#could hear the sound of splintering so i didnt really shove it

[i-amarobot]

Just changed my guitar strings by myself for the first time

[lazypanartist]

*removes lid off cloche* One star-studded ROTTMNT fic, piping hot. It's platonic, but if you squint there can be romantic implications.

( "So what do you think of New York, eh?" Leonardo asked as he...proceeded to utterly stomp you in F-Zero. He lapped you at one point. His brothers were losing their minds while you were just straight up losing.

It was a brutal win.

"I mean, I think its okay," you huffed, motioning at Donnatello to take your place. "Its bigger. Busier. Transit's a nightmare sometimes, but I love it, y'know? I think its the food. I have so many options."

Raph snorted. "Is there, uh...anything you miss? From your old home?"

You went quiet for a while as you thought, and it hadn't been until Mikey called your name again that you finally replied.

"The stars. I think I miss being able to just...shut off all the house lights, and laying outside and seeing the stars...")

Mikey hadn't been able to get that conversation out of his head.

It was something small, and innocuous, but... the sheer longing in your voice as you talked about missing the night sky in the countryside... it really hit him, for some reason. He couldnt imagine not seeing the New York skyline, dotted with neons and lit windows of skyscrapers. It was all he knew, and he couldnt imagine different.

But you had. And he could hear in your voice how homesick you were.

No, no not homesick. You said it yourself, you loved your new home. You complained about there being like, three restaurants nearby and a convenience store that had inconvenient hours, plus a bunch of uppity old people. You didnt miss your old home, really. You weren't HOMEsick.

Starsick, it what he would call it.

When Mikey went to Leo about his concern, the twin had seemed to mull something over in his mind a bit.

"I mean, its just the sky. We can take them out to a high point and bring a telescope or something. Sure we might kot have the same constellations and I think they like...change? I'm sure we got dad's old one layin' around-"

"Can't. 's too bright in the city."

The two looked over at Raph, who had been reading a comic.

"Whaddaya mean, bro?" blue questioned, leaning back some and stretching his arms behind his head.

"Remember when Splinter took us when we was little? Mikey had to be...what, 5? He took us to see the stars and, other than the occasional one here an' there, and like....I think Mars and some sattelites, you can't see em. The light from the city hides em." The snapper sighed and looked over. "The skyline ain't great for stargazin."

The two more energetic brothers frowned at that before Mikey straightened up and looked towards their nerdy brother's lab.

Donnie knew stars. Donnie named them sometimes when they watched Jupiter Jim films and complained when they used certain astrophysicist terminology wrong.

Neon Leon took note of the youngest's determined look. "You want to do something special for em, huh?"

"Yeah. I mean...They're starsick."

Raph chuckled at that, gathering himself up so he could lend a hand. "Starsick, eh? Sounds pretty serious. We better see if we can't find a cure then, huh?"

-

At exactly 11:58 on friday night, you recieved a formal invitation to the lair from D-Man.

'Bring your softest blanket, one aaa battery, and exactly 11 oreos'

You had gotten weirder requests from your friends at later times, so this was nothing. You gathered your goods and headed over, making sure to snag some pizza and cheap chinese food on the way. Knowing the boys, they probably got their hands on a director's cut of a Jupiter Jim film, and you would be in for a long night.

However, upon your arrival, you were ushered into the lab, into an area that was...quite literally roped off from the rest. several white sheets were stapled or taped to the ceiling of the area, and as you handed off the food to Raph, Leo basically shoved you down in an area swarmed with blankets.

"Guys, what's going on? Is movie night in here, or-"

Donnie's hand was in your face.

"Triple A, please."

You blinked owlishly and handed it over.

The purple-clad ninja popped the battery into something small in his hand, a small silver tube, which he then handed to you.

"Thanks. I've always wanted exactly this. It's my favourite, how did you know?"

Donatello rolled his eyes as his brothers worked on setting stuff up behind you. "It's a laser pointer. The event we have planned is interactive, so if you shine the laser at something and draw out the shape, it'll glow. Twisting here changes the light colour, and also, it doubles as a stun grenade if you press down on the tip, shake for 10 seconds and release."

Your blank stare at the object made him roll his eyes before Mikey grabbed you and pulled you into laying between him and Raphael. The twins laid on their backs opposite of you, and before you could say anything, the lights went out and you were bathed in pitch, inky blackness.

You were about to panic, not understanding, until the sheets above you flickered briefly and began to glow with-

"Oh.../Oh/...."

Stars littered the ceiling, and as your eyes roamed the faux expanses of the night, Donatello informed you about how, this would be showing the available stars, planets, any celestial bodies you would be able to see right here in New York if the city went dark. Leonardo preened at how he had helped set up the projector area, using his 'Mad Skillz' to take care of adhering the sheets to the ceiling. Raph had remembered the times you talked about stargazing, and how you said you'd always forget to bring something warm, so he made sure every blanket in the lair was here. Mikey claimed he got their father taken care of, making sure to get him some cake and milk so he wouldnt pester you guys and how this had been his ide-

"Oh mi gosh...are you okay...?"

You didnt even look over at Mikey, stare locked upward as he rubbed a thumb along your damp cheek. You hadn't even realized you were crying.

"I-I'm so sorry, I just, you sounded like you were really starsick and you just sounded so sad that I kinda thought this would make you happy or be something nice but I didn't even think that maybe this will make you miss your old stars more and make you even MORE starsick, and-"

"That's...That's Cetus."

The orange-clad turtle blinked and turned his gaze up, not knowing what you were exactly staring at with all the dots in the little slice of sky. Raph had to gently nudge you for you to remember the laser pointer and, shakily, you drew a purple shape in the stars. The constellation you had immediately picked out shone bright, and Leo whistled low.

"Cetus, eh? What, is that the god of like...Banjo music?"

That made you snort, and you wiped your eyes.

"Cetus was the sea monster Heracles and Perseus both fought. It's like...a whale, or a massive dragon fish." Your voice went quiet for some time before you whispered that it had been the last constellation you saw.

Raph felt his heart clench. "Are there any more?"

"Tons." You laughed.

"Are there any turtles?" Leo asked.

"Not in traditional greek constellations, no. There's Ursa major and Minor, the bears, There's canis, draco, cephus-"

Your hand flicked out, yellow lines began to form along the stars, and before his eyes Mikey and his brothers were staring at a new shape.

"Whozat?"

"The black tortise."

"Oooh~! I see you know a few Chinese constellations as well! Care to show us what else you got?"

You smiled brightly, stars in your eyes.

OHHHHHH MY GOD 🥹

I HATED living in the city 😭 I live with my grandparents again, out in the country.. I don't think I'd been able to leave the stars again.

[peterrparrkerr]

Moodboard for the series (don't judge me I usually do gifs, this was something new. Also, I could not get the collar to look right)

So I meant to upload this yesterday but I lost control of it and then got busy, so here's a little over 3k for you!

Also, tagging @snowstark because this is our baby. Ao3 version here!

Idk what to tag this. Dark themes, spanking, forced to choose a punishment, uuuh, not sure what else. Enjoy!

*-*

Bucky knows when Peter is going to have a hard time adjusting to Tony being gone. It had been close to a year since Bucky started working for Tony, and he's gotten familiar with all of Peter's little quirks.

And he knows the slight pout Peter sports as he waits beside Bucky for Tony to come to the door, means Peter's going to be a slight handful.

But Bucky can handle the teenager. He's been in charge of Peter's safety for long enough. Aside from Tony, Bucky knows how to get Peter to do as he's told.

Tony comes down the stairs, suit tailored and travel bag in hand. "What a sight," he grins. "My pets waiting for me."

Bucky clenches his jaw at that, but he doesnt say anything. Peter though, steps up to the Superior nuzzling into Tony's chest.

"Don't go," Peter whined. Bucky watched with a familiar jealous rock in his gut, but he stays still.

"I'll be back in five days," Tony sighed, kissing the top of Peter's curly hair.

Peter's in a pair of soft blue jean shorts and a faded Yankees sweater, the bottom cut off to show off his midriff.

Tony pushes Peter back a little and smiles fondly down at him, fingers fixing the collar around his puppy's neck, little bell tinkling.

"You be good," Tony orders, leaning down to kiss Peter's pouty lips.

Peter sulks as Tony steps away, towards the door and closer to Bucky.

"I'll be back late," Tony hums, patting Bucky on the cheek. "I'll see you both when I get back."

And with that, Tony's gone. Bucky rubs at his cheek with a slight scowl. Its a new thing, Tony touching him. And Bucky doesn't like it.

Peter spins on his heels the moment the door is shut and storms off, making Bucky sigh explosively before making his way after him.

Alpine slows him down by weaving between his legs, meowing needily.

"Damn cat, go away," he snaps, nearly kicking the thing before remembering she's Peter's.

The door to Peter and Tony's bedroom slams and Bucky sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.

So it's going to be like this then. Bucky decides to let Peter wallow on his own. Sooner or later his emotions would get the best of him and he'd come out for comfort. Bucky wouldn't force him to before then.

Its the same song and dance. Peter cries when Tony's gone, he doesn't eat much, and just kind of sulks around the house.

If he were a real puppy, Bucky could just imagine him crying at the door with his tail tucked between his legs, looking extra pathetic.

It was during these days when Tony wasn't around that Peter got a little less obedient.

Most incidents Bucky kept to himself. Little scenes of Peter acting out of his emotions. Tony didn't need to be informed of everything.

The bigger incidences though was definitely taken to Tony. They hadn't had an incident in a while -not since Peter ran out and Bucky got shot.

Peter had been terrified after that, refused to leave the tower even with Buck and Tony there with him.

Tony had punished him good and hard for that -it still makes Bucky's stomach roll at the thought of Tony hitting Peter. Bucky still remembers how small he looked when Tony had guided him back into the penthouse.

His eyes all red, tear tracks down blushed cheeks. He had been trembling slightly. It had made Bucky sick to his stomach.

But Peter hadnt done it again. When Tony left, Peter stayed put.

"Peter, time to eat," Bucky called after knocking on the bedroom door. Peter had been locked in there for most of the two days so far Tony's been gone.

He sulks under his covers, and when he does come out, its with a pout. Something Bucky is used to.

"M'not hungry," comes Peter's petulant response through the door.

"Yes you are, pup," Bucky sighed. "Come on, out with you before I come in there."

"Said I wasn't hungry," Peter spoke, voice raising a little. Bucky cocks an eyebrow, then tries the handle of the door. Its locked.

"Peter, open this door."

"No," Peter said.

"You open this door or I'll kick it down," Bucky threatened. Peter's never locked his door before.

"Do it!" Peter snapped. "Then Tony'll be mad at you and send you to the basement!"

"Oh for fuck's sake," Bucky muttered under his breath.

"F.R.I.D.A.Y, override the lock for Peter's door," he says, looking up at the ceiling.

"I am sorry, but the lock is manual, it will have to be unlocked by Peter, Mr. Barnes."

Bucky growls, clenching his teeth.

"Open the door, Peter," he tries again.

"No."

"C'mon, pup, open up," Bucky sighed. He really didn't want to break down the door. What has gotten into Peter? He's never like this.

"Nuh-uh," Peter said. "Leave me alone."

"You know I can't do that, Pete," Bucky huffed.

"I don't need a babysitter," Peter called out. "I can take care of myself. Tony doesn't need you anymore."

"You've got five seconds and then I'm breaking the door down," Bucky said, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Peter says nothing. Bucky begins to count. He thinks Peter will crack when he reaches two, but the boy doesn't make a sound.

"Alright, last chance."

Nothing.

Bucky tries the handle once more before stepping back. He lowers his shoulder, ready to drive it into the wood before slamming into the door.

The frame splinters and the door slams into the wall with a deafening crack.

Peter jumps from his spot on the bed, eyes wide and mouth gaping in shock.

"What is going on with you, Peter?" Bucky demands, a little fed up with his behavior. "You've never acted like this before."

Peter's shock falls away to anger, eyebrows furrowing and arms crossing.

"Get out."

"No, you need to tell me why you're acting like a brat," Bucky demanded, crossing his own arms.

"M'not a brat," Peter snipped, little bell sounding as Peter turned his head away from Bucky, glaring at the wall.

"No? 'Cause you seem pretty bratty to me," Bucky challenged.

That gets Peter standing from the bed. "I'm not!"

"I'm not going to fight with a fucking child," Bucky muttered to himself. "Go into the dining room and eat your lunch."

Peter sets his jaw. Its cute. Little thing trying to be tough.

"I said I'm not hungry."

"Well, Tony wants you to eat," Bucky tries. Usually talking about what Tony wants would get Peter to do as he's told. But it doesn't work today.

So Bucky grabs Peter by the upper arm and pulls him out of the room. Peter grunts, digging his heels in, but he's small and doesn't have much muscle.

"Eat," Bucky demands, gesturing to the food he sits Peter down in front of.

Peter glares up at him, though its not as effective as he thinks with his pastel blue tshirt and matching collar.

"I hate you," Peter bites out.

"Good for you, now eat your God damn lunch before I force feed you."

To say the next three days is difficult is an understatement. Bucky has no idea why Peter's acting out the way he is, but he's had enough.

On the fourth day, Bucky actually swatted him! Peter looked up at him with wide eyes, mouth clicking shut. Bucky instantly felt sick, but he forced himself to stand his ground even as hurt and anger filtered through Peter's features.

"You hit me," Peter said. It made Bucky feel even worse, but he didnt back down.

"You're being bad," Bucky said. More anger filtered in, and Peter reached forward to try and shove him.

Bucky caught him by the wrists and Peter yelled loudly, beginning to flail.

"Peter, stop it!" Bucky snapped, pulling the pup in close and pinning him against his chest. He doesn't have room to thrash now.

"I hate you! I hate you!" Peter yelled. Bucky can hear the beginnings of tears in his voice. "I don't want you here! I want- I want Tony!"

Bucky holds Peter as he chokes on his tears, forcing Bucky to carry his weight when Peter stops holding himself up.

Bucky let's him cry it out, walking him to his bedroom. The door still wasn't fixed -Bucky didn't have time, what with Peter acting out.

He deposited Peter onto the bed. "You can come out when you're done being a brat," Bucky said shortly. Peter just fell to his side, wrapping his arms around a pillow and drawing up his legs.

Bucky walked out and flopped onto the couch, leaning his head back and staring up at the ceiling.

Maybe Tony would know what Peter's problem was. Just because he's never acted like this since Bucky moved in doesn't mean its never happened before.

Bucky's never been more glad when Tony arrives the next morning. He's exhausted. Tony -the perceptive bastard- notices right away when Bucky greets him at the elevator.

"What happened," Tony demanded. Bucky let out a sigh, shoulders slumping just a bit. He didnt like feeling like a whiner, and explaining to Tony what the past five days have been like definitely makes him feel it.

"I don't know whats gotten into him," he finishes with. He just wants to sleep for a couple days. He's never felt more like a babysitter than he does now.

"Oh, I do," Tony huffed. Bucky raised an eyebrow inquisitively. "He's jealous."

That throws Bucky for a loop. "Jealous? Of what?" He can't help but demand incredulously.

Tony smiles knowingly and lifts his hand, brushing his fingers over Bucky's jaw, pinching his chin and giving a little shake.

"Of you, pet," Tony hums, looking amused. "He's used to getting my full attention. I think he's feeling a bit misplaced."

Bucky lifts his head, pulling his chin free from Tony's grasp and taking a small step back.

"He's got no reason to be jealous of me," Bucky grunted.

"No?" Tony asked. "Lets go see our puppy then, hmm?"

Bucky frowns as Tony walks past him into the penthouse. Our puppy?

He quickly spins on his heels and follows after Tony. Theres a disapproved hum when Tony notices the door leaning against the door.

"Tony!"

Peter scrambles from the bed, rushing over to Tony and crashing into his chest. Bucky keeps his distance, hands clasped behind his back.

"I missed you."

"I'm sure," Tony hummed. "Bucky told me about your behavior while I was gone."

Bucky winces in sympathy at the tone Tony uses with Peter. The pup steps back from him, brows furrowing.

"I-"

"I don't want any excuses," Tony interrupted. Bucky watched as Peter's demeanor shifted. He knew he was in trouble, he could see it in the way Peter's shoulders slumped.

"Go wait for me in your room," Tony continued. "And when we're gone, we're going to have a talk."

"But, Tony‐" Peter began. Tony grabs him by the arm and yanks him towards the elevator that leads to the basement.

"Go," he snaps, features twisting into a look of anger. Bucky holds his ground, but he wants to rush back out of Tony's line of fire.

Peter shrinks at the tone. He doesn't try again, just makes his way to the elevator, like a dog scurrying out of trouble with his tail between his legs.

"Are you really going to punish him?" Bucky asked, following Tony towards the elevator Peter had just disappeared through. "If he's just acting out of jealousy-"

"His acting out got me a broken door and a puppy with an attitude problem," Tony said. "I brought you here to take care of him while I'm away. His behavior hindered that and that won't do."

Bucky follows Tony into the elevator. He doesn't say anything, just stands beside Tony, watching the floors pass in glowing numbers above the doors.

When they reach the basement floor, the doors open and Tony steps out, already heading for the door that leads to Peter's room.

"Come on, pet," Tony calls over his shoulder. Bucky's legs work without him, taking him out of the elevator and into the main room.

"I'm not a pet," Bucky grunted. Tony glances over his shoulder, smirking. His blue eyes shining with amusement.

"I beg to differ," Tony hummed, before reaching a hand out and clasping Bucky by the back of the neck.

Bucky allows the Superior to pull him closer as they make their way to the door.

Buck decides not to argue the issue. Better to keep on Tony's good side.

Tony opens the door, and Bucky's eyes widen at the sight of Peter on the bed, naked. Hes on his elbows and knees, pert little ass up in the air.

He's hidden his face in his arms, and doesn't realize Bucky is here with Tony.

"He does paint a pretty picture, doesn't he?" Tony murmurs lowly, arm still wrapped around Bucky's shoulders, nosing at Bucky's jaw.

"I can leave," Bucky says lowly, glancing from Peter to Tony.

"No, I want you here," Tony decides, shutting the door. Bucky chews on his inner cheek, staying close to the door as Tony walks over to the wall of -Bucky feels his stomach drop. He doesn't know if he can watch this.

"M'sorry," Peter whines, turning his head to see Tony at the wall.

"I know you are," Tony said, looking over the items hanging on the wall. Bucky's never seen so many switches and floggers before.

"But that doesn't change the fact that you were a bad puppy."

Peter's breath hitches and he hides his face again. Bucky watches Tony pick out a flat leather paddle from the wall. One of the less intimidating items hanging on the wall.

"How many hits do you think he deserves?" Tony says, catching both Peter and Bucky off guard. Peter's head turns, wide eyes locking onto him before he seems to shrink, hiding his face away again, but not leaving the position Tony most likely trained him to be in.

It takes Bucky a moment to realize Tony was talking to him, and he blinks, looking over at the Superior. "What?"

"You had to deal with his poor behavior for five days, so you decide his punishment," Tony said.

Bucky looks wide eyed at Peter, pale and naked except for the baby blue collar around his neck. He shakes his head.

"Come on, pet," Tony goads. "What does he deserve?"

Bucky hears Peter whimper at that and he feels his skin crawl. He shakes his head again, feeling sick. "I can't."

Tony's mouth drops in a frown, looking disappointed. Bucky doesn't care. He can't.

"Fine," he hums. "Then fifty hits."

Peter lifts his head, breath hitching and tears streaming down his cheeks.

"Ten for each day."

Bucky feels his throat closing up.

"N-no," Peter sobbed. "No, please, Tony!"

Tony looks at Bucky, challenging glint in his Extremis blue eyes. "Bucky doesn't want to choose, so I'm chosing for him, puppy."

Peter turns to look at Bucky, pleasing with a trembling breath.

Bucky digs his nails into his palms. He looks from Peter to Tony, then back to Peter.

If Bucky chooses a lower number, Tony may not agree to it. But Bucky doesn't want Peter being hit -especially in front of him.

"Twenty," he manages to say, unsticking his throat. His voice is tense, body rigid and hands clasped behind him. Outwardly, he looks calm and collected, but inside he wants to do nothing but run out of the basement.

Tony doesn't say anything for a moment, and Bucky's sure its just as long for Peter as it is for him.

"Alright, twenty it is," Tony agrees. Bucky feels the muscles in his shoulders unwind a little at that.

"Count them out, pup."

Its the worst few minutes of Bucky's life. He served tours over seas. He's killed people with his bear hands and lost an arm, and he'd go through all of that ten times if it meant he didn't have to be in the same room as Tony and Peter right now.

Each smack has Bucky's pulse spiking, each sobbed out count down like agony. Its a punishment all its own to be forced to stand by while Peter cries, the loud smack of leather on skin filling the room.

The worst thing is Bucky is the reason he's got twenty spanks in the first place. Sure, its less than fifty, but he's still the one who offered a number.

Bucky doesn't even care anymore about Peter's behavior. He just wants Tony to stop.

Peter's ass is just as red as his face, and his breath hitches on cries, but the boy doesn't move. Bucky has no doubt if he had, the punishment would be far worse.

"Twen-twen'y," Peter finally gasps out wetly, dropping onto the bed.

Bucky restrains himself from rushing over there and scooping the boy up. His nails dig painfully into his palms.

He watches Tony do it instead. Watches as Tony's hand turns soft, scooping Peter up and settling him onto his lap, careful of his poor bottom.

Tony smooths Peter's curls from his forehead, muttering lowly against Peter's cheek as the boy cries, arms lifting to wrap around Tony's shoulders.

Tony glances up at Bucky and nods. "Come here, pet."

Bucky's too concerned with Peter to argue the pet name. He makes his way over to the bed in three long strides and sits down beside Tony and Peter.

Peter peeks out from Tony's neck, eye red rimmed. His breath hitches.

"M'sorry, Bucky," he cries, voice reedy and wobbling with tears.

"Thats alright, Pete," Bucky said softly.

Peter tucks himself back into Tony's neck, allowing the Superior to smooth his hands up and down Peter's bare back.

"Go with with Bucky, pup," Tony says a moment later, once Peter's tears have tapered off a little. Bucky's eyes widen at that, but he can't do much else, because Peter's crawling out of Tony's lap and settling into his own.

Bucky doesn't know what to do. He's wearing cargo pants, and he can't help but worry they're too rough for Peter.

And then he's stuck on the fact that he's got a very naked Peter in his lap. The boy leans into Bucky's chest, head resting on his shoulder.

Bucky settles a hand on Peter's lower back -as low as he dares- and rubs circles into his skin.

"I think its time we had a little talk," Tony said, looking first at Peter, then at Bucky.

[archafic]

ARCHA 1.

“A dark force is brewing just beyond humanities reach. Behind the scenes, Crowley plots something sinister, unbeknownst to the Winchester brothers. Gabriel had been in hiding, he didnt expect to believe that anyone knew he was alive, and yet, here he was, front and centre. Gabriel was now nothing more than trapped and seemingly powerless, and swept up with him was that stupid girl, who had so accidentally been thrown in his world of angelic crazy.”

Word Count: 1500+ per chapter

MASTERLIST / ABOUT

FIRST / PREVIOUS / NEXT

“What a piece of work is man, how noble in reason, how infinite in faculty, in form and moving how express and admirable. In action how like an angel, in apprehension how like a god, the beauty of the world, the paragon of animals.” - William Shakespear

CHAPTER 1: DREAMS

My skin felt keen against the icy ground. Sharp articles slightly protruded into my back, as a biting chill melted over my body. I lay flat, something median sat against my chest, it too was cold, metallic cold. I dug my fingers into the ground around me, it crumbled, like earth. Dirt. A sharp, brisk breeze shook through the air surrounding my icy body. I could hear trees, branches scraping and tearing against each other, they were close, just out of arm's reach, so it sounded. I opened my eyes, bright moonlight piercing through them. As my sight balanced I continued to lay still. I looked up. I found myself distinguishing branches. The tops of needle like Pine pricked the sky above. Pine trees painted as silhouettes against a dark blue sky. I was in a wildwood. A dark figure loomed over me, the mood light and darkness casting a shadow, masking their face My hand began to burn.

-----

Cold. All she could remember was the cold, overwhelming, shattering, It made her feel alive. 

Her dream, like a fleeting memory of another world faded away as the sound of  a manic alarm pierced through the quiet sounds of morning. She lay for a moment, keeping her eyes shut and state of mind dreamy, attempting to recollect what she could from the night before. It was so familiar, the overwhelming feeling of cold that she could recall. It was so vivid, like no other dream she could remember. Shuffling forward, she felt around her bed sheets, when her hand met it’s metallic cold touch she quickly snatched up her phone. The alarm, that had so annoyingly been blaring through the quiet sounds of morning, was shut off with no lack of haste. It was then that the girl went to open her ‘notes’ on the device, this was where all of her peculiar dreams were kept. She typed down all she could recall, her fingers missing some letters as she wrote with haste.

Cold 

Laying down

Windy

Night

Her memory was fleeting, escaping her mind, she typed quickly.

Person

How hard she tried to remember this stranger, however her memory was so quick to disappear, all Wren could recall now was a blur of a face. She rested her phone down, she was done, annoyed at the fact that her subconscious couldn't find the strength to recall the strangers face. The bed was warm, it’s soft homeliness calling, “stay, just stay.”. That’s all she really wanted to do, just to sleep the day away and pretend that she didn't have a single care in the whole wide world. Sleeping, of course, was one of Wrens favourite pass times. She found it was where reality had no place, where she could wander her own unconscious mind and have no need to worry about such useless thing’s as money, or college, or work. As much as she would have liked to stay, she couldn't. Sitting up, she rolled herself out of bed, each muscle aching after yet another restless night. Her right shoulder, in particular, ached a sharp pain. It was nothing she couldn't handle however, sleeping in peculiar positions seemed to be something she had always been particularly skilled at. Her little bedroom was messy to say the least; shorts, jeans, shirts and more scattered across a shag carpeted floor in a manner not unlike a child’s bedroom, since she had finally had a home of her own, small as it may be, Wren had become particularly more slack in cleaning department. Not having caretakers or roommates breathing down her neck to clean every five minutes had led to an exceedingly more lax version of what she already was. To be honest, her room wasn't too far from becoming a bit of a nightmare. Her feet squished into the carpet on top of the floor, the shag had been mostly worn away from so many years of different feet pitter pattering over it. In its current state, the carpet sat as a dirty, old imitation of what it once was, soft and warm. The previous tenant mustn’t have kept very good care of the place. She thought. Wrens short hair lay slightly messy, the night before leaving it voluminous with few kinks and knots, she quickly changed into casual dress. Her greenish eyes darted toward the phone, its digital clock skipping to the following number. Not wanting to be late, the girls internal overdrive engaged as she began to speed around her tiny apartment. Grabbing her old satchel, she rushed into the apartments kitchen, a white laminate bench top opened out to the main living area and the floor became a white, cold tile, it was small, but for the first time in all her life, it was a real home. Running to the fridge, Wren shoved a day-old sandwich into her satchel and headed for the front door, only to turn around again realising she stupidly had forgotten her house keys. Without the shortest moment of haste she rushed back inside. Running around like a madman, stumbling back into her messy little bedroom, tossing the mess around in search of her house keys. Finding no luck she ran back to the kitchen to search, this was when she had noticed the old keys sitting on the bench, had they been there before and she simply hadn't noticed? Realising that time was skipping by, she made a leap for the thick, rotting, wooden front door, locking it behind her. Jaunting towards a faded blue, rusty old bicycle, she took off down the winding main road.

An icy fog hooded the coastline that morning as she made her way down the winding seaboard. A blue sky meekly peaked through the thick white fog overhead, car after car rushing past, heading down the coast. The wind whipped in the girls face, she gripped tightly to her bike handles. A lump sat in her enclosed fist, the house keys that were still gripped tightly in her hand, they continued to rattle while she road along the winding asphalt, Wren thought for a moment of the day she received them;

I arrived to the lot, the building was small and stubby, weeds and dead plants riddled its front garden. It was small, very small in fact. A musty white colour and weedy front, the squarish apartment sat on the ground floor and looked out to a quiet street in Halifax Hills. It’s front door was old, rustic and wooden, it sat with a pale stain and a musty coat of paint that looked as though it hadn't been fixed in many years. The previous owner wanted to get rid of the property as quickly and as quietly as he could, which was how I found his offer; through a somewhat sketchy, classified advertisement site. The seller’s particulars were odd, but I didn't want to miss the chance;

FOR SALE  (3/3 Pepromeno Street, Halifax Hills, OR) $150 / 1br   AM MOVING OUT URGENT TENAT NEEDED

I had been particularly giddy in the weeks leading up to my move into the dodgy old building. It was really the first time in all my life that I finally had a place of my own, when I had previously been in and out of grotty motel’s with even sketchier owners. To put it shortly, I was no newbie to the world of sketchy realestate. It took me a while to find “Pepromeno Street”, I drove around the unknown town and became somewhat lost. I ended up asking a tall man, lingering along the sidewalk where the building I was looking for was, he informed me that it was actually right in front of the place.

I knocked on the ancient door, small bits of its aged old wood splintered out of a dent where many others had apparently knocked before. I heard the creak of footsteps run up to the entrance from the other side. With a couple of clicks the door slid open slightly, a brown eye peaked out at me for a moment, ‘Hi, I’m here to get the keys for the building?’ I asked the owner. He opened up the door slightly further, revealing his roundish face and blond locks, he stuck out his head and observed the street behind me, seemingly looking to see if I had been followed. He then reached out his hand from the half-open door, something slightly jingling in them. For a brief moment, our skin touched when he passed the keys over too me, the keys not only to my new home, but to a new life.

Wren powered on down the winding road, rugged and hilly beneath the coarse screeching of her bicycle tires, when finally she reached the threadbare buildings of the local community college, sea sprayed paint peeling off each building's white walls. She quickly parked her bike and raced toward the lecture hall, managing to slightly trip as she did so. The building was large, sea spray from the ocean below had chipped away at the paint after so many years of low maintenance. This building functioned as the largest hall on campus, it was nothing spectacular, but it did the job it was given, as any good thing should.

Entering the hall, she sat down near the front of the room. The hall was built in an amphitheatre type manner, each chair placed on a downhill angle so that each student could view the lecturer on the stage at the front of the room, it was as traditional as a thing could get, and was really quite dull too, Wren thought. The Professor, who’s name she could not recall, arrived. He began to do his job, strangely, he kept a occasional darting eye toward Wren as her attention dozed in an out. He continued to lecture on and on about Art history that honestly bored poor Wren to death. For whatever reason, her thoughts lingered on the vivid dream from the night before. Her eyes wandered out to a large window looking out to sea to the left of her, she had noticed that the thick morning fog was beginning to clear.

Dreams, like echo’s, so slightly out of reach that it hindered and frustrated her very much so. She could recall remembering a figure standing above her in the strange dream, so familiar, yet so unknown.

Her thoughts wandered for some time, half an hour or so had passed, through that half-hour Wren kept having to remind herself to pay attention to class. As the clock ticked on, she found her eyes drifting out to the window yet again, her thoughts deepening, the tick of the clock lulling her into a state of deep thought. It was then that a sudden chill fell over her body, her hairs stood on their ends, tearing the girl away from her deep pondering thoughts. She was suddenly abruptly aware, a subtle sense of panic lingered about. She looked around the hall, nothing seemed out of the ordinarily, an ocean of bored students faces peppered the amphitheatre, nevertheless, Wren knew something was off and was determined to find out what.

---- CHAPTER 2

[piratekenway]

Oooh, can I have hamdevil AU? I don't care what just anything for it. (Though I would love to see Matt and Hamilton fighting some issue out, with words)

haha OKAY. this is more “Hamilton gets rescued by Daredevil a few times and there’s ship tease” in general, whoops.

title: careful how you proceed

–

“I swear to fucking God, Mur–Daredevil,” says Alexander, “if you don’t put me down right now I am going to kick your ass all the way back to the office, just you watch me.”

Matt, underneath the mask, has the nerve to smile. Well, of course he can, it’s not like Alexander can follow up on that threat when Matt’s got him in his arms, and under normal circumstances, Alexander would be somewhat appreciative of Matt’s arms. But these aren’t normal circumstances.

“Your back might give out,” Matt says.

“Unlike you, I don’t do that parkour ninja bullshit,” says Alexander. “Also, fuck you, my back is fine.”

“I can hear it creaking, actually,” Matt mildly says.

“Your ass,” says Alexander, “the office.”

Somewhere behind them, a–well, Alexander’s not actually sure, and he peers over Matt’s shoulder to check–a guy in, hand to God, frog-themed armor is hopping after them on the ground. There are springs on his feet. His–webbed feet.

Sometimes Alexander loves the 21st century, and all the advances made since 1804 that have enabled more freedom than Alexander could’ve ever dreamed of.

Then sometimes it pulls shit like this.

“Why the hell do you get the lamest supervillains?” he asks.

“You should ask Parker about the White Rabbit sometime,” says Matt, casually, as he runs over a very thin catwalk and oh god Alexander’s just not going to look down. If he looks down, he’s pretty sure he’s going to have a heart attack and die again on the spot, and he’d much rather go out in either a blaze of glory or in bed.

The blaze of glory’s preferred.

“The what now?” he asks, keeping his eyes on Matt’s face.

“She threw rabid bunnies at him once,” says Matt.

Alexander gapes at him. Then: “So she saw too much Monty Python?”

“I knew letting Foggy show you Monty Python and the Holy Grail was a terrible idea,” Matt gripes.

–

A. Hamilton @adothamit’s official, this election is wilder than the 1800 elections #thatssayingsomething http://wapo.st/1QtUQmM

A. Hamilton @adotham@foreversherlocked SINCE YOU ASKED FOR EXAMPLES: TJeffs did not discuss dick size in a presscon (1/?)

A. Hamilton @adothamthe GOP’s newest embarrassment can’t even #talkless #burrisrollinginhisgrave (2/?)

–

A. Hamilton @adothamand half my feed and two of my coworkers have started referring to @tedcruz as a serial killer #explain (21/?)

–

A. Hamilton @adothamso IN CONCLUSION the monkeys have taken over the zoo aka the GOP, best election ever (48/48)

Casey W @foreversherlockedis it just me or is @adotham the guy who’s been writing to the Post under a Latin pen name #theanswerisyes

–

MATT:that explains the increase in rocks through your windowplease find better aliases alex

A. HAM:whats wrong with favonius

MATT:it sounds latindidnt you write under latin pen names all the timefind something less obvious

A. HAM:says the actual DAREDEVILalso i am hurt that you think i just pick names because they “sound latin”wikipedia is right there

MATT:blame the bulletin for that name i didnt choose itand also48 tweets?really??

A. HAM:i was aiming for 51 but then i got put in twitter jailalso you dont have a twitter how do you know that

MATT:you forget foggy and karen follow youthey were telling me the whole thingstop flooding karens feed she says she will actually murder you

A. HAM:nah she wouldntshe loves me

MATT:she says “try me”

–

The second time Alexander finds himself in Matt’s rather well-toned arms, it’s after someone decides to kidnap somebody connected to Nelson & Murdock to Send A Message. He’s sort of glad it’s not Karen they kidnapped, but then again, Karen once maced a guy because he put his hand on her thigh.

At the same time, though, it’s a blow to his pride that they picked him and not, y’know, the other two lawyers hanging around.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you liked playing damsel in distress,” Matt teases.

Alexander glares blearily up at him. He’s not sure what drug they got him with that everything’s still kind of hazy and blurry. He’s going to kick his kidnappers’ ass. Just as soon as he can stand. “Fuck you too, Daredevil,” he tells Matt. “Get me out of here so we can sue their faces off.”

Behind them, someone yells something in–well, Alexander’s not sure, but it’s definitely not a language he knows. Matt ducks just behind a crate, and Alexander hears a crack of a gunshot, sees something splinter beside them.

“You know,” Alexander says, “back in my day, lawyers didn’t get kidnapped and shot at. That, you saved for the actual war.”

“Yeah, well, welcome to the 21st century,” says Matt, laying Alexander down next to a crate and pulling his sticks out. “We’re big on equality here.” He cocks his head to the side, as if listening to something, then says, “You gonna be okay?”

“I survived the revolution and getting shot in the shoulder,” says Alexander, sitting up straight and wincing, because fuck damn but everything’s still spinning, kind of. “I can damn well survive your idea of a rescue. Which sucks, by the way.”

“It’s getting you out, isn’t it?” says Matt, with a cocky grin, and then he’s off.

Alexander leans his head against the crate, breathes in and out, and murmurs, “You better come out of this fight alive, Murdock, or Foggy’ll kill me.”

–

They come out of it alive.

Karen hugs Alexander so tightly he eventually has to break away in order to just breathe. Foggy hugs Matt–well, not that tightly, the guy needs his ribs, after all.

“Thanks, by the way,” says Alexander, once his scrapes and bruises have been attended to.

“I thought you didn’t like my idea of a rescue,” says Matt, holding an ice pack to his head. “You said it sucked.”

“I stand by what I said,” says Alexander, sitting down next to him and hissing softly at the jolt of pain through his side, now the drug’s worn off. “Every bit of it. But you got us out, and I’m grateful for that.”

Matt’s gaze doesn’t quite lock on him–instead, they’re focused on a spot somewhere to the right of Alexander. Months of working in close quarters with Matthew Murdock, but this is the first time, Alexander realizes, that he’s really had the opportunity to look closely at his eyes.

In this light, they look kind of hazel. They’re–pretty, Alexander thinks, and he can see why Foggy accuses Matt of somehow drawing all the girls to him.

The silence stretches on just a beat too long, before Matt grins, cocks his head to the side, says, “That mean I get a kiss?”

“I take it back,” Alexander says, shoving lightly at his shoulder. “Next time I get kidnapped, I want Spider-man to rescue me, ‘cause you’re a dick.”

–

After the case is won, the first thing that happens is that Foggy drags all of them out to Josie’s for an overdue thank fucking God you’re not dead party. They’ve been having that regularly, lately, and Alexander keeps finding himself as the designated Responsible One, but not tonight.

“I’m just–” he starts, then stops. “I’m just, look, I’m just sayin’–the world-buildin’ doesn’t make sense, at least in the prequels I knew why the Republic was a goddamn mess–”

“Tone it down,” Matt tells him. For once in his life, he’s the Responsible One, because Alexander’s hell-bent on getting blind (heh!) stinking drunk, because he deserves it after being kidnapped by mafia nutjobs looking to send a message.

For, like, the third time in as many months.

“The prequels were terrible,” says Foggy, three sheets to the wind. “I love you Alex but you are so wrong.”

“Hell no I’m not,” Alexander says. “Look, the script was shitty and the romance was shoehorned in, but goddammit you could see where the Republic was going wrong and how and why the Empire rose, okay–”

“Because there was a Sith Lord in charge and he engineered a war, which would’ve been convincing if he wasn’t so obviously evil–why would anyone trust him–”

“I’m not talkin’ ‘bout how convincing Palpatine was, I’m talkin’ ‘bout how he engineered the fall of the Republic and the Jedi by exploiting the flaws in both, flaws that could’ve easily been fixed–”

“Okay, okay,” says Karen, manicured fingers plucking the bottle of whiskey from Alexander’s grip, “I think I’ve heard enough. And I think you guys have had enough, if you’re arguing about Star Wars.”

“You’re a Trekkie, Karen, you don’t get it,” Foggy tells her. “And one day we shall tempt you to the Dark Side, with our–with our cookies! And our lightsabers. Lightsabers, Karen.”

“Or I’ll tempt you to the Federation,” Karen shoots back, grinning.

“Never!”

“Dorks,” Alexander stage-whispers to Matt, who gives a small huff of laughter, ducking his head, mouth stretching upwards in an actual smile. “Hey, look who’s smiling!”

“I smile plenty,” Matt argues. “Anyway, Karen’s right. You’re both very, very drunk, and we should be getting you home.”

“Aww, Matt,” Foggy groans.

“Matt’s right, we’re going to get you home before either of you puke on someone,” says Karen, hauling Foggy to his feet despite his protests of it was one time. “I’ll take Foggy, you take Alex?”

“That’ll be hilarious,” says Matt, with a laugh. “The blind guy leading the drunk guy down the street.”

“May I remind you of the parkour ninja bullshit you pull off on a regular basis, Matthew goddamn Murdock?” Alexander says.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Matt innocently says, and Alexander shoves at his shoulder. Or, well, tries to–he manages to shove at Matt’s face instead. Well, now he remembers why he doesn’t usually drink this much–his hand-eye coordination is shot to shit. He won’t be doing any writing tonight. “All right, come on, up.”

“I’m up, I’m up,” Alexander says, as Matt hauls him up. If he leans a little on Matt, that’s only because everything’s spinning and he needs some support, nothing more.

–

alcxhamms:guys guys GUYS

i think i just saw a dot ham and the murdock half of n&m stumbling drunkenly down the street and i am not sure how i managed not to squeal like a pig but like

they were

really

really

close

like ham had his arm around murdock and you know that #lams moment during the grammys that SET ME ON FIRE

it was exactly like that

#i was p far away so i couldn’t really tell what they were talking about but like #at one point ham was LOOKING INTO HIS EYES (and the sky’s the limit) #or like looking into his shades  #my point is #they were VERY CLOSE and i was very close to dying right then and there #i’m going straight to hell

–

“Hey, hey, watch out–pothole–”

“Yeah, yeah,” says Alexander, sidestepping and pulling Matt along with him. They look, frankly, ridiculous, swaying back and forth like a newborn giraffe, but Alexander doesn’t care. “Hey, Matt. Hey.”

“Yeah?”

“You gotta do this more often,” he says. “Taking a break.”

Matt huffs out a laugh, says, “That’s rich coming from you. You write like you’re running out of time.”

“Half the time with you assholes, I am running out of time,” Alexander says. “But also, I don’t show up to work bruised all to hell and back, like I went fifteen rounds with a seriously pissed off Hessian.”

“Ten,” says Matt. “And there were two of them.”

“See, when you say shit like that, I get worried,” Alexander says, grabbing hold of Matt’s shoulders to face him. “You’re an asshole, and your idea of a rescue sucks, but you’re my friend. You go down somehow–get arrested or get killed, whichever–and what do you think will happen?”

“You, Foggy, and Karen continue the good work Nelson & Murdock’s been doing,” says Matt.

“No, you’d break our hearts–and also possibly fuck us all over because of all the laws we’re breaking–but that aside,” says Alexander, stepping in closer before Matt can say something else, “that aside, asshole, it’s your name following Foggy’s on the sign. You’re important to us. And you’re important to me.”

“Huh,” says Matt, “you really are drunk, if you’re coming right out with that.”

“I am being heartfelt here,” Alexander tells him. “You were one of my very first friends when I got here. You’re a goddamn liar and you’re shit at doing it, somehow, but you’re my friend. You know how hard it is for me to keep those, and I want to keep you.”

“Foggy and Karen?”

“I wanna keep them too,” says Alexander, “but they’re sensible, they don’t go out every night to punch people in the face. You do.” He lets out a breath and says, softly, “Go out with us. Not all the time, but–sometimes. Let the city keep for a night, let the police do what they’re supposed to do for a night. Take a break.”

“Said the pot to the kettle,” says Matt.

“The pot’s not punching criminals in the face every night,” says Alexander.

“The kettle’s not mouthing off to gangsters and crime lords in the courtroom,” says Matt. “Not often, anyway.”

“I told Foggy not to tell you about that time!” Alexander says, with a huff. “Also you are distracting me. You always distract me.”

“Not always,” Matt argues, a corner of his mouth quirking upwards in a smile. Alexander wonders, suddenly, if Matt can hear his heartbeat speeding up, as if he’s a maiden on her wedding night. “I imagine it takes a lot to distract you.”

“You’re right,” says Alexander, relieved for the out. Then he ruins it by adding: “But you make it look easy. See, you’re doin’ it now, giving me that look, being all sly and coy–Matt.”

Matt covers his mouth up and coughs unconvincingly. “What look?” he says.

“That look! With your eyes! And your smile!” Alexander plants a hand on Matt’s face for emphasis, nearly sends the both of them toppling into an alley. “Now I’ve lost track of what I was talking about, you dick,” he complains, as Matt rights them both. “Where was I–oh, yeah, take a goddamn break, Murdock.”

“And when was the last time you did?” says Matt.

“Fuck you,” Alexander says, “do not make this about me.”

“I was not!” says Matt, holding one hand up, as if he’s swearing on the Bible before a court of law. “Hand to God, on my honor as a Catholic lawyer.”

“You beat people up at night,” says Alexander.

“On my honor as a Catholic lawyer vigilante,” Matt amends, which is hardly any better in Alexander’s opinion. “Seriously, Alex, your work ethic is intense enough that it scares me, sometimes. How do you find the time to do everything you’re doing?”

“I have a day planner,” says Alexander.

“Liar, I heard your heartbeat,” says Matt.

“Heartbeat detectors can be unreliable,” says Alexander, and Matt huffs out a breath and shoves lightly at him. “Ow! Dammit, Murdock, I’m almost fifty–”

“You are fifty,” says Matt.

“Almost,” Alexander stresses. “Anyway, I took a break this very night, so, ha.”

“Before tonight,” says Matt.

“Last Friday,” says Alexander. He pauses, searches through his memory for a second, then says, “Wait, was last Friday the 13th, or–”

“You’re thinking last month,” says Matt, holding him up. He turns his head just as they pass underneath a streetlight, and for a moment it’s as if Matt has been crowned with a halo of fire and thorns, burning brightly against the dark, an avenging angel come to render judgment. Or a vengeful demon, come to do some bloody work.

“Oh,” says Alexander.

Then Matt cocks his head to the side, says, “So I think this is your stop, I can smell your neighbors from here,” and he’s just plain old Matt again.

Oh, thinks Alexander, heart breaking again, because he has been down this road before, seen how men like avenging angels seeking freedom and justice come to violent ends, loved them so much it hurt to fall, fuck.

–

MATT:hey you up

A. HAM:i am in pain and someone needs to turn the fucking sun offits too bright im gonna die

MATT:i did tell you not to try for the eel yesterday nightremember anything about last night

A. HAM:god i dont knoweverythings blurry after foggy dared me to drink that last shotuuuuugh

MATT:if it helps he cant remember anything eitheryoull be pleased to know i managed to get you home without punching anyone in the face

A. HAM:holy shit its a miraclesomeone call the vatican

MATT:youre hilarious

–

The next time Alexander finds himself at Mepkin Abbey, sitting at Laurens’ grave, he lays a bouquet of white lilies at the headstone, then sets a half-drained bottle of wine upright next to it.

“My dear Laurens,” says Alexander, “I think–no, I know I fucked up.” He lets out a long breath, runs a hand through his hair, and says, “Have I told you about Matthew Murdock?”

–

end.