go out and have a little fun.  It wasn’t that anyone needed an official pardon from their job to come and enjoy the festival, but there was a certain thrill from hearing a king tell you that you were allowed to miss work, for even one day, to enjoy yourself.

Currently, King Mors was in the middle of his speech, commenting on a few things that had the crowd chuckling and even bringing a little smile to Regis’s lips.

Glancing over the Prince caught sight of Cor, his face still as expressionless as ever as he stared out into the crowd.

Seeing such an expression Regis couldn’t help but to think that a day like today was utterly wasted on someone like him.  He probably couldn’t wait for all of this to be over with so that he could go back to being a statue by his Father’s side.

However, the sound of something strange caught his attention and he turned his head back toward his Father.

It had sounded like those little firework poppers that children throw onto the street that snap and crackle, utterly harmless, but by the way things progressed, Regis soon found out that he was horribly mistaken.

In the blink of an eye, his Father’s Shield had instantly rushed to the front as screams rose up from the crowd below.

Regis watched as Mors was pushed down to the ground by his Shield as shouts began to rise up from the surrounding Crownsguard.  The soldiers in attendance on the balcony around him were shouting, calling for backup or simply calling out to each other as chaos continued to build around them.

Lost for a second in the commotion, Regis instantly stood up from his seat, moving forward quickly to check on his Father.  He didn’t notice the red dot lined up on his chest, he didn’t register the look of fear on his Father’s face as the man looked up to see him coming closer nor did he hear the shout from Clarus behind him to get down.

The only thing that registered was the fact that something had just slammed into his side like a freight train and he was unceremoniously tackled onto the ground, his head dizzy from the quick upheaval as he tried to figure out what the fuck had just happened?!

Looking around he could still see people running for cover and he could see his Father struggling to get out from the cover his Shield to get to them.  He himself tried to move and found himself pinned and only then did he register that he was being covered by Cor and not just that, the kid was complete dead weight on him.

Regis’s eyes widened as he saw the blooming red starting to spread out from Cor’s shoulder, his head trying to register what was happening even as he found himself incapable of doing so much as shout for help or for someone to get a medic.

But just as quickly as this first bout of chaos happened, a second one was quick to follow.

Confirmations that the gunman had been taken down began to flood into the small balcony and soon a flurry of movement happened all at once.  Guards moving forward to help lift Cor and carry him back into the building as the King’s Shield and Clarus began to try and get the royals up and into the building as well.

“Regis?!  Regis are you alright?  What he fuck were you thinking running toward the balcony like that?!” Clarus shouted at him, but Regis still felt dazed.  Everything had happened so fast and now it all seemed to slowly be coagulating together.  Looking down at himself and the red that had seeped into his clothing he felt sick.  He looked between his closest friend and the door before shaking his head, opening his mouth to speak as no words came out.

Clarus shook his head and helped him up, covering him in case there was another threat and leading him down a back staircase toward vehicles ready to carry the royals back to the Citadel.

“What…. What just…,” Regis tried to speak, but all coherent thought seemed to be sapped from him as Clarus bustled him into a waiting vehicle before quickly sliding in next to him.

“Cor Leonis just saved your life is what happened,” Clarus growled out, slamming the door shut as the driver of the car instantly sped off toward safety.  “That soldier you found lacking just took a bullet for you without a second thought.  Do you dare want to tell me again why you find him so unfit for his position?!”

Regis flinched at the tone of his Shield.  Clarus’s words were sharp, fueled by adrenaline, but Regis took no fault with them.  The man was right.  Cor Leonis… the kid he’d said had no place being by his Father’s side, the kid he’d mocked a few days ago… had just put his life on the line for him without a second thought.

The guilt and shame from days ago that had settled itself in his chest blossomed into complete shame at his past words.

How could he have been so crass?  So rude?  So shortsighted as to denounce someone like that?

Now all he could do was pray that he got the chance to make up for his past transgressions.

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

It was days after the attack before Regis was given permission to go to the medical ward.

After arriving back to the Citadel after the attack they’d only been able to get little tidbits of information here and there on Cor as the most pressing matter at hand had been trying to figure out the motive and if others may be involved.

Eventually they’d gotten word that Cor had been transferred from emergency surgery and was in the ICU to recover.  The bullet had passed through his right shoulder, but blood loss had almost been his downfall.

Now, with Clarus following nearby, Regis made his way toward the young soldiers hospital room.  He’d been moved from the ICU a day ago and the doctors had been keeping them updated as to his condition.  It appeared he would make a full recovery though his right arm was probably going to be out of commission for awhile.  Rest followed by physical therapy were on order for him, but the doctors all agreed that there was a promising outlook for his future.

Standing outside his room, Regis paused, unsure exactly what he was going to say when he entered or how it was going to be received.

Clarus’s temper had calmed since a few days ago as well and now as he stood beside his friend he offered a little smile.

“Go on.  I’m sure he’ll appreciate the gesture,” Clarus offered kindly as Regis felt unease taking over his chest.

“Ah yes… what bedridden person doesn’t want to see someone who spoke ill of them while they’re recovering?” he said sarcastically, before feeling a hand lightly cuff the back of his head and making him look at the Shield with a narrowed expression.

“Quit sulking and get in there.  I think this little meetings been a long time coming.  I wish it was under different circumstances, but… this is where we’re at now.  So get your royal butt in there and make things right or so help me our next few sparring lessons are going to be the things of nightmares,” Clarus warned, a smile on his face though his eyes warned that he meant every single word.

With a little gulp, Regis nodded before taking a deep breath and entering the room, only to be met by the sound of grumbling.

Brow furrowed he closed the door behind him and wondered if perhaps he was interrupting another persons visit in which case he would apologize and leave as soon as possible.  But as he made his way closer he could see who… or rather what the young soldier was having an argument with.

Cor was sat on the edge of his hospital bed, back facing the door as he held a shirt with his good hand and berated it for apparently not bending to his will to get over his head and his shoulders.  It was no wonder it couldn’t.  Aside from only being able to work with only one hand the gauze and bandages wrapped around his shoulder and chest only immobilized him more.  As Regis took in the sight he also saw that the young soldiers back was lined with scars that he never would’ve expected.

That’s when he remembered the stories of Cor going to the Tempering Grounds, facing down Gilgamesh, the first Shield to the Kings of Lucis.  It was one thing to hear stories about such an endeavor… it was another to see firsthand what such an endeavor had cost.

Regis felt his stomach lurch and he must’ve made a noise of some kind, perhaps as he’d taken a step back to let Cor have his moment, because soon piercing blue eyes were trained on him and for the first time in his memory he saw something other than that stony, unwavering expression he’d grown to associate with Cor.

In that one moment he saw surprise, shame, pain and anger all wash over the young man’s before being replaced by that mask of nothing that he wore in his every day.

“Y-Your Highness.  I apologize,” Cor said as he made to stand, Regis quicklys stepping forward and shaking his head.

“No, no!  You have nothing to apologize for.  Please, don’t… I mean… just take it easy,” he tried to placate.  Gods he was bad at this.

Cor watched as the Prince moved forward, but something about his demeanor seemed even more guarded than Regis could remember.  Clearing his throat, the Prince tried again.

“What… are you doing anyway?  The doctors said that you were on bedrest for the next few days and that you should keep movement to a minimum,” he said as he went to stand next to a chair beside the hospital bed.  Allowing himself to glance around the room he noticed the lack of any sort of visitors.  No ‘Get Well!’ cards, no cheesy stuffed animals with casts, no sign that anyone aside from the doctors and nurses had been in to check on him.

Nothing about that sat right with the Prince, but he kept his mouth shut as he watched Cor shifting to look over at him.

“I need to get back to work.  I can’t just sit around doing nothing,” Cor said simply, looking back down at the shirt that was thwarting him from achieving such a goal.  “I’ve got a job to do and an oath to follow.”

Regis felt struck for anything to say to that, especially with the conviction with which Cor had spoken.  This sixteen year old kid was trying to sneak out of his hospital room after sustaining such an injury to get back to a job that most grown men couldn’t handle. “Don’t you think rushing ahead like this is a bit rash?” he asked after a moment, trying to find the right words to get him to see that what he was doing only going to cause more harm than good,  “You need to rest.  I doubt you’d be able to pick up a pencil at this point let alone a sword.  The last thing we need is for you to hurt yourself more when you should be focusing on trying to get better.”

Apparently even if his words had been meant to calm and reassure the young man, they had done the exact opposite.  Those piercing blue eyes were trained back on him and the mask of indifference he wore was now cracking with a barely concealed look of determination.

“If I can’t use my right arm, I’ll use my left.  If I can’t pick up a sword I can still be a pawn or diversion.  I have a duty to uphold to the King and I refuse to let him down,” he spoke, his voice leaving no room for argument.

However, Regis were more than willing to try.  Clarus could attest to his stubbornness and inability to just leave something be.

Stepping closer the Prince shook his head as he stood to his full height.

“You will be of no use if you don’t take the time to rest and recover.  You’d be more of a hindrance than a help if you try to go back to stand by his side,” he shot back and the determination that had been in Cors eyes now turned to anger.

“Why do you care?!” Cor shouted back, finally standing to face the man head on, his shirt still clenched in his left hand as his arm trembled.  “Aren’t I merely the ‘kid’ to you?  The one who lacks merit and credentials?  Why do you care if I rest and recover?!  I need to get back to my job before I can be cast aside!”  As soon as the last words left his mouth he blanched, gripping his shoulder and growling as a wave of pain moved through his arm, making his knees go weak threatening to drop him to the floor.

Regis instantly moved around the bed, wrapping his arm around Cors waist to help him sit back on the bed.  Unsure of how much more his guilt ridden heart could take at this point.

He was the reason Cor was hurt.

He was the reason the young man was trying so hard to get back to his job.

Cor thought that Regis was going to take this moment of weakness to replace him.  To remove him from a station that he’d earned through harsher means than Regis had ever even tried to imagine.

Once he’d gotten Cor settled back on the bed he took a seat next to him, neither man really all that familiar with talking so plainly and so openly about matters of this nature.

“I… owe you an apology, Cor,” Regis finally spoke, breaking the silence between them, his eyes still cast down to the floor.  “I judged you before knowing you and I never made the attempt to get to know you better.  I measured your worth based on only what I could see and that was incredibly shallow and unbecoming of myself.”

Cor glanced over at the Prince and shook his head.  “You don’t have to apologize, your Highness,” he said quietly.  “You’re not the first person to say those things and you won’t be the last.  I know that I’m young… that there are others out there who have more experience than I do and that’s why I take everything I do so seriously.  It’s why I work so hard.  I will not falter.  I will not let down my King.”

Regis nodded at that and turned to look at the young man beside him, offering him a little smile.  “I still owe you an apology for my words.  And I also owe you my thanks for saving my life.  For a kid you have a mean tackle,” Regis offered lightly, watching as the barest hint of a smile appeared over Cor’s features before the younger man shook his head.

“For a Prince you have a poor sense of self preservation,” Cor said back, but the heat in his voice from earlier was replaced with something lighter that only made Regis smile more.

“I’d argue with you, but Clarus has already reminded me countless times that I’m an idiot for what I did so I’m afraid I don’t have it in me to try and counter your point,” he said, earning himself an honest to gods chuckle from Cor who winced as his shoulder jostled, making Regis frown instantly.

“It’s alright, your Highness.  I’ll be fine,” he reassured and Regis nodded, relaxing only marginally.

“If you say so,” he offered though until he knew that Cor was out of here and back at the Citadel he probably wouldn’t be resting easy for some time.  “I should probably leave you so you can rest and… I hope you can believe me when I say that I have absolutely no intention of trying to replace you in your absence.”

Cor paused a moment, looking over the Prince as if weighing and measuring him before giving a small nod.  “I believe you, your Highness,” he promised, making Regis wrinkle his nose.

“You don’t always have to use my title, Cor.  You can call me Regis..,”

“Or Prince Charmless.  Whatever suits you at the time,” came a voice from the doorway making both men turn to see Clarus entering the room.

Regis thought he heard a little snort come from beside him, but he was too busy glaring at his Shield to enjoy the fact.

“First of all, I have more charm in my pinky then you have in your whole body.  Second of all, aren’t you supposed to be my most loyal retainer?  How could you betray me like this!” he asked, making Clarus roll his eyes.

“I betrayed nothing.  I think Cor already knows more than enough about you, but we have to get back to the Citadel.  We’re still under strict orders right now while the investigations continuing,” he said honestly to which Regis nodded.

“Alright,” he agreed, turning back to Cor and seeing that look of determination back on his face.  Obviously hearing that there was still all of this going on, it must’ve relit the fire in him to get out.

“I’ll be taking this,” he said simply, reaching over and taking the shirt that Cor had been battling earlier and tucking it under his arm as he stood to move toward Clarus.

Cor watched him with wide eyes, surprised by the quick movement.

Regis turned back to him with a smile and quirk of his eyebrow.  “We are fine while you recover, Cor.  I trust you will stay here and look after yourself in the time being.  I”m merely taking this as insurance,” he said, lifting the shirt back up and handing it to Clarus who took it with a confused look.

Cor could only shake his head, but a little smile did appear.  “Understood, your Hig-.... Regis,” he said after a moment and Regis could only smile more at that.

“We’ll be back tomorrow.  I’ll make Clarus sneak in some palatable food for you as well.  I’ve seen what they serve here and I don’t think you it’s befitting of a bodyguard to the Crown,” he said simply as Clarus glared at the back of his head.  “Until then, rest.  We’ll speak later, Cor.”

With that Regis turned to leave, Clarus following behind them as Cor listened to the bickering down the hall.

“Why are you going to make me sneak in the food?!”

“What?  Can you imagine how it would look if the Prince of Lucis was caught smuggling in contraband food to a patient?  It would be unseemly.”

“You’re already unseemly.”

Cor couldn’t help chuckling a bit more as he listened to the sounds of the two moving down the hall and after a moment of thought he did move to settle himself back down in the bed, allowing himself a moment to focus on getting better.

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

By the time Cor was released from the hospital he had to get help from one of the nurses to carry out some of the get well trinkets that had slowly collected in his room.  A couple of ‘Get Well’ cards, a ridiculous looking stuffed chocobo with a cast on its arm that said ‘I hope you’re O-kweh!’ as well as a few other odds and ends that he had received from the King, the Crown Prince and his Shield.

Today was his first day back at the Citadel and he had been surprised to find quite a number of people greeting and welcoming him back with a warmth he’d never really experienced before.  It appeared that his heroism on the balcony had made the news and his bravery had been the talk of the Citadel for awhile.

Needless to say he didn’t allow it to get to his head as he fell right back into his duties.  After reporting back to King Mors who welcomed him back to his post, he found himself stationed outside his offices as he met with an Ambassador from Altissia in regards to some Nif activities.

Standing watch he could hear the echoing footsteps of people bustling from place to place, small bits of conversation drifting past and easily ignored until he heard his name.

“Can you believe Cor’s back?” a nasally voice echoed from down the hallway to the left.  

“Yeah, the little soldier that was in the wrong place at the wrong time.  I’d have thought he’d have been replaced by now!”  Another voice spoke up after the second, this one a bit deeper, but no more pleasant than the first.

“Well he should be, shouldn’t he?  I mean, who is the King trying to fool?  He’s what?  Sixteen?  It’s an embarrassment.  After that whole debacle on the balcony you’d think he would’ve been pushed out!”

“Exactly!  What kind of soldier gets hit that easily?  He should’ve used a warp to cover the Prince, everyone knows that!  It’s elementary stuff!”

“Well he’s a child so he’ll make childish mistakes.  It’s just lucky that his lack of skills didn’t lead to someone getting killed.  I mean, yeah the bullet grazed him, but really if it had been me...”

Cor felt a familiar ache in his chest that he refused to acknowledge.  It was the same old thing regardless of what he did.  Behind everyone’s smiling facades and fake words there was always this doubt about him.  That he was nothing more than a child playing soldier.

“And what if it had been you?” a booming voice asked, even startling Cor out of his thoughts as he heard it.

It sounded like Regis.

And the Prince sounded pissed.

“Oh, u-uh… y-your Highness!  I was only saying…,” the nasally voice began before the sound of crackling could be heard and a yelp soon to follow.  Refusing to abandon his station outside the door, Cor could only wonder what was happening around the corner when he saw two figures come backing up around the corner, their hands raised placatingly as Regis followed, eyes glowing in a way that spoke of the Crystals magic.

Judging by the static making the two Crownsguards hair rise, they must’ve just bore witness to bit of elemental magic at the hands of the Prince and now were fleeing lest it be used on them.

“I heard what you were saying,” Regis spoke, his words low and dark, the wrath of Ramuh written all over his features.

Even Cor had to admit the look in his eyes was foreboding.

“If memory serves didn’t I see you, Inbellis, turning and running as soon as the commotion started?  And Fugio, if I recall correctly it took the reassurance of two of our Glaives to get you to leave the safety of the womens’ bathrooms after this all transpired.  So don’t you dare to critique the actions of another far more capable soldier when you failed so miserably in your own stations!”

The hall shook with the force of his words and was enough to send both Crownsguard running for their lives lest they literally meet their end here under the wrath of the Crown Prince.

Cor watched them race past, their footsteps soon disappearing down the opposite end of the hall, momentarily struck for what to think of what he’d just witnessed.

“Was it really necessary to singe the tapestry to make your point?”

The voice of the Crowned Princes Shield broke through and Cor turned his head to see Clarus making his way from around the corner looking more amused than anything.

Regis was still fuming in the center of the hall, closing his eyes and taking a few deep breaths.

“It was.  Let them dare to say something like that again in my presence,” he growled, though as he opened his eyes they no longer held the ethereal glow from the influx of magic.  His eyes glanced over to see who had bore witness to his outburst and when he saw it was none other than Cor he instantly had the decency to look sheepish and his cheeks tinged pink.

Clarus noticed the change and turning his head he saw the young Crownsguard staring at them in a bit of shock and awe and couldn’t help chuckling, a beaming smile on his face at what had just happened.

“You got yourself a bit of a fan now, Cor!” he called over as Regis instantly turned around and shushed him before turning back around to face the young soldier.

“We were coming down to see how your first day back was going and… I overheard those two idiots.  I’m afraid my temper got the best of me,” he explained simply.

Cor was still a bit shocked at having witnessed the Prince standing up for him.  This was an entirely new realm that he had never been in before and so he wasn’t quite sure what to say.

“It’s alright.  As I said before… I’m used to it.  They won’t be the last,” Cor said, trying to brush it off, only to be met with a look from Regis that made him realize he might have said the wrong thing.

“If I have anything to do about it, it will be,” the Crown Prince promised.  “You have more merit and more heart than most of the men who serve us.  If they take issue with you then they take issue with me.”

Something in Cor’s chest warmed to hear such words.  He’d worked hard to make it here and to do his job.  He’d sacrificed a lot in his young life and to be recognized for his work and to be offered this… camaraderie… was unexpected, but something he realized he’d cherish and carry with him.

“Thank you, your Highness,” Cor said, bowing to the Prince, missing Regis’ embarrassed look and hearing Clarus chuckle.

“Hey… what did we discuss the other day?” the Shield asked with a quirked brow as Cor straightened and the young Crownsguard couldn’t help but to fight a smile.

“Oh!  Right.  Thank you, Prince Charmless,” he offered instead, watching as Regis’s embarrassed expression turned to one of shock as he turned to face Clarus.

“Look at what you’ve done!  You’ve warped his innocent young mind!  How am I supposed to be respected when I am surrounded by people like you?!” the Prince complained as Clarus continued to laugh at his expression.

Cor couldn’t help chuckling a bit more before shaking his head and standing back at his post.

“Okay.  I think you two are trying to distract me from me from my job now.  Beat it,” he said, his stone faced mask back on even as his eyes sparkled a bit in mirth.

 Clarus and Regis both slowly turned to face him.

“Dear Clarus I think we’ve just been issued a challenge,” Regis said, quirking an eyebrow.  “If young Cor here thinks we’re ‘trying’ to distract him I’m afraid we have no choice but to continue until we succeed.  What do you think?”

Clarus hummed in thought, before nodding.  “I’m afraid I don’t see another option.  It wouldn’t do for a bodyguard of the King to be easily distracted.  We’ll have to do our best from now on.”

Regis smiled smugly even as Cor quirked an eyebrow at the two of them.

“You have been warned, Leonis.  You called down the thunder… now get ready for the boom,” Regis warned even as a spark of mischief still remained in his own eyes.

The two older man then bid him a good day, though Cor knew that he probably hadn’t seen the last of them.

Upon walking away, Clarus turned to Regis a little smile on his lips.

“What?” Regis asked as he caught sight of the Shield, the man merely shaking his head.

“Nothing,” Clarus assured, though the smile remained.  “You’re starting to treat him like a little brother.”

Regis couldn’t help snorting a bit at that, though a smile appeared over his features as well.  “And?” he prompted, looking back over to Clarus.

“And… I’m glad to see that you’ve managed to get off of your pedestal long enough to see the worth of someone lies past their looks and age,” he said simply, watching as Regis’s expression changed, his expression softening.

“I deserve that.  But you’re right.  I shouldn’t have acted as I did in the past, but that will never happen again,” he promised with a little nod before shaking his head, a look of determination on his face once more.

“Now… we need to work on operation distraction!  I don’t think lightening will work this time, but I think something colder might suffice,” he said with a little grin that spoke of ill intent.

Thus the Great Snow War of Citadel Tower West began… and so did a lifelong friendship.