#it feels like everything athletic keeps calling to me like a siren or something

[seeking-elsewhither]

What is it about me that makes people take one look and go, "Ah yes. The prime example of an athlete."

Like, you couldn't be any farther from the truth, mate, I swear.

[a-singleboat]

Serious

Word Count: 3.3k

Request: can you do emily prentiss x fem!reader with some angst? Thanks! - anon

Warning(s): Reader gets kidnapped, blood, stabbing, general gore

When you first started dating Emily Prentiss, you knew the risks. It wasn’t easy dating a high-profile government employee, especially when you were roughly six years younger than her. If anything, it made it even harder especially when your lives didn’t seem to line up at all. While she was Unit Chief of the Behavioral Analysis Unit in the FBI, you were working toward your first pHd out of, hopefully, two. 

So while she was out catching serial killers and the rest of the mortal evil in the world, you were attending classes and conducting research on “The effectiveness of rehabilitation in prisons and the criminal justice system.” It was riveting stuff, really. A pHd in forensic psychology would put you on the path to becoming a criminal researcher like you’d always dream of. 

Well, technically you wanted to be a criminal profiler but you weren’t all too athletic and based on knowing what your girlfriend did, decided on a career change shortly after gaining your bachelors. What Emily did seemed exhausting, quite frankly, and you could make just as much of a change as she did out in the field by sitting in a lab. 

But what made things really hard between the two of you was the fact that due to who you were as a person and what Emily did for a living, you have attracted a very adamant stalker who was twice as likely to turn violent than the rest of them simply because he’d known you earlier on in life.

Unfortunately, your oh-so-loving stalker was a man by the name of James Carlton, who’d felt slighted in the way you’d rejected him several times over the course of your high school career. Yeah, you didn’t really pick up the sentiment of “Treat People with Kindness,” until about midway through your sophomore year of college. Some could say you’d brought this on yourself. 

“I’m okay,” you assured your girlfriend through the phone, crossing your arm over your torso and leaning against the wall. It reeked of cigarette smoke despite the huge sign on the wall stating that smoking was prohibited within fifty feet of the establishment. You peered through the gauze-like curtains, searching the motel parking lot for the tell-tale sign of the FBI’s arrival. “I’m just a bit shaken up. Though, I think he might have my psychology paper. I can just reprint that though.”

“Of course out of everything you’re worried about, it's your goddamn paper. You shouldn’t be worried about your grades when your life is in danger,” Emily advised, the sirens blaring in the background. 

“But my grades are all I have right now, well, except for you.” You risked another glance out the window. “How long until you guys get here?” 

“Five minutes, tops,” Emily assured her. “We’ve already passed the library.” 

A shadow passed in front of the window as you took a step back in shock, the frightening electric blue eyes of the very man you were running from staring straight at you. He pressed a sheet of paper against the window, a sadistic grin spread over his features as he leaned into the musty glass. 

In crude sharpie, the words YOU CAN’T HIDE FOREVER had been scrawled over the careful ink of your psychology paper. You really couldn’t pass that in for a grade now. 

Smoke started to creep into your room through the vents, forcing you into the center of the room as you covered your mouth and did everything you could not to breathe in. You just had to last four more minutes. 

You whimpered as you saw the door handle jiggle, James having disappeared from the window to attempt breaking down the shoddy motel room door. You could barely hear Emily asking what was going on over the thumping of your own heart as your vision blurred. It was either you stopped breathing and passed out or took a breath in and passed out anyways. 

You managed to whisper, “He’s here,” into the receiver before you collapsed, gasping for air. Not even a moment later, you felt a hand at your waist as someone heaved you over their shoulder. Unfortunately for you, it probably wasn’t Emily. 

By the time you came to, you were already thoroughly scared. Your dreams had been anything but pleasant, flashes of torture blinding you even before you were awake. But still, you kept your eyes closed and your breathing even as you tried to figure out where you were.

It felt dark. With nothing covering your eyes, you could tell that it was as well. The air smelled damp, like an old towel that had been left sitting for too long. It was cold as well and as far as you could tell, you were underground. You were willing to bet you were in a cellar of some sort. 

Slowly, you moved your left foot only to realize your ankles had been shackled to the extremely uncomfortable bed. It felt like you were laying on hay, which was completely possible. The prickly sensation at your back was either that or hair, which would have been extremely unfortunate. 

A door opened on the other side of the room, causing you to stiffen. You choked back a sob as you struggled to keep your breathing under control. 

“Oh, Y/n,” James cooed, running a finger down the side of your face. You heard more footsteps before the door slammed shut, causing you to tense up once more. “You’re awake, aren’t you, baby?”

You figured there was no reason to hide anymore, flinching away from him and his use of the pet name. Emily called you baby all the time, something you’d grown to like in your relationship. You never liked the name before her. 

“What?” he asked, pulling down your blindfold. “You don’t like it when I call you baby?”

Instead of focusing on him, you turned your head so you could analyze where you were. You were right, it was dark. There was a dim floor lamp in the far corner, weakly emitting an eerie glow over the room. By the lamp, barely within reach of the light, was another man. He had a gun on his hip and stood protectively in front of the door, as if he were waiting for something.87

James was a lot more prepared for your abduction than you originally thought. This would make it difficult for your rescue but to be honest, you were doubtful that you would make it to the next day. 

He grabbed your face, forcing you to look up at him. You tried to sink further into the scratchy mattress but he followed you, a sadistic smile on his face as he just got closer the more you tried to shrink away. “You thought you were safe?” He got closer, chuckling. His rancid breath washed over your face and you held your breath until it subsided. “You’ll never be safe. Not as long as I’m alive. You know why?”

You really didn’t want to know why. 

“Because I’d follow you to the ends of the earth, darling.” He traced a finger down the side of your face. “You’re never getting away from me again. You’re mine.”

“You’re delusional,” you managed through gritted teeth. “I’ll never be yours. I wasn’t in high school and I sure as hell am not now.”

James scoffed. “You popular girls were always the same. Always thinking you’re better than everyone just because you were well liked.” He slapped you, causing your head to whip to the side. The sting from his palm meeting your cheek hurt more than it normally would. You could already tell that it was already reddening even without the help of a mirror. “Though, I have to give you props. Ashlynn didn’t last this long before she was sobbing for her life. You really surprised me.”

“Ashlynn?” This was news to you. In high school, you’d surrounded yourself with like-minded individuals all more self-conscious than the last. Ashlynn was the “head bitch” as others put it. She was like the Regina George of your friend group. “So after me you’ll go for Georgia and Penny, is that it?” 

“You always were the smart one, weren’t you?” James said, backing off. He walked over to a table just out of sight, picking up a knife and running it over a whetstone a few times. You winced at every stroke, watching as he sharpened his weapon with glee. 

“You really should have saved me for last,” you said, choking down any fear. James raised the blade into the air, admiring the sharp edge before strolling back over to you. He pressed the knife against your collarbone, barely applying any pressure. 

“And why’s that?” 

“Because my girlfriend’s going to come for me,” you said, gasping as he forced the blade into your skin. You felt the trickle of blood slide down the side of your neck until it dripped off onto the mattress. “She’s an FBI agent, you know.”

James rolled his eyes. “And Ashlynn’s husband was a cop. She still died.” He pulled the knife back, resting the tip on your arm. “They still haven’t found her body, you know. It really shouldn’t have been too hard to find though. It’s where you and the rest of them used to hang out everyday after school.”

“Why are you telling me this?” You stiffened your arm, pushing into the mattress to escape the knife. There were two outcomes that you could see. Either Emily dramatically bursted into the cellar and managed to save you just in time or you got marked up and eventually bled out. You crossed your fingers and sent out a mental prayer that Emily would get to you in time. 

The tip of the knife dragged over your arm, splitting your skin like the Red Sea. Strangely, it didn’t hurt. The knife was so sharp that you couldn’t feel anything. You didn’t know if that was a good thing or not but at least it saved you from the pain. 

“Why am I telling you this…?” James brought the knife up and cut down the middle of your shirt, leaving you exposed. He traced a few letters over your stomach with his finger before turning the knife over in his hand, pressing the weapon blade-side down. It cut into your skin, the beginnings of an “M” blossoming on the right side of your stomach. “Because you’ll be dead by morning. If you refuse to be mine then there’s no point in keeping you alive. You think your idiot of an FBI agent can save you in time?” He finished carving his word into your stomach, pain blossoming across your entire midsection causing your sight to go blurry. He’d pressed harder that time which meant you actually felt each excruciating cut he made. 

James took a step back, taking the moment to admire his handy work before thrusting the knife hilt-deep into your stomach. 

You felt the pain, a searing white-hot pain right underneath where your belly button was. If you breathed wrong, you could feel the knife move, which was horrifying in many ways. You tried to make your breaths more shallow on purpose, not wanting to disturb the weapon jutting out from your stomach. 

And, just like a movie, the door burst open a moment later. Shouts of “FBI!” and “Hands up!” could be heard. You watched through blurred vision as James put his hands up, laughing maniacally as the blood left your body. Not only could you feel the blood drip down your collarbone and arm, but you could tell that your stomach was doing a good job of acting as a waterfall, watering the mattress below you. 

Unfortunately for you, your stomach’s waterfall performance was not beneficial to the cause of keeping you alive. The last thing you saw before succumbing to the darkness was your girlfriend’s extremely worried face and the muffled sounds of her beautiful voice. Too bad you didn’t stay awake long enough to hear any more. 

Emily was struggling between acting as the Unit Chief her team needed her to be and playing the understandably worried girlfriend to the woman that was bleeding out in front of her not even four hours ago. Thankfully they’d gotten to you in time. You hadn’t been bleeding for too long and the knife hadn’t been taken out which improved your chances of survival by a good amount. Emily wasn’t really paying attention when Reid was prattling off your survivability rate. She was more focused on making sure you actually survived. 

You’d lost a lot of blood. That wasn’t arguable. By the time they reached you, your neck was drenched as well as your arm. The pool of blood in your stomach wasn’t comforting either and the second she saw what had been carved into your skin, Emily had to excuse herself for a moment to go throw up in the bushes. 

And the worst part… the worst part was that you looked dead. You looked exactly like a victim in one of the many photos she’d see in a day. Your hair was wet--from what, she didn’t know, and you looked awful. After years of looking at the photos and consoling grieving families, she never even imagined that she’d be the one to be consoled. 

“The doctors are hopeful, but she lost a lot of blood,” JJ said, resting a hand on her shoulder. Emily didn’t react. She had your scarf clenched in her hands. It was the same scarf you’d given her after it started snowing on your fifth date together and you had to escape into your apartment that was nearby. You’d said that it looked better on her and smiled. God, she’d give anything to see you smile again. 

It was crazy how five years of love could be erased in just a day. Five years of morning phone calls when Emily was away, five years of at-home dinners after a long case, five years of just existence with you… it hurt to think about how quickly it could all just be gone. 

“This is all my fault,” Emily muttered, twisting your scarf through her hands. She let the fabric slip through her fingers, watching as it fell into a heap on her lap. “I should’ve never left her alone.”

“You can’t blame yourself for that,” Reid was standing in front of her on her left side, his arms crossed across his chest. As much as he tried to make it seem like he hadn’t been crying, he didn’t really do a good job with hiding it. His eyes were red and his cheeks blotchy. The fact that he was sniffling didn’t help either. 

Reid and Y/n were best friends for years before Emily came along. The two of you actually met through Reid. You’d brought him lunch one day and it took about five weeks of seeing you around before Emily got the guts to ask if you were single--to which Reid had smiled wide at and answered that yes, you were single. 

“I was the last person to see her,” he said. “If anything, it was my fault.”

Rossi scoffed. He didn’t know you as well as Reid or Emily but after years of having you as Emily’s plus one for dinners at his mansion, he’s gotten to know you better than most. You saw him as a father figure and he saw you as one of his own. “Neither of you should be blaming yourself. Y/n is here and she’s safe, that’s all the matters now. We can’t change the past.”

Says the man who obsessed over an unsolved case from his prime, Emily wanted to say. But she held back. Arguing wouldn’t get them anywhere and as much as she hated it, Rossi was right. You were safe with six government agents plus one technical analyst and one retired government agent sitting outside the room where you were receiving surgery. 

“Y/n’s tough,” Morgan said, resting his own hand on Reid’s shoulder. He’d been there a lot toward the beginning of your relationship, quickly becoming the older brother type that you never get to experience as an only child. “You both know that. She’ll pull through.”

The night passed into its eighth hour when the doctors finally emerged. Emily was the first to stand, slapping Reid’s shoulder until he woke up and stood with her. The rest of the team had either passed out or left. Alvez had gone home, as had Lewis. The only other people that remained were JJ, Morgan, Garcia and Rossi. 

“Most of the injuries she’d sustained were superficial. They should heal within a week or so,” the doctor, Dr. Smith, informed them. “She’ll be in pain for a few good weeks as she heals. The stab wound to her stomach will take longer to heal, the knife having gone deep enough to penetrate her uterus. We expect she’ll make a full recovery.”

Emily frowned. “And the carving?”

“Wasn’t deep enough to scar,” Dr. Smith assured her. “In fact, most of the knife injuries should heal without scarring. Just the stab to her abdomen should scar.” 

Reid nodded, thanking the doctor before turning to Emily. He looked more relieved than worried, which was a good thing. Y/n would be okay. 

“I thought I was going to lose her,” Emily said. Your scarf had become a bracelet of sorts, securly tied around her wrist. It still smelled like you, though it had faded since you’d given it to her. 

“Do you want to go in and see her first?” Reid offered, looking over at the Intensive Care Unit you’d been moved into. They could see you through the glass now. You were asleep, most likely exhausted, and rightfully so. You looked peaceful asleep, a familiar and welcome sight, though she usually saw you like this when she came home late from cases. 

“Shouldn’t we let her sleep?” Emily asked, eyes not moving from your still frame.

Reid looked over his shoulder. “Well, I don’t think anyone’s going to go home until she’s awake. You could go sit with her until she does.” 

Emily nodded but she didn’t move. She was torn between wanting to be by your side and wanting to just leave you be. Reid pushed her toward you, motioning for her to get along with it. 

She crossed the threshold, closing the door behind her. Immediately, the silence was apparent. Compared to the occasional sound of chatter in the hallways, your room was completely silent. It was a welcome change, though Emily would have much rather preferred the space be filled with your laughter. 

Emily pulled a chair from the wall over to where you laid, sinking into the uncomfortable faux leather. She reached for your hand, taking it in hers. Your skin was still as soft as ever thanks to the hand cream you use nearly every chance you get. The dumb little habit had things slipping from your fingers more often than not but Emily was always there to catch the occasional glass. 

You had a few paper cuts from the speed at which you read, and though you were nowhere near Reid’s 20,000 WPM, Emily swore that you consumed material faster than he did. For a brief moment, Emily thought about leaving you. The world was dangerous enough as is without a constant target on your back because of her occupation. Maybe you’d fare better with someone who wasn’t as high profile. 

But then she thought about what you would say--you’d reprimand her for being an absolute dumbass before telling her that dinner was ready with a smile. Emily leaned forward, pressing a kiss to your palm before settling back into the seat. She refused to let go of your hand, bringing the chair as close as possible.

Emily would wait a thousand years if it meant you’d wake up and be in her arms once again. She drifted off to sleep with your hand still firmly intertwined with her own, a reminder that you were safe and that she would never let go of you again. 

TAGLIST

PERMANENT

@beautiful-holland​ @toms-order​ @starlightfound​ @grandmascottlang​ @positiveparker​ @bippity-boppity-boopa​ @caswinchester2000​ @andreasworlsboring101​ @imladylunaticbitch​

[steveng-rogers]

Gymcandy fic

Title: A favor 

Pairings: GymCandy Mike Weiss x Lance Tucker 

Summary: Mike wanted to gain something else from Lance after. Will Lance give it to him? 

Word Count: 1,327

Warning: Explicit 18+. Use of alcohol and drugs. Badly written mythological relatable shit. Bad words. A small daddy kink. Cum play. angst. Degradation kink, rough sex. Choking. (If theres anything else that I should add let me know)

A/N: This was a challenge to write, but this is also for @happygowriting’s The Hat Draw Challenge. The prompt given to me will be italicized and in bold. Happy 1k sweetheart <3

Mike won a lot of cases. Cases that he won are worth the fight. That’s every single one of them. The price is not just money, but a good reputation too. He’s a great lawyer and he knows it. He takes a lot of pride in it because there’s barely anything in his life that he can take pride in. Which is fine, too many things can distract him. 

Then walk in Lance Tucker. He has never seen someone so into themselves to the point of thinking they’re deity. To Mike, that suits Lance. He was a bright streak of red and blue in his grey life. 

So that was his goal, to earn the deity’s favor and hopefully keep him in his life. Lance is Zeus and Mike, well that would something he can determine for himself at the end. 

The case that was with Lance was a thing of absolute disaster. Like a huge, unbearable headache in Lance’s head and all Mike wants to do is be the wedge that can get the headache out. He was hopeful that something can come out of that headache. 

And somewhat, something did happen between them. 

It was the night after they won the case. He was at Lance’s house, overlooking the city. The party was rowdy and elegant at the same time. Athletes, agents, coaches, Lance’s personal pr team, and of course the god of gymnastic himself. 

Lance celebrated like they were all in mount Olympus like they’ve won a major battle and in actuality they did. There is booze, drugs, men, and women and gold, everything gold. There’s even a bathtub in the middle of the living room filled with ice and fuck ton of champagne bottles. 

Mike has never seen anything like it. Party so over the top, but also not tacky. It was so Lance. 

The night ends with him on top of Lance. He gained that favor like he’s been promising himself from the start. 

Lance was hard and beautiful. God did a great job carving Lance. 

Mike licks his lips as he watches Lance lined the coke down his happy trail, cutting the tatted ribbon up with the white powder. 

Mike snorts those snows up like it was his last breath. He hooks his fingers on the Lance’s red Klein and pulls them down, revealing the actual gold he’d been wanting. 

The way it bounces up proudly, the clear precum trickled down from the slit to mix with the remaining coke on Lance’s skin. By the fucking gods, those are things men go to battle for. 

Mike lick those up, hungrily. He even gets his mouth wrapped around the crown of Lance’s cock. “Fuck, Mike.” Lance moaned for the first time and it was perfect. His name at the end sounds like sirens calling him out to meet his doom in the sweetest ways imaginable. 

He handles Lance as if he owns him and by the end of the night, he would, or would he?

Lance is in all fours, his back arched so beautifully that Mike found his calloused hand follows its curve. Once he reached his ass, Mike gave him a nice hard spank. 

“Mike..” Lance whimpered, but his ass rocked back as if he wants him to give him more. 

Oh, and he did. 

His lubed-up fingers found their way inside Lance, making the man a moaning mess. Lance didn’t hold back, especially when it comes to pleasure. Mike loves that. 

He curls up his fingers as he opened him up some more. “How does that feel? Your favorite lawyer is about to have his dick up this spoiled ass.”

Lance pulls his head up and turns his head to side-eye Mike. “Bold of you to think you’re my favorite of anything,” Lance said with a smug smile painted across his bitten, red lips. 

Mike groaned, deep in his throat. “I’m gonna wipe that fucking grin off your face Tucker and you’re gonna lay there and take it like a champ.” With that, he shoved Lance’s head to the pillows earning a muffled laugh from Lance. 

Lance likes it really rough and Mike is checking all of the boxes for him. 

He felt the warm tip of Mike’s cock, lubed and ready with a condom. Mike didn’t warn him but the fucking stretch did. It made Lance feels every piece of him, stretching his ass in all of the right ways. 

“Shit.. holy shit Mike.” Mike grinned and slaps Lance’s ass as he bottoms out, the man cursed into the pillow. His hands balled into a fist, his cock throbs at how easily Mike handles his ass.

Before Lance barked another order at Mike, the man on top moves his hips down and goes in deeper. His hips bucks and Lance moaned obscenely, Mike already shoots for his prostrate and he got it. 

“You’re an easy slut, Tucker.” He pulls out a little, hands tucking on Lance’s hips, bending his ass up. “Your fucking gold worth nothing if you’re this easy to please. Fuck your ass does feel good, might make you sit on my lap and work for your orgasm.”

Mike starts to move his hips, it’s long and hard strokes. Lance gave out a choked-out moan as Mike keeps fucking him into the mattress. The satin sheet rubs nicely against Lance’s cock and he starts to meet Mike’s trust to earn more friction. 

“I don’t think so Lancey.” Mike bends Lance’s back, face pressed on the pillow his cock hanging heavily between him. “Mike, fuck let me cum, so fuckin hard. I can’t.” 

“Oh, yes you can babyboy. You’re gonna take a hard fucking from me and you’re gonna cum when I say so.” Lance’s body is on fire, those words sending him elsewhere. Makes his head swims with arousal and his cock leaks with more precum. “Y-yes daddy.” Lance uttered those words and Mike’s insides did an exciting jump. 

“Can’t hear you brat. Say it louder.” Mike gave Lance’s hips a bruising grip to encourage the man. “Yes daddy, my god fuck!”

Mike is close to coming and his hips never once stop moving, fucking Lance like his very own toy. He pulls Lance so now his back pressed against Mike’s chest. He wraps his hand around Lance’s throat and squeezes. 

“F..Fuck Mike-ah daddy.” Lance can’t even find the words to show how turn on he is by Mike choking him. “Say you love me baby, say it and I’ll let you cum.” 

“Fuck Mike, yes yes please I love you. Please let me cum.” Mike’s hand that was on Lance’s cock starts to move up and down. Lance’s body tensed up and then he came so hard, the ribbons of white cum made it all to the sheet and some on his chest. 

Mike moaned throatily in Lance’s ear as he shoved his dick deep inside him as he came hard at the sight that was in front of him. Lance all wrecked and sated, that was all because of him. 

After cleaning up all the mess, Mike sits on the bed as he runs his hand on Lance’s cheek. “Was this an elaborate plan to get me to sleep with you?” Lance scoffed softly. “Shut up Mike, you enjoyed it.” Mike grinned, the gods already favored him it seems. 

“So we used each other?” Mike wasn’t sure why he asked that question, was he fishing for reassurance that this was more than a celebratory hook-up? Maybe. “We used each other and that’s okay.” Lance’s tone was emotionless, the weariness of the night got to him. “Will I.. ever see you again?” Mike was reaching now, so fucking high into the mountain. “I have your number and you have mine, I’ll call you. Goodnight Mike.” 

Maybe Mike imagined it, but he hears a slightly softer tone when Lance said goodnight. When he got home, he fell asleep sober not wanting to forget what happened.

friends tags: @happygowriting​ @nix-akimbo @uncafeavec-chubbybucky​ @eurynome827​ @daddyandybarber​

[wistfulthiinking]

                          working hard to get my fill, everybody wants a thrill.                           paying anything to roll the dice just one more time.                           some will win, some will lose. some were born to sing the blues.                           oh, the movie never ends. it goes on and on, and on, and on.                           don't stop believin' -- hold on to that feeling.

how long has your character been in WASHINGTON?

nearing on three years. like many others within the city, he made his way across the country upon graduation from high school. as he is under the spell of the magic that hangs over washington, finn’s memory is programmed to believe that he grew up in franklin, tennessee. raised by a single mother that worked two jobs to keep their tiny family afloat, finn always found his solace in football. luckily enough for him, he was a natural talent and all too soon became something of a star athlete in the state, his name is familiar even in nearby Nashville. 

what is your character’s JOB?

finn is unemployed at the moment and is solely a student at george washington university. more importantly, however, he is the quarterback of the george washington colonials football team. it was never lost on him that he owed football a great deal -- it wasn’t as if he’d gotten a scholarship to college based on his grades or academic ability. it just begins to feel a bit difficult to hold onto that scholarship and quarterback role when he’s so very close to failing all of his classes. finn had made the choice to study business based solely on the idea that he could become a mega-rich ceo someday, giving his future family a life that contrasted so severely from his own. plus, he wanted to pay his mom back -- the woman was nothing short of a saint and she deserved the best that the world had to offer, in finn’s eyes. despite the best of intentions, it seemed life was laughing squarely in the face of his plans. 

where has your character been PULLED from in their fandom?

the end of season four, the capital-e end for finn. it was all too tragic, the swift and untimely end of a man who was just beginning to find himself. pieces of his alternate self linger in his mind, that once drew him towards the siren’s song of music city. pieces that make him question his idea to study business and plant a desire towards music or teaching. 

has any MAGIC affected your character?

yes, but the magic grows increasingly weaker as the clock continues to tick. he’s now older than he grew to be in his alternative life and it seems that with each passing day -- each extension of his life that he’s been miraculously gifted, doors to that life begin to unlock. the clues are subtle, faint tickling upon his brain when he’s met with something that would have been significant to the finn hudson of lima, ohio. the man has been singing in the shower for as long as he could talk, his soul lightening and growing wings as his notes swelled and his range expanded. the way he would sneak to concerts in nashville and sing his lungs out in the crowd. but all of this was his secret as tennessee’s finn hudson never had the embrace of the new directions to bring him out of his musically repressed shell. as the responsibility of adult life looms over him in the next few years, he feels himself less drawn to business and more drawn to becoming a teacher. certainly less financially secure, this intense desire shocks him every single time it crashes over his body like a wave. it’s an instinct, something visceral that tells him teaching is his calling -- that he would be good, maybe even great as an educator though he’d never given the career path a single thought before. then these puzzle pieces grow increasingly obscure when the mere sight of a gold colored star makes the hair on the back of his neck stand up and sends tingles down his spine. he has learned to mostly ignore that as it’s just too odd to have any real meaning -- right? then comes the things he can’t ignore, the things that scare him right down to the bone. these include the way his hands shake and sweat beads on his forehead when he gets behind the wheel of a car, the pause he gives when he’s about to throw back a gulp of alcohol or the cringe when the liquid hits his tongue, the two are almost always connected. in finn’s mind, it reads like a premonition -- that he’s doomed to die in a drunk driving related vehicle accident. it’s never occurred to him that it has already come true in some alternative reality. but it wouldn’t, would it? other dimensions and past lives aren’t real. not to finn hudson and he stuffs the fear back down into the deep recesses of his mind until he’s gripped by the horror when they inevitably resurface. 

is there any ADDITIONAL INFORMATION  about your character?

finn is my little baby love. yes, he’s a dumbass who has hurt people, but i think he’s always at least attempted to redeem himself. he deserves a good life, a long one and i want to give him that here to the best of my ability. all around, he has a huge and beautiful heart. 

also i’m sorry for making finn freakin’ hudson so dark at moments in this intro. :) and i can’t wait for everything to come crashing down around him when the magic wears off. woo. 

are there any wanted CONNECTIONS?

FRIEND GROUP ( open to m/f/nb ): finn thrives on friendship and, of course, he’s a college quarterback -- he’s gotta be at least somewhat popular. give me all the friendships ! 

FRIEND(S) WITH BENEFITS ( open to f/nb/m ): i love the drama of a fwb scenario just to see where it goes. this can also be related to the friend group wanted connection as well !

EXES ( open to f/nb/m ): give me ex-partner drama. i crave it.

HIS MOOSE [muse] ( open to f/nb ): ofc, bless my finchel lovin’ heart, my mans needs someone he absolutely adores to help him embrace his inner music lover and for him to learn to adore the things about himself that he despises. this boy needs guidance or he just can’t get it right. 

[flowersandskeletons526]

“Broken Noses and Bad Ideas” - Modern AU Glitradora, Part 1

Quarantine is kicking my ass but writing in nice. Enjoy!

----

Glimmer lit a cigarette as she stood over two fallen punks in the alley, blood still trickling from her nose. One of the leather clad idiots groaned but stayed down. Glimmer waited a second to make sure neither were getting up to come after her. When they stayed still, she blew a puff of smoke towards the sky and stumbled out onto the sidewalk. 

Wispy clouds turned orange above her as the sun slipped beneath the skyline, streetlights winking to life and neon signs illuminating the city. The smell of rain hung in the cool air. The lights made colorful, muddled reflections in the puddles scattered across the pavement. Glimmer tuned out the car engines and police sirens, the thudding of footsteps all through downtown, and focused only on the wet concrete beneath her boots. A chilly breeze swept her unkempt hair away from her face. She popped the collar of her jacket to keep the wind off her neck. 

She made her way towards the outer rim of the city, to a tiny shop tucked between buildings. A pink and gold sign that read “Brightmoon Magics” hung above the front windows. Glimmer slipped into the cramped store, locking the door behind her and trudging to the back room. She opened the door to a narrow staircase. 

“Hey, Glimmer!” Adora chirped.

Glimmer yelped and fell back against the door. She groaned, dragging a hand down her face as Adora rose from her seat on the stairs. “Adora, what are you doing here?” she asked. 

“I came in earlier to tidy up while the shop was closed and I needed to talk to you, so I just hung out here until you got back,” Adora explained. Her Letterman jacket was tossed over her shoulder, a few stray locks of hair framing her face and the rest pulled into its usual ponytail. 

“How long have you been waiting?”

“Not long. I had a lot to do.” Adora paused, frowning as she cupped Glimmer’s cheek. Glimmer winced. “Is that blood? Glimmer, what happened?”

Glimmer shrugged and swept past Adora up the stairs. “I got into a fight. It’s nothing.” 

Adora followed. “With who?” 

“I don’t know. I went over to Mermista’s and she had another rager going. Some girl bumped into me, blamed me for spilling her drink, her buddy got loud, all of that. Mermista said she didn’t know who they were.” 

“And they beat you up?”

“No! God, Adora, calm down. You know I never lose a fight.” Heading to the bathroom, Glimmer ran cold water over a rag and held it to her face. “Besides, they barely hit me.” 

“Glimmer.”

“What?” 

“I know you’re lying.”

Glimmer turned, leaning back against the sink as Adora crossed her arms in the doorway. “Adora.” She poked the blonde in the chest and pushed her back. “I’m fine.” 

Adora huffed and trailed after Glimmer as she tossed her jacket onto the table. “Since when do you go to Mermista’s parties?”

“I don’t know, for a while, I guess. I thought you liked Mermista.”

“Well, I do, I just don’t like all the yelling and drinking.”

“You’re a jock. Isn’t that your brand?”

“I’m an athlete, not a frat boy.” 

“Thank God.” 

Adora smiled and sat on the weathered couch. Glimmer flopped over the arm, stretching out and laying her head in Adora’s lap. Adora threaded her fingers through Glimmer’s pink and purple hair, exposing the black roots, and Glimmer smiled up at her. 

“You’ve got to redo your roots soon,” she remarked. 

“I can let it grow out a little more,” Glimmer said. 

“And then you’ll complain about the black showing through.” 

“Yeah whatever.” 

Adora chuckled. Her bright blue eyes sparkled, bright and carefree and happy. Glimmer’s heart twisted with memories of simpler times, and she turned over, facing away from Adora. Adora tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. 

“Hey, I think Bow gets off his shift pretty soon,” Adora said. “Want to call him over and order a pizza or something? We could have a best friend squad movie night like we used to!” 

Glimmer shrugged and closed her eyes as her brow furrowed. “I guess.”

“Or we could do something else? We could go bowling, head to the arcade, go out to eat somewhere. Do you want me to call Bow and see what he wants to do?”

“Adora, you’re doing it again.”

Adora’s hand stilled. “Doing what?”

“You did this right after she died. You try to distract me from it by just ignoring everything and letting it pass by. Please, just… not tonight.” 

Taking a deep breath, Adora sighed and smoothed Glimmer’s hair back from her face. “Am I that transparent?” 

“Like air.”

“That’s fair.” Adora leaned her head back. “I can’t believe it’s only been a year since Angella died. It feels like we’ve been drudging through a decade already trying to deal with this place since then.” 

Glimmer hummed. In reality, she woke up every morning still aching like it was the first day, like she had just come home from class to meet the police on her doorstep. Her stomach coiled into knots as she remembered the night before the accident, how they fought and screamed at each other, how her last words to her mother were words of anger. The memory made her want to puke. 

“Glimmer?” Adora asked. Glimmer looked up. “Do you want me to call Bow?”

“Uh, y-yeah. Yeah, a squad movie night sounds good.” 

“Sweet!” Adora cheered. Glimmer sat up so she could stand, stretching her muscular arms above her head. “What do you want on your pizza?” 

“Pepperoni and extra cheese.”

“Okay, I’ll get one for you and me and a vegan one for Bow.” 

“Sounds good.” 

Glimmer picked her head up out of her hands and tried to relax for the rest of the night. Adora and Bow distracted her with jokes and old ridiculous movies that they used to watch when they first met. It worked, for the most part, dragging her out of her own head and drawing a few genuine laughs from her. She didn’t tell Bow about the fight, or Adora about her secretly continued smoking habit, or either of them about her pounding headache and the guilt weighing her down like cement shoes. Putting on a smile until they left drained what little energy she had left. 

Glimmer gave her friends one last hug as she walked them out. Adora smiled, one hand resting gently on Glimmer’s forearm. “Text us if you need us, okay?” she said. 

“Okay,” Glimmer mumbled. 

“Do you need us to pick up any extra shifts this week?” Bow asked. 

“No, I’ve got everything covered. Thanks, though.”

“Okay, well, we’re here if you need us.” 

“I know.” 

Bow and Adora wrapped her in their arms and held her tight for a few moments before they left the store. Glimmer locked the door and set the alarm. Returning to the apartment, she tossed the leftover pizza in a barren fridge and made an ultimately forgotten note to go grocery shopping. She sat on the edge of the couch with a sigh. 

Her phone buzzed on the table beside her. She groaned, reaching blindly with one hand and holding it up to her ear. “Hello?”

“Shimmer!” Seahawk shouted. “How are you, my friend?”

Glimmer jumped and held the phone away from her face. There was a scuffle in the background, and she heard a crash and Seahawk scream before Mermista’s voice came over the speaker. 

“Alright, he’s gone,” she said as Glimmer held the phone to her ear again. 

“No I’m not!” came his voice in the background. 

“Ugh, go fix your mustache! Sorry, he grabbed my phone.”

“Does he not know my name or is he picking on me again?” Glimmer asked. 

“I think he’s picking on you still. Anyway, Perfuma wanted me to call and check on you. She saw a post about those party crashers getting their asses kicked and thought you did something.” 

“Can people even crash your parties? I thought they were open invitation.” 

“Hey, I am trying to be nice here.”

“Yeah, I’m fine. They followed me and I left them in an alley.”

Mermista laughed, barely more than a huff but the most anyone could get from the queen of blasé. “I told her you’d do worse to them. I mean, Adora would have been breaking down my door if anything actually happened.” 

Glimmer grimaced, forcing a laugh. “Yeah, no kidding.” 

“Alright, so that aside, I’m taking a few people out this Friday. You know Netossa, right? She’s that grad student I was hanging out with a while ago.” 

“Yeah, why?”

“Her wife Spinerella is the manager at the new bar downtown.”

“The Crystal Castle?” 

“Yeah, now listen. Perfuma, Seahawk, and I are already going and wanted to see if your super pal trio or whatever you call it wants to come. They’ve got live music and a great bartender. I’ve heard she’s a little crazy, but cool.”

“It’s the best friend squad.”

“Whatever. Are you in or not?” 

“I’ll ask.” 

“Let me know. Bye.”

“See you.” 

The next morning, Glimmer drudged out of bed to open the shop. Both Adora and Bow had class all day at the state college uptown. Adora was a political science major and star of the track team, the golden child of the entire school. Bow studied engineering and competed on the archery team. 

Before everything, Glimmer was going to follow them and study politics or law or both. Now she could barely get through the online business classes she forced herself to take. 

Glimmer adjusted shelves of crystals and vials of various herbs, dusting off old books and charms. She barely remembered her father, the founder of the store, having only a dusty framed picture in her apartment to remind her of him. Angella, however, she remembered as clear as day. 

She was tall and regal, always dressed in flowy pink and sky blue dresses and dripping in moonstone jewelry. She seemed to float through the store between the cramped shelves and tables. Glimmer never quite understood how she managed to miss all the numerous creaky floorboards in the old building. She remembered Angella’s gentle smile when Glimmer came home raving about some new project, or the first time she brought Adora in looking for a job when the blonde first moved to the city. Glimmer had hung Angella’s portrait behind the front counter, but it wasn’t the same. It did nothing to ease the ache. 

A bell rang as the door opened. Glimmer didn’t look up. “Hey there,” she called. 

“Hey,” said an unfamiliar voice. 

Light footsteps circled the store. Glimmer looked up as they paused behind her. “Can I help you with… anything?” 

A tall, tanned woman stood by a shelf of vials. A mane of wild brown hair cascaded over her shoulders, held back from her face by a crimson band. A bright red tank top left her freckled arms bare, covered in toned, sharply defined muscles. Two gold rings pierced her bottom lip. She wore one gold hoop in her ear, reminding Glimmer of a pirate. Her long nails were painted black, and pale scars marred her knuckles. Bright eyes turned to Glimmer, one blue and the other a deep amber. 

“Burning sage?” she asked. 

Glimmer blinked, returning to her body and waving to a table. “In the corner.” 

She stepped back behind the counter as the woman picked out a bundle of herbs. Setting it on the weathered counter, the woman leaned forward with her arms on the edge, studying Glimmer as she rang her up. Glimmer glanced at the woman and met her eyes. The woman tilted her head, sizing her up, it seemed. Glimmer trained her eyes on the cash drawer. 

“Blessing a new place?” she remarked. 

“Just moved in,” the woman replied. 

“Welcome to the city.” 

“Thanks.” The woman looked around as she took her bag. “Cute little place. I wasn’t expecting to find a place like this here.”

“Do you practice at all?”

The woman shook her head and stood up straight. “Only the sage, and it’s just a bad superstition I picked up.” She smiled, flashing sharp teeth. “Maybe I’ll pop back in to check out the crystals, though. Thanks for the sage.” 

Glimmer nodded. Her eyes followed the woman out of the store until she disappeared down the street. A shiver raced up her spine. The intensity of the woman’s stare stuck with her like a frost frozen on her skin. It wasn’t unnerving, necessarily, but those bright, focused eyes tugged at Glimmer’s mind throughout the entire day. 

By the time Friday came around, Glimmer’s headache had yet to fade. If anything, it was worse. She sat on the couch, dressed in her leather jacket and torn pink jeans, pressing the heels of her hands against the eyes. She considered cancelling until Bow showed up in his favorite tight black crop top, grinning from ear to ear. Glimmer smiled and tried to avoid any bright lights as they headed out.

“So, Adora’s not coming?” he asked. 

“Late night study practice,” Glimmer explained. “She said she’ll be there next time.” 

“Sweet.” Bow touched her shoulder. “Are you okay? I know you’ve been tired lately.” 

“Yeah, of course!” Glimmer chirped. She linked their arms. “Come on, tonight we’re going to have fun and get wasted like real college kids.” 

Bow laughed. “There’s the Glimmer I know!” 

Glimmer forced a laugh and held his arm tighter. 

The bar was loud and hot and dark despite the neon lights everywhere. Mermista and Seahawk were already on the dance floor, and Perfuma caught up with Glimmer and Bow by the bar. 

“I’m so happy you guys made it!” she said as she threw her arms around them. “Come get a drink, the band is going to start in a few minutes.” 

Glimmer and Bow followed the tall hippie through the crowded room. “Who’s playing?” Bow asked. 

“Some new band, I guess,” Perfuma answered. “I think they’re called the Horde but I don’t know. Mermista does.” 

A short woman with impossibly long purple pigtails stood behind the bar. She wore weathered overalls with the straps hanging around her waist, and a pair of red goggles was pushed up on her head. She grinned at them. 

“Bow!” the bartender chirped.

“Entrapta!” Bow said. “Since when are you a bartender?”

“I needed the job to finance my projects. Mixology is technically a science, so it works!” 

“Awesome. Oh, Entrapta, this is my friend Glimmer. Glimmer, this is Entrapta. She’s in my robotics class.”

“Nice to meet you!” Entrapta said. “What can I get you two?” 

“Tequila sunrise,” Bow said. 

“Whisky on the rocks, please,” Glimmer said. 

The band came on just as they got their drinks. While Bow stayed by the bar to talk with Entrapta, Glimmer found a place against the wall to watch the show. Four people were already onstage, adjusting their instruments. The drummer was a burly man with green hair slicked back from his face and scales tattooed on his neck. The guitar player, a stocky woman with an undercut and dreadlocks pinned back from her face, hung back by the drum set. The bass player was a tall, strong woman with a white undercut and red scars up her arms, talking to someone offstage. Tucked off to the side was a pale, scrawny kid on the keyboard. 

Someone stepped onto the stage, and the crowd erupted into cheers. Glimmer’s eyes widened as the strange woman from the shop stood before the front microphone. She opened her arms to the applause, grinning with those sharp teeth and dressed in metal and leather. 

“Hello Etheria!” she shouted. “How is everyone doing tonight?” The crowd cheered, and the woman’s grin widened. “Alright. Let’s get this shit started!” 

The drummer counted them off. The music was heavy but bright, with harsh drums and grungy guitar. They pushed a fast tempo as the front woman grabbed the microphone. Glimmer’s eyes were glued to the woman as she sang. Her voice was low and raspy, and she sang with an explosive fire that set Glimmer’s heart pounding. She hardly listened to the lyrics, just the sound of the woman’s voice as she belted out the notes. 

Glimmer barely noticed when Bow slung an arm around her shoulders. “Aren’t they amazing?” he asked over the music. 

“Yeah, they’re wicked,” Glimmer said. 

The last song finished, and the woman paused for applause, inquisitive eyes scanning the crowd. “You guys have been great tonight,” she said over the cheers. Her eyes met Glimmer’s across the sea of people, and she grinned. “Come back again, we’re here all week.” 

That odd chill settled over Glimmer again as the band left the stage. She nudged Bow. “Hey, I’m going to head home. I’ve got a bit of a headache.” 

“Okay. Let me just say goodbye to Entrapta,” Bow said. 

“No, Bow, stay. You’re having fun. I need a walk anyway.” 

“Are you sure? I don’t want you walking home alone.”

“It’s not ten minutes. I’ll be fine. I’ll text you when I get home.” 

“Okay. Be safe.” 

“I will.”

Glimmer sighed as she stepped out into the cool night air. Lighting a cigarette, she rubbed her eyes as she ghosted through the empty streets. The woman was stuck in her head. The sight of her singing was seared on the inside of Glimmer’s eyelids, with her wild hair tossed back from her face and the stage lights a bold red behind her. 

Several pairs of footsteps clicked on the sidewalk. Glimmer turned. The people from Mermista’s party earlier in the week blocked her path, along with two more thugs to bolster their numbers. 

“Hey, you!” one shouted. 

Glimmer cursed. She spun on her heel to run, but they grabbed the back of her collar and flung her back. She managed to punch one in the jaw before they slammed her against a brick storefront. She opened her mouth to scream. The leader sucker punched her. Dazed and bleeding, she let her head hang as the punk laughed. 

“Payback, bitch,” she spat. 

The woman wore heavy jeweled rings. They left little cuts all over Glimmer’s face, breaking the skin through her clothes as the thugs rained blows down on her. She struggled to break free from their grip, but they held her tight against the wall. Blood poured down her face and soaked into her shirt. Her vision began to tunnel. 

Muffled shouting echoed from down the street. The blows paused. Someone screamed in pain, and Glimmer was suddenly dropped to the ground. She heard a scuffle and more screams. Two of the thugs collapsed in front of her while the others bolted down the street. Blood poured from wounds in their back or side, pooling beneath them as they struggled to get away. The unknown attacker stepped over the leader of the gang and kicked her in the face, leaving her there to bleed. 

Bloodstained boots approached Glimmer as her vision faded. The last things she saw before she lost consciousness were hands dripping with red and a pair of bright, focused eyes. 

[kennedycatherine]

04.27.21

We were thirteen and I knew enough to know that was absurd.

We still inhabited a school yard with children learning their ABC’s. Girls our own age hadn’t yet graduated out of training bras.

Aren’t our brains like, too underdeveloped for this?

A few nights I just watched.

They came in fun colours, like the vitamins my mom still set out with my breakfast.

I found the whole thing anxious and boring. Anxious because it was drugs, and we were thirteen and what if we got caught or what if something happened. Boring because they bored me.

Nothing happened.

I made sure they had water and popsicles and candies to suck on.

“You’ll bite your tongue off,” Kallie had said one night.

A small trickle of blood came from her mouth awhile later and she looked pleased. I knew she’d done it. When I looked at her, I wanted to call her a liar.

“I know,” I wanted to say, “I’m sober. You just did that to yourself.”

I felt very young and very old all at once.

They asked for lotion. Lotioned themselves from head to toe.

One night one of the girls did a runner. Just opened the front door to suburbia and took off down the street in nothing but skimpy shorts and a tank top into the chilled night air.

I worried about her, but I didn’t go after her.

There were babies to look after, real babies. 6 years old and one year.

I don’t remember their names, but I remember loving them. I remember feeling sad for them.

Every weekend their mom would leave. She was pretty and young and had a thirteen-year-old she trusted to handle things.

“Where does she go?”

“To the bars in some small town. I think a guy lives there.”

They had family photos in the house. She had a husband. I remember wondering how things had fallen apart so quickly? They’d had a baby only a year ago and now they were getting a divorce?

Except they weren't. He just worked out of the city for months at a time and neither of them cared, I suppose.

I sat on a bed with the 6-year-old once, playing a game or reading a story and I heard laughter downstairs and I was so angry.

I was angry that no one cared that there were children upstairs. I was angry that I was going to put a child to bed who had a mother but seemingly didn’t. I was angry that I had to do it at all, that I was expected to. That it had come to mean relief when I walked in the door. If I was there, it was handled. I didn’t want to handle it.

I wanted to call my mom.

I wanted to tell her what was happening, tell her that someone needed to hold these babies or feed them right and love them. Because surely, I didn’t know how.

But I didn’t want to ruin the fun. I didn’t want Kallie’s mom to be in trouble. I didn’t want my mom, who also had a seventeen-year-old who just couldn’t seem to keep it together, to realize that a house she’d deemed safe by proximity in our good neighbourhood probably wasn’t.

“Give me one.”

No one teased or questioned it. They just handed over the small plastic bag.

I don’t remember what it felt like, only that I didn’t care for it. I didn’t understand it. I was bored by it.

I stopped going. Those girls decided they hated me. I worried about those babies and over 10 years later, I still do.

I started to see my childhood best friend, Maddy, a lot after that. She was pretty and athletic and loud and adventurous and young, my age but, young.

She lived a few blocks away, in the opposite direction from Kallie.

Her mom was in the midst of a divorce. She was older than most of the moms because Maddy had been a “surprise.” A blessing, she’d say, but a surprise. So, the rest of her kids were grown and gone. She’d done it all, seen it all.

We were in the eighth grade, just a few months away from high school when she offered to buy us booze.

She promised it would stay within the walls of the house, my parents wouldn’t have to know. She just wanted us to get a feel for it so we could test our limits, learn our boundaries.

When she presented us with those sickly-sweet orange coolers, I winced. Alcohol had never really interested me. I didn’t feel mystified by it or interested in it.

We drank them anyway.

We had one each. Then shoved two more under our thick sweaters and walked to the nearby park.

There were always kids there, in that strange age range where you have some sense of freedom without actually having any and you crave it, always. You know how to sneak alcohol, ask people outside the convenience store to buy you cigarettes.

Uncool teens, acting very cool leaning against slides and monkey bars we earnestly used only a few years earlier.

By then I’d decided I liked Logan. He was in high school already, two years older than us, seemed nice enough and attractive enough to like, so I guessed I did. I showed him the stashed coolers under my sweater and shivered when the air hit me. He offered me his jacket.

I was only wearing it maybe a minute, not even long enough to brag, when the sirens hit and the park was lit up with red and blue. Everyone scattered in different directions. We hopped a fence and then another and another until we collapsed on her lawn, one cooler lost to our epic and brave journey.

The patrol car circled the block.

“It’s almost 2am,” they told us. We nodded.

They asked how old we were and I told them we were 16.

Maybe they believed us because it was dark but maybe they didn’t because we weren't.

“Do you live here?”

“Yes.”

“Go inside.” We did.

I didn’t drink much after that. All we could get our hands on were drinks that seemed to be a half pound of sugar and something that tasted like mouth wash. The group favourite was Troika which smelt like hand sanitizer and cost about $25 for more than a litre. Everything was vodka.

Every time I drank any of it, I was immediately and violently ill.

My entire body would flush, an ache in my collar bones that radiated and buzzed down my arms and go on and on and on until I’d have to peel my clothes off and stick myself to the coldest surface, let my body wretch and wretch until I’d vomited everything.

I’d find out a few years later that I’m alcohol intolerant with a vodka allergy.

But I’d given up trying long before then. Found my way to pot.

I loved it immediately. It calmed me down, it made me laugh. It made me hungry.

I suffered far fewer embarrassing stories and hallway whispers than most.

I had a starring role in only one story that would go down in infamy.

There’d been a birthday party, someone had made an ice cream cake that was immediately forgotten in favour of solo cups and bongs. I smoked my own joint and remembered that cake. In a haze I found myself alone in a tiny storage room, in front of a deepfreeze. Opening the lid, there it was, creamy and beautiful.

“Fuck yes.”

Then the door opened.

I turned and there he was. The hottest guy in our grade and he’d been calling me a dirty hippie for two years. I closed the lid.

“What are you doing?” He asked

“Waiting.”

“For?”

“You.”

He looked confused. He should've. I had no reason to be waiting for him, I hadn’t even spoken to him. I was 16 and stoned and I wanted to eat an ice cream cake at this dumb birthday party by my fucking self. I pushed myself on top of the freezer.

“Come here.”

He did. We made out on top of the freezer until I felt he was sufficiently distracted, and my job was done and then I pushed him out of the room.

Then I ate some of that cake alone as I’d intended.

Upstairs my best friend sobbed in a bathroom. Even now that we’ve long outgrown teenage angst and hormones she can be prickly, angry, deeply unaffectionate. Then, she was slightly volatile. She wanted to be alone, but I stayed – shoved myself into a corner of the bathtub as she refused to look at me or tell me what she was so upset about it. I waited her out. Mostly because I was stoned and relieved to be in a room away from a throng of sweaty, horny 16-year-olds.

Suddenly, she confessed something to me quietly. She’d made out with that same guy - the hot one I’d been with on top of a freezer - at a party the weekend before. I hadn’t known and she hadn’t stopped thinking about him, and he hadn’t looked at her since.

“I just want him,” she whined.

“I just made out with him on top of a freezer.”

She turned her startling green eyes on me. “You what?”

“I don’t know,” I felt deeply guilty, “there was a cake inside.”

She choked and then she laughed and then I laughed. We left and we laughed the whole walk back to wherever we slept that night.

I went to a performing arts college that had less than twenty students which became lesser and lesser as we viciously vied for the same thing. There were no parties or binge drinking or even any outings. We worked quietly and quickly, most kept to ourselves.

If school really was a competition, I won.

My instructor called me into his office, “I want you to go to this interview. You’re ready.”

I wasn’t supposed to be graduating for at least 3, maybe 4 months. I wasn’t ready. But I went. I got the job and I left, the school and the city.

I was alone and I was terrified, and I was working most hours of everyday and waking up every morning feeling like I’d made a massive mistake. I hadn’t. I was just 19 with no idea what I was doing, only that people seemed to believe I could, and I didn’t know why.

My sister and my grandfather became sicker and sicker with addiction.

I stopped smoking pot almost completely. I’d found alcohol that didn’t upset my entire system, but I never drank by myself. I was afraid that if I did, I wouldn’t stop. I’d fill the hole and then just like them, I’d never learn how to be whole on my own. I went for runs and I journaled and worked and tried to make friends.

I drove home for graduation and realized a few things. These people had three more months together. They were closer, most of them resented me for being given an opportunity that most days I wasn’t even sure I wanted.

There was a party afterward and I felt 13, lonely and bored. I wanted to leave.

My sister was really sick by then.

The best friend I’d made in school, Elliot, he cornered me in the empty kitchen. Most people had settled into the living room for conversations or the basement for beer pong and I hovered in the kitchen, feeling entirely silly in my cheap white dress. Elliot smelled like whiskey while he hugged me, and I wanted to cry. I'd missed him.

We’d had plans to get jobs together. We were going to become a morning show duo in some city we’d never been to, rent a house together. Spend our afternoons drinking beer, planning our show content and break into big markets before we were 25.

I cried when I took the job that meant those things wouldn’t happen and he’d hugged me then too. He was happy for me.

He pulled out of the hug in that kitchen and looked at me for a long time, with big open eyes. A nearly childish, wide stare. He took a deep breathe.

Then he told me he was in love with me.

I startled backward away from him and hit my hip hard against the stove. I was angry immediately. Because I was gay. Because people had been telling me he was in love with me. Because I chose not to believe them. I felt my trust had been broken. Because why? What can I do with that? I loved him. I couldn’t be in love with him. If I could, I would’ve wanted to be. He was so good.

And I was so mad because he was drunk.

I was sick of whispered late-night confessions and people telling me things that weren’t true. I was tired of people making promises to me and telling me they loved me and none of it mattering. I was just so fucking sick of everyone being wasted on something all the time.

It wasn’t his fault. I’d always felt loved by him, I appreciated him, I loved him. I wanted to be gentle with him. I should’ve been. It was just… there were so many things.

“What am I supposed to do with that?” I asked him.

“I just needed you to know.”

I left. He called me so many times, he left voicemails I deleted, and I never answered. I went back to my small town and my small job the next day. I re-read his texts, “I’m sorry, I was drunk” over and over and felt no relief in his excuses.

I didn’t drink for a long time.

A man I thought I knew told me he was in love with me.

I found my sister cold and blue on a floor, medically dead, though she miraculously survived.

My grandfather vomited on himself in the back of a van as we took him to the dry out centre where he'd eventually become sober for a brief time.

I was so tired.

When I moved back to the city, I found comfort in things again. I could drink and be fine. The world didn’t end. I didn’t crave it in the morning or when things got hard. I started smoking pot again. It calmed me down, it made me laugh. It made me hungry.

I took mushrooms a handful of times with my friends. I cried the first time because I felt like me. Present and responsible and in control and so deeply, disappointingly myself. I’d wanted drugs to be a void, even if I never took them. I wanted to believe that somewhere there was a way to just not be myself for a while.  

I was bored of myself.

I wanted to escape, and it wasn’t happening.

But the second or third time I learned to enjoy them for what they were and felt all too proud for simply having a nice time.

I begged my roommate to come to this EDM show with me. It was my co-worker’s birthday and she’d always been excessively, exceedingly lovely to me. When she sheepishly asked if I would be interested in going to this live show to celebrate her 37th, I swallowed down the price of tickets and said yes. Emphatically.

Matt, good natured and so easy, said yes. He liked live music and whiskey and leaving the house.

We got there and she was alone.

I asked about her husband. He stayed home with the baby. And her friends?

Coming, she said.

There were three of them. I thought back to days she’d cried to me in the bathroom and the coffees we’d shared in her office. I’d always thought of her as a sort of leaky faucet, spilling out without control. I hadn’t realized I was actually just in her circle. One of five.

She got adorably drunk. “Mom’s night out!” They all chanted and Matt and I stood off to the side a bit while I apologized to him on a loop for painting this night as an in and out affair.

“We can just leave whenever, I'm sure she won’t notice.” I’d said.

Eventually she asked me if I wanted to “score” in the alley. I laughed because it sounded so seedy and suspicious coming from the mouth of this quintessential suburban mom who I only knew as a woman sitting in a blazer, in an office, next to her family portraits.

I asked Matt if he wanted any. No, he’d brought his vape pen.

We went outside, me, her and her curvy friend with the insane curly hair. Some guy was already there, and the exchange was quick. She turned back and announced, “to the bathroom.”

The bathroom? Fuck.

It’d seemed seedy and suspicious because it kind of was. “Dumb stoner,” I thought to myself as we marched back inside with the bag of cocaine I’d thought would be a Ziplock of weak weed.

I don’t like coke. It makes me angry.

She lined it up, wide eyed, on the hard back of her red wallet. She yammered and mumbled and stumbled over her words quickly and excitedly. It’d been years, I couldn’t tell anyone at work, her husband could never find out, was I sure?

Once again, I felt bored. “I’m sure.”

The friend took her bump and turned back to me, “what’s your sign?”

“Cancer.”

Her eyes were frenzied, like I’d said something important.

“I knew it, I’m a Scorpio.” She wound her fingers into the hair at the back of my neck and whispered to me, “we’re like sisters.” Then she kissed me, hard and square. Her breath was sour, her lips were chapped and she pulled away with a toothy grin before offering the wallet up to my nose.

I looked at them, their excitement, I felt the overwhelming emptiness in my chest. I felt sad for someone, them or me, and how dull I found the whole thing to be.

I sniffed it through a receipt from a kids play centre and wondered, idly, if there are people who think mothers don’t behave this way.

I wiped and sniffled and felt the light burn in my twice broken nose, now irritated by thin white powder.

“Well, that took for-fucking-ever,” Matt yelled over his whiskey.

“It wasn’t pot.”

“Did you do it?”

“Yeah.”

He laughed, slung his arm around my shoulders and we moved into the crowd of dancing bodies. Mostly I felt sober and a little annoyed about the money I’d spent.

I found the group, buttoned one of their torn open shirts and hugged them goodbye.

Matt checked his watch in the cab, “we have to be up in like, less than 5 hours” he groaned and then called the wing place to make sure we could have some delivered.

He’s a sneaky drunk. You never know until it’s too late. As he poured himself a whiskey at our bar cart, I knew it was too late.

We settled into the couch, waiting for our food. He kept dozing off and I kept saving the glass tumbler he refused to relinquish, from falling to the floor and sloshing all over our new carpet.

When the food arrived, I ran to get it. I had the energy.

I decided to take the stairs and took a turn too sharply, smashed myself against a railing and yelped in pain. A bruise blossomed on my arm before I got back to our apartment.

I tried to sleep and kept waking with my knees knocking and my thighs wobbling. Matt came to my door, bleary eyed and dull. It was 6:30am. I hadn’t slept for more than seven minutes at a time.

“We gotta go, G.”

I looked at my packed bags on the floor. We were driving to his moms, 2.5 hours away.

“Yeah, I’m ready.”

He turned away and called over his shoulder, “Happy Easter.”

Jesus, I laughed, it is fucking Easter.

And while I sipped my third mid-afternoon coffee over a card game with his mom and sister, I thought - I guess if there’s a day to decide I probably n​ever have to sniff anything through my nose ever again, Easters as good as any.

[neighborhoodmoonchild]

7 Days of Halloween-BTS: Moodboards and Teasers

Music To My Ears (Jin x Siren!Reader)-Read Me

Jin never really took much interest in any of the girls within his co-Ed dorms. Rather, if he was going to find a late night companion, he’d much rather find one he can easily avoid after. Y/N is just a seemingly normal girl trying her best to make it through university without any mishaps. College on its own? A nightmare. College without a voice? Hell on Earth, with the amount of drunk frat boys calling you a prude or stuck up for not talking to them alone. What happens when you let your guard down and someone discovers your secret? Are you ready to face the music?

Follow The Light (Warlock!Yoongi x Willo’wisp!Reader)- Read Me

Path of night or path of light? To be or not to be is the nagging question that haunts Yoongi’s every waking hour. Being a warlock is troublesome as it as, add in that fine line between good and evil, and you’ve got yourself an all out internal war. Yoongi can’t spend another minute trying to figure out which way is right. If only someone could give him a sign? Enter some mysterious girl with glowing hair and a habit for disappearing before he can get to close that beckons him to follow. Can this life get any weirder?

The Heart Grows Fonder (Namjoon x Dryad!Reader) - Read Me

Why in the world did Joon think joining the Botany club would be a good idea? I mean, sure, he loves nature and plants and everything green, but come on! He can’t keep a plant alive for a few days, let alone keeping one throughout the entire semester. And why did the club president even assign such a weird task, why not a cool field trip or something? Maybe all Namjoon needs is a little help from the girl with the green thumb that, funnily enough, lives above the flower shop next to campus. I don’t think the flowers are the only things blossoming here.

Love Heals All (Hoseok x Elf!Reader) - Read Me

Whether you’re a magnet for disaster or are just really good at fixing things, is up for debate in Hobi’s mind. It’s not that people are prone to getting hurt around you, it’s just you’re the best person to be by when injured, for the fact that you seem to have some kind of magic touch for healing things. The first time, Hobi just thought it was a coincidence that you happened to be there for his dancer that sprained her ankle, and was suddenly back to normal in a day or two. But after getting hurt multiple times (he insists he’s just caught Joon’s clumsiness, he DID NOT do it on purpose to see you), he knows something’s up. Now that you’re back for class to keep an eye on him, he can finally get to the bottom of things. It takes two to tango.

Sweet Serendipity (Jimin x Faerie!Reader) - Read Me

Jimin only hated two things in this life. The fact that Jungkook never. answers. his. damn. phone, and his loud, rude, obnoxious, absolutely infuriating neighbors. ‘One of these days,’ he thinks, ‘I’m gonna march over there and give them a piece of my mind.’ Two months pass and Jimin is sitting on his couch when he realizes ‘those idiots next door haven’t made a peep since Monday...and it’s FRIDAY.’ All sneaky attempts at finding out why prove fruitless, until he hears other tenants talking about the strange girl that moved into the apartment next to him. Curiosity peaked, ALL-SYSTEMS-INVESTIGATE-ENGAGED, but this one turns out to be quite the allusive character. That is, until Jimin starts noticing small gifts left on his doorstep. Maybe this new girl will bring warmth to this cold complex?

My Last Hope (Clairvoyant!Taehyung x Ghost!Reader) - Read Me

It all started with the nightmares. Rickety steps. Broken glass. Blood. Taehyung couldn’t count how many sleepless nights he’s had since they started on his fingers and toes combined. No matter how hard he tried, it was no use; he’d wake up in a cold sweat, heart racing, and it was always the same dream. What could it all mean? Deciding to trace his night terrors to the source, Tae finds himself at an abandoned building on the east side of town, but comes up empty handed. Breaking news the next day, a girl’s body is found...by the river behind that same house. As if to prove his belief in coincidence wrong, strange things start to go on around Tae, and suddenly a ghost that looks just like that girl is following him around scolding him for not finding her first. Only way to get her off his back? Help her uncover what truly happened the night she was murdered.

I Feel For You (Werewolf!Jungkook x Empath!Reader) - Read Me

Spooky things go bump in the night in this small town...only thing is no one seems to be aware of it. Jungkook is your average high school heartthrob; popular, cute, kind, athletic...except he’s not. You’d take one look at him and expect him to have all of those things and some to spare, but he’s so reclusive and introverted, no one really knows anything about him, except that he can be a bit of a hothead sometimes. Y/N is the exact opposite; popular, sweet, everyone’s friend, exactly what you wouldn’t expect from the girl who runs away every time someone gets hurt, or disappears when there’s a fight. The only other thing that is so strange about her is her interest in Jungkook. She seems to see right through his exterior and into a part of him he’s never shown anyone before, except those in his inner circle. Maybe what they need to grow is each other. Only question now, are they helping or hurting each other in the process?

——————————————————————————————————————————

Hey Guys,

Teasers and Moodboards out, hope you are all getting ready for 7 Days of Halloween. I’m super excited to get these stories done and out for you all, and I hope these teasers give you a glimpse into something you’ll all enjoy. All pictures in the Moodboards are not my own (if anyone knows any of the origins of them, feel free to comment the owners to give credit). Keep a lookout for each story’s post on the intended due date, something wicked this way comes.

P.S. who are you most looking forward to seeing?💜

-Moonie🌙

[jawnloxk]

“Heroic Origins” Pt. 1 Sherlock Miraculous AU

𝓢𝓾𝓶𝓶𝓪𝓻𝔂: Sherlock Holmes and John Watson have been flatmates and best friends for over a year, when they are given a secret identity no one can find out about - not even them.

𝓟𝓪𝓲𝓻𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓼: Johnlock (John x Sherlock), Mystrade (Mycroft x Greg), Sherlolly (Sherlock x Molly)

𝓦𝓪𝓻𝓷𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓼: Explicit language, mentions of home abuse

𝓒𝓱𝓪𝓹𝓽𝓮𝓻: Chapter 1, "Heroic Origins" Part 1

𝓦𝓸𝓻𝓭𝓼 𝓒𝓸𝓾𝓷𝓽: 2493 words

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

In the year of 2011 Dr John H. Watson had been evacuated from the battlefield in Afghanistan due to a dangerous injury. The fallen soldier had been transported over to London's National Home for Disabled Volunteer Soldiers, where he had stayed for a month, under the watchful eye of the best physical therapists. He had learned to walk, talk and eat again but he still lacked sleep. Nightmares had been haunting him every night, keeping him up or waking him up in cold sweat if he had managed to close his eyes for a moment.

In May of 2011 the soldier was transported yet again into a small flat in the suburbs. It wasn't much, just a small bedroom with a window and a desk, even smaller bathroom and an even smaller kitchen place. He didn't need much more than that, but he knew he would have to find himself an actual place to live soon as this wasn't a long-term solution.

You can only imagine his joy when after a nice little meet-up with an old friend, he heard the words "I know somebody who's looking for a flatmate". John wasn't an impulsive person, he was actually very hesitant when it came to meeting new people. But for this man... He was ready to risk it all.

Sherlock Holmes was the sort of man people despised. There were many reasons why but John found three sentimental truths that seemed to be the most important ones. First of all, his intellectual skills were quite mind-blowing. The man was born with an extraordinary talent to read people's whole life story just by looking at them. Second of all, he was painfully honest - which often made him seem like an utter cock. He had no boundaries and couldn't tell polite from cruel. Of course, even if he could, he still wouldn't make much use of it, or so everyone thought. And third of all, Sherlock had an intimidating aura. He was horribly attractive and knew exactly how to take advantage of that. And so he did. John wasn't sure if he was more jealous of his looks or his amazing flirting skills...

Either way, it only took them one evening to get to know each other enough for John to decide he wanted to move in with this man. He provided him with enough adrenaline and dopamine to forget about Afghanistan, about his leg, about his shoulder. Nothing else mattered.

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

"Do you need anything from the store? I'm going shopping!" John called out, rushing out of the kitchen. He had checked every cupboard earlier, making sure to note everything that he would have to provide them with.

"Some biscuits, maybe? And milk" Sherlock responded with a mutter, not looking up from his laptop. To be clear - not quite his laptop. John's. Dr Watson couldn't care less, though.

"Sure. I'll be back soon. Don't start a war?" he joked, grabbing his coat. Sherlock shot him a glare, which softened as soon as he spotted the faintest smile on John's lips. He nodded, looking back down at whatever the hell he was doing, as the shorter man rolled his eyes with a chuckle, jogging down the stairs.

As he walked down the street he still wore a smile on his face. Passing all those little stores on Baker Street, kids running around the square, heading for the park - it all made his heart happy. A few months earlier he didn't believe that he would ever feel that again. Yet there it was..

He frowned as he heard shouting of a different nature - aggressive, offensive. Metal clicking - gun. Off safety.

John's instincts screamed 'check it'. No sane person would go unarmed anywhere near an attacker with a gun, but Dr Watson was nowhere near sane.

The shouting seemed to come from a darkened backstreet. John moved closer to the wall, peeking from around the corner. The attacker was a tall man with black hair. He was standing over another man, curled up on the floor, his clothes torn and dirty. Probably a homeless person. The aggressor held a gun up, pointing it at the other. Only small begs and cries were audible from the mess of a man laying on the concrete. Watson pulled out his phone and texted Detective Inspector Lestrade the name of the street.

"Hey, you! Stop it, now!" he called out, feeling his heart beat faster with anger and confidence. He stepped closer and soon regretted it - the man was so much taller than him. It didn't make him back off, though.

"Who are you?" the man looked up, raising an eyebrow. Must have been a funny view to him, see such a small, innocent looking man standing in front of him.

"I'm Captain John Watson, Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers, three years in Afghanistan, a veteran of Kandahar, Helmand, and Bart's bloody Hospital and I suggest you drop this weapon and leave at once" he answered quickly, his face staying stone cold and emotionless.

The man raised his gun and pointed it at John. Dr Watson didn't flinch. He took another step forward, then another and one more - until he was standing just a few feet away from the other, the gun pressed to his forehead.

"Pull the trigger and there is no going back. The police will be here in less than a minute. And if they find me dead... Well, you know what happens, don't you?" he said calmly, tilting his head a bit. The other gulped quietly but didn't move.

One swift move of John's left elbow and the man's gun was on the ground. And with another one of those moves - so was the attacker himself.

"Watson! Watson? Are you okay?"

John turned around just to see Detective Lestrade running down the path, sirens in the distance slowly becoming louder and louder. 

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

"Are you okay, sir?"

Dr Watson approached a taller man, wrapped up in an orange blanket, sitting on the ground with his head in his lap. He was clearly in shock. John couldn't help but pity him.

The man raised his head. His bloodshot eyes glistened with thankfulness. "Oh, good man you are. Thank you, oh, thank you" he choked out, shaking his head, like if he couldn't express his feelings enough.

"You're welcome. You are no longer in danger, please, try to calm down" John said, kneeling and putting a hand on the man's shoulder. "You will be alright, I guarantee you".

"Why did you help me, good sir? I'm just a crappy junkie, nobody of any importance-" he cried out, before he was silenced by John's scoff.

"No, of course not. Everybody's important. Everybody matters. I believe all of us deserve help, we're all just... People" he smiled softly, his words clearly inspiring the other man. He stared at the soldier for a moment, before blinking a few times and reaching into his pocket. He pulled out a small, black box with red symbols on the lid and looked up at the other again.

"Please, take this as a form of... Gratitude. For all you've done for me today and all you will do for other people in the future" he said, his voice raspy but deeper than before.

John furrowed his brows. "I didn't do it for any kind of-"

"I know. And that's exactly why I want you to have it" he said, a smile lighting up his pale face.

John reached for the box and examined it, before reaching to open it. However, the bloke stopped him. "Open it when you're at home, alone. Please" he instructed quietly. John frowned.

John frowned. Taking a present from ‘a junkie’, which he is obligated to open in private... Sounded suspicious. Sounded risky. Sounded dangerous. He nodded slowly.

"Of course. Thank you."

"No, young man. Thank you"

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

How much time? Fourteen minutes? Getting closer to fifteen. It usually took John nineteen minutes to do his shopping and get back home. Sherlock counted. Every time.

He would always stay at the flat, taking in his moments of silence, using them fully and completely, making sure they weren't wasted. Nineteen minutes of brain-clearing, slowing down and catching up with his furious thought process.

Shouting from outside. Cars screeching. A woman in her early twenties crying. Noise. "Shut up!" he called out, his eyes rolling back as he let out a loud groan of pure discomfort and annoyance.

"Sherlock, sweetheart, I never said anything- Oh! Oh God, look!" Poor Mrs. Hudson's face went pale as she peeked her head through the doorway. Her eyes went wide. Something scary, traumatic, shocking - outside the window. The detective sighed deeply and turned his head.

The sight made him jump up to his feet and grab his coat. He pulled it on, reaching for John's gun from the drawer, before leaving the flat quickly, Mrs. Hudson's cries left behind in the sitting room.

Outside the building was standing a crowd of gapers. Some had their phones out, recording, some were screaming, some were just standing there and doing nothing - gapers.

Baker Street 220, second floor, an opened window. A woman hanging from it. Crying. Her hair a mess. Her shirt loose from... Pulling? Fighting? Looking up at something inside the flat. Aggressor? Home abuse victim then. The girl - not too athletic. Won't hold on too long.

"Did anyone call the police!?" somebody yelled.

"They won't arrive on time, the approximate time for the police's arrival is seven minutes and nineteen seconds" said Sherlock, rather loudly, as he made his way through the crowd "Call the ambulance instead, she might need one".

He began analysing his way up to the woman. Through the flat? Impossible. Aggressor must have still been inside. He couldn't risk taking too much time in the flat, neutralizing the suspect. The possibility of the woman not making it was too high. He looked away. The building was tall, many balconies and windows. He could easily climb up, get the woman down the same way, then go deal with the abuser. He settled on that option.

He pulled his coat off, deciding that it would only make the hike much harder. He threw it over at the closest gawker, before jumping up and gripping one of the barriers. He pulled himself up and jumped down onto the balcony. The woman's cries were now even louder, making Sherlock's heart beat faster with adrenaline. He had to really focus on not smiling. Smiling in a situation like that was definitely not a good idea after all. 

Another swift jump with a pull-up and he was already on the second floor. He could see the woman clearly, feel her fear, hear every single cry coming out of her mouth. The visible and audible panic that needed to be calmed down - or else she would not make it. 

"Hey, don't worry, I'm here now" he said, turning her attention to him. Her eyes widened - panic, but relief. Pupils dilated. Sherlock gave her a warm, soothing smile. "What's your name?"

"Oh God, please help me, please-" she cried out, kicking her legs in the air. She screeched as her hand slipped away, then grabbed onto the window yet again.

"I will, I need you to tell me your name first" he said slowly, reaching out his hand, like if he wanted to say 'stop'.

"Anthea- Please, help me!".

"Okay, Anthea. I need you to stop crying. Calm down, I want you to concentrate all of your strength in your arms. I'm gonna ask you to move closer to me so I can get you down" he instructed her, staring at her with a caring but concerned look in his eyes.

She looked down and squealed, "No, I can't-". 

"Yes, you can, Anthea! I need you to believe me. You can!" he said quickly. "Move closer to me, just a bit. I will help you". 

Anthea gulped, looking up again. She managed to move her fragile hand closer to the right edge of the window. She held onto it tightly, series of small squeals escaping her swollen lips. "Shit- Oh, oh God..."

"Good, come on... Just a little bit closer, you can do it. Look at you, look at how brave you are" Sherlock said softly, giving her another friendly smile. She glanced at him and nodded weakly, trying to move even closer. "Just another inch, come on, Anthea. Just another inch...".

And there it was. The girl managed to pull herself up and to the right again. It was Sherlock's turn to react. He quickly jumped over the barrier, one of his legs staying on the balcony, as he reached out both of his hands. If he grabbed her too slow, they would both fall, his leg wouldn't be able to block such weight. If he did it fast enough, they would both get back onto the balcony. He took a deep breath and counted to three. He wrapped his arms around the girl's waist and gripped her, before pulling back onto the balcony. With a groan from him and a shriek from her, they landed safely on the wooden tiles - Sherlock on his back, Anthea curled up on top of him. Both of them stayed like that, panting.

“It’s all right now... I’ve got you...”.

After less than a minute they both heard sirens - so somebody really called the police...

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

"Anthea Brown. Twenty three. Lives here with her boyfriend. Now, obviously, I don't think that will be the case anymore" Sally Donovan handed the notepad over to Sherlock, eying him carefully. She wasn't too fond of working with him. Clearly.

"Right. Great" he nodded, looking over at the woman, wondering if he should tell Sergeant that he had already known all of that... "Arrest the man, let her stay here - would make sense, don't you think?"

"I know what to do, freak. This is not my first case like this" she scoffed, turning on her heel and walking back to the police car. To write down a report? Most likely.

Sherlock sighed and soon turned around. The crowd was still there, most of them were now focused on him instead of the girl herself. He quickly spotted the man holding his coat and headed over to get it back.

"Congratulations, that was so... Heroic" said the bloke, his eyes glistening with admiration.

"I did what had to be done" Sherlock answered absent-mindedly and grabbed his coat, hanging it over his shoulder as he made his way back to his flat.

As he walked inside, he furrowed his brows. The coffee table, where previously was only his own cup of tea and John's laptop, was now empty - except for a small black box with red, ancient symbols on the lid and a card glued to the side:

'Open when alone and ready. -Master Fu'

[swimmingnewsie]

Of Coffee and Cookies (Chapter 14)

...There was a reason I didn’t write fic in undergrad. But we keep pushing and keep going! Thank you for sticking with me and please enjoy this transitory chapter!

Link to AO3

---

Elsa’s head throbbed as she stared at her laptop. She knew there was work to be done, but the sight of her to-do list made her heart ache and stomach drop. Her mind was contorted with images and thoughts she didn’t want and certainly didn't need in this moment.

She took a deep breath, attempting to get some grasp on the anxiety that plagued her. Her worries came one after another after another. Anna was doing better than when they first arrived home, but Elsa couldn't help but be afraid she would regress any second. She knew that her sister didn't need her walking on eggshells; she knew that, but she couldn't help worrying anyway.

"She looks a lot more confident today."

Maren's words pulled her from her thoughts. They were working at the cafe, just like old times. Originally it was to help make Anna more comfortable going to work after the hearing; but if Elsa was honest with herself, it alleviated her own anxieties as well. Anna was safe, and no one was going to touch her on their watch. Even if it meant Elsa wasn't getting much of her own work done.

Elsa hummed in agreement. Talking was difficult today. It wasn't as bad as in her childhood when she would go silent for days or weeks at a time; but there was an old comfort in the silence. Words only cluttered her brain.

Silence.

Silence.

Silence was what let him destroy her. Silence kept her as his prisoner. Silence stopped anyone from helping.

"Elsa?"

Maren's voice brought her back again, releasing her from her thoughts. Elsa looked onward, desperately trying not to feel the anxiety coursing through her body. Her eyes squinted shut as if that were the key to shutting out her thoughts. Maren's hand was warm in here. A gentle squeeze helped center her, actually bringing herself back.

"I'm okay," she said hesitantly.

Maren gave her that look, the disbelieving look that Elsa was very familiar with. "You're not. You're shaking."

"Sorry." There wasn't anything else she could say. She hated worrying Maren like this, not when there were so many other things that she could be focusing on. "I'm okay, promise. We need to get our grading done."

"There's time for that later, snowflake. I'm more worried about you." Maren's expression softened, giving her another soft squeeze. "How many cups of coffee have you had today?"

Elsa groaned. Her caffeine habits had been a frequent argument lately. She knew it made her anxieties worse; she knew she should cut back. But it made her feel like there was some kind of control, some kind of power to get her work done. Even if it wasn't the healthiest manner.

She shook what was left of her americano- her standard with two extra shots. "Only number two," she admitted softly.

Maren sighed, looking at her. "That's still ten shots of espresso, Elsa. That's not healthy You know that." Elsa could practically see her girlfriend running the numbers in her head. "800 milligrams of caffeine is double what a healthy adult should have."

"Only 750," Elsa replied, giving a small shrug. "I ordered regular, not blonde."

"You aren't helping your case. When is the last time you slept properly?"

Elsa sighed. She knew it did her no good to lie, even if it left her pride in tact. "I'm still going to bed every night, I promise." It was the truth. She simply went to bed at midnight and was up by five the next morning. Sure, she was exhausted, but at least she had the semblance of getting something done in her long hours.

Maren gave her what Elsa affectionately referred to as her teacher look, soft yet firm. "You need to relax. I know the stress you're under but you don't have to bear it alone." Maren reached forward, taking the last of her coffee. "And we should probably switch you to decaf."

"Maren," she began to protest when her girlfriend threw away her coffee, but her resolve didn't last long. She wasn't sure if it was the caffeine, her exhaustion, or love, but Elsa's heart ached. And when Maren wrapped her arms around her, she was a goner. Tears of exhaustion and worry let themselves out without her consent.

And for once, Elsa didn't mind. Anna was busy with a customer, so she wouldn't see or worry. With Maren's arms wrapped around her, Elsa let her vulnerability bleed through. It was okay to let it go.

"Let's go home."

---

"You are insane."

"Oh come on! When's the last time you've climbed a tree?"

Kristoff shook his head with a smile. "When my knees didn't crack every time I bent down."

"That's far too long! Come on, old man! It'll be perfect."

"Old man?!" Before Kristoff could protest again, Ryder was off scrambling up the large oak. "You're an idiot!" he called up with a laugh, before following him up the tree.

"Yeah, but I'm your idiot," Ryder shouted down.

Climbing was harder than Kristoff remembered. Since he took the job at Mermaid's Siren all those years ago, he hadn't spent as much time out in the woods as he wanted. Walks with Sven were generally in city blocks these days compared to the winding fields he grew up on. This park, however, felt like home.

Ryder looked down at him, smile warm and eyes bright.

It felt like home in more ways than one.

Kristoff knew deep down that he and Ryder would not get back together. He knew that he needed to move on and continue to let Ryder grow in his own right. That their friendship, while deep, would never go back to those as lovers. He was getting there slowly, but some part of him still ached for the feeling of before.

"Come on, slowpoke!"

Kristoff laughed. "I'm coming! Not all of us are graced with your athletic gifts!"

Ryder laughed in return, settling on a study branch overlooking the large park. Soon enough Kristoff was beside him, taking in the warm sun. The view was enough to make him gasp. "Beautiful right?"

Kristoff nodded, relishing in the overwhelming feeling of peace. An orange glow cast over park, the sun preparing itself to set. It reminded him of being a kid, desperate to find where the sun went at night, chasing it until his mom called him and his brother in for the night. "Do you come here a lot?"

"Not as much as I used to. But when Dad took me and Mare to the park I always made a point to climb as high as I could. Helped me think sometimes," he shrugged. "And I figured we could both use a little help clearing our heads."

Kristoff scoffed. Of course Ryder could tell something was up. Then again, everything had been up since the trial. His mom called it a turning point in all of their lives, and that couldn't be more true.

"Maybe a little."

"Maybe a lot, blondie," he teased.

The nickname made him smile. It wasn't too much, certainly not something he called him while they were dating, but it let Ryder be affectionate. And Kristoff would be lying if he said he didn't like it.

Kristoff sighed, swinging his legs back and forth. "Is this all that we're meant to be doing?"

"What do you mean?"

"I don't know," he shrugged. "I've just felt stuck lately I guess. With everything that's happened, I feel like I'm not where I'm supposed to be. I don't want to be some stupid barista for the rest of my life you know? But I don't know what to be instead. I don't want to go back to school and I don't want to stay at Mermaid's and I don't know what a good option is anymore."

Working in retail wasn't thrilling for everyone if anyone, he knew that. The customers seemed to be getting worse and worse by the day, though. It was near impossible to put up with their new upper management, especially after all the crap they had given Anna over the hearing. But the benefits were good, and he was able to afford a crummy little apartment for himself. He couldn't throw it all away like it was nothing.

Kristoff picked at the bark. "I know it's stupid."

Suddenly Ryder's hand was on his. "It's not stupid. I understand. Not feeling where you're meant to be."

Kristoff raised his eyebrow. "You do?"

Ryder nodded, absentmindedly looking into the distance. "Especially with all this," he awkwardly motioned around his body, "I feel like there's somewhere... Something better for me."

Kristoff gave a nod, sighing. "I wish there was some easy fix for it all. Something to go by."

Ryder gave his hand a quick squeeze. "There may not be a guide to go by, but that doesn't mean you have to go it alone."

Kristoff gave a small huff of a laugh. "Yeah?"

He leaned in a bit, pressing forward. "Yeah. We'll both find out places."

Kristoff smiled leaning in himself. Was Ryder going to kiss him? Weren't they-

His balance fell out from under him, and with the help of quick reflexes, he was hanging upside down in the tree.

"Are you okay?!"

Ryder was hanging off the side of the tree reaching to give him a hand. Kristoff breathed in relief, panting from fear and embarrassment. Maybe he wasn't so good at reading the signs after all.

"...I'm good."

---

Anna rubbed at her eyes. It made sense to her that her nightmares had gotten worse, but it didn't make them any easier to manage. Nor was it any easier to go back to sleep after them. Hearing the sound of a clacking keyboard, she decided to get up and investigate.

Elsa was typing away feverishly on some report or other, her reading glasses practically falling off her face. A quick glance at the clock, told her it was time to intervene. They both needed sleep.

"Elsa?" she said quietly, trying not to spook her sister. Despite the efforts, her sister jumped. "Sorry, it's just me," she said softly.

Elsa's gaze softened as she turned to her. "It's okay. What are you doing up, sunshine?" she asked scooting over to give Anna some space on the couch.

Anna easily settled in, laying her head against Elsa's shoulder. "I should ask you the same thing," she said, pointing to the stacks of papers around them.

"I asked first," she said, taking her glasses off and resting against the couch.

"Same as always," Anna murmured, playing with the strings on her pajama pants. "Bad dreams about you-know-who."

"You want to talk about it? You know I'll listen."

Anna shook her head. Her sister had been a saint these last few weeks, but Anna didn't think it did her any good to ruminate on a dream she had already had three times this week. "Same one as last night. What's keeping you up?"

"Nothing really," Elsa shrugged. "A little bit of this and a little bit of that. Nothing important."

"Elsa..." She didn't believe her sister for a second. The day's makeup had worn off revealing dark baggy eyes. Not to mention it wasn't the first time she had heard Elsa typing late into the night. "Please don't hide this from me. We said no more secrets."

"First Maren, now you." Elsa sighed, giving Anna some relief. She wasn't going to hide this time. "I'm really behind on work is the issue. And my insomnia and anxiety seem to be conspiring against me," she mumbled.

Anna gave her own sad sigh. She couldn't help but feel like it was her fault. If all this hadn't happened, then her sister wouldn't be worrying her to sleeplessness. She wouldn't have been nearly as stressed or worried. She wouldn't-

"Hey," Elsa gave her hand a light squeeze, " don't blame yourself for my clerical errors."

"How did you-"

"I know that look, sunshine." Elsa poked her sister's nose, the same way their mama used to. Anna gave a small smile, enjoying the familiar comfort. "I promise, you don't need to worry about this. I can manage."

Anna's smile fell a bit. "You can, but you don't have to do it alone. You've done so much for me, how can I help you?"

"Anna, you really don't need to. I promise." Elsa gave a small yawn. "I'm okay."

Anna sighed, knowing this wasn't a battle she would win at the moment. But she could still help. "Will you lay down with me for a bit?" She saw the look of contemplation on her sister's face, weighing the pros of working versus sleeping. She couldn't help but feel happy when Elsa ultimately shut the laptop.

Soon they were both snuggled into Elsa's bed warm and content. Resting her head against Elsa's chest, Anna smiled. She had done something good, something right. And before she could even say her goodnight, she drifted off feeling better than she had in days.

[curiousthimble]

Through Another’s Eyes

A CHARACTER MEME, by  Raqonteur 

There are many, many character interview memes out there.  There are short ones, long ones, sexual ones, pretty much every question you could think of has been asked of your OC.  But have you ever thought about what other characters really think about your character? That's the point of this meme.  Choose a character who is familiar with and interacts a lot with your character and answer the questions from their point of view.  Alternatively, your character could answer the questions about another deviant's OC whom they are familiar with.

I’m tagging @elveny, @kunstpause, @thebakinglibrarian, and @padawanhilary

This is pretty long, so I’m putting it under a cut.

King Zeus of Ravenloft enters the room alone- unusual for him, but this is an important interview and he has no intention of allowing anyone else to hear his conversation with Messire Tethras.

And after, he would find out how the dwarf found his way to Ravenloft in the first place. INTRODUCE YOURSELF 01 – What's your name? “King Zeus Vladislav Drakul of Ravenloft.”

“That’s a mouthful,” Tethras chuckles, his quill scratching in his book. “Is your sister’s like that too?”

Zeus gives him a sharp smile and raises an eyebrow. “I was under the impression you already spoke with my sister.”

“She’s...secretive.”

“I know.” 02 – Are you male or female? “Male, although I must say you Thedosians ask this question a lot.” 03 – What age are you? “A gentleman never says.” 04 – Describe yourself. “I have skin so pale I look as though marble has only just learned to blush. Eyes the color of sapphires lit by moonlight. Cheekbones that would cut the lips who dared to kiss them. Silken hair that flows like a river over my shoulders, so pure a white as to make milk curdle with shame. Lips-”

“I think I’ve got it.”

Zeus shrugs. “You asked.” 05 – What do you do for a living? “I speak. Or don’t speak.”

This time the dwarf doubles over laughing. “I understand completely,” he says, wiping his eyes. 06 – Choose five words that describe your personality “Bacchian. Luxurious. Protective. Devastating. Roguish.”  INTRODUCE YOUR SUBJECT 07 – What is their name? “Queen Hera of Ravenloft.” 08 - How do you know them? “We are half of one another.”

“That sounds...odd.”

Zeus shrugs. “And yet true.”

09 – Describe them in three sentences. “She is more stubborn than a mountain, more fluid than the willow tree. She is as timeless and beautiful as a diamond. More dangerous and duplicitous than a viper.”

The quill pauses. “Duplicitous?”

“The longer you know my sister, Messire Tethras, the more likely she is to lie to you.”

“Duly noted.”

PHYSICAL TRAITS 10 – Are they male or female? “Again with the gender.” 11 – How old are they?  “I have no intention of losing my head by telling you.” 12 - Describe them “Have I not done so already? 13 – Do they have any distinguishing features; scars or tattoos? Zeus’ face contorts in a flash of grief before it smoothes back into a peaceful smile. “There is a scar that bisects her eyebrow. It is the only one she bears.” 14 – Are they fit; Athletic.  Do they do any sports? “Incredibly so, but not because of sports. She does enjoy riding, hunting, and the like. She has a great love for dancing.” 15 – What about Illnesses, War Wounds or Physical Disabilities? “The scar is a war wound.” SKILLS AND ABILITIES 16 - What would you say is their best ability? “Her ability to capture the heart and earn its loyalty.” 17  - What do they think their best ability is? “Knowing my sister, she would assume it is something as dull as sex.” 18 - What else are they good at? “She’s quite good at being a queen. She cares a great deal.” 19 - What are they not good at? “My sister is no siren. She will not enrapture you with her voice.” 20 - Do they have any artistic talent? “She has the rudimentary skills taught to us both. It is enough.” 21 - What about Musical Ability? “She plays the lute rather well.” 22 - Are they good at a particular sport? “Riding.” 23 - What about combat; can they fight? “She is the one called the Hero of Ferelden, is she not? Her title speaks to her ability.” 24 - Do they have any... powers or abilities you would describe as supernatural or superhuman? Zeus laughs, showing a flash of a long, pointed tooth. “Naturally. There is nothing about her that is natural or human.” “Nothing?”

“Almost nothing,” he amends.

PERSONALITY  AND INTERESTS 25 - If you had to choose one word to describe their personality; what would it be? “Perfect.” 26 - Can you expand on that? “Can anyone? I would like to see them try.” 27 - What do you like best about them? Zeus thinks a moment, trying to find a word that encompasses “everything” and still answers the writer’s question. “Her heart, I suppose,” he says finally.  28 - What personality trait or behaviour particularly gets on your nerves? “I do wish she would be more selfish. This generosity of hers does get rather annoying.” 29 -  Are they sociable; do they mix well with others? “She is a chameleon, able to fit in with anyone.” 30 - Do they dress well?  Are they Fashionable? “She sets fashions.” 31 - What would you say is important to them? “Me. Her people. Ferelden. That...man,” he sneers.

“Do you mean the King of Ferelden?” Tethras laughs.

“I do. Do not say his name.” Do you know of any deep, dark secrets they keep buried? “Once I could say I knew all of them. But now...your world changed that...and it changed her. There are things she keeps from me now.” 32 - Would you want them as an enemy; What sort of enemy would they make? “The Queen of Darkness? As my enemy? I would sooner have a hive of bees shoved into my wardrobe. Formidable and terrifying are not strong enough words.” YOUR RELATIONSHIP 33 - How did you first meet? “In the womb.” 34 -  Are you friends? “Yes.” 35 -  Are you rivals? “Yes.” 36 - Are you Lovers? “No.”

37 - Do you love them? “Endlessly.” 38 - Do they love you? “Yes.” 39 - Who, if anyone, do you think they are in love with? The sneer returns. “That man.” 40 - Are they currently in a relationship? “I suppose that’s what you might call it.” 41 - Do you like them? “No.” 42 - Do they like you? “I do not care. He will never be rid of me.” 43 – How do you think they feel about children?  “It is not an option for her, sadly.” 44 - What about their family? Zeus opens his arms, indicating himself. “I am her family. And our Uncle, of course, though that is not a true blood tie.” 45 – And finally.  If you could change one thing about them, what would it be? “I would have her love me more than him.”

Tethras clears his throat. “That’s a bit selfish, isn’t it?”

Zeus sighs and waves a hand carelessly. “If you had her love, you would understand.”

[crownees]

[ demi male, he/him ].  did onyx bae just walk by?  the 23 / 1,000+ year old demon is known for their resourceful, candid and impulsive, mercurial behavior.  that explains why they resemble park jimin.  doesn’t hazy neons, stacks of rings and pink bubble gum remind you of them?

heya! i’m rel and this is a mobile post because i’m getting ready for work now :/ .  this is the first of my three babes, ONYX, and i look forward to writing him with you all.  the rest of my intros will be posted eventually.  it’s best to reach me on discord @lesbee1619.  thank you in advance for reading this trainwreck and like this post if one of the wanted connections interests you, or if you have an idea of your own for a connect / plot!  

⋆  ◦  * CHARACTER  ——  background.

⋆  Peasant born and raised in Baekje right on the coast.  Realized at sixteen backbreaking farm labor on the clan leader’s farm was not worth it and set out for the sea as a sailor, then fell into some pirating and plundering troupes.  Quick and dirty trap, fell into plundering the coasts of Japan, China, and Silla, taking from the rich to sell to the richer for coins to rain on the underclass for cheap tricks and fun.  

⋆  Life caught up when he fell into a trap somewhere in China and found himself thrown in some warlord’s prison pen.  A warrant out for his head, the one then-known as  ❝ Joo ❞  called out to anyone desperate and found a demon answering the call.  Traded a way out of torture with his soul after .2 seconds of thought, but died two months later from leprosy on some shitty countryside.  Wow.

⋆  Spent three hundred years tortured in hellfire before he found the demon again.  This time, they came with another offering, another trade;  another way out.  Joo took this one again without a thought, eager for a way out of hell and walk the earth again.  After a few more decades of dying without dying, he found himself breaking ground with a duty —— devour souls and keep going.

⋆  Joo’s taken thousands of steps under the guise of hundreds of different vessels.  Mayhem there, mayhem here.  Eventually it all gets a little dull, repetitive cycles people keep falling into, ruts that make the fun no longer fun.  When the war happened centuries ago, Onyx didn’t take a side ------ but he certainly appreciated all of the desperate souls he gobbled up.  What he wants now is just some damn peace and quiet, and to avoid hellfire’s home with everything he’s got.

⋆  ◦  * ZODIAC SIGN  ——  scorpio.

❝ Scorpio-born are passionate and assertive people.  They are determined and decisive, and will research until they find out the truth.  Scorpio is a great leader, always aware of the situation and also features prominently in resourcefulness.  Scorpio is a Water sign and lives to experience and express emotions.  Although emotions are very important for Scorpio, they manifest them differently than other water signs.  In any case, you can be sure that the Scorpio will keep your secrets, whatever they may be. ❞ ( x )

personality quirks: resourceful, brave, passionate, stubborn, distrusting, jealous, secretive, violent, competitive

⋆  ◦  * PERSONALITY TYPE  ——  isfp.

❝ Adventurer personalities are true artists, but not necessarily in the typical sense where they’re out painting happy little trees.  Often enough though, they are perfectly capable of this.  Rather, it’s that they use aesthetics, design and even their choices and actions to push the limits of social convention.  Adventurers enjoy upsetting traditional expectations with experiments in beauty and behavior – chances are, they’ve expressed more than once the phrase Don’t box me in! ❞  ( x )

personality quirks: temperamental, impulsive, egotistic, manipulative, selfish, charming, sensitive, curious, unpredictable

⋆  ◦  * CHARACTER ALIGNMENT  ——  neutral evil.

❝ A neutral evil villain does whatever she can get away with. She is out for herself, pure and simple. She sheds no tears for those she kills, whether for profit, sport, or convenience. She has no love of order and holds no illusion that following laws, traditions, or codes would make her any better or more noble. On the other hand, she doesn’t have the restless nature or love of conflict that a chaotic evil villain has. ❞  ( x )

personality quirks: dishonest, uncooperative, opportunistic, immoral, destructive, self-centered, callous, self-reliant, pessimistic

⋆  ◦  * CHARACTER  ——  miscellaneous.

Occupation: Unemployed.  Sells fake drugs.

Hobbies: taking naps, playing arcade games, stealing things, rapping at karaoke, torturing customers, inappropriate graffiti, selling chalk at raves, daydrinking, skateboarding, surfing, selling forged fangear on the web, enjoying 80′s music, graffiti, bumming around convenience stores

Vices: comfortable chairs, b-movies, anything shiny

Personal style: Ripped jeans, colorful zip-up hoodies and print t-shirts.  Mixes it up with messily-buttoned blouses and trousers on occasion.  Pastel beanies or ring-studded caps.  Doc Martens.  Sunglasses, never the same pair twice.  Pockets full of candy.  Denim jackets.  Studded belts.  Stacks of rings, silver bracelets.  Pierced ears and lip  ( hoops )

Other: 5′8  ;   athletic build  ;   orange hair  ;   two half-sleeve tattoos  ;   pansexual  ;   panromantic

⋆  ◦  * WANTED  ——  connections.

⋆ feelings towards other creatures:  onyx is very old and very tired.  he generally has a low opinion of every creature, but he’s been around enough to form his own prejudices and to abandon others.  he’s generally amused by vampires, werewolves, and humans alike.  witches and siphoners scare the shit out of him, and he has a respectful fear / avoidance of all things angelic.  for centuries, he competed with other demons for souls, bargains and the like, but for the past several decades he’s sort of become bored with all of that and spent most of his time amusing himself.  he’s made more than his fair share of enemies among hunters and the like.  during the war, he took no side but did reap the benefits of a whole bunch of scared humans in the aftermath.  since he was mostly neutral, he’s earned both friends and enemies on all sides of the battle lines.  as long as they don’t expect him to do something, he’s fine.

⋆ connections:  vessel’s ex who doesn’t know their ex is now a demon ; treasure hunter who figures out onyx is an old af demon ; fellow ancients who know onyx from past bodies and lives ( contracted, lovers, enemies, sources of entertainment ) ; a familiar and/or siren descended from one of onyx’s various human forms ; fellow demons he’s exhausted by / has a love/hate relationship with ; vessel’s roommate ; a surprising best friend ; an age-old nemesis who’s just as tired as he is ; customers at the convenience store onyx works at ; humans or magic-sensitive folk who’re willing to make a bargain for more power / knowledge ; lovers from the past ; enemies from the past ; the one who got away ; fellow lowkey prankster ; good influence (  they don’t have to be “good”  ) ; tutor in all things 21st century ; a hunter on his tail ; someone he’s friends with because they’ve both lived so long that it’s pointless to be enemies with anymore ; someone he’ll never be friends with.  ever.  even if they’re the last things on earth ; a romance that ended HORRIBLY ; someone who he sealed a deal with during the War who hasn’t paid up yet 

** i’m equally interested in these suggestions being in-game or established plots & connections.  development bb!!  & don’t forget to check out my wanted tag  <3

[brothersjacksonvideos]

2 True Scary Stories At Home (Ft. Mr. Midnight)

Watch The Video Here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wFEgaAkWnu4&t=3s I live in an end of terrace house in a decent area of Manchester in the United Kingdom. Like I say, the area is decent but, in my lifetime there has been a few somewhat disturbing crimes. It’s the kind of place that as I child I was given a lot of freedom, but, still taught necessary rules to stay safe.

Anyhow, this happened only about a year ago and I had just got a cat off my uncle, as he was moving to a smaller place. I live with my dad and my older sister and am 21 now, when this happened I had just turned 20, I am quite scrawny and don’t have much muscle for my age, but due to my hobbies in athletics I can easily hold my own.

I can recall the night well as it still shits me up, it was a Tuesday and my dad and sister had gone to the local pub for the pub quiz. This happens every Tuesday and this particular Tuesday was no different, they had always already left by the time I got home from work as, I finished at night and got home around 10:30pm. This night was no different, I turned up at home a little later than usual. Probably 20 to 11 (fucking buses) and walked up my path and opened the door.

As I entered the living room, Terry, my cat instantly began purring and rubbing his head against my leg. I knelt down and stroked him, I walked to the kitchen, we have a large open plan living/dining room that leads to a huge window that looks out into the back garden, though a clothes maiden often covers a lot of the view. I turned into the kitchen near the back of the open plan room and fed my cat, I stood watching him eat and half-heartedly prepared my own food. After he finished eating, he ran to the back door and began meowing and scratching. I must say that we don’t have a cat flap, you might say this is wrong or bad, but we only recently got the cat and a lot of the neighbourhood cats try to get in to our house even without a cat flap, so we thought it best not to get one. But, I’m so glad we didn’t have one this night…

I unlocked the back door and my cat ran out into the darkness til I couldn’t see him and I closed it. I didn’t lock it in case he decided he didn’t want to stay out and started scratching at the door. I went back into the kitchen and whilst waiting for my food to cook, I began washing up, looking out into the pitch black of the garden. It was so dark I could see my reflection clearly in the window. my house was silent, but I was still shocked when I actually heard Terry hiss from outside and fly over the fence to next door. Like I say, I’m not an idiot and it did shock me, but with Terry being a new cat to the area, I just assumed it was it was an older bigger cat and didn’t feel the urge to check the garden to see him, after all he has to fend for himself and I won’t always be there. This view quickly changed when I turned my back on the window momentarily to put some bowls in the cupboard and turned around to see someone stood really close to the window, dressed all in black and wearing a really simple, cheap ‘clown’ styled mask. I jumped about a meter in the air and this guy didn’t even fucking twitch. I was rooted to the spot for a moment and then he tilted his head and breathed on the window. It was like something from the fucking purge. 20 year old me could feel tears welling. What kind of fucking situation was this? I stood not moving. He didn’t move either… and then… I remembered the back door. He must have seen my face and realised as he lunged for the door as did I, I reached the door and saw him run straight past, possibly realising he didn’t win. I locked the door and backed away not taking my eyes off it when I heard the front door open, I turned and sprinted to the porch door, the only thing between me and this mad man. I stood there crying for at least five minutes before realising there was no force against the door. I relieved the pressure I was putting on the door and peaked out of the curtains… Nothing. My front door was open, and I couldn’t see anyone in it. I decided, very very stupidly to open the door and did so quickly. The porch was empty and my keys were still there. I slammed the door and locked it quickly. I ran to the kitchen, got my phone and called the police. The house was really quiet. It may have been my fear but it seemed too quiet. I was talking to the operator and explaining how I thought the guy may have left when I heard a thud on the back window. I looked and saw the bastard stood at the back door, just staring at me. He raised his hand and I saw a tiny stone in his hand and he just began scratching the glass with it. Not breaking or smashing or throwing or anything like that, just lightly scratching it. I was so scared and told the operator who assured me police would be at my door in 5 minutes and to keep the doors locked until I see or hear sirens. I showed this twisted creep my phone so he know who I was talking to, and, strangely, he didn’t sprint off scared or run as fast as he could to get away, he just turned away, walked down my garden and, in the darkness, crept out through our broken back gate.

The police showed up and I had to follow standard procedure and leave a statement and the police filled my dad in when he got home later on. He installed a security light the next day and told me everything would be okay

To be honest. At the time it was scariest fucking thing ever, but nowadays its not to bad, possibly a prank or some shit. Either way it scared me enough to tell you guys and… after all that… we really definitely never got a cat flap.

Mr.Midnight story on my channel: https://www.reddit.com/r/LetsNotMeet/comments/3oraf3/dont_let_them_follow_you_home/

[yuki7900archive]

Movie!Nya x Female Reader Part 2

Instead of linking all the parts on each part ((did that make sense? I hope so)), ima make a master post after it’s all posted cos its just a load easier

She didn't even get the chance to explain, as pretty much seconds after you had all started walking off to class, something else went off. A siren. Not like a sea siren, but a warning siren. Kind of like one used in wars to alert people of enemy planes invading or attacking. You were confused, rightfully so, as students began running frantically and hiding, screaming in fear. Your new friends had stopped and gritted their teeth as they stood and looked between each other. Why weren't they reacting the same way as everyone else?

"H-Here, (Y/N) we gotta go hide." Nya had taken your hand and ran off in the opposite direction to the guys. They ran back in the direction of their lockers whilst you two headed the other way. Why had you all separated yourselves like this? What was going on?

She led you around the school, trying to find a free hiding spot for you both. She wasn't having much success, as everyone had already picked a place to take cover. You could feel vibrations in the ground, along with a lot of shrieking and explosions coming from outside. Your heart froze as the pair of you went from classroom to classroom trying to find a safe spot.

"N-Nya?" You had gripped her hand tightly in fear. Your voice wavered as you called her name. "What's happening." The girl looked back at you and bit her lip as she kept walking. Eventually figuring that there was nowhere left in school left for you two to hide, she began heading  back the way you'd came for the exit.

"We're under attack." She squeezed back. "From Lord Garmadon." You had gasped. His dad was a warlord! That's why everyone hated Lloyd. It all finally fell into place. They blamed him for all that was going on. But...But that wasn't fair! His dad was the one doing the damage, not him. How could they hate Lloyd? He hadn't done anything to them.

You had remained quiet as Nya dragged you along, helping you climb over larger pieces of rubble trying to find a place of safety. This was extremely difficult, unsurprisingly. You had looked around and seen all the destruction, your face falling. You really wanted to go back home. You wished this was all some crazy dream and you'd wake up in bed at your old house. But you knew it wasn't a dream, and that was the most terrifying part. A literal nightmare from which there was no awakening. You thought that was some cliche line in a book to make everything seem ten times more dramatic but no, this was reality right now, and reality was scaring the shit out of you.

"Damn it!" The teenager growled and ran a hand through her hair. She was looking frantically left and right, figuring out what to do in this situation. As she did that, you heard a ferocious roar come from above, causing you to look up and see a giant, green mechanical dragon soar through the sky. You were confused this morning, now you were outright dumbfounded. Nya had also looked up and sighed. "Okay, that'll buy some time..." You heard her mutter.

"Why is there a dragon in the sky?" You hadn't taken your eyes off the thing as it blasted green flames at what looked like floating metal jellyfish- Okay, what was with all the flying mechanical animals?

"It's the Green Ninja." She explained. "When Garmadon attacks, the Secret Ninja Force comes to protect everyone. That's their job."

"The Secret Ninja Force? This city is nuts." Nya had laughed.

"Yeah, just a little." She saw a small alleyway and tugged on your hand. "Come on, There's a ship on the other side of town I can take you to. But we gotta move now." You had nodded, not questioning her and doing as told. After all, she knew what she was doing, and you didn't have a clue.

You both ran through all the rubble, you were doing your best to keep up but you weren't as athletic as her it seemed, as you ran out of breath after a few minutes of running. You could hear the rumbles get louder and louder, making it harder for you to run as the ground kept shaking. You had seen another large mech zoom past as you went in the alleyway, this time a giant white tank that shot ice from two turrets. It had blocked off the entrance when you had gone through as it attacked some weird crab-like mech's on the ground, so there was no turning back now. Shortly after you had began to lose steam and fall behind Nya, and she noticed straight away as you collapsed on the ground. She ran back to you and knelt by your side.

"S-Sorry I...I can't..." You coughed.

"It's okay (Y/N), this is all new for ya', I don't expect you to be able to sprint for so long." She rubbed your back as she panted herself, regaining some of her lost energy. "We'll be okay for a little bit. Like I said the ninja will buy us some time. And if we keep going through narrows spaces and alleyways then-"She was cut off when a laser blast came from the other end of the street, passing just over your heads and hitting the ice wall behind, melting a small hole into it. You had looked up and seen a crab mech there, along with a large number of soldiers in...fish themed gear? Ugh, whatever, you were done questioning everything at this point.

They had started to slowly approach you both, them all grinning wildly as their leader spoke to you. "Looks like we've found more recruits for the Shark Army." You felt panic set in, knowing you couldn't run away. You were totally surrounded as they edged closer and closer. It was then that you felt more fear, as Nya stood in front of you, punching her fists and cracking her knuckles. She had glared at them and spat to the ground.

"That's what you think, ugly." She got in a fight stance and you looked at her with concern and worry. Was she seriously gonna take on all these soldiers by herself? Was she insane? They were all laughing at her even now at the absurdity.

"We have a fighter! Are you sure you don't want to just sit and make this easy for us? Wouldn't want to hurt you before you'd even gotten back to the lair." Nya had scoffed and laughed this time.

"Don't worry about me fish face, you just worry about all the bones in your body that are gonna break." She had confidence. A lot of it. So much of it it actually made you confident in her. She could do this, you knew she could. And with that, the man had shrugged and told his men to attack you both, watching as his soldiers charged.

You had covered your face, bracing for impact, only for nothing to come your way. You glanced up and saw the first soldier to approach Nya to be met with swift fist straight to the face. They had fallen to the floor, unconscious. You had gasped, your mouth agape as you watched the man smash into the ground, blood pouring out his mouth. After that brief slow-motion punch, everything caught up to speed as she grabbed a female soldier by the arm and spun her 360 degrees, bashing into two other soldiers and causing them to topple on the floor in a heap. As they scrambled to their feet, she smashed another guy in the stomach with the back of her heel and slammed him into the gravel.

The girl fought on as you regained your breath, pummelling one enemy after the other with ease. Your chest was heaving due to all the running you had done, but Nya gave you a chance to gain some lost strength. You knew after this you'd still have a long way to run before you got to safety, so resting was important at this moment you had. Nya somehow wasn't slowing down, which amazed you. She'd run everywhere and was now beating up bad guys without breaking a sweat. She was amazing...

But even the best lost their lucky streak eventually, and soon enough she got tripped up by one general who was on the floor, knocking her foot and causing her to fall on her back. She landed with a thud and gritted her teeth, hissing in pain. You hurried to her side.

"Nya!" You took her hand and helped her sit up, her giving you a small smile. You were cut off quickly by laughter coming from the guy sat in the crab mech. He pinched the metal claws and grinned, running straight for you both. Your heart raced, but before you could even get up and try to escape, it had already caught your ankle and clamped onto you, dragging you along the floor. You screamed and clawed at the ground, trying to grip the concrete flooring, but it was no use. All the bits you could grip were cracks and only tore off from the rest of the slates as you were hauled away. You seethed in pain as the ground rubbed against your bare skin. It stung so much.

"(Y/N)!" You heard Nya cry, seeing her have to fight her way through all the soldiers again. You didn't think she'd make it this time, as you rounded the corner and lost sight of her. You kept trying to break free, but the grip was too tight, and your ankle was bleeding from the pincers holding you hostage. You thought all hope was lost for sure. You were about to accept that fate too. That is until a large hammer came out of nowhere and landed directly in the driver's face.

You heard him shriek as he fell out of the vehicle and landed on the floor in a heap, a barrage of ice arrows being shot at the mech and stop it in its place. You stayed in place until a ninja in black came and tore the pincers apart, freeing your bleeding ankle. You had scrambled and sobbed, breathing hard with tears streaming down your face. You were frightened beyond belief. You thought for sure you were going to be taken. Or even worse, die.

"Are you okay?" The voice asked you, he gently picked you up and placed you to rest against the side of a building wall.

"Y-Yeah, I am now." You sniffed, hot tears still pouring out from your eyes. You weren't okay. Not at all. "But my friend is down that alleyway! These guys came and she tried to fight them off-"

"It's okay! The White Ninja is getting her now." You nodded and spluttered. As you tried to calm yourself down, the ninja was sorting out your ankle, stopping the bleeding with a bit of torn fabric from the unconscious enemy soldier's clothing. He had made sure to secure it around your leg before retrieving his hammer and walking back over to you. You saw him grimace at the dried red stains on his weapon. "Guess I threw a little too hard."

That somehow made you laugh a bit. This whole day had quickly turned into a train wreck. It was nice to laugh, its just what you needed. Even though you supposed you were technically laughing at the thought of a man bleeding out (possibly to death) after being decked with a big stone hammer. Suddenly a worrying thought sprung to mind.

"My mom..." You muttered before your eyes widened. "Oh god, my mom!"

"Relax, try not to think the worst." He attempted to comfort you, crouching next to you and holding your shoulder. "She's probably been evacuated to the edge of the city with everyone else."

You took a deep breath. Yes. Be positive. Everything was gonna be okay.

It was then that both Nya and the White Ninja came running around the corner to where both you and the Black Ninja sat. You had grinned upon seeing the ravenette, and she seemed to do the same thing as she skidded in front of you. She hugged you tightly for a few seconds and you felt your cheeks heat up a little. Without thinking too much of it you hugged her back just as tightly. When she pulled away she looked at the two ninjas who were stood in front of you.

"Thank you." They nodded their heads in unison.

"No problem. Need us to get you to the edge of the city?" The male in black inquired but Nya shook her head.

"The warehouse at the pier." They both widened their eyes and furrowed their brows. After giving each other a brief glance of concern, they looked back at the girl.

"A-Are you sure? Not the evacuation point?" They asked again and Nya gave a assured nod as you clung to her arm. You didn't want to let go of her again, scared you'd be taken away.

"I know the old man on the boat will look after her until all this is over. Please." She begged them. They didn't seem overly confident but they agreed to. You went with the White Ninja in the Ice mech as Nya went in the Quake mech. You were reluctant to be separated from your friend again, but you knew it was for the better, so you put your feelings of dread aside and sat in the back seat of the Ice Tank until you'd reached safety. You didn't look out the window, scrunching up and hiding behind the chair in front of you. You were currently trying to ignore all the blasting and booming you could hear going on just outside. The other ninja were communicating with each other, some making puns and jokes as they fought against the oncoming army. You weren't sure whether to laugh or be angry. You chose for now to be neither, too agitated from the events of the day so far. It wasn't even 12PM and you were already so done.

Another few minutes later and the vehicle came to a stop at the pier, which was closer to the enemy than you had been when you were on the other side of town. The ninja assisted you in getting out of the tank, despite your shaking from how close Garmadon's men now were to you, and helping you limp over to Nya. She thanked the pair of them and walked with you to the ship that sat peacefully on the ocean water. The old man that Nya had mentioned before stood and watched as more and more mechs kept emerging from the ocean. He didn't seem too worried. That man had some courage. He seemed to have this calming aura about him to, which actually helped you with your nerves as you both hobbled over.

"Wu!" Nya had cried out, getting the old man's attention. He turned and his eyes also widened, rushing over to help.

"Nya, who is this?" He asked the girl but she shook her head.

"No time to explain! I couldn't find her a hiding spot so I tried to get her here. But Garmadon's men attacked and hurt her ankle." Wu took a hold of you, putting one of yours arm around his shoulder. "Can you heal her? I gotta get out there and help!"

"What? Nya-" You tried to argue back but you were interrupted by the old man as he responded to her.

"Of course, now go." The ravenette nodded and rushed off inside the warehouse. You tried calling after her but the old man turned you both around and helped get you on the ship.

- - -

An hour or so later and the chaos died down, total silence upstairs. Wu had sat beside you the entire time, having made you both some tea. It was odd tasting, and you'd never had anything like it before, but you liked it. He had simply talked to you, trying to take your mind off of everything. Well, there had been that one odd occasion about half an hour in some soliders had come down from the stairs, a note in hand from Garmadon. You thought it would be this super serious message or something, but no. It was far from it. It was some message about how Wu was a, and I quote, "big stupid dumb dumb with a stupid beard that matches your stupid face." You had blinked, furrowing your brows as your lips parted, utterly speechless. Garmadon, this terrifying evil warlord who had injured and killed countless, wrote that exact same message.

"What in the..." You had quietly uttered, Wu turning to look at you as he stood up from his seat.

"He's my older brother." He stated, like it would explain everything to you.

"This is how brothers talk to each other?"

"Not generally at this age." Wu shrugged and grabbed his walking stick. "But what you don't know is that my brother is a moron." With that he had started beating up all the soldiers in that room, taking them out one by one and momentarily leaving as he fought soldiers on the stairs and on the top deck. You had kept your eyes on the unconscious men and women on the floor, scared they'd wake up and try attacking you again. Luckily they didn't and the old man came back downstairs to haul them away. You don't know what he did with them, and you didn't dare ask either.

"So," Wu had poured another cup of tea for you, handing you a cookie too. "How come you moved to Ninjago? Not exactly the safest place to live." You took the cookie and tea, thanking him and sipping on the strange tasting liquid before nibbling at your food.

"Mom needed to come here for work-related stuff. Apparently, they were low on staff here so she had to relocate. Whether they were low on staff because people left or because they'd been killed, I think I'd rather not know..." Your voice trailed off a little and you quietly ate and drank. The old man sat next to you had hummed.

"I understand this must be terrifying for you." Wu frowned and twiddled his thumbs. "First day here and already your life has been at stake." You hadn't said anything in response, just looking down at your lap.

"I can tell you are worried about your friends. But I can assure you, they will be fine. They deal with this on a regular basis, they know what to do when this happens." You gave a small sigh and bit into your cookie again. You looked back at him.

"Why do people stay here if this keeps happening?" You had asked the man, furrowing your brows. It was the one thing you just didn't understand. They could leave if they wanted to, move away and start a new life someplace else, yet they chose to stay here. Why was that?

"I am not too sure myself. It was like this when I was your age too. A lot of creatures would come to the city and wreck havoc but, still everyone stayed. Back then there was no such thing as the Secret Ninja Force, only the Elemental Masters. And the Elemental Masters protected the city from all that attacked. That's what kept people around back then, because they had warriors who risked their lives for others, who kept them safe. It gave them hope. I suppose the Ninja do the same job as we did." You listened to him ramble.

"Are the Ninja the same as Elemental Masters?"

"The Ninja ARE Elemental Masters." He corrected you. "Just a different name and a new generation." You looked down at the tea in your cup, swirling it around gently and watching it move in its clockwise rotation. Images of what happened before sprung to mind, images of the fight. You thought about how you'd had to stop, how you'd run out of breath. Nya risked her life to protect you, she beat up everybody in her path to keep you safe. Then the time came for you to do the same, throw yourself in front of her and allow yourself to be taken. You hadn't though. Instead your first through was running, and instead you allowed yourself to get dragged away. You were weak. You felt ashamed. You didn't want to be the damsel, you hated that idea.

"Do they all have to be?" You had muttered softly, afraid to ask him. There was a pause.

"No, they don't." Wu stood up upon hearing loud noises from above. "That will be the ninja with their mechs. Excuse me for a moment." With that he left you by yourself again, slowly making his way up the stairs in order to greet the team upon their arrival back. He wasn't gone for too long, two, possibly three minutes at the most, but those minutes just seemed to last an eternity. You couldn't even distract yourself by focusing on pain in your leg, as that tea you had seemed to have some kind of magical effect on you and had completely numbed the pain. You couldn't have been happier to hear multiple footsteps stomping down the stairs. Yet somehow you still managed to smile wider upon seeing the first person to enter be Nya.

She launched herself to your side, sitting on the stool Wu had sat in previously and scooting it closer to the bed. As she did that you noticed she wasn't in the same attire he had been in earlier, now changed in a grey gi with an armoured skirt. "Are you alright? You're looking a lot better than you did when I dropped you off here." She fussed over you, looking over your face and clothes to see the dirt and blood marks still there.

"Y-Yeah, uh." You felt your cheeks heating up again. "Wu's been looking after me." She sighed and grinned as the rest of your friends crowded around the bed, all of them also changed out of their usual clothing and now in gi's too. You saw two you recognised, the black and white gi's that Cole and Zane wore. It was then it clicked in your mind and your heart began pounding.

"So...You're a ninja?" Nya nodded and briefly glanced away.

"Yeah."

"Well...that explains how you could run for so long and then pummel a load of bad guys without even breaking a sweat." She had laughed and nodded along with the other ninja. They didn't speak, merely watched you two interact. You then stopped smiling and frowned, looking down to the floor and placing your cup and cookie on the table side. You squeezed the bed sheets in your hands. "I'm sorry about earlier."

"What? (Y/N), it's okay-"

"But it isn't okay." You stopped her before she could finish. "You could've got hurt. Other's could've got hurt. You had to protect me instead of innocent civilians because I couldn't just run."

It was her turn to stop you, grabbing your chin and forcing you to look her in the eyes as she frowned at you. It was then you noticed what beautiful eyes she actually had. Ocean blue. You could stare into them forever. You heart was racing in your chest as you felt yourself blush from the embarrassment. "It's my job to protect people who need protecting. Don't feel bad. So long as you are safe that is all that matters to me, okay?"

Your face was as bright a red as Kai's clothes, you were fairly certain, as her fingers slipped from your chin and she reached for the make shift bandaging around your leg. "Let's see if the tea worked." You were in a daze for a few seconds before you finally snapped out of it, feeling the fabric fall away. When it dropped to the bed your eyes widened, because your leg was totally healed. It was like it had never even been touched. No wonder you couldn't feel any pain; there were no cuts there anymore. That had really freaked you out. You couldn't believe your eyes. You brought your leg up close to your face and kept your eyes locked onto the bit where the crab mech's pincers had sunk into your flesh. Your fingers trailed against the now smooth skin as you mouthed curses to yourself. This caused the ninja to laugh audibly.

"Is that the strangest thing to happen to you today?" Kai had grinned at you. You blinked and finally let your leg down on the bed again.

"I...don't know..." You ran a hand through your hair and sighed, flopping onto the bed. "I need to go and find my mom..."

"Don't worry, she's at my place." Lloyd informed you. "My mom's looking after her." What an utter relief.

[anothergracekellyblog]

TIME magazine - January 31, 1955 Cover illustration by Boris Chaliapin

THE GIRL IN WHITE GLOVES

Almost every morning, a slim figure in a polo coat, leading a small black poodle on a leash, emerges from one of Manhattan's cliff houses on East 66th Street. The doorman gives her a cheery “Good Morning, Miss Kelly.” But outside, no head turns. For, in her low-heeled shoes and horn-rimmed spectacles, Actress Grace Kelly is all but indistinguishable from any other well-scrubbed young woman of the station-wagon set, armored in good manners, a cool expression, and the secure knowledge that whatever happens, Daddy can pay.

A few blocks away, Grace Kelly's name is emblazoned on two first-run Broadway houses, and the same face, without spectacles, makes husbands sigh and wives think enviously that they might look that way too, if only they could afford a really good hairdo. In Hollywood, producers fight over her, directors beg for her, writers compose special scripts for her. In an industry where the girls can be roughly divided into young beauties and aging actresses, Grace Kelly is something special: a young (25) beauty who can act.

A year ago, Grace Patricia Kelly was only a promising newcomer (generally thought to be English), who lost Clark Gable to Ava Gardner in Mogambo. Currently, she is the acknowledged “hottest property” in Hollywood. In Manhattan this year, the New York Film Critics pronounced her acting in The Country Girl “the outstanding performance of 1954.”

CAN’T TOUCH HER

Grace Kelly, with the lovely blonde hair, chiseled features, blue eyes and an accent that is obviously refined, is a startling change from the run of smoky film sirens and bumptious cuties. Said one Hollywood observer: “Most of these dames just suggest Kinsey statistics. But if a guy in a movie theater starts mooning about Grace, there could be nothing squalid about it; his wife would have to be made to understand that it was something fine - and bigger than all of them. Her peculiar talent, you might say, is that she inspires licit passion."

From the day in 1951 when she walked into Director Fred Zinnemann's office wearing prim white gloves ("Nobody came to see me before wearing white gloves"), the well-bred Miss Grace Kelly of Philadelphia has baffled Hollywood. She is a rich girl who has struck it rich. She was not discovered behind a soda fountain or at a drive-in. She is a star who was never a starlet, who never worked up from B pictures, never posed for cheesecake, was never elected, with a press agent's help, Miss Antiaircraft Battery C. She did not gush or twitter or desperately pull wires for a chance to get in the movies. Twice she turned down good Hollywood contracts. When she finally signed on the line, she forced mighty M-G-M itself to grant her special terms. Beamed a New York friend: “Here, for the first time in history, is a babe that Hollywood can't get to. Can't touch her with money, can't touch her with big names. Only thing they can offer her is good parts.”

STEEL INSIDES

She has managed to get the parts. In the short space of 18 months, she has been paired with six of Hollywood's biggest box office male stars - Clark Gable, Ray Milland, James Stewart, William Holden, Bing Crosby, Cary Grant. These seasoned veterans have learned to view with a jaundiced eye the pretty young newcomers assigned to play opposite them. Grace, as usual, was different. Says Holden, one of Hollywood's ablest pros: “With some actresses, you have to keep snapping them to attention like a puppy. Grace is always concentrating. In fact, she sometimes keeps me on the track.” Says Jimmy Stewart: "She's easy to play to. You can see her thinking the way she's supposed to think in the role. You know she's listening, and not just for cues. Some actresses don't think and don't listen. You can tell they're just counting the words.”

Outside the studio, Grace continued to disregard the Hollywood rules. She was friendly, but she refused to court the important columnists. Interviewers who tried to get her to open up came away swearing that they would rather tackle a train window anytime. One producer grumbled that she had “stainless steel insides.” She flatly refused to divulge even the standard data (bust, waist, hips). One columnist asked routinely whether she wore nightgowns. “I think it's nobody's business what I wear to bed,” she said coolly. “A person has to keep something to herself, or your life is just a layout in a magazine."

In the end, publicists had to content themselves with tagging Miss Kelly as “a Main Line debutante.” She is neither Main Line nor a debutante, but she is the next thing to both.

THE BEAUTIFUL PEOPLE

In Philadelphia, the Kellys are about as conspicuous as the 30th Street Station, which, like many of the city's major structures, bears the credit: Brickwork by Kelly. Handsome, athletic John B. Kelly, Grace's father, the son of a farm boy from County Mayo, began business life as a bricklayer. Eventually, he parlayed a borrowed $7,000 into the nation's biggest brickwork construction company. One of his brothers was George Kelly, Pulitzer Prizewinning playwright (Craig's Wife); another was Walter Kelly, the famed “Virginia Judge” of the vaudeville circuits.

All the Kellys, says a friend, are “beautiful, physical people.” Father Jack was a champion sculler; Grace's mother (who is of German descent) was a model, later the first woman physical education instructor at the University of Pennsylvania. Father Jack, who still takes his athletics seriously, went to England in 1920 to compete at Henley. But the Henley committee ruled that he could not compete because he had once “worked with his hands" and was therefore not a “gentleman.” He went on to the Olympics, where he soundly thrashed the Henley winner, and triumphantly sent his sweaty green rowing cap to King George V of England with his compliments. The moment his son John B. Jr. (“Kell") was born in 1927, Jack resolved that he would win at Henley; he began training the boy personally at the age of seven. In 1947 Kell righted an old wrong done his family by going to Henley in the colors of the University of Pennsylvania and scoring an impressive victory for Penn and Pop.

CHURCH & ATHLETICS

Of the three Kelly daughters, Peggy was the oldest and a cut-up, Lizanne the youngest and an extrovert. Grace, the middle one, born Nov. 12, 1929, was shy, quiet, and for years snuffled with a chronic cold. The big, 15-room house in plain East Falls, across the Schuylkill River from the Main Line, was the meeting place for the whole neighborhood. “There was a lawn out back with swings and a sandbox, a tennis court and the usual things like that,” says Grace. Summers, the Kelly family had a house on the Jersey shore at Ocean City. As regularly as she marched the children to St. Bridget's Roman Catholic Church every Sunday, Mrs. Kelly marched them off to the Penn Athletic Club for workouts. "There's a certain discipline in athletic work,” says Mrs. Kelly. “That's why Grace can accustom herself to routine and responsibility.” Sister Peg organized home theatricals. "Somebody else always got the lead,” Grace recalls, without rancor. Even then remote and self-absorbed, Grace used to write poetry, some serious, some "little gooney ones” that showed a neat turn of phrase. Sample, written when she was 14:

I hate to see the sun go down And squeeze itself into the ground, Since some warm night it might get stuck And in the morning not get up.

Little Grace went to the local Ravenhill convent school, then to Stevens School in Germantown. By the time she was eleven, she was appearing in a local amateur dramatic company. Turned down by Bennington (she flunked math), Grace got herself into the American Academy of Dramatic Arts in New York. From the first, her family was dubious about an acting career. “We'd hoped she would give it up,” says her mother. Snorts Father Kelly: “Those movie people lead pretty shallow lives.”

THE “CLEAN” WAY

But Grace knew what she wanted. To assure her independence, she got a job modeling, was soon making $400 a week posing for Ipana, beer ads, Old Golds. Photographer Ruzzie Green describes her as “what we call ‘nice clean stuff’ in our business. She's not a top model and never will be. She's the girl next door. No glamour, no oomph, no cheesecake. She has lovely shoulders but no chest. Grace is like Bergman in the 'clean’ way. She can do that smush stuff in movies - remember all those little kisses in Rear Window? - and get away with it.” A friend remembers her at this period as “terribly sedate, always wore tweed suits and a hat-with-a-veil kind of thing. She had any number of sensible shoes, even some with those awful flaps on front.”

She did TV commercials (“I was terrible - honestly, anyone watching me give the pitch for Old Golds would have switched to Camels"), doggedly made the rounds of summer stock (New Hope and Denver) and casting offices. “I've read for almost everything that's been cast. I even read for the ingenue part in The Country Girl on Broadway (left out in the movie ). The producer told me I really wasn't the ingenue type, that I was too intelligent looking.”

Then she read for the daughter's part in Strindberg's grim The Father. She got the part and won good notices, but the play lasted only two months. Grace went back to TV (“summer stock in an iron lung") to play in such varied offerings as Studio One, Treasury Men in Action, Philco Playhouse and Lights Out.

FIRST FAN

Once before and once shortly after she left dramatic school, Grace turned down $250-a-week movie contracts: “I didn't want to be just another starlet.” Now Hollywood reached for her again but failed to get a firm grip. Director Henry Hathaway gave her a bit part as the lady negotiating a divorce across the street from the man on the ledge in Fourteen Hours. But she refused a contract; she did not feel ready yet. She did accept a one-shot offer from Producer Stanley Kramer for the part of Gary Cooper's young wife in High Noon.

Fourteen Hours produced her first fan, a high-school girl in Oregon who started a fan club and kept Grace posted on new members. Grace thought it a hilarious joke. “We've got a new girl in Washington,” she would cry in triumph. “I think she's ours, sewed up.” In High Noon her finishing-school accent sat awkwardly amongst the western drawls, and her beauty made little impact. What was more, from High Noon determined Grace Kelly got her first real self-doubts about her planned progress. Says she: “With Gary Cooper, everything is so clear. You look into his face and see everything he is thinking. I looked into my own face and saw nothing. I knew what I was thinking, but it didn't show. For the first time, I suddenly thought, ‘Perhaps I'm not going to be a great star, perhaps I'm not any good after all.’” Grace hustled back to New York to learn how to make it show.

THE “TOO” CATEGORY

She was still learning (with Sanford Meisner at the Neighborhood Playhouse) when 20th Century-Fox called her to test for a role in a film called Taxi. Dressed in an old skirt and a man's shirt on her way to class, “I walked into Gregory Ratoff's office, and he threw up his arms and screamed, 'She's perfect.' In all my life, no one has ever said, 'You are perfect.' People have been confused about my type, but they agreed on one thing: I was in the “too” category - too tall, too leggy, too chinny. And Ratoff kept yelling around, 'What I love about this girl, she's not pretty.’” But the producer did not like her, and another girl got the role.

Director John Ford saw the test, however, and wanted her for Mogambo. Even then, Grace did not come running. When M-G-M offered her a seven-year contract starting at $750 a week, she demanded a year off every two years for a play, and permission to go back to New York, instead of hanging around Hollywood, whenever she finished a picture. She was only 22, and all but unknown. But M-G-M agreed to her terms. Says Grace: “I wanted Mogambo for three things: John Ford, Clark Gable, and a free trip to Africa.”

In Africa, Grace picked up a lot of film technique from Ford and developed a hero worship for Gable. Ford was soon predicting that she would be a star. For her performance as the cool English wife stirred to sudden and thwarted passion for White Hunter Gable, Grace won a “best supporting role” nomination for the Academy Award.

RESTRAINT & CONTROL

M-G-M still seemed uncertain about what to do with her. But Alfred Hitchcock, also impressed by the Taxi test, snapped her up for Dial M for Murder, then for Rear Window. Says Hitchcock: “From the Taxi test, you could see Grace's potential for restraint. I always tell actors don't use the face for nothing. Don't start scribbling over the sheet of paper until we have something to write. We may need it later. Grace has this control. It's a rare thing for a girl at such an age.” Director George Seaton adds: “Grace doesn't throw everything at you in the first five seconds. Some girls give you everything they've got at once, and there it is -  there is no more. But Grace is like a kaleidoscope: one twist, and you get a whole new facet.”

Under Hitchcock's expert direction, Grace bloomed in Rear Window. As a sleek young career girl, she distilled a tingling essence of what Hitchcock has called “sexual elegance.” She was learning her trade. The way she walked, spoke and combed her hair had a sureness that gives moviegoers a comfortable feeling: she would never make them wince with some awkwardness of misplaced gaucherie. Exhibitors, who know a good thing when they see the turnstiles click, began dropping Hitchcock and Stewart from their marquees and advertised simply: “Grace Kelly in Rear Window.” In Hollywood, the stampede was on.

MORE THAN BEAUTIFUL

When the stampede started, Grace was in a bathing suit dutifully splashing around a Japanese bathhouse as Navy Pilot Bill Holden's wife in The Bridges at Toko-Ri (a movie that does little for Grace except establish the fact that she has a better figure than normally meets the eye). At about the same time, Paramount's producer-director team of William Perlberg and George Seaton got word that Jennifer Jones, scheduled to play the title role in their next picture, The Country Girl, had become pregnant. They asked M-G-M to lend them Grace. This time M-G-M said no. Grace still gets angry when she thinks about it. She went to her agent, says Perlberg, and told him: “If I can't do this picture, I'll get on the train and never come back. I'll quit the picture business. I'll never make another film.” Actress Kelly had her way. M-G-M lent her out to Paramount again, but this time jumped the price from the $20,000 charged for Toko-Ri to $50,000 and demanded that she give M-G-M an extra picture (her contract calls for only three a year).  

The Country Girl was final proof that she is more than merely beautiful. The well-bred girl from Philadelphia is completely convincing as the slatternly, embittered wife of aging, alcoholic Matinee Idol Bing Crosby. She slouches around with her glowing hair gone dull, her glasses stuck on top of her head, her underlip sullen, resentment in the very sag of her shoulders and the dangle of her arms. She looks dreadful. Said Seaton: “You know that old cardigan sweater she wears? Well, a lot of actresses would say, 'Well, why don't we just put a few rhinestones here? I want to look dowdy, of course, but this woman has taste... and before you know it, she'd look like a million dollars. But not Grace. Grace wanted to be authentic.”

Bing Crosby, a little nervous himself at undertaking so exacting a dramatic role, was dubious about his untried costar and said so. But before the shooting was over, Crosby was telling Seaton, “Never let me open my big mouth again,” and talking of taking Grace out dancing.

BAGS PACKED

Hollywood is now eager to adopt Actress Kelly, white gloves and all, and is trying hard, with the air of an ill-at-ease lumberjack worrying whether he is using the right spoon. But Grace shows no interest in the Hollywood way of life, or even in having the customary swimming pool ("I don't swim that much"). Thus far, she has lived with a sister or a girlfriend in a furnished, two-room North Hollywood apartment, acting as if she considered herself on location, with her bags packed ready to go back to New York.

Young men who are eager to brighten her after-hours life come away baffled. “If she doesn't think a joke is funny," one complained, “she doesn't laugh." Wolves are discouraged when Grace briskly pulls on her glasses (her lovely blue eyes are nearsighted) and assumes her Philadelphia expression. Some suspect that she is, as Oscar Wilde put it, “a sphinx without secrets." Publicity men despair of her. “A Grace Kelly anecdote?” said a friend. “I don't think Grace would allow an anecdote to happen to her.”

A few of Hollywood's older, more sought-after men have concluded, from time to time, that they were just the boys destined to discover and unlock the real Grace. Each time, Grace has resisted unlocking, though whenever her father reads in a column of a new “romantic attachment,” the family gets alarmed. “I don't like that sort of thing much," snorts father Kelly. “I'd like to see Grace married. These people in Hollywood think marriage is like a game of musical chairs." When the gossips reported that Ray Milland was leaving his wife for Grace, mother Kelly hustled out to California to set things straight. Milland insists that he only took her to dinner once; Grace says nothing. Most recently Grace's escort has been Dress Designer Oleg Cassini, onetime husband of Gene Tierney and professional man-about-ladies. The Kellys deplore all such gossip-column romances. "I don't generally approve of these oddballs she goes out with,” grumps brother Kell, who is still national sculling champion and works for his father's company between workouts on the Schuylkill. “I wish she would go out with the more athletic type. But she doesn't listen to me anymore.”

Some of Grace's admirers fear that M-G-M may do to her what the studio did to Deborah Kerr - lash her down to "lady" roles and keep her there. Even after The Country Girl, the best M-G-M could think of was to assign Grace to Green Fire (which she did as her part of the bargain on Country Girl) and then offer her Quentin Durward. Grace, who sees the satin-lined trap as clearly as anyone, refused the Durward part after reading the script. “All the men can duel and fight, but all I'd do would be to wear 35 different costumes, look pretty and frightened. There are eight people chasing me: the old man, robbers, the head gypsy and Durward. The stage directions on every page of the script say, 'She clutches her jewel box and flees.’ I just thought I'd be so bored..."

RELUCTANT SCENERY

While waiting for M-G-M to think again, Grace retired to her three-room apartment in a huge, modern building in Manhattan (masonry by Kelly), where she lives alone with her poodle puppy, Oliver. Her amusements range from photography (she develops her own negatives, sloshing around her bathroom in the dark) to word games.  A favorite game is one devised by Alfred Hitchcock when he met Lizabeth Scott and got to wondering what would happen if other people dropped the first letter of their names: Rank Sinatra, Scar Hammerstein, Reer Garson, Orgie Raft, Ickey Rooney. Four times a week she puts her hair up into a ponytail, dons a leotard, and goes off to classes in modern dancing and ballet. Wandering near Broadway, she avoided the Broadway theater where M-G-M publicized Green Fire with a huge poster of a bosomy girl in sexy green drapery with Grace's head but another girl's body. “It makes me so mad,” says Grace. “And the dress isn't even in the picture.”  

Last week M-G-M's Production Boss Dore Schary summoned Grace to Hollywood to propose a new picture - a western with Spencer Tracy scheduled to costar. After two days of talk, Grace was still noncommittal; she would wait, she said coolly, until she had seen the completed script.

It is possible that Grace might yet win an Oscar for her Country Girl performance, and even M-G-M would have a hard time turning an Oscar-winning actress into a road-company Greer Garson. Furthermore, Actress Kelly is determined that that will not happen to her. Says she, setting her beautiful chin: “I don't want to dress up a picture with just my face. If anybody starts using me as scenery, I'll do something about it.” If all else fails, Grace could conceivably break her contract and return to television. Or she could try the stage, where acting talent counts for more, and the competition is tougher. She could always give up the whole thing for the role of wealthy young socialite. But if her studio mentors are wise, and if Grace is as wary as she has so far proved to be, the young beauty from Philadelphia may yet become an authentic jewel in Hollywood's tinsel crown.

[winterwolvesandstarbucks]

Every counter-play of defense that was encrypted within the breached algorithm had surgically imploded when Natasha unleashed the parasitic files-records of HYDRA operatives viper nests to global security networks; she was a rogue SHIELD operative that needed to go off-grid-to become an undetected apparition within the shadow-zones. She needed to claim a new charade of utilized identity-relevance away from the exposed crosshairs of Interpol, purchasing a synthetic relevance was a practiced device of survival.

Standing under the amber glow of a dock light, rigidly Natasha gripped onto the strap of a backpack, fixing her grayish-teal irises unwaveringly on a cargo ship."Well, that's convenient," she quipped, huskily, crouching low on her denim-clad haunches as dockyard patrol sentry neared her obscured proximity. Doing a gypsy-run was the only way to reach a harbor point in Prague-stock up on arsenals of passports and food rations while traveling back to the Ukraine city of Chernihiv.

Keeping herself poised with balletic-hone agility behind a rusted oil barrel, attentively, on instinctive reaction, Natasha keenly registered whimpering yelps in unison that puppishly resonating within an intact whiskey crate- definitely rejected stray pups. Throw-away orphans that starvingly calling out for their mother. Easing her leather gloved hand over the ratty blanket-sheathed crate with a tentative flex, she delivered a pacifying caress over the distressed bundle. " Easy little furballs, I'm just going to peak..."

She felt a brush of air blow up her neck. It was all the warning sign she needed to know to react in the face of a hostile encounter. But as she swerved to draw her Glock, something rock-hard slammed against her and sent her spiraling backwards on the balls of her feet. The crushing pain she felt in her right side was ignored as she surrendered her body to its natural instincts. Years of training as a ballerina gave her the grace and skill to use her own momentum to roll and back-flip onto her feet. Her teal eyes were hard and alert but they soon widened in muted shock once she realized who her assailant was.

"Derzhis' ot nikh podal'she (Stay away from them)." A harsh familiar baritone threatened with a look of pure unadulterated rage that beckoned to be unleashed. Steel-blue eyes glistened in the midday sun beneath a grungy black-hoodie, framed by wolfish locks. The whirring of a mechanical limb pierced through the tension as her attacker stood his ground and drew his knife. "YA znayu kto ty (I know who you are)." The Winter Soldier said. The woman he fought on the bridge, who escaped his gun. Perhaps more than any other he'd come across. He glanced at the whining pups in the box, feeling apprehensive.

Damnit...It was a blood-rushing mantra that was careening through her adrenalized veins, intimidatingly aware of the menacing prowess of his sashayed advances, a mechanized precision that hypnotically induced an electrified tenor of unwarranted dread in his marked prey. Brandishing deceptive readiness, Natasha dragged her boots to blindingly mirror the arcing-murderous precision of his combat knife that slashed a breadth over her shoulder, lithely Natasha angled her curvaceous form against oil drum at the breathless second his bionic arm explosively delivered a haymaker sweep with bestial-propelling momentum; his metallic fist cannoned sledgehammering force through dented steel with unhinged rabidness, grungily drenching her copper-auburn tresses with sludgy oil. "James..." she urged out, in terse pitch, chiding herself for not being armed with EMP taser disk."It's Natalia...I know you pulled Steve Rogers out of the river, you saved him, didn't you?

"Shut up!" He yelled. Her words registered but he willed himself to ignore them, telling himself this was some sort of trap and that soon she would be leading her comrades to him. They would imprison or kill him...and take away his precious litter. That thought burned him and he was consumed by the overwhelming need to protect what was more important to him than anything. He continued his relentless assault. Like a bull seeking to ram his prey, he charged and attempted to ram her against a box of shipping containers. She was graceful like a swan and leaped over him. Her legs wrapped around his head. A maneuver he was familiar with. He threw his weight back, causing both of them to topple over boxes and land hard on their sides. He didn't miss a beat over the fall and swung his fist towards her. She narrowly evaded him, causing his hand to puncture a crate. "You will not take me. You won't take them!"

Gripping onto a hinged variance of restraint, blurringly in a feverish rush, Natasha yanked the material of his threadbare hoodie chestnut wolfish tresses disheveledly curtained his stubbled jaw, her feverish cheeks as he gnashed his teeth against a throated snarl, ferally revealing a mutative length of canine incisors that alarmingly jutted undercurve his bloodied shapely-wide lips—a morphic possession that he couldn't stave down. A concussive strobe of white-heat bleared her vision, straining against a choke of breath, haphazardly, Natasha gazed back at the precious crate-he was viscerally attached to the distressed baby pups inside."Okay, that's interesting," she murmured, raspily, cobra-striking her lithe hand up to effectively seize his cybertronic arm-the rigged gravity of mercy was on a knife-edge. "What did Pierce do to you...?"

"What he did?!" He spat, feeling the aching pierce in his jaws that told him his canines were near to puncturing his gums and lips. He flicked his knife between his digits and made a charging upward swipe, managing to cut into her jacket, causing her to yell and attack with her own series of judo kicks. "Everything!" He cried. He had been unmade so many times over. His humanity and memories stripped from him. So much he didn't know, but that much to him was clear. He had no name. No family. No friends. All he had were the three pups crying out to him to come protect them. "Hydra took my identity, my freedom...my humanity!" He landed a punch across her stomach, causing her to gasp. She responded by swiping his legs out from under him, causing him to crash on his back, losing his knife. "Now you want to stop my mission...to protect my mission." Those pups were his only mission now, and he would not lose them.

Attuned to driving thrust of his robotic momentum arced to immobilize her into a destabilizing choke-hold in aggressive fruition as he remained locked into submission, with viperish speed, Natasha drove a hammer-strike precision of side kidney punch into tauten flesh his V-braced pelvis; a guttural roar achingly deafened out him as Natasha bodily staddled the athletic sleekness of her denim-clad thighs fluidly over bulkier-ridges of graven muscle chubbily bracketing a stockier heaviness of his garbed abdomen-a definite flex of protrusive strain bloatedly conveyed rampant-contractive urgency.

Against sweltry dampness of his unkempt tresses, his razored steel-aquamarine irises nakedly floored knifing heat that melded with stuporous desperation as he rackingly glanced down at the crate. "I'm guessing what's snug in here belongs to you?" she deduced in huskier pitch, ruefully, hearing the distressed volumes of hunger beckoningly amplify-the underground extensions of HYDRA's butcherous industry was fueled by an unslaked-infectious tantamount of spawning new breeds of compliance.

The vitality of resistance was amputated by sadistic methods of -psychological mania: electronic-convulsive tortures of being strapped into a mortified dentist chair while agonized-limbic- pulses forced memories into a catatonic drift. The Winter Soldier was a reactivated-brutish instrument of termination-a muzzled beast machine condemningly leashed under the merciless grip of his handlers. The scars of the Odessa bullet etched in her alabaster flesh was branded reckoning that she needed to evict, he pulled Steve out of the Platonic River with a measure of soldiery valiance. Maybe he was worth a chance of redemption. With an errant visage of trust, Natasha gestured her hand lithely towards his litter-babies. "Answer me this, are they your...sem'ya(Family)?"

Winter Soldier had not often been at the mercy of those he fought in the field. The brutal harsh training in the dregs of Russia had instilled in him an endurance that could only be beaten into a wild dog. His comrades that were on ice had been just as equally efficient as him, but they all lacked the experience and metal appendage that made him such a dangerous assassin. But now if they could see him, at the mercy of a Widow straddling his waist with his mission in jeopardy of undoing him. He was compromised-tampered with ever since Pierce had decided to turn him into an experiment for breeding hybrid super-soldiers.

"Yes. They are mine…" He finally admitted to the Widow's cool facade. Her teal eyes were hypnotic and spell-binding that he knew then just how dangerous it was for her to weave webs of seduction with them. He shifted his gaze uncomfortably, feeling a solemn absence from within as his thoughts carried him back to a night in Bavaria he had not forgotten. To an elusive feline that had stolen the other half of his heart and fled into obscurity. "They are all that's left of the man I was. They're apart of me...They need me." He grimaced and groaned at the twisting of his abdomen, feeling and dreading the sensation of his belly swelling. He needed them just as bad.

Keeping the delicate contours of her vixenishly sirenic features nonplussed, Natasha felt a neasous rush of heat mounting in his veins; a sloshing pulse of his swelled abdomen grew bloatedly tenser. Luckily they were in a backlit dead zone-the dockyard wasn't located in the grid of surveillance; General Thunderbolt Ross wouldn't be mobilizing a dispatched strike team without a breach from the video feeds. Dragging out a terse breath, Natasha shifted her collective gaze at the darkened warehouse-a disused stockpile of shipping parts-that would serve has their inventive advantage. "Okay..." she coolly murmured, easing herself off lycan Siberian assassin's bulkier form, as their shadowed gazes heatedly clashed with the stark rawness of clamorous urgency."Ready to play hide-seek, mal'chik-volk (wolf boy)?"

His confusion lasted a mere moment before he watched Widow turn and walk towards the darkened warehouse. Was this a ruse of some kind? He wondered if he should take his pups and flee while there was time. But that wasn't an option. The shipping vessel was their only way out of the country and he couldn't afford to miss that departure. Hesitantly he climbs to his feet and follows her into the warehouse, but not before bringing the box with him. He cradled it gently against his waist, murmuring sweet-nothings in Russian to soothe the fussy little furballs inside who were squirming with thirst. The warehouse was dim but the lights shining through the high-rise windows was enough to see their surroundings.

The Widow, Natalia stood facing him, watching him closely as he set his box aside and used his flesh covered digits to rub comforting circles into his baby pups. "Why are you here? How did you find me?" He asked her, unwilling to beat around the bush.

There was no ingenuous answer-the algorithmic program Insight had cripplingly demolished her practical safeguards-profitable information of SHEILD's hardware was being trafficked to the highest bidder with fixed interest. The coolness of her sterling arrow pendant was a token-a promise to keep her best friend-Clint-out of the inevitable crossfire with rogue SHIELD agents."Circumstances have shifted..." she murmured against gritted breath, watching his bionic hand splay a chaste graze of virile- tactile heat affectionately over the infant furry pudge-balls in soothing accord -a gracing touch of protective reverence. "...and now I'm looking over my shoulder just like you..."

"Like me?" The Soldier nearly scoffed at that. What little he knew about the Widow did not exclude the fact she was a renown hero with powerful friends backing her even with the collapse of SHIELD. He was an infamous myth made real and every government around the world would be after him once the details of his crimes were made clearer. He had no friends, no one to rely upon to see him through this. "You know too little about me. But I know you...Natalia." The name-that name. It resurfaced some memories he didn't know he still had, and made him realize where he had seen her before. "You were trained to kill your enemies. If there is anyone who you had cause to take revenge, it would be me. ...Why haven't you?"

He was one of the men who trained her in the Red Room until his handler Karpov put him back on ice. Severing the bond they were forging as mentor and student. He taught her to never hesitate when her target was in sights. How much had she changed? He put two bullets into her over their many encounters. Anyone else would have taken retribution.

Every pulse of traitorous resistance was contrasted against the crimson silhouettes of the Widow operative ranks; every orphaned ballerina-little swan- was surgically weaponized to tragically mature into combative-lethal sirens of incarnate bloodlines. The mansion estate fringed with black pines of Novgorod, Russia was a gladiatorial arena conducted by a power-mongering Lubyanka general- Vasily Karpov- who brutishly exposed verminous -defective weaknesses in his elite ranks, deadening echoes of mercy with paralytic shunts of nitrogen-solidifying bones into unbreakable granite. 'My nikogda ne lomayemsya (We never break)'...'

Little Natalia Romanova was discarded like an ineffective stray-betrayed by her adoptive father Ivan Petrovich when he traded her virginal innocence to demonic watchdogs of the Red Room; they butchered her to dance to the symphonic-dynamical cadence of a venomous seduction-a- morbid concerto of Tchaikovsky's swan lake-programmed sterilization. Those balletic-harmonic rigors of elegant graces weren't for staged performances at the Bolshoi. She was trying to purge out the demons that marked her 'red' ledger; all evidence of her blood-soaked -unforgivable past was digitalized to public viewing because of that shyster Alexander Pierce -she was now a rogue deviant, cut off the deceitful threads.

With her Glock holstered against the tone-suppleness of her back, Natasha understood the grounds of phantom trust always wavered, the grip of tension was rigged on high-voltage, she wouldn't disarm her resolve; on the snowy mountain ridges of Odessa. She betrayed her on instinctive-mechanical vigilance when she received the 'greenlight' protocol to escort a high-priority target for SHEILD's interest-a HYDRA convoy obstructed that mission-hailstorm staccatos of lethal-surgical precision delivered a gut-shot throb of white-heat in her lower abdomen-a paralyzing apparition of point-blank mercy for her to bleed out. 'Ty poshchadil, malen'kiy pauk ...(You're spared, little spider)'

"I know when the pull back the trigger," Natasha murmured in a thready pitch, a subtle quirk played over her voluminous lips as she fixedly gazed at the fussy baby pups. "Now I'm trying to keep a very effective promise that I can do the right thing..."

He didn't question for details. Not when the swelling in his stomach had become a gut-piercing discomfort that made him noticeably grimace. He couldn't put off the irrepressible need that came with his new form. "I have to…I have to…" He arched forward and held his stomach, stifling the groan of pain but unable to mask the rumbling bellow of his stomach to his curious observer. "I have to get out of America. Take them far from here…" The last bit of his resistance towards the Widow had evaporated and now he was looking at her with beseeching eyes, begging for aid he could not expect her to give. "I thought I could do this alone, but-" And then he tumbled forward, dropping onto all fours as he felt his skin crawl with something feral underneath ready to break free.

Bracing his atrophied weight into a planking stance over cement against penetrative-deadened traction possessing his virile-enhanced resilience, vertiginously underneath his tactical fatigues, the tautened-corded sleekness of his muscled-heavier thighs bulkily flexed with athletic torque as he became paralyzingly grappled into drags of a morphic fringe. Angling his head down shaggily his wolfish tresses hung grungily askew over his temples as his sensuous-bow lips widened agape; jutted extension of his incisor fangs curved with a predatory edge. In that breathless-alarmed wake of rampant confusion, as she painstakingly reeled back in conscious footing near a garage door, Natasha owlishly gazed at the pointed curves of his ears furrily sharpening into outstretched-bestial length as his throaty pants became gutturally coupled with quivery-ragged breaths."Vernis' (Get back)..." he choked out in Russian timbre, slurringly, tucked his cybernetic arm over the ballooning rotundity of his pudgier mid-drift-he was gruelingly plumping up as the whimpering cries of the baby pups grew heart-breakingly distressed. "Please you gotta...Arghh..."

His words had transitioned into a guttural growl that was animalistic-inhuman. The walls seemed to echo and shake in the midst of the intense spectacle that had Natasha watching with incredulity. She wasn't scared, not after witnessing such things as the Bruce Banner turning into the Hulk. But she was stunned by this unexpected variable that introduced itself with the Winter Soldier. His body began to shift and change before her very eyes. Bulking muscles of human athleticism were now covered with patches of growing fur that spread across his body like wildfire. His appendages bent and twisted, causing a sickening snap to be heard and a howl to escape his lips.

No longer bipedal but quadrupedal in his posture that resembled a wild animal. His steel blue eyes opened, and shimmered like a silvery moon in the darkness. His bared canines extended likes blades being unsheathed from their scabbards, glistening with drool. Moments passed and James Bucky Barnes-The Winter Soldier-was gone before her eyes. All that remained as an overgrown Siberian wolf laying exhausted on his side-spent of energy.

As her tactical instincts hastily steered her towards a garage door in urgent succession, Natasha haphazardly reached for a power control box, hammering her fist with bruising momentum into a button that automatically lowered the metal door. The nauseous of the rank of milk fluid wafted smellily off the taut swollenness chestnut-furred alpha's bloated girth. Rearing his canine off exhaustingly off a heap of his torn sweater, readily James shifted a massive hind paw, exposing his underbelly as one of the sightless baby pups raised her tinier head against the crate's edge, adorably whimpering for her-Daddy in squeaky pitch. "Do you trust me enough to bring them to you..." she urged, convincingly, feverous tension between them was skyrocketing to overdrive-propelling her into a chimeric throe."We both know how this plays out, right?"

"N-Need help…" Was all he managed to whine out. He didn't know if she could understand him in this form. His exhaustion prevented him from being more expressive in his speech and he was reduced to a weakened mess while his baby-pups cried out for him. His sight was blurry, but he could make out the distinguishable shape of Natalia standing close to him-close to his babies. His fight with her had taken what remained of his strength to endure the transformation, and now he had no choice but to trust her help that she now offered.

"B-Bring them…" He whined. His tongue hung loosely from his opened jaw, and the rise and fall of his belly felt like a crushing weight being pressed against him with each breath he took. He needed to release and nourish his off-spring.

The unwarranted barrage of detonative urgency was fused like a powder-keg, scrunching her nose against the vomitous reek glozing out of him, tactilely with evident swiftness of her cautious delicacy, Natasha vigilantly crouched a breadth near the crate with tentative ease, the smokiness of her grayish-teal irises roved over the dozy bundle of pudgy infant wolf pups fussily nestled over tactical kevlar of the Winter Soldier's jacket. The infant pups were heart-arrestingly precious within the cushioned snugness of their box; enchantingly adorned with cindery-chestnut downy fur as their clawed-paws furrily twitched on the blinded accord. "Well, that's kinda cute-" she quipped, jauntily under breath; driven by viscerous tenor of gentleness, she reached down to cradle a pup while kneading a featherlight caress of her gloved fingers over a shivering girl pup as her tinier snubbed muzzle nudged her palm. "It's okay malen'kaya milaya (little sweetheart), your safe with me..."

As the transformed soldier listened to Romanova's voice soothe his infant, he felt whatever lingering apprehension he still felt over this situation begin to fade. His weary eyes watched as she brought the youngest of his litter, Madison, over to him, with a gentleness he never would have expected from hands so used to wielding the cold grip of a pistol. Then again, he was not one to judge, given his own bloody history. "Spasibo (Thank you)." He rumbled to her as she set Madison down next to his swollen belly. Almost instantly he felt the gentle nipping and tugging that was uncomfortable at first but almost immediately, it paved the way for relief.

"The others, bring them too," he urged. His infant was feeding herself and Natalia didn't miss a beat as she wandered over to the box to retrieve his the eldest of his off-spring-the twins who entered the world at the same time.

Racking distress clashed tremored against her leather-clad arms, the pudgier male thrashed feistily against the voluptuous swell of her breasts, Natasha unerringly angled lithe contours of her forearm, as she cradled the daintier-tremulous female pup as she lowered to the canine alpha's grounded level. The luminous-voltaic sapphire of his irises glacially flashed banking menace as she consciously breached the heavier proximity of his exposed girth, shifting his twin pups against the milk-drench fur where the littlest of his litter suckled down hungrily."So I'm figuring that you've been hiding these furballs since Pierce cut you loose..." she coolly breathed, arching up an eyebrow, as she half-smirked, cannily. "He exchanged their lives for you to stop Rogers from deactivating Project Insight, he tugged on the right thread..."

"He wanted an army. He wanted a better leash to control me at the same time." The mention of Pierce triggered an onrush of anger inside of him. He let it fade away just as soon as it passed through him, knowing his litter could sense were so attuned to him, they could sense any negative energy he would be feeling. He murmured with a groggy tone as she set down both Aurora and Brennen beside Madison. The twins wasted no time and joined their youngest sibling in nourishing themselves. A pinch of pain shot through him by the roughness of his only boy who he reckoned would be a handful as he grew up. Paternal intuition, he believed.

Giving birth to a litter of pups was something he believed next to impossible, but now he began to understand much about it over the past few months since they escaped Hydra surveillance. After pulling the Captain...Steve...from the Potomac River, the Soldier knew Pierce was finished. His only thought was getting back to the safe-house and collecting his pups from the men Pierce had guarding them. They'd been on the run ever since.

"He's gone now. But Hydra is still out there...I went to the museum for answers...That man, Steve...He called me "Bucky"." It felt like a question and not a comment. He looked to Natalia for any hint of recognition. She wore her mask well enough to disguise any answer.

The murmurous croakiness of his gravelly timbre left her warringly reluctant to answer as soul-gripping tension electrified her into an unwarranted deadlock; without breaking her impassive poise, flintily Natasha downcasted a steeled glance her backpack -a reachable vessel of collected secrets that she had attained with decryption-hacking skills of HYDRA's encoded-corrupted database. "Names and faces are pretty much what to expect when you break out of amnesic fringe...They're what you can't push away when you finally wake up..." she whispered, regretfully. "The poster boy-Steve Rogers- who you fought on the Helicarrier wasn't pulling a stunt, he gave up everything to pull you off Pierce's control switch..."

"And I almost killed him…" He felt remorse. It was a surprising feeling that hadn't come to him quite often when he walked on two feet. Remnants of his programming still lingered-the cold indifference to human life. Sentiment. Detachment. He was a machine whose only instinct was to execute and obey. That all began changing when that man-Steve-entered his crosshairs and called him that name that felt so familiar. But Steve had never tried to retaliate except out of self-defense, he never tried to kill him. He wanted to help him.

The Soldier never realized that. But the Wolf was affected-the Wolf felt something humane. Perhaps it had to do with the trio of furballs that touched his stagnant heart in a way he had never experienced before. "Is he looking for me?" He asked Natalia, wincing as he felt Brennen tug harshly after finishing.

"It's complicated," Natasha answered in brusque pitch, back at the Maryland cemetery, she had delivered Steve the classified 'eyes only' Soviet personnel dossier file labeled: NO 17 -James Buchanan Barnes from SHIELD vault records, grainy black-white photos of boyishly handsome GI soldier was clipped over Cyrillic notes handwritten by Armin Zola that contained lab results of a cryogenic experiment—relevant information would come with an infinite-grievous price. That ignited choice of direction would damnably usher a cavalcade reckoning of HYDRA demons-a new threat was always composed in the shadows.

Nonchalantly bracing the curvaceous svelteness of her crouched form, with disarmed precision, Natasha splayed her leather-sheathed palm deftly over velvet-like mahogany fur of the dwarfed female pup who clingily nuzzled her delicate muzzle into the sniper wolf's undercoat, as he tautly scrunched up his long muzzle, raggedly emitting throaty groans another onrush of uncurbed hunger as the chubbiest of the litter-the male- greedily nipped with pinching force over his damp fur."Now with your furry makeover, I'm not sure if you want Rogers to find you...?" she deadpanned, snarkily.

"Its too dangerous to be around me." He visibly deflates as his wolfish ears fall low. It was difficult to mask his emotions in this form that was more visceral than his human body. It was like being attuned to nature itself and nature never holds back. "I'll have the biggest target on my back. Unless I can disappear, I'll always be looking over my shoulder." It wasn't the life he wanted for himself-for his children who were born into this world to be used as tools-as weapons. Even if Hydra were on the run, it didn't mean others wouldn't be interested in the fruits of their labor. The thought made him both frightened and angry.

"Vse budet khorosho (Its going to be all right)." He murmured into the downy-scented fur of his off-spring as they curled and snuggled deeper into his warm side to hide themselves. He would kill anyone and anything that tried to take them from him. He could feel the Widow's eyes on him and met her stare evenly. "I know I have wronged you, Natalia. ...But I need your help."

For a tactive moment of unstinted attachment-sentiment- Natasha riskily graced her palm over his silvered frontal paw, accepting the call of her unexpected mission. The arcane networks of surveillance grids had marked the Black Widow down as a relevant target of interest—the dockyards would be compromised by sanctioned orders of dispatched STRIKE team. Harnessing up steeled poise, guardedly Natasha recognized his teeming urgency-the starkness of visceral need felt calibrated; rampantly she gazed into his grayish-aquamarine irises that mesmerically slivered alight with lucent intensity-whitish sapphire melding into bestial heat. She was undeviatingly aware of the resurgence of invincible -soldiery valiance-Brooklyn spirit- that clamorously rode through his bulkier canine form.

"I'm not someone to trust on the sidelines,mal'chik-volk (wolf boy), but your little furballs are hard to pass off...she murmured in throatier pitch, raspily, the smokiness of her teal depths fixed a trenchant cast over the enchantingly adorable baby pups cozily wedged against the jutted length of his girth-they weren't disposable-trade-off- leverage in the mordacious HYDRA crosshairs, they deserved a chance to embrace daybreak. Conveying a semblance of vestigial trust, she half-quirked the plushier swell of her voluminous lips into a coquettish smirk, blithely."So I guess this means you're bunking with me...?"

An hour later, the container freight bound for a key-port in France began to ferry its way out from the harbor with all 300 passengers and crew docked. If any of the passengers or crew were suspicious about how a radiant young woman, traveling alone, managed to get approval to bring on a caged Siberian wolf, none of them showed it. The few that did notice the peculiar scene were immediately apprehensive with the thought of traveling with a wild predator onboard. Together Natasha and Bucky stood near the guard-rail on the stern side of the ship as the departure horn rang out. They watched as the Washington harbor shrank further and further away from them. They had left behind one battle-field and were on their way to the next.

Cascading tonnage of goliathan waves deafeningly barraged against the cargo ship's hull, within the isolated ambiance of a bunking cabin, braced against a rickey-framed mattress, vertiginously in a blearing reaction, Natasha gripped onto a blanket half-draped over the lithe contours of her denim-clad thighs. After boarding the outbound freighter, with a practicable charade of sire-like persuasion-didn't require a combative shuffle of acrobatic-honed graces that she balletically performed in the engine room ofthe HYDRA-compromised Lemurian Star, Natasha was voluntarily given the moderate excess to utilize a storage cabin as her voyaging refuge.

Quashing down a flintier chagrin of existing like a stowaway fugitive without harboring a lank slate contingency, Natasha vexedly evicted the hinged impulse to contact Agent Clint Barton by the ship's radio transmission-to station a rendezvous point of location in Prague; knowing that after she condemningly breached the uplinked encrypted files-his retired identity was jeopardized; how many conditioned-genetically enhanced Sleeper Agents under Vasily Karpov's cold-blooded ranks were now activated on civilian ground. She had no more cards to deck out.

After squeezing her damp-tousled copper tresses knottily with a towel, Natasha had stealthily gathered vending-machine packets of Doritos, bottles of water and peanut butter-infused Nature Valley bars—enough to sustain a bulked-out nursing wolf's unquenchable-vexatious appetite.

Inadvertently sitting on the floor of the cabin, through her mechanisms of distrust, Natasha listened to whimpery -babyish squeaks emitting crankily from the sightless pups, Natasha fixed all her attentive focus on the babies cushily nestled against the slumbering PSTD chestnut-furred sniper wolf's bushy tail while he was slackly laden on his side- groggily captive in deep-seat thralls of unstaunched exhaustion. James Barnes was no longer anesthetized to the deadened frequency of infectious static that devastatingly pulsed from the soul-razing tentacles of HYDRA.

Removing a package of Doritos out of her backpack stash, Natasha effectively popped the bag open as the powder-cheesy aroma potently sailed through the dense air, evoking her furred bunkmate-HYDRA's mechanized ghost operative- to noncommittally release a throaty gnarl as he muzzily shifted his deadweight over a makeshift nest of cloth tarps, viscerally aware of his baby pups dozily nestled against his swelled girth."Well, you must be hungry, given how much the little pudge-balls pack in, huh?" she coaxed out, huskily in a snarkier undertone, holding up a chip with tantalizing ease."Nothing fancy, since we don't have that luxury on this free-pass cruise..."

The wafting aroma of the tasty snack almost had the wolf drooling with an unabashed hunger that had been steadily growing for hours since their voyage had begun. To ignore the tell-tale pinching of discomfort, Bucky...He now thought of himself as Bucky-it felt right to for some reason. To ignore his hunger, he had gotten some much-needed rest to regenerate his strength. He had been on the run for weeks with his infant furballs, rarely sleeping, rarely eating. There was also the fight he had endured with Natalia at the docks which only served to heighten his already ravenous state of need. He sniffed and growled lowly as he took in the sight of the triangle-shaped chip that dangled in front of him.

"I've gotten by with far-less." He raises his snout and plucks the cheesy chip into his mouth, savoring the vivid taste that left only hungry for more. He didn't ask. He was far too set in wish to not be an inconvenience to his unlikely companion who helped him board this freighter. But it appeared Natalia had other ideas as she promptly dumped the rest of the bag of chips onto surface in front of him. "You're being too generous with me, Natalia. ...Thank you." He spent the next few minutes finishing off the cheesy chips that softened the hunger in his gut. She said nothing the entire time as she lounged back in deep thought, her only movements being the periodic bites she took from her nutrition bar.

The only sounds he could hear where the distant roars of the tides and the chattering of crew members and passengers moving outside their cabin. Their cabin for the most part was spacious enough for only one person with a single cot, chair and night-stand. But it was also big enough for someone to allow their pet to stay in as well. How convenient for him, despite having to sleep on the thin carpet on the floor. He wasn't about to complain, he really did have to survive with far-less in the past.

"How long do you think this trip will be?" He finally asked her once the silence began to become awkward-at least for him.

With an inscrutable flit of her grayish-teal irises, Natasha was underlyingly aware of the predatory heat radiating off the ensorcelled assassin-the Winter Soldier's beastlier hard-edged muscles—a revamped ferocity that wouldn't be contained in the morphic dregs of bestial fusion. Ghostlily echoes of their unforgiving past throbbingly raked over the bullet-scarred flesh of her leather garbed abdomen, like the surgical-driven precision of a Red Room scalpel, irrevocably cutting her deep. 'Ty ne mozhesh' bezhat' vechno, malen'kaya Natal'ya (You can't run forever, little Natalia)...'

Against feigned rapt of tenser vigilance, as she felt the carbon steel of her Glock against her booted calf, Natasha unmovingly became electrified in compromised tenfold, as her palm reactively splayed over her curvaceous side-another grievous callback of her underscored vendettas. She to foster onto a 'no-strings' attached reality-a pave a new road of salvation before 'teammates' close to vest became dead reckonings on her ledger. "If everything holds out we'll be docking at Port de Grenelle in three days...Tops, " she murmured in gritted pitch, offishly, as the baby pups squeaked demandingly in hungered unison.

Coolly she quirked up an eyebrow, registering the hefty sniper wolf's disgruntled moan, his canine muzzle stretched grimacingly wide against feverish panting of shuddery breaths, as heavier-intensified barrages of milk- sloshing contractions; nothing availed to his effusive resistance. "Hold on," she urged, placidly, watching his furred brow aggressively pinch while she clutched a frayed edge of a blanket to drape over his jutted underbelly-he needed a grounded semblance of privacy. The frosted aquamarine of his depths stormily lanced knife-point intensity, contrasting against his slitted pupils-he was in protective-mode, defensively aware of the vulnerability of his pups-also the convenient security of Natasha's untampered proximity. "Don't get used to my charitable tactics," she retorted, pointedly. "I'm only playing nice because of your cute furballs..."

The mention of his pups brought about a warm feeling within the Siberian wolf whose life had changed drastically over the past several months. Life as a Hydra instrument of death was no life at all. It was empty and cold, giving him no cause to think and feel anything beyond the orders he was given and the pain of injuries he would endure. But then Pierce decided to play god. To try and create something fierce and undeniably vicious to give Hydra an advantage over the super-powered heroes that were emerging in the world. Through his blood and genetics, three wolfish off-springs were born.

The moment they entered the world, something inside of the Soldier had shifted-the the manacles that bound him to Hydra's will had shattered irrevocably as his eyes first set sight on the three impossibly small life-forms that were birthed from his wolfish body. He had become not a 'soldat', but 'otets'-a father.

"I think they like you." He said after a moment of deep thought. It would have seen like a polite compliment just for the sake of levity, but it didn't occur to him until now just how much at ease his pups were around the redhead Avenger. Over the past few weeks, they trembled in their boxed-bed he kept them while around strangers. It was only his presence that soothed them. But around Natasha, they were calm-relaxed. It made him develop a new appreciation for his old-time student and former rival.

The feathering drift of her lithe fingers over satiny-velvet fur hushedly captured that instinctive awareness in that addictive breach of connective heat with the smallest of his restless litter; a wonderous fusion that she couldn't ride out. The ephemeral—chaste pressure irrevocably fused a soul-branding revelation—the murderously deceptive siren-the Black Widow conceived out of the Red Room stowed a heartbeat underneath hardcore layers granite.

Drags of unredeemable memories screechingly crescendoed a hellish volume of a damning pandemonium—innocent ghosts of orphans that morphed into banshees-a ghoulish requiem of symphonic-macabre vengeance. Blood always had a price. "I'm not good with kids..." she admitted, harshly in a condemning breath, wrenching her hand back from the squeaking pup as if her caress was poisonous. "If you peek at my file, you'll see a video link that SHIELD buried..." A straining tightness flexed evidently over her delicate jaw. "I guess it wasn't deep enough..."

"We both have a dark past. I am not one to judge." He uttered. There was much about his former life as James Bucky Barnes that he didn't remember. But the screams of death he invoked haunted his dreams like wailing ghosts. He remembered every life he took, innocent and guilty. It took insurmountable strength for him to not succumb to his guilt that begged him to sink into self-destruction. He held on. The three pups, two who were now curled beneath him, gave him newfound life and purpose. The third of his litter, the youngest had drifted and rolled closer towards the redhead who still looked torn.

"Go on. ...I trust you, Natasha." He urged her to give into her greater inclination to pick up young Madison, and not allow the cold darkness of her past to rob her of a newfound connection.

"You sure about this...?" A tenous raze of warred hesitance electrifyingly deadened her in those rigged seconds of genuine, full-measured trust, the young-exhausted- alpha painstakingly nudged his baby girl with an affectionate variance of cherishing reverence, urging the determined pup to stumblingly wobble closer to her opened reach. A euphonious fringe of hope quenched out the infective blood of her slaughterous-unforgiving past of being a penetration Widow operative-a battle-tested marionette of seductive charades who had her strings broken when Clint Barton's hawk-precision arrow tore into her sterilized reality. He violated his 'green-light' orders -staking down a compromised price with the dynamical exception of friendship-humanity. She had Fury-Steve Rogers, but Clint was always a callback of a heartbeat if she fell too deep.

A feverous rush cravingly answered that beckoning cadence of whisper-soft acceptance he tellingly conveyed with a broader-fanged smirk, readily, Natasha shaped her palm over Madison's daintier-angelic form, adoringly cradling the infant pup against her leather-garb chest with a contrasted tracery of pacifying heat as she angled her forearm, just enough to breathlessly watch tiny canine eyes flit open to squinty reveal decadent brandy irises that heart-stealingly gleamed with rebellious vibrancy -thievish fire. "krasotka( beautiful girl)..." she murmured whisperingly, in Russian timbre, accelerated-joyous- euphoria pulsed infectiously within the cabin, as the baby pup squeaked in melodious pitch, snuggling comfily as she glanced up at the blank-faced amazement tearily alight in her Daddy's cool -unblinking-aqueous depths."Vy lyubimy, malyshka(You are loved, little sweetheart)..."

Bucky's surprise at little Madison finally opening her eyes was matched by the shock he felt as Aurora and Brennen had begun to do just the same. It was subtle at first-a wrinkling of their snouts as their eyelids squinted in their shut-state. "Eto normal'no (Its okay)..." he rumbled while nuzzling their tiny paws and kissing them. A moment passed and then their beady eyes finally opened beneath his tender gaze. A vivid shade of blue, full of youthful innocence and confusion, it was a precious thing he vowed to love and protect. "Hello, little guys. Daddy's been waitin' for you."

Their paws flayed and tapped against his shoulder as if they were being begged to be picked up. It was a tender moment that was unlike any he'd experienced before, and Bucky could not help but grin with delight. His chestnut furred tail wagged and his eyes softened to a dim but lively shade of blue. "Good to see you too."

The boyish drawl of his roughen-timbre croakily breached her passive demeanor, as she delicately cradled little Madison against her leather jacket, Natasha felt neutralized by the dosage of hope-redemption this unabandoned connection-nexus had injected her; nothing flatlined between them. With a cautious flit of her grayish-teal irises, she gazed sidelong at the emotionally-compromised alpha-a Soviet beast machine who agonizingly outlasted HYDRA's traumatic-electrified raids of mind-butchering amnesia. A white-noise of concessive static of Zola's nightmarish-surgical hardware that deadened out his tenacious resistance, mutating cavalcades of his dispatched targets' faces into bloodied apparitions under his sniper-vision-mechanicalized wraith of the Sleeper ranks wasn't damaged goods...He broke out of the kill-switch programming because he was granted a new mission-relevance of daybreak.

"Get some rest..." Natasha urged, instructively, easing down the dozy mahogany-furred pup tentatively against his massive silvered forepaw. "I have a raincheck with a peanut butter sandwich..." A devious smirk naughtily quirked up her plushier crimson lips. "Can't let those fellas' out there be disappointed..."

Bucharest, Romania...

As the nectarous scents wafted off displays of crated fruit that were invitingly stacked in tented vendors; the market-bazaar plaza contrasted functionally against Brâncovenesc environs of 17-century Baroque-Romanesque style that became monolithic landmarks of post-revolution architecture; castellated Saxon cathedrals were gothically ornamented with iron spires-the Byzantine valance of conquered imperialism became a historic entity of brickwork terracotta and marble. It had been a caliginous province of survival, but now maddeningly congested with throngs of stink-faced vacationists that barricaded Romanian merchant stations.

Harnessing the instinctive usage of her tactical caliber, readily Natasha evaded sideswiping bicyclists as she purchased a traditional bakeshop dessert-Gogoși- spongy dough balls that were sugarily infused with cinnamon and vanilla; the only digestible pastry that slaked the nursing sniper-wolf's onerous-uncurbed- appetite. She wouldn't become grappled into the domesticity of cyclic errand-runs; against warred vulnerability, everything felt artificial as if compromised reality would betray her again. She needed to complete the mission of securing an undetectable-off-grid- safe house for the baby pups.

Gripping onto the hefty paper bag of her gathered rations, as her iPhone chimed a reminder text of the next 'feeding time' hour, Natasha shifted the observant periphery of her grayish-teal irises unwaveringly at a newspaper vendor with unfeigned awareness before she vexatiously reached the crosswalk-underground installations of traffickers had tantamount of auctioning trade-off breeds-wolf pups were stacked as highly valuable in the Eastern European industry in the shadow zones. The seedier governmental dynamos of the World Council had the Avengers fixed on their chessboards-every counter- move was rigged. Warranted measures of trust felt compromised-she had to remain unbreakable against the play of adaptable contingency.

Riskily, Natasha paced towards a high-point apartment building where the beastlier Siberian wolf used for a makeshift nursing den."He better not be complaining this time..." she quipped under terse breath, raspily, glancing down at her mobile screen at the blank message box that she labeled-Rogers. The First Avenger—the paragon Adions of liberty was more than an expandable-relevant dance partner that Fury had selected after the galactic invasion of the planet-ravaging Chitauri, Steve became a visceral heartbeat of chaste friendship—someone who had her back when the precision of betrayal shadow-crossed her—she couldn't; go all decent on him. "Everything needs to stay close to vest..."

Within the warm sanctity of the immaculate though quite dull safe-house, a different turmoil was constantly increasing in the face of an agitated predator glaring at a target marked for termination. Four paws ground into the rug of the living room, muscles tensed with burning ire as the fur on his body rose on end with anticipation. His target marked for termination, the high-definition tv that was left on when Natasha had left the apartment. His redheaded companion, in her infinite wisdom, had left the channel on a late-night BBC talk-show, where he had to listen to some irreverent idiot ramble on celebrity gossip and the state of the Avengers who were viewed as both heroes and sensationalized idols.

The one called Steve-the Captain-was a source of admiration and bizarre fawning over countless worldwide who romanticized him and members of his team. The wolf smacked his paw repeatedly on the remote control but lacked the precision to hit those tiny human-sized buttons. "I hate television," he growled as he picked up the remote between his teeth and chucked it at the screen, hoping that would offer some bit of satisfaction.

Controlling the hesitation flex of her lithe fingers that ghosted over the doorknob, edgily Natasha stepped into the darkened ambiance of the slummy apartment, faded sheets of newspapers were grimily taped over windows as a ratty cushioned sofa tactically obstructed a cornered kitchen-every measure of the dank space was enforced to become utilized if unwelcomed company-dispatched HYDRA operatives coordinately breached their undetected proximity.

Catching a potent whiff of milky fluid and drenched blankets stuffily enwreathing the air, reactively Natasha scrunched up her nose against the vomitous stench that went fabric-deep. Knowingly, she fixed her grayish-teal irises on the dismantled remote as batteries rolled on the carpeting-an obvious sign of the beasty wolf's powder-keg vexations. "Nothing good on...?" she teased in brisk pitch, easing down the 'doggie' treat bag on a dresser, gazing at the bulkier-canine shadow imposingly braced against the couch."I'm starting to think you need a better playlist..." She feigned back a telltale grimace as the reeking muskiness of his shaggier fur raunchily penetrated her nose. "Maybe a shower to cool down..."

Natasha's entrance had calmed Bucky's ire if only enough for him to merely snarl at her sassy quips to his clearly annoyed state rather than bark up a storm. "Took you long enough." He grumbled under his breath, grimacing at the lancing shot of discomfort surging throughout his body that made him softly whine. The hunger cramps were growing more constant ever since they had arrived here weeks ago. Natasha had explained to him that as a nursing alpha, he had a bigger appetite that needed to be sated to sustain not only him but his three pups who depended on him. The thought of his litter caused him to shoot a glance at the small box they were kept in at the corner of the room surrounded by blankets. They were sleeping soundly since the afternoon but Bucky knew any minute now they would awaken and be in a fussy-and hungry mood.

The thought made him realize what Natasha had mentioned and he gazed down at the dried milky stains on his fur and could only imagine how badly he reeked right now. "Later." He grumbled as he watched her set her keys down on the nightstand. "Did you get anything?" He asked, feeling his stomach twist again with hunger.

Opening up the paper bag, Natasha brusquely smirked as the cinnamony scent of doughed pastries temptingly elicited the moody Siberian wolf to droolingly jutted out his canine muzzle a breadth from her nonchalant position-he was driven by the accelerated onrush of stuporous hunger. Shifting his chubbier mass on his massive paws, clunkily against feverish grogginess, James paced his intimidating-predatory momentum closer as Natasha coaxingly leveled an open-handed gesture from him to swipe off a Gogoși at the palatable second his whiskered muzzle raptly grazed over her palm. The razored length of his barred incisor fangs consciously poised with knifepoint tension over her exposed wrist; it became a play of blinded trust-any betraying movement of distrust would retrigger unhinged impulses of his bestial viciousness. "Don't get used to these daily snack-runs, next time you're going out..." she addressed against huskier drags of breath, snarkily. "Unless you can't fit through that door, which might likely happen in a few days..."

"Very funny," Bucky grumbled as he wolfishly devoured the succulent treat with ravenous hunger. His tongue lapped up the scattered crumbs, uneager to let a single one go to waste in his increased state of craving. He was ignorant to the fact his tail was wagging in his excited state of bliss until he noticed the amused smirk on his companion's face which prompted him to forcibly calm his exhilaration. "Don't start," he shrugged as he turned and padded his way across the floor towards the make-shift bed he set up for his litter near the couch. The wafting smell of cinnamon and milk was intense as he watched his sleeping litter cuddled close to one another, absorbed in the warmth of each other's proximity and the safety his shadow offered them. An intense of feeling of protectiveness and worry gripped the Siberian wolf as he watched them-feared for them.

"Did anything go wrong out there?" he growled softly in Natasha's direction as she reclined on the couch. The worry of her being followed always weighed on him each time she left the apartment.

"I wasn't multitasking if you want to know, wolf boy..." Natasha quipped trenchantly, as the graveled-timbre of his roughened drawl exhaustingly conveyed tempered -defensive urgency; Natasha was aware of the jacked-up tension suffusing through him as ragged gusts of panty breaths amplified with contractive onslaughts of milk-sloshing throbs. Aggressively, the chestnut-furred alpha gnashed his incisor fangs in distressed accord-hinging down his floored panic-an instinctive extent of visceral protectiveness that he couldn't ride out. In feral tenor as the puppyish squeaks of his dozing baby pups hungrily beckoned for him, growlingly, James steered his whitish-sapphire orbs unwaveringly at the closed door-this was his den-site. "Besides I think you'll be busy tonight to even care..."

"Can't sleep. Something about this city…" His features became pensive in the face of an unexplainable feeling of dread that entered his body the moment they entered this city. Whether it was paranoia gripping his discipline or some precognitive sense that came with the nature of being a wolf, he couldn't say. But one thing Bucky felt certain was that he didn't want to stay here for too long. Hydra might be on the run after the fall of SHIELD that shone a light on the shadow organization and all its puppets that were controlled by it. He and his pups might be safe from the world at large, but there were still those out there who knew the truth about what he had become. "It feels familiar," he finally admitted to the assassin who had waited patiently for him to finish his thought. Padding over towards the couch, he gazed up at her with deep glowing eyes that didn't phase her in the least; something he appreciated.

"Have I been here before?" He wondered aloud. There was so much he couldn't remember. The faded images he saw in his dreams were of a different man-a different life. They didn't reveal the darker aspects of the Soldier and those unfortunate to have crossed his path. The Widow-Natalia-she knew more about him than he did himself.

The enmeshed-conventional weaves of SHIELD's paranoid deception were intricate by the evasive designs that Alexander Pierce two-facedly constructed in the operative STRIKE ranks of penetration espionage: Agent Clay Quartermaine was a jackbooted deviation-a showcasing protege of stern-faced Maria Hill who had been stationed in Romania after decoded encryptions of HYDRA viper nests were marked on governmental surveillance installations. Nothing was protocol.

The infiltration mission-an extension of Project Paperclip was compromised as the dossier file that Clint Barton had stealthily obtained for Fury revealed gruesome-concrete details- an underground division of genetic extremist butchers-A.I.M- had surgically mutated Agent Quartermaine into a monstrous crossbreed of lycan visage-a disposable-tragic asset to gain HYDRA attention of experimental network. An infusion of Gemma radioactivity was detected in the salvaged blood samples-it was a chimerical harbinger of weaponized -sadistic deviance of conceiving meta-humans.

"There was a file with recorded evidence that one of SHIELD's top agents was retired by an untraceable Soviet slug, a clean headshot...No mess for SHIELD's janitors to swipe down ." Natasha murmured in hitching cadence, grimly, flitting her steeled gaze at the amnesic sniper-wolf as he impassively hankered in a low- crouch, evident sway of his bushy tail conveyed stoking aggression-she was definitely wading through uncharted waters. Registering his breathy pants, coolly Natasha tossed another dough ball at his silvered fore-paw with distractive precision as he scowlingly gnashed his incisor fangs with a derisive snarl . "What I know is that Pierce had sanctioned that kill-order behind Fury's back..."

He should've known better than to ask, but every image, every memory fragment that came to his thoughts over the past 70 years was tied to death and destruction. Whatever memories that resurfaced were of a cold, emotionless weapon executing Hydra's will. The realization made the wolf feel despondent that there was perhaps nothing good to have come from his life-time other than the three little napping furballs that came from him. And her… The memory of an elusive kitten stealing away into the night was becoming dimmer like a candle flickering out. "So many are dead because of me-so many lives ruined." He whined as he rested his chin onto the floor, tucked over his paws.

The deceased agent she described wasn't someone he could remember, but the feelings this place evoked was one rooted in horror and tragedy. "Do you believe redemption is possible for those like us?" He was surprised at himself by asking. The Soldier didn't care for sentiment and self-righteousness, but the man who used to be James Barnes yearned for it. "Those trained to kill and execute orders? Or are we to be forever haunted by our crimes-our sins..."

The inevitable question wasn't avoidable-every grip of reality was corrupted as she became a defective-traitorous fugitive of her blood-smeared past; after deactivating the algorithmic safeguards of the Project Insight in front of the megalomanic World Council; Natasha released all decoded ciphers-locations of 'spider holes' that parasitic inheritors of SHIELD tried to clear the board with blank-slate protocols: fallback contingents.

Every untenable-faux- identity conceived in her inventive caliber was exposed to global media networks -the murderous firestorm that she covertly ignited at the Ukraine orphanage-ashes of her unjustifiable errors had marked the Black Widow down like a unrectifiable-vermined insurgent surgically bred out the Red Room. It was a trivial modicum of betrayal against the high-stakes gambit of survival-she was pegged in the red-zone. Maybe this nomadic mission of preservation would resurrect unbridle hope again-she wouldn't punishingly cheat herself out, not where infant-defenseless furballs had infinitely compromised her granite-sheathed heart. 'My postroyeny s boleye strogimi veshchami (We're built with sterner stuff)'

"Well, I think you have a good answer right there, James..." Pointedly, she gestured to the blanket-heaped crate as tinier canine snouts feistily jutted up in whimpering unison; the ensorcelled sniper-wolf against the chagrin of his warred sanity, tentatively clamped a frayed blanket with the jutted length of his incisor fangs, towing the fabric closer towards his restlessly adorable litter as he was inexorably grappled back into nursing-mode. The visceral routine kept Natasha distracted from evading rigged crosshairs of surveillance-cockroach operatives of HYDRA sleeper ranks would soon filter out their off-grid location. She needed to use tactical incarnations of her Widow spycraft -purchase new hardware of her arsenal and healthier rations to sate down Jame's insatiable barrages of appetite. For now, she was grounded near the rumbustious baby pups."Maybe you can be someone else for those milyy (cute) furballs since they can't really tell the difference..."

It was a humbling thought to the wolf as he took a moment to ponder its depth, its meaning. He believed Hydra had taken everything from him-his humanity, his memories. But they had also unintendedly given him the means to nurture something precious. The furry pups that had come from his body, conceived by the passion and genetics of both himself and another that he had loved but was now lost. Fatherhood... A strange term for an assassin who had spent so many years taking life after life, he had never stopped to think what it would be like to nurture one. To raise one. Could he do it? His mission was to protect the pups. But protecting and raising were different. For a brief moment, he contemplated what kind of father he had had, and what he could learn from him.

But he couldn't remember. Not his father, nor mother.

It meant that whatever ounce of goodness he derived from the memories, the soul of James Barnes, he would have to rely upon to see him through this life-changing situation. And for once, he felt welcoming towards it. The wolf glances to his redheaded companion and blows his nostrils, sending her a grateful glance that he hoped was readable to her. "I should feed them now. Thank you...Natasha." He rumbled.

Without a clashing deterrence of unwarranted tension, swiftly, Natasha lowered on her denim-clad hunches in balletic sync as the young alpha wolf readily eased down the chunkier bloatedness of his outstretched girth over a heap of blankets. A neasous strain of bone-deep exhaustion-akin to a deadening paralytic-had nakedly gleamed in his mesmeric grayish-sapphire depths; for an ephemeral moment, James was breathlessly immobilized, fostering onto rapturous cadence of addictive hope-deliverance that ratcheted in tenfold.

Angling his canine muzzle towards the wooden crate, sweatily James prepared for another continuous barrage of insatiable nursing. A subtle grimace rapted over his fanged muzzle became evident to milky treks of glozing fluid soakingly dampening over the jutted rotundity of his furred underbelly as he instinctively measured every ragged breath that coupled into beckoning whimpers-a visceral tenor of coaxing urgency that his snugged baby pups were harmonized to; he was disarmingly surrendering himself to the imperative needs of his precious babies.

"I'll admit this is slightly cuter than last night..." Natasha rasped out, banteringly, reaching inside the crate with a drive of tentative variance as she hefted up the angelic-daintiest of the stirring litter-little Mattie, splaying a feathery trace of her lithe palm over the downy sleekness of mahogany fur in embracing accord; while the pudgier male hellraiser rascally bolstered up his chubby mass against the crate on his hind-paws. Quirkily, Natasha arched up a reddish tinge eyebrow as the passive sniper-wolf unabashedly emitted a throaty groan against the errant surge of their hunger rush. "Slightly..."

"It takes getting used to," Bucky rumbled with a deep gravelly voice. In truth, the day he had learned he sired a trio of pups under the watchful eye of Hydra, he faced the reality with disbelief and denial. It was an unnatural act that men-that soldiers-faced having been transformed and conceiving pups. It took nearly a week before he worked the courage to face his off-spring and give them the loving attention they needed. Ever since then, the act of nursing had become as integral to him as the act of sleeping and eating. He found it somewhat astonishing how quickly he'd grown to trust Natasha as he watched her gently pull his litter out, one-by-one, and gently set them down in front of his round girth.

"The day they can learn to find their own food will be a relief," he joked with feigned resignation as the chubbiest of his litter instinctively rolled over to him and bumped against his belly, causing him to snort before wincing once Brennen found his mark and began to nourish himself. His girls followed and the Siberian wolf sighed as he laid his head down, gazing absently at the window, staring at the pale moon gleaming through the blinds. "It seems so far away, but I'm in no hurry to see them grow up so fast."

Soundlessly he fell asleep under Natasha's watchful caring eyes. That night he dreamed of dewy rainforests and running across rooftops.

As the whitish sconces of morning breached through plastic blinds of the slummy apartment, guardedly Natasha braced her denim-clad thighs against the granite countertop, her copper-auburn tresses gorgeously weaved into of a fishtail braided ponytail that fringed over toned curvatures of her garbed shoulder while she glanced down at her salvaged arsenal of ID cards-passports that she had Agent Maria Hill trustingly conceive while being a stray fugitive. The tourism sectors of Bucharest served as their harbor-point before a smuggling run that she was covertly planning with a Romanian cargo informant of rail -line freight.

It was imperative that she reached Chernihiv within the coming days before Thunderbolt Ross decrypted safeguard contingencies that hypercautious Nick Fury had invented for her, in case she needed to beat the rigged dodge. Nothing could be shut-down on the media networks- the macabre errors of her traitorous-weaponized past had bled out video links of unforgivable imagery-CSI reports- and ledgers of terminated marks-the murderous requiem of the Black Widow.

Keeping herself collectively poised near the stove, Natasha, clutched an iron-handle of a stew pot, that she filled with a carton of milk, as she keenly registered a long-drawn snarl emitting from the exhausted sniper-wolf bloatedly resting on his furred side with his dozy baby pups snuggled fussily against the protrusive swell of his jutted underbelly. He needed to break. "Well, you must've had a rough night..." she addressed quirkily, turning the stove's eroded knob with lowered heat. "Figured you needed backup..."

He was roused from his deep-slumber by the scent of warm milk covering his bed like a blanket. His jaw instinctively opened as he yawned, revealing rows of sharpened white incisors that gleamed in the light of day. His eyes peeled open and blue eyes glazed with fatigue as the world slowly sharpened into focus. When he saw Natasha standing over him with a pot of milk that she proceeded to pour into a bowl, the Siberian wolf released a rumbling noise that caused his furry body to vibrate. The little furballs nestled against him swatted his stomach but were immediately drawn by the alluring scent of milk so close to them. "S'thanks...its gonna take a lot to feed these hungry little destroyers," he joked as he began to nuzzle their heads and gently licked them, soothing their restless hunger. As he pulled himself up onto his paws, he spied the bowl and wondered if his pups were capable of feeding themselves now like this. "Can you give me a hand," he beckoned Natasha.

Feeling that her mechanized reaction needed to be tentative, coolly Natasha eased the bowl down with controlled steadiness as the chubbiest of the wolven litter groggily reared up his tinier muzzle in riotous cadence, detecting the wafting scent of heated milk as he thrashed wobbily to advance over the nest of blankets in an hungered—stubborn rush with no visage of strained effort. With lightning-quick swiftness of his canine muzzle, arrestingly Bucky nudged his rebellious-tubbier pup who ornerily emitted a high-pitch squeak, as he murmured in a growlier Russian timbre. "Ne tak bystro...(Not so fast)'..."

"O, paren' (oh boy)..." Natasha teased out breathlessly, flitting her grayish-teal irises at young Siberian alpha kneading his long muzzle featherily over his baby girls that dwarfed against the pudgier bulkiness of his wolven form, the addictive tracery of his contrasting heat shiveringly delivered a pacifying fervency on a reverent accord, as little Mattie kittenishly nuzzled his shaggier underbelly with ticklish nips. The cool radiance of his silvery aquamarine orbs smokingly melded with predatory heat against the hinged wake of unwarranted trust.

Inadvertently, Natasha warded off the stark urge to evade the wonderous -heart-compromising moment as James became consciously attentive to her unfeigned resistance. She didn't want to become emotionally attached to the squeaky furballs—this wasn't her charitable mission. Glancing on the jars of gooey peanut butter on the countertop with a knowing quirk of her eyebrow, Natasha rasped, jauntily. "I'm guessing you want some breakfast now...?"

A sharp refusal was at the edge of his tongue but Bucky couldn't suppress the churning hunger in his stomach that had been building for several hours now. When was the last time he'd eaten? His focus had been completely turned to his litter of pups who needed constant attention and nourishment since they'd left America and arrived abroad. Sparing a glance at his sated pups, the Siberian wolf released a grumbling noise of approval. "That...would be appreciated." He said, gazing at the tubs of peanut butter longingly and feeling his chops drool with anticipation. He followed Natasha towards the edge of the kitchen island where she opened the jars and began to dig out large clumps of that gooey sweet source of protein and chucked them onto a plate for him. She cleaned the spoon off by putting it in her mouth and placed the plate down in front of him. Bucky wasted no time and dived nose-first, dragging his tongue across the plate greedily as his senses were swarmed with delectable sensations.

Gazing at the young alpha moaningly polishing off the glops of peanut butter, coolly, Natasha gripped onto the spoon with a defensive flexion, her grayish-teal irises unwaveringly fixed on the protrusive bloatedness of his furred girth- a untampered sense of phantom detachment-heartache viscerally coupled with the puppy-like squeaks distressingly emitting from the recalcitrant litter nestled in the cushioned heap of threadbare blankets. Wobbling in straying paces, the chunkier pup-Brennnen-squeakily thrust his tinier muzzle over the empty fold, nipping at the material with his aggressive tugs. "Okay...You don't have to answer this..." Natasha hitched out, whisperingly, as Bucky snarlingly jutted out his incisor fangs, dragging the plate with his canine muzzle-those words had razed out a contractive grip of latent anguish that he stowed.."...but those adorable furballs can feel what you lost..."

Bucky wasn't sure how to respond to that thought. It was a deep harrowing reminder that despite having escaped the dreaded confines of Hydra enslavement with his litter, that some things had been left behind. His pups could sense it perhaps. An absence. A feeling of incompleteness. It had festered since after he had escaped the old Hydra facility they kept disguised as a bank with his litter in hand before the remnants of his oppressors could galvanize a form of control in the chaos. He had charged through and gunned down all the scientists, all the guards responsible for his shock-therapy and caging his children in a cold cell without him to nurture them. When he had entered that cell, expecting to find 4 baby pups cuddled together close, he found only 3. Heartbreak didn't begin to describe what he felt, but somehow it registered with his litter who had been crying out in distress ever since.

"I think they can feel what we've all lost," Bucky responded after a lengthy pause. "It wasn't enough for Hydra to use me, but they used my children to keep me in line. It started with four of them, now there's only three. They miss their brother."

Registering the anguished throatiness of his growlier drawl, with a tentative variance of caution, bracingly Natasha eased down on her denim-clad haunches, gracing her lithe palm tacitly over the distressed little guy's cindery-burnette fur, as he raptly whimpered in a cadence of heart- racking squeaks, burying his tubbier form into the snuggled warmth of blankets. A feverish dampiness tellingly steeped into the material as Bucky downcastedly gazed at his baby pup, doing his utmost to evict the heart-crippling onslaught of enduring a grievous failure. "Well, clearly you need to find the little furball..." Natasha rasped, huskily, gesturing for him to pacify the alarmed pup. "It seems HYDRA always has something to trade when playing..."

[liraystylesuk]

A Review Of Menswear near me

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