#it’s a little local place owned by one woman operated from inside her extra home on her property

[lockawayknight]

[|87

[meteorstricken]

Sephiroth Week, Day 4 Prompt: (Free Day: Home)

“Hometown”

Nibelheim stood as one of the more strategically isolated locations on the planet, tucked away in the embrace of its namesake mountains. Only the expanse of mostly uninhabited flatlands to the southwest served as a reliable outlet. Silent as it stood, it seemed almost abandoned--exactly the variety of locale Sephiroth would expect Shinra's failed industrial secrets to disturb the wildlife.

But people did live here, and those secrets were of the utmost sensitivity, rating his presence specifically.

Rainy hours had passed in the truck crossing the plains to reach to the secluded town--time spent mulling over his uncertain future, humoring Zack's excitement, and attempting to ignore the occasional retching coming from the motion-sick cadet, Cloud, who the former had befriended. Apparently, Nibelheim was Cloud's hometown.

The concept of a hometown pricked at Sephiroth's mind, raising curiosity and a heavier feeling he couldn't name. Growing up stationary in one community, with the same family, neighbors, friends, and foes--he understood it only conceptually. Some supposedly longed for it; others considered it a prison they couldn't wait to escape. The best he could do was tangentially identify with the latter, but…where he grew up lacked any sense of having been a home or place of origin. It was merely where he was made to exist and become what he was raised to be.

As they'd closed in, one of the area's green dragons had accosted them during the heaviest downpour, granting a temporary reprieve from that troubled line of thinking. The beast's aggression and extra-territorial wandering were no doubt a result of the local reactor's malfunction. He'd cut it down it quickly nonetheless; there was little time to waste.

His discomfort returned immediately upon their arrival. He'd never stepped foot in Nibelheim before, but one glimpse down the dusty, half broken road at the town's well, and a whiff of the earthy, chilled October dusk gave Sephiroth pause. The pungent mako smell veiled it, but it remained a familiar enough undertone to stop him at the entrance. Creeping dread descended into the pit of his stomach, though there was no reason for it he could pinpoint. His objectives here promised few foreseeable complications--he was to thin the monster population and perform triage on the reactor's problem until a security-cleared crew could be dispatched. He'd traveled to numerous like-places in the past. Perhaps that was why he recognized the scent.

Why had it caught his attention and unsettled him this time?

Words playing on the fringes of his mind escaped him seemingly of their own will: "How does it feel? It's your first time back to your hometown in a long time, right? So how does it feel? I wouldn't know because I don't have a hometown…"

Cloud lifted his mask and helmet for a moment. His voice trembled slightly when he spoke. "Ummm…how 'bout your parents?"

Sephiroth clenched one hand. Outside of muted professional consideration, Cloud's life was none of his concern, nor vice-versa, but it was too late to evade in full. He had brought this upon himself. "My mother is Jenova. She died right after she gave birth to me. My father…" A laugh leapt up from bitter apprehension roiling inside of him, and he shook his head. This subject was entirely too absurd to pursue any further; a scandal unworthy of his acknowledging it publicly. Yet…there was no way Cloud would know that. "What does it matter...?" he excused himself. "All right, let's go."

They marched ahead to the inn, outside of which a nervous young local caught up with Zack and verified who they were. Her shoulders slouched after he'd informed her. She left visibly disappointed, as if they were beneath her expectations. Perhaps Shinra had earned some enemies here as well. Monsters, malfunctions…and now, possibly insurgents or other resistance factors. The human element had not been part of the briefing he'd received, but it wasn't surprising. Shinra had polluted their natural environment and filled it with monsters. When it had finally spiraled sufficiently out of control, they gave no answer but to send SOLDIER. If it was there, the anger wasn't misplaced.

Considering how Shinra had propagandized his image, Sephiroth wondered if the townsfolk might associate his face with those ills. It would be difficult to disassociate himself from the company in the eyes of normal people if he chose to leave, but if he were pushed to counter unexpected fighters, it would make the effort all the more difficult.  

Normal people. He breathed out a small sigh and cast a wandering gaze, taking in the sights of the town's empty center and the houses beyond. Was it possible for him to seek out a quiet life in a place such as this?

While he looked on, a small child of maybe five years scrambled out the front door of a house off to the right, chortling mischievously. A woman--his mother--ran after him.

"Hey, get back here! You know it's too dangerous," she chided him. "What have we talked about for when the big weird uniformed men come?"

"But. They're just standing there. There's no monners. See? They're just standing there," he argued, mispronouncing 'monsters' in child-speak and repeating himself, distrusting that his mother had accurately assessed the situation.

The mother remained predictably unconvinced, grabbing the boy by his wrist and pulling him back toward their home while he continued to ramble, and eventually, started to cry.

Under their neighbor's porch, two boys chattered quietly. Their eyes dodged his, but he knew they'd been watching him. Were they brothers or friends? What was that like? Inwardly, Sephiroth winced--he thought he'd come to understand one of those rather well until recently.

What was it like to leave a place like this for years, and then return to expectant family?

The dread that had plagued him moments ago redoubled its efforts on his insides, but Sephiroth straightened his stance. There was no time for that. Not for him. He was…outside of such things. Unwelcomed. All of this--it was not his world…

"We leave for the reactor at dawn. Make sure you get to sleep early." he commanded Zack, Cloud, and the others with them. It was best to keep them out of sight to avoid exacerbating tensions. "All we need is one lookout, so you others, get some rest." He turned his back on the town and reached for the inn's door, but stopped. Cloud was notably not an outsider by any definition. Sephiroth forced himself to swallow the ball of resentment that had formed in his throat and glanced over at the small cadet.  "Oh, that's right...You may visit your family and friends."

This had nothing to do with him. Nothing.

He slipped indoors then, hurrying upstairs before anyone noticed him. Zack could take care of any arrangements with the front desk. He needed a moment to think, and think he did, staring out the second floor's window. It wasn't simply that Nibelheim smelled familiar; the scenery was far from alien to him as well. He knew these mountains, these buildings, the well in the town center. He knew the Shinra Manor, he knew what he might expect to see if he visited it, and---and he stopped himself, overcome with the notion of having trespassed somewhere forbidden.

He was in trouble again, and here again...

For a split second, he remembered being small and having infuriated Professor Hojo over…something. Yes, there had always been something with that man…

But why did he know this place? What claim did Nibelheim have on him, all while he couldn’t pretend to call a single sliver from one of its houses or a tiny speck of its streets' dust his? He was a stranger here, but it remembered him. As the sun faded behind its peak, he had the uncomfortable growing sensation that Mt. Nibel itself was looking back, calling…

Tomorrow, Sephiroth determined, they would complete this mission with the utmost efficiency. There might be something to research here, but he needed time to prepare. He needed to understand the nature of long term operations Shinra had conducted in Nibelheim first; what he ought to look for in particular. He suspected with an almost oppressive conviction that whatever he turned up would be the final straw he was searching for--the one that justified his leaving the company.

After that...nothing would be the same.

[ezekielbhandarivalleros]

Cooking

Pairing: Luke Harper and Leah Ironfurnace

Summary: Leah tries to cook a Meal for Luke

Rating - Appropriate for all ages

Taglist - @princess-geek @secretaryunpaid @schnitzelbutterfingers @cts-tj1@daddytyrilstarfury @choicesficwriterscreations

Within the swirling vortex of moving, meetings, and matrimony, the newly dubbed Leah Iron had very little time or even inclination to consider the mundane particulars of her soon-to-be-life. Upon arriving in Harper Manor , her primary energies had been spent on winning over the dour, suspicious faces of her beloved’s kinfolk, and, once achieved, had moved on to planning and preparing for her nuptials.

But several weeks into wedded bliss, after the church bells had faded into far-off echoes and the soft, pink petals of her bouquet had withered to brown, crunchy flakes, she knew it was time to get down to brass tacks: grocery shopping, laundering, sweeping floors, and cooking quaint, home-style dinners for Four.

Luke was quick to contest the final point. Rather vehemently.

“I didn’t marry you so you could become my servant!” he exclaimed. “I don’t need a maid, or a cook. Especially not a cook,” he said with a small shudder.

Leah looked confused. “Then what shall we eat? Shall you cook? Are we to hire a cook? Will we just go out for all our meals?” She frowned. “Won’t that get rather expensive?”

Her protestations rambled innocently along as Luke stood mute, struggling for answers. Little could his dear wife have known that the bulk of his modernity concerning the allotment of household tasks had little to do with progressive ideals and much with his unfortunate experience with her suspect and far from esculent cooking abilities. But at the moment, with Leah’s severe eyes demanding explanation, he knew the truth would never answer, and decided this clash of wills would best be resolved by flight. With one quick kiss to Leah’s cheek he fled hastily out the door, a weak “I’ll see you after I take care of some things, love!” issuing from his wake.

Leah huffed about as she cleared away the breakfast things, disregarding her husband’s concern and strange behavior. After all, he was just being silly! Almost insulting, really, thinking she, Leah Iron, could not get her hands good and dirtied. Stopping mid-scrub, she set the mug in her hand into the basin of sudsy water, gazing soulfully out the window with a rather bold profile. She was no longer the dainty miss of her youth, oh no! She was empowered. She was free. She Was Woman.

It was with this slogan in mind that she made her way to the local market that morning, traversing the loud and crowded lanes by herself for the very first time. Looped about her arm rested an adorable wicker basket with which she would carry home her purchases, much like the butcher’s wife or baker’s daughter she recalled from her adolescence, those capable woman who strode about Grantham village with aplomb.

Her first stop was at the vegetable stand, where with great care and little acumen she picked out a batch of semi-wilted green beans. Surely their lack of vibrancy must mean some kind of reduced cooking time, and it seemed perfectly acceptable to her mind to consider them as practically cooked already. Settling the bundle into her basket, she applauded herself for her foresight. Efficiency, yes, that was the key to being successful in this new life!

With considerable pluck she next elbowed her way through the roving masses towards the distinct sound of clucking. A half-lidded lady missing roughly three-quarters of her teeth stood behind a makeshift counter with several rows of caged birds squawking behind her.

“I’d like a chicken, please!” Leah sweetly requested, but with the authority of command hanging in her voice.

The purveyor dispelled a grunt and moved to fulfill the order. Sybil stood patiently by, expecting to be handed several pieces of neatly butchered and precisely trimmed meat, perhaps even already cooked – that would have been quite the bargain! – but with visible shock outlining her face was instead presented with an actual chicken.

Alive.

Not dead.

“Heavens!” Leah cried. “What ever am I supposed to do with this?”

The reply was as succinct as it was helpful:

“Kill it. Cook it. Eat it.”

Leah doled out the payment and hesitantly accepted her purchase, uncertainty clinging to her brow. She held the writhing beast aloft as far off from her person as her arms would enable her as it flapped furiously and its talons plunged painfully into the fleshy meat of her palm. Biting her lip, she worried over the first point of instruction.

Kill it.

“What do you mean kill it?” she tremulously asked. “Do you mean right here, right now? Am I to throw it against the wall? Crush it under my foot?” A less apathetic shopkeeper might have laughed or scoffed at such naivety, but the lady simply gave a sleepy smile as she retrieved the chicken from her confused customer. Leah leaned in, curious, when a sharp thwack sent her careening back, narrowly avoiding a direct hit with the lobbed off chicken head now sailing through the periphery of her vision.

The decapitated bird was promptly handed back to Leah, whose mouth hung open in a word of silent horror. A delayed spurt of blood erupted from the severed neck clenched in her fist, and over the gurgling sounds of gore and her own belated screams of dismay she could just discern a toothless, “That’ll cost you extra!”

The senior Mrs. Daly was known around the neighborhood for her small yet tightly run seamstress business which she operated out of her little house on Edgewater Estate. Punctuality was key to her success, and what kept her customers coming back time and time again. With only herself and her ten tired fingers to keep things running on schedule, she had little margin for error, and even less time to spend on a  dopey-headed daughter and her husband who serendipitously just happened to live a mere three blocks away – a perfect distance for dropping in whenever the bread refused to rise or lighting the stove became too much to bear.

She heard several petit knocks in the middle of bustling a wedding train, and opened the front door to see Leah bearing a sheepish look, a plethora of feathers sticking out of her lustrous, aristocratic hair.

Mrs. Daly pointed to a limp object weeping with blood.

“Dearie, is that a chicken you’ve got there?”

“Yes. Yes, it is.” Sybil nodded seriously and lifted the pathetic beast to eye level. “You see I wanted…well, that is to say….I’m not quite sure…”

Mrs. Branson heaved a sigh.

“Come on inside, dearie, and we’ll get it cleaned up.”

There were feathers everywhere.

Peppering her hair, tickling her nose, troubling her tongue, and she was fairly certain that downy feeling beneath her stays had not been present five minutes ago. Indeed, the only area in which feathers could not be found was the now naked, glistening chicken corpse.

“Well that’s that,” Ms.Day declared. Leah sighed with relief. The ordeal was finally over. “Now for the butchering!”

A half hour later Leah’s apron was markedly more blood-splattered. Her face was splattered as well, though with a different substance: fat dollops of tears stained her face, rimming her eyes with the telltale signs of sorrow.

“I’m a healer, not a killer!” she wailed into the gizzards.

Mrs. Daly sighed – “You’re being dramatic again…” – and continued wrapping up the chicken portions in paper and placing them neatly into her  wicker basket. She shooed Leah out the door, and on her way back home Leah pondered the macabre turn of her day. If she’d known part of the requirements for living a common life would be becoming adept at portioning recently slain animal products she might have….

Leah stopped and took a mighty sniff, glancing down to the band on her left hand, the chain that would forever gird her to a life as a slaughterer. Well. It was far to late to consider that. She would just have to prove them and herself wrong. Yes, she would prove them all wrong!

And prove them wrong she did, six hours later and leaving behind her a path of destruction in what had once been called the kitchen. Piles of pots wobbled, brown splotches of grease speckled every vacant surface, and she prayed that the hazy layer of smoke circling above would dissipate by the time her husband arrived home. But despite all these drawbacks, there on the table sat a steaming hot supper, freshly prepared by her own hands with ingredients she purchased herself.

Now all she needed to do was wait. Wait and listen.

In due time she heard the familiar jangling of keys and jumped to her feet, assaulting her husband with vigor before he was barely through the door.

“Darling, look, look! Look what I’ve done!” Luke was immediately accosted by the sight of his wife, filthy, frantic-eyed and with trickles of dried blood adorning her once spotless frock.

With a crash the contents of his arms landed on the floor and he rushed forward, pulling her unwillingly into a chair.

“Are you all right?” he asked. Luke nodded.

“Yes.”

He placed a concerned hand over her brow.

“Are you feverish?”

“No.”

He stared intently into her eyes.

“Did someone attack you?”

“No, no, no! Don’t be silly, !” She shoved him away and rose again, gesturing to the chaotic splendor of their kitchen. “I’ve just been cooking dinner!”

Luke immediately relaxed – that explained everything – but was soon beset with a consuming dread. If she’d been cooking that meant soon they would be eating. The food she’d been cooking.

Luckily Luke had seen this scenario impending for some time, and had spent a good amount of his break time in front of the washroom mirror of his office, trying on new and hopefully sincere-looking expressions for the moment when a forkful of her hideous creations entered his mouth.

That moment was now nigh, and husband watched in trepidation as his portion was meticulously laid on a dish and set carefully before him, a pair of hawk like eyes trained expectantly on his face as he took his first, painful bite.

His fears were justified.

Leah’s “chicken” (he rather generously dubbed it) left much to be desired, such as seasoning, moisture, and the ability to be digested. Although the practice sessions had been helpful, Luke’s expressions were naturally incapable of displaying anything but the perfect truth of his feelings, and at the moment they spoke plainly of thorough disgust.

His mouth attempted to speak otherwise:

“It's…it’s really good.”

“Really?” she asked, aflutter.

He grimaced. “Really.” A few beats of silence passed wherein Luke stared anxiously at the plate, no other bites forthcoming. Leah’s joyous features began to wane.

“I’m not sure,” she said, her tone distrustful. “It seems as though you don’t really like it.”

“Well. You know. Chicken.”

“But I thought you loved chicken. Your mother went on and on about how it was your favorite and if I had any intention of being a good wife then I had best remember what you liked and –”

“Leah, please. That’s not what I meant. I only mean that…well…”

“You think it’s terrible, don’t you?” she asked quietly. Leah appeared petrified.

“I think you worked very, very hard.”

“And yet…and yet all my work was for nothing?” At this point she quickly shoveled a portion of her masterpiece into her mouth, only to instantly spit it out with a strangled noise. That noise was quickly followed by another, a hollow, dispiriting wail as the strong, the brave, the indomitable Leah Iron burst into an uncontrollable bout of tears.

“It’s terrible!” she wailed. “It tastes like old dishwater and it’s as dry as sand! Mrs. Daly said I’d never amount to much in the kitchen and she was right, she was absolutely right!”

What words could soothe such pitiful outpourings of melancholy? None that Luke could think of, and he found himself inexplicably in want for words, substituting vocal comfort with a sure hand that stroked fondly down her shaking back. Presently she mastered her emotions enough to look back up to him with a rueful smile, her kind eyes shining.

“I’m a failure, aren’t I?” she asked in surrender. Luke had never before seen his Leah look so defeated, and this time was fully capable of summoning a defense.

“Of course you’re not! I’m not going to sugar coat things. You did fail, quite grandly, at cooking dinner.” He cupped her chin and smiled. “But it doesn’t make you a failure.”

“I know you’re right.” She wrestled away from his grasp and smeared the last of the drops in her eyes against her sleeve. “And of course I won’t get everything just so right away…but I’m not ignorant. I know what they must be saying about me back home, and what they’re saying about me here, and I wanted so desperately to show them…I don’t even know what, but I wanted to show them something.”

“You’re here, with me. You went to the market and bought food and butchered a chicken. That’s so much more than anyone would think you capable. And maybe it’s not perfect, but you’ll get there in time. And in the meantime we’ll just have to make do.”

She shook her head. “But how?”

Luke patted her hand and rose from his chair with that familiar, infuriating smirk.

“I’ve been a bachelor for most of my life. I don’t promise to be a whizz in the kitchen but I’m not completely useless, either.” And a fair sight more useful than you, he added, but with the foresight to do so silently. Rummaging through the icebox for a few moments, he emerged with several white, oval shaped objects, and grinned.

“How would you like some eggs?”

[artificiallyimplantedmemories]

@videniye​ sent this meme: Send 🛡️ for your muse to take a bullet meant for mine. [x]

    Both of them have aggressively left behind a life of pain. Natalia doesn’t talk about her past, but the Red Room’s training sometimes still lurks in her mind. She covers it up with laughter and sass, and in Bucky and Steve, she’s found genuine friends. They care about her, make her feel like she has a place to belong, and the flirting (and eye candy, let’s be honest) is a definitely perk. As for Bucky, Nat has found out about his wartime experiences in bits and pieces, but still doesn’t have a holistic picture of everything that happened out there. Bucky is extremely reticent on this front (as people usually are with trauma), and Nat knows better than to push. It’s not like she’s any better, right?

    Still, as the months have gone on, they help heal each other. Sometimes, that comes under the guise of a new tattoo, sometimes it’s simply crashing on the floor together under a massive blanket to watch shitty movies. Steve is in the middle most of the time (because he gets cold most easily, and both Nat and Bucky know that he needs the most protecting), but the two of them also steal moments for themselves too.

    Steve pouts at them, but he knows he gets his own time with each of them too, so it’s fine. They deserve to be happy together.

    Nat has done a phenomenal job of covering her tracks. She and Ivan have purposely kept their operation local, off the radar from anyone who might be looking for them. They’re popular but niche, and don’t have so much as a website up in order to reduce their clientele. She respects Ivan immensely for that — after all, he neither had to take her in nor go on the run with her when things got bad. Besides all of that, his talents are enough to seriously make a name for himself if he wants, but he still settles for very nearly struggling by for the sake of his adopted daughter. It’s more than Natalia could have asked from anyone.

    Unfortunately, even the best laid plans are waylaid

    The Red Room comes back to claim their lost protégé, and Natasha is not prepared. It’s not that she can’t fight them off, as she does keep her training up secretly, but it’s the fact that she now has people to worry about, attachments that they can take advantage of.

    Sentiment is not worthwhile for an assassin, they tell her.           She should have left her heart on ice, and maybe she would not have failed.

    She refuses to believe that it’s true. She has felt more alive in the last few years than she has in the rest of her life combined. She’s been able to experience joys and sorrows the way that all people should. She’s had leaps of hope, brushes of gentleness, and even managed to destroy the fear that she had no soul left to spare. She has been whole here, and she would not trade it for the world.

    No. That is a lie.           She would trade it in a heartbeat for the safety of the people she loves.

    The first attack comes when she is alone. The Black Widow is easier to tackle without Ivan at her side. He is ex-military after all, and can put up a hell of a fight, has been proven to do so for the sake of his girl. If they can get in and kidnap or kill her first without him knowing, they’ll be better off. 

     It doesn’t go as they expect. She may have settled into a routine that doesn’t involve death on the daily, but she knows what signs to look for. Hyper-vigilance is an old friend, one she has yet to shake off. They not only fail to take her by surprise but also get three of their agents hurt in the process. That is a surprise to them. Natalia has aimed to maim and not to kill. Things have changed. Perhaps it’s complacency? Perhaps it’s a conscience? 

     Nat heads back using the most roundabout method she can, climbing up facades of buildings, ducking into abandoned homes, biding time in seedy bars and stealing a change of clothes. A beanie hides her bright hair, grime covers her face, and she looks like a homeless wanderer instead of the neat, clean, precise Natasha that people know here. She’s fired off a text to Ivan, letting him know that he needs to get away before people come to hunt him down too, but she doesn’t really have enough faith in his self-preservation where she’s involved. 

     He’ll probably be waiting for me with two shotguns and a hot-wired car, the madman, she thinks fondly. The KGB wouldn’t launch their attack on me without knowing my routine though. If they did, it would be highly unprofessional. So they’ll probably stay away from him as long as he keeps his head down and doesn’t do anything too terribly suspicious. 

     This is her hope as she ducks into the alley behind the shop. It’s closed today, and she goes through the hatch in it that leads up to the supply room, rather than having to use the front door. Quickly, she gathers long-disused supplies, a couple firearms, blades, a hat and coat with extra pockets. She’s glad that she stashed these here instead of at the apartment. Suddenly, there’s a lurch in her heart as she realizes that being on the run again means that she won’t get to say goodbye. Hell, fuck, and damn it all. At least Bucky and Steve deserve an explanation... 

     Survival comes first though, and she takes a moment to scrawl a note for them to leave in the shop. Inevitably, they’ll come around on Monday when she doesn’t show up for their lunch meeting, and they’ll find out at least a little about who she is, why she’s running. It’s an apology. An attempt at an explanation. An inadequate farewell. Natasha forces her hands not to shake as she rushes through the words, and it’s so very tempting to sign off with the three that she’s been wanting to say for the better part of a year. It’s not right though, to let them invest themselves when she’s only going to disappear, so she folds it and lays it on her desk with a sigh. Enough time has been wasted, she needs to go. 

     Scarf pulled up around her face, she rushes back to the apartment. There are raised voices inside, and her hackles go up so fast that they could have given her whiplash. One is the angry, low voice of Ivan, spitting his Russian in the way he does when he’s been backed into the corner about something. The other is a voice that sends chills down her back. She’d know that gravelly voice anywhere. The Headmistress herself has come to find her. 

     If she goes in, she may be dragged back to Russia and forced to resume a life of blood and bitterness. If she doesn’t go in, it’s entirely likely that Ivan will end up dead for arguing. She may still be able to ensure his safety, and so she takes a deep breath and opens the door. 

     The old woman sitting on Ivan’s chair (there’s a moment of colossally illogical rage at that) beckons Natalia in. They all know what her entering the apartment means. Almost immediately, Ivan sags in defeat. Once the redhead has made up her mind, there’s very little he can do to dissuade her. Still, his eyes plead for her to reconsider. She, in turn, carefully doesn’t meet his gaze. 

     “How kind of you to join us, little Spider,” the woman croaks, and the only sign of Nat’s displeasure is the hard set of her jaw. Her sidearm is within reach, but she’s not sure how many other assailants are currently hidden in nearby apartments, ready to blow them apart for making even the slightest wrong move. Ivan only got away with arguing for so long because it bought them time for her to arrive. “Your services are needed. I’m sure you understand.” 

     She does. The Black Widow was their top student, their little killing machine. If they want her back, it’s because there’s a high level assassination that needs to take place, and someone else has failed. 

     Her expression is one that cannot be classified. Perhaps there’s a hint of satisfaction, that she’s been able to outwit them for so long, perhaps resignation, pride and pain. There have been so many others after her, she knows, and none of them have lived up to her legacy. How they must be punished for that. She wishes she could save them. She wishes she wasn’t broken enough that she can’t scrounge up the appropriate amount of sympathy.

     “I take it that the Recluse has been punished?” 

     It’s an ultimatum given. You show me that you will torture your own daughter to gain my loyalty or I won’t go. It’s no less cruel to herself though. Anya was her friend once, so many years ago. 

     “I’ll let you personally oversee it,” comes the reply. How utterly horrible. 

     “Then you know what I will ask for in turn. Ivan and the others here go untouched, or I burn your entire operation to the ground, your own withered husk included.” 

     The Headmistress scoffs, but nods. She has expected as much. Natalia’s current life reeks of domesticity, but her senses are sharp. She has already proven that she is more valuable alive than dead, and her skills will be useful to the agency. They are the Dark Room now, even more deadly, with more experiments underway to create Natalia’s successor. So far, though, none have been quite so perfect. They need her back, even if they have to dispose of her later. 

     The redhead nods as well. “Leave. I have packing to do.” The Headmistress, accustomed to the Widow’s rudeness, rises. Just as the old woman gets to her feet, though, there is a knock at the door. Everyone freezes. 

     “Natasha, you in?” 

     Nat fights not to let her expression crumble. It’s Bucky, darling, sweet, wonderful Bucky who has seen too much and been through too much and does not need to know that his tattoo artist fling is about to vanish off the face of the planet in order to kill people. Her heart breaks a little, and if she hadn’t been in the presence of her most hated enemy, she would be shaking. 

     “Let him in,” the Headmistress whispers, and the redhead tenses further. 

     This can’t be happening. No, no, Bucky, run! Run away from here! She yells it in her mind, as if she can get him to listen, but there’s nothing doing. She hears him call her name again and has no choice. The Headmistress will kill him even if he walks away if Natalia does not prove that she’s willing to take orders. Slowly, she moves to the door, unlocks it, and opens it a fraction. 

     “Hey,” she murmurs, soft and sad and wishing she could do anything but this. “Sorry, this isn’t the best time.” 

     “What’s wrong? Are you okay?” 

     And gods, doesn’t that just make her eyes want to swim with tears. She closes them for a second, regaining control. There are others watching, even if the Headmistress is towards her back. She cannot afford to show weakness. “I’m fine, Bucky. It’s okay. Can I catch you back at your place in a little bit?” 

     “You may not,” the Headmistress interrupts, pulling the door wide. Her gnarled face sneers down at Bucky, then grabs Nat’s arm and drags her back in. “Why don’t you tell him why you’re leaving, hmm?” 

     “You’re leaving?” He sounds devastated, and the redhead wishes she could show any emotion at all here, that she could pretend that she didn’t have to be a weapon right now. Instead, she doesn’t even look at him anymore. 

     “You promised you wouldn’t touch them,” she says to the old woman instead. “He walks out of here and goes about his life without your interference. That’s part of the deal.” 

     “Oh he will, but I think he should know who you are first. I won’t hurt him, precious little Spider.” Her hands trail down Natalia’s jaw and she fights not to jerk away. The Headmistress’s touch has always been associated with painful stitches, whip marks, reminders of failure and that hasn’t faded even after all these years. When the woman pulls her hand back at last, it’s to motion to the weapons littering the apartment. “See these, Mr. Barnes?” (Oh god, she’s done her research she knows who they are, they’re not just casual acquaintances, I’m so screwed, Nat thinks.) “These are the tools of the trade for your precious friend here. Not a tattoo gun, but real ones. She’s made her life on taking the lives of others. Possibly even your own comrades — you were in the military too, weren’t you?” 

     Nat can see Bucky starting to shake a little. If she could just reach out her hand to take his, to reassure him that she got out as soon as she could, that she doesn’t hurt people anymore...! But she can’t because she’s just promised to go back into it, hasn’t she? For his good, even, but she is willing to kill again. She hates herself. The Headmistress keeps talking, and the buzz around her ears builds. She can practically feel the anxiety attack that he’s having manifesting within herself, and suddenly her self-control snaps. 

     “Enough.” She places herself in front of the old woman, glaring. “You would not say such things to someone you meant to have survive. Get out before I kill you myself.” 

     “Oh, Natalia,” comes the reply, hoarse and amused, “you would not survive killing me.” 

     She does leave though, at long last, and when it’s just the three of them in the room, the air whooshes out from Natasha’s throat, harsh and wet with emotion. “I’m sorry,” she whispers to Bucky, “I didn’t think she’d ever come back. I was naive, I’m sorry.” Bucky, for his part, remains silent, eyes glazed as he fights off the war in his head. Slowly, gently, Nat works her fingers into his tense ones, drags him close enough that he can feel her body heat, presses her forehead against his. “Please, Bucky, James, look at me darling. Breathe with me.” 

     It takes a long moment before his gaze shifts to hers almost mechanically, but her audible breaths seem to help. Ivan, blessed be, tucks all of the weapons out of sight. They’ll be bundled up into bags soon anyway, and gone with Natalia into the stark blankness of Russian winter. Nat tries to calculate how long she has like this, how she can maximize the good she can do for him before she has to disappear, and it just... doesn’t work. At any moment, KGB agents might break down her door and drag her out of here. Violence on their part will only cause Bucky more trauma. It’s time for her to ease him out of here. 

     “I’m sorry,” she says again. “I need you to go find Steve. He can help you, alright? But I can’t do that if you’re not somewhere safe. I need you safe, do you understand?” 

     This is not what she usually says. Normally, when his world is falling apart, she is the one telling him that he’s safe, that she’s there with him and not going anywhere, that everything will be fine as long as she’s there to protect him. It seems foolish to him that he has to take refuge in that, but he’s always believed it somehow, that she was capable of protecting him. He’d never questioned why. Now, with the image of guns laid out on her table and a knife strapped to her arm, he feels like it’s viscerally true. 

            It also feels like he’s letting her go to her death. He’s terrified. 

     “You have to come back,” he says at long last, and Natasha’s face twists in agony. Of course she wants to come back, she doesn’t even want to leave in the first place! She adores him, wants to keep him from harm, and here she is doing what she does best apparently — hurting the people around her. “Please promise me.” His voice is nearly a whisper. 

     Natalia cannot give false platitudes. She squeezes her eyes shut, shakes her head, presses kisses to his face. “Go, Bucky. Be well. Take care of Stevie for me and he’ll take care of you.” She pulls him into a bone-crushing hug and then shoves him away. “Go. The Headmistress is not patient. She can still come back and kill you. Run, please!”

     Ivan grabs her shoulder and hands her the duffel bag. They, too, are running out of time. He will come with her, against her wishes, because someone has to stay by her side. Better him, he supposes, who knows the workings of that world inside and out, than someone who will shake apart at the seams, no matter how much the young man may love Natalia. She needs someone who will not blink in the face of destruction, who will kill ruthlessly and precisely, just like she does. Bucky remains standing in the doorway as they leave, and Natalia can only hope he’ll get home safely. 

     Downstairs, a car waits. The Headmistress glares at Ivan, and shoos him away. He will get his own vehicle, only Natalia is allowed to ride with her. “I’ll go with him,” the redhead says, “to make sure you honor your word.” Without her in his company, she’s fairly sure that a bunch of the goons will immediately try to kill him. She’s not chancing it.

     When she turns back for a last look at the building though, the vision of Bucky in the doorway chills her. She can see at least three people moving towards him, and all she knows is that he is not safe not safe not safe those words were meaningless he’s not — 

     “Bucky!” 

     She throws caution into the wind, races back to his side and it’s just barely in the nick of time because gunfire starts raining down on them. She grabs him and drags him into a neighboring building, knowing that this one has a hidden cellar where she can stash him until the firefight dies down, but he’s dragging her through it, into the back and out into the alley, his hold on her is too tight and if she weren’t in top shape she’d be dragged along and she wants to yell that Ivan is still back there but... 

     But Ivan is better at taking care of himself, and right now Bucky needs to be as far away from the action as possible. She throws a flashbang behind her to stun her pursuers (the best she can manage while fighting not to trip over her own feet), and pulls a knife loose from its strap across her chest. She’ll throw it when she gets the chance. 

     The world is a blur around her for a moment (because holy fuck Bucky is fast), and finally they gasp as they lean against the wall just inside the back door of a local restaurant. Bucky is shaking with the adrenaline, but seems present enough to talk to, and Natasha hugs him tight. “They’ll come after me again, but this was a good distraction for them. You keep running, I’ll pull them off the other way. I know you don’t want to use this again, but...” She presses one of her guns into his hands. If it’s kill or be killed, she’d rather he did the killing. 

     His breath hitches as his hand closes around the weapon. She’s really just — 

     His thoughts are cut off by a kiss, slow and gentle and oh so familiar. “I wish this could happen any other way. I don’t want you to get hurt,” she says, and he finds himself nodding, unfathomably sad. She’s had this on her shoulders for so many years, unable to say a word. If he has to deal with his own PTSD for the sake of her survival, he’ll do it. He’ll suffer afterwards in silence, but he’ll do what he must for now. 

     Natalia presses another chaste kiss to his cheek, and then disappears out the back again. There are the sounds of gunshots in the distance, fading, and he heads outside. He should go home, he knows, he should find Steve, keep them safe however he can, make sure none of the agents that were after Nat come after them. He does none of those things. Instead, he discreetly follows the sounds of fighting. Long-buried instincts come to the forefront even as he fights the bile down, and the first man falls by his hand. A second is not far behind. Natalia is up on the rooftop, fighting someone hand to hand, Ivan is shooting at a retreating car, and he climbs the brick with shaking hands, hoping that everyone that matters is still safe. Carefully, he levers himself up onto the roof, injured arm practically vibrating in pain. Natasha appears to have some bruises and scrapes, but little else. 

     The relief does not last long. The man that Nat had been sparring dives off the roof, and instinctively Natasha goes to follow, setting her up precisely in line of a waiting sniper. Bucky spots the assassin half a moment before Nat does, and yells. 

     The moment seems to happen in slow motion. There’s not enough time for her to get out of the way, given her momentum, so he jumps, slamming himself into her instead. They take a rough tumble on the gravel, and Bucky hits his head. When his eyes reopen, bleary, he can see Natasha’s face set in fury like he’s never seen before. She shoots wildly until a bullet finally hits its mark and takes the sniper down, and then returns to his side, hurriedly propping him on his side and pressing down on his stomach. Her other hand fiddles with her phone, calling 911 and relaying the details before hanging up.

     Slowly, he looks down at her hand and... oh, that’s a lot of blood. 

     “You fool,” she whispers lovingly. “You absolute fool, why did you come back?”

     “Because you were here.” 

     She cries, ugly and beautiful and absolutely devastated. The bullet has gone deep. She can’t tell if he’ll survive, and she can’t bear the thought of him dying for her. She’d been willing to leave it all behind, to go on living without him as long as he was safe, but this... this is not something she can cope with. She can’t lose him, not like this. 

     “So help me god, if you don’t survive this, I will bring you back to life for the express purpose of murdering you myself. And you know Steve will do the same. Please... you’ve got to survive for me, okay? Please.” She hangs her head, hoping against hope, and there’s nothing she can do to fix this. There’s nothing she can say except... “I love you.”

[seigephoenix]

Title: Toss A Coin A/N: Witcher AU.  I didn’t want this to remain lost so I’m transferring it here.  Cause I love my BNHA Witcher AU dang it!  It is a Character x Reader fic. Trigger Warnings: Canon-typical violence

You sighed as you looked up at the crumbling tower.  The stones worn down by time and disuse, a mere shell of what it was.  Climbing ivy clung to the stone, digging in and eroding the structure further.  An eerie backdrop against the dark forest.  Some would call it a safe place to stay for the night, unaware that danger lurked everywhere.  Whether it would be in the tower itself or in the forest beyond, there was always something lurking ready to strike.  That much was clear to you in this world, and it wasn’t always unnatural creatures that lurked with danger.  With a gentle tug you turned your horse allowing him an avenue to bolt if he sensed danger.  Your sword strapped to the saddle laid heavy against your leg, the silver metal covered by the plain sheath.  Only the hilt held the crest that was familiar to you.  The metal forged into a sigil as much as you were forged to be what you were.  It was a comforting weight that eased your worries.  A well-equipped warrior stood a better chance in these trying times; however you preferred the two daggers you were trained in.  You could admit a good longsword could come in handy with certain enemies.  Those that required a little distance to fight.  

The local townsfolk whispered about young men and women being abducted near the ruins never to be heard from again.  A group had recently gone missing and that had involved a lord’s son.  The people feared retribution if they could not find the man or his corpse.  Thus they were willing to hold out their coin to you to investigate.  Better your blood spilled than theirs.  Your horse shimmied alerting you to something lurking.  A gentle pat along his neck soothed his nerves and allowed you to concentrate on your senses and feel the area around you. One handy advantage to being what you were, nothing could truly hide from you for long.  The cluster of gravestones had a quick curse leaving your tongue especially noting the freshly turned dirt.  At least three freshly turned graves.  The group that went missing was four.  You clicked your tongue as you figured they were all dead, but you were paid to find the information and kill what was causing the disappearances. Whether human or monster.  The graves were a dead giveaway to what creature you’d be facing and it was a nasty business facing them.

“Aye.  A hungry grave hag is it?”  A grotesque parody of an old woman with a sharp tongue that would lash out and poison.  You knew to be on your toes.  You sighed and slid off your horse.  “Best get to safety old friend.  This won’t turn out well.”  The sword fell heavy in your hand as you slapped your horse’s rump with the flat of your free hand.  You brought out the oil cloth and slid the alchemical potion on the silver blade. Any advantage was needed, these creatures were quick.  “Now. Let’s rid this land of you.”  A quick scan of the sky gave you an approximate thirty minutes left of daylight which meant the grave hag was less likely to be awake.  They operated at night and were weak in the light.  You drew closer to the door and heard soft whimpering coming from the inside. That was odd.  Whimpering?  Grave hags didn’t whimper.  But their victims do.  You took a step back and then slammed your boot into the weak point in the door sending wood splinters everywhere and the door fell off its hinges.  Best to get it over with.  If there was a survivor it would be best to grab the hag’s attention to prevent any extra casualties.

The unearthly screech filled the small room.  The grave hag was not happy at being woken.  You took three large steps back into the once sprawling courtyard now choked with weeds and brambles.  The thorns tugged at your leathers but could never penetrate the thick hide.  Your eyes fixed on the entryway as you waited. A few seconds later the creature crawled into view.  The skin grey and littered with pustules leaking greenish fluid, the smell was enough to gag most ordinary men.  Its skin resembled that of a bloated corpse’s with sunken eyes glowing with otherworldly light.  “Aye you are an unsightly one, aren’t you?  Would’ve left you in peace but you had to kill the living.”  You sighed and parried the grave hag’s tongue as it lashed out at you.  The putrid smell of its breath had your stomach turning but you’d smelled worse. A quick flick of your wrist and your blade sliced through thick flesh and resulted in the tongue flopping on the ground at your boots.  The pain filled screech raked across your senses as you leaped forward and aimed for the head.  The gleaming silver of your longsword sliced through her flesh.  The now headless corpse flopped to the ground and you used Igni to burn the corpse.  

“Best go and cleanse your home.  Can’t risk anything else catching wind and invading.”  Your boots crunched over the loose dirt the only sound in the area aside form the crackling of the fire.  Best to get the hell out of the area before the smell drove you away or lured hungry predators looking for a quick meal.  Though, you couldn’t figure what creature would think charred grave hag flesh a pleasant meal.  You entered the dwelling and a faint call caught your attention.  Your longsword was in your hand in an instant as you scanned the room.  Huddled in the corner was a… Human?  You sheathed the sword and stalked over to the man who held up his hands in front of his face.

“Just do it quickly!!! Go ahead!  But I taste terrible!!”  A sigh escaped your lips as you took in the man cowering on the floor.  The cloth he wore had to be expensive as the stitching was fine and the thread appeared gold.  His breeches were tight and well made to fit his fit frame.  Perhaps the nobility participated in physical training, you weren’t too fussed to find out.  Your eyes roamed over his boots and saw they were not worn from travel or battle. They alighted on the lute and instantly your demeanor soured.  A bard, just my luck.  I’d prefer the grave hag.

“I’m not going to eat you.” He lowered his hands and blue eyes met yours.  The shade was a rarity, it matched the shade of the sky at noontide.  Strange, you didn’t think humans could possess that shade. You crouched down until you were eye level with him.  

“You’re not going to eat me?”  You shook your head as you worked at the bindings on his wrists, soon the cloth strips fell away from his skin.  The angry red grooves had you wincing but now the man was free.  He could take care of himself, maybe.  You sighed as most bards you encountered were pompous pricks that cared only to inflate their own ego.  They knew nothing of survival or battle, they just chose to sing about it amidst ale and fine food.

“No.  I don’t care for the flesh of humans.”  Sarcasm put an edge to your tone but he didn’t miss it. Relief swept his face as he grinned up at you.

“Well that’s great! The name is Oboro Shirakumo!  Who do I have to thank for saving me?”  You sighed and straightened.  You gave him your name which he rolled off his tongue. “I like it.  It suits you!”  He grinned and looked around frantically.  “My lute!”  You pointed to the corner and the delighted sound that left his lips almost had you smiling.  Almost.

“Why were you there in the hag’s company?”  He tucked his lute back around his body before he straightened his tunic and dusted his breeches.  He was a tall bastard.  You sensed irritation simmering in the faint aura he gave off.

“Not by choice!”  He held up a finger towards you which only earned him mild interest.  “I was traveling with a group, may they rest in peace, and we were ambushed by whatever that was.  Did you say a grave hag?”  You gave him a brief nod and he shuddered at the mention of it.  “I shall count myself lucky then.  We were traveling and stopped here to rest for the night.  Then that thing attacked us each night.  I was next but I don’t know why it didn’t eat me.”

“Hmm.”  You didn’t want to comment on that.  Perhaps the grave hag disliked the taste of bards. You had no clue.  Though the idea of a grave hag turning up its nose at bard flesh was an amusing one.  “If you are alright now, I shall take my leave.”

“Wait!  Wait!”  You turned your head as his hand grabbed your arm with his fingers digging in desperately. Irritation flared briefly in your chest before you tamped it out.  “I shall pay you handsomely if you can escort me to the nearest city.”

“No.”  You shrugged off his hold to his utter shock.  

“What do you mean no?”  He stood in front of you with his hands crossed over his chest.  “You did hear that I will pay you to take me.”

“I heard you.  Doesn’t matter how much you pay me.  I will not take you into the city.”  You stepped out into the night air and blew out a breath as the fire had died down.  Only ashes remained of the creature that haunted the area.  The townsfolk were likely to be appeased, you doubted they’d be happy, no one was happy these days.  

“Then take me as close as you can!  I must get back to the city!”  He wasn’t giving up which only annoyed you.  There was something about him that tugged at your mind.  No martial skills you figured.  Those soft hands had probably never seen a sword in his life. The man was a sitting snack in the area and no doubt would draw more creatures from hiding.  Causing more chaos and work for you.  You had your own mission to finish but getting more work wasn’t part of that.  Irritation buzzed along your nerves and you grumbled.  In the end you made your decision on that gut feeling you had that this man would die without you and for the first time in a long time, you had an attack of conscience.

“I’m not going into the city but I will take you as far as a half day’s ride from one.  There’s a town nearby that you can purchase fare from.” His eyes lit up and he cheered before doing a little jig.  It was honestly one of the most amusing things you’d seen lately that the laugh escaped before you covered it with a cough.

“I heard that!  You can’t hide that laugh from me.”  His smile wasn’t dimmed one bit by your glare at him.  “Thank you! I can’t tell you how much I appreciate the escort.  Though, will anyone else be joining us?”

“No.  I travel alone now.”  You whistled and the sound of hooves reached you as your horse came running back.  Your hand ran over his neck and massaged to ease his fear as he nosed at your hair. “Get on.”

“What?”  Oboro stared at you in surprise.  His blue eyes blinked owlishly before he pointed to your giant destrier.  “That is not a horse!”

“Don’t make me repeat myself.  Get on the horse.”  He huffed but managed to get up in the saddle after a few failed attempts.  “Tell me you’ve ridden a horse before.”

“Of course I have! Just not one this big before.” You shook your head and started walking towards the exit of the clearing.  “Wait, it’s nighttime!  That’s when the monsters come out!” Oboro’s voice had just the slightly tremble in it.

“I know.”  You answered simply.  

“I see you’re going to be an excellent conversationalist on this trip.”  He sighed and crossed his arms as he sat back on the saddle.  Your horse gave a loud snort which amused you. “Tell me something.”  You briefly glanced back at him as you kept stride with the horse.

“What is it?”

“What are you?”  That startled you.  Not that you exactly hid what you were, that was too difficult. The mutations weren’t subtle but neither did they alert the vicinity to your presence.  To the well educated a quick glance was all they needed to have your name on their lips.  

“What do you think I am?” Best to get the preconceived notions out of the way.

“Hmm.  A seasoned warrior for one.”  He grasped his chin as he thought about what else.  “Wait a second.  Let me see your eyes again.”  You sighed and turned your gaze back to him.  The color left his face as he saw them.  Eyes with narrow pupils just like a cat.  One of the few telltale signs of what your kind was.

“A. A.”  He stumbled over his words and you decided to put him out of his misery.

“A Witcher.”

[morbid-n-macabre]

Bart Corbin: The murders of the dentist:

Bart was a very successful dentist in Lawrenceville, Georgia, and he was married to Jennifer Corbin. Together the couple led a nice life, they owned a beautiful new home, nice new vehicles, and they had two perfect little boys, Dalton and Dillon. The family had the means to take extravagant vacations, like cruises to Italy; everything seemed to be so perfect, on the outside anyways.

Jennifer had not been happy for some time now. She was aware of the affair her husband was having with his secretary. Jen had been lonely, and Bart was not exactly kind; he could be abusive, not only towards Jen, but also their young children.

In January of 2004 Jennifer decided to work on herself, she was determined to get her confidence back. She began working out to lose her extra baby weight, and she picked up a day job working at a church's preschool while the boys were at school. Then Jen's mother surprised her with an online game called EverQuest, mom had been playing it and decided that her daughter might want to join.

Jen was soon obsessed with her gaming, and she and Bart were fighting more than ever; she'd even asked Bart for a divorce!

See, Jen had met someone on EverQuest; his name was Chris, a man from Missouri. They had been sending constant emails, and chatting on the phone at all hours. Jen felt special again, she fell hard and quick; this new couple began making plans for a new life, plans which did not involve Bart Corbin. The dentist, having had his own affairs, quickly picked up on the signs of infidelity.

On Friday, November 10th of 2004, Jennifer's new world game crashing down. Chris couldn't keep up his charade, and admitted that he was really a she. Her name was really Anita Hearn, she was a married mother with children of her own; Jen had been catfished. She was absolutely devastated; Jen told her sister about her affair, and admitted that she still loved her online lover, regardless of the person's gender. The couple were planning to meet on Thanksgiving weekend, and prove their love for one another.

The Corbins spent Thanksgiving at her sister's house; Jennifer seemed happy enough, but Bart was brooding; the dentist had spent most of the holiday locked in the basement. At 6 pm, Bart demanded that it was time they returned home; the dentist made a pit stop at a local grocery store and Jen ran inside real quick. She made the mistake of leaving her phone in the vehicle with Bart, and this is when he found proof of his wife's affair. There were love poems on the device, and Bart confronted Jen immediately. Bart punched Jen right in the face as the boys in the back seat cried. Jen called her father, she and the boys went to stay at his house for a few days.

On Monday, November 29th of 2004, Bart Corbin filed for divorce. The dentist asked for custody of the children and to be awarded all of the couples’ assets, including the home. The very next day, Bart discreetly drove to Troy, Alabama, where he met with his friend Richard Wilson to borrow a .38 Smith & Wesson. He told his friend that Jen had been having an affair and he was afraid for his life. Meanwhile, Bart and Jen's young son had a premonition: the 7 year old child was telling everyone at school that his father was about to kill his mother. Somehow he already knew what was coming.

By December 1st Jen had left her parent's and returned home temporarily, just until she could acquire her own place. When she woke up this morning, Jen found her purse on the floor; her new cell phone, a credit card, and some personal papers were missing. She knew Bart had been in the bedroom as she slept, and that he'd taken her belongings. The couple quarreled, and she called 911; the operator listened as Bart ran over Jennifer's foot with his car. Still Jen refused to press charges; the two decided to try and get along, for the boys sake. Jen wanted peace, but she would never have it.

At 1:45 a.m. on December 4th, Bart's parent's neighbor, Steve, noticed the dentist pull into the driveway of his family's home. Just a few hours later, little Dalton ran to a neighbor's house in his underwear; he was crying, saying that his daddy had killed his mommy. 911 was alerted.

While Jen and the boys slept, Bart had snuck into the house. Using a pillow to muffle the sound, he shot her in the back of the head at point blank range, instantly taking his wife's life. He then pulled Jennifer’s body into a semi-sitting position and placed the gun in her hand, attempting to make the murder look like a suicide. He then left his boys alone in the home to discover their mommy's corpse.

After Jen's murder, Bart didn't even take his boys with him, they were left in the care of Jen's sister. The dentist lawyered up immediately.

This wasn't Bart's first murder. He had gotten away with it years before, and he fully intended to get away with it again.

Nobody left Bart Corbin and survived.

Back in 1987 Dolly Hearn had been enrolled in the Medical College of Georgia School of Dentistry in Augusta. Her father had been a dentist, and she wanted to walk in his footsteps. Dolly was drop dead gorgeous, she reminds me of a young Delta Burke; she was vivacious, intelligent, and charming. Again, you'd be hard pressed to find someone who disliked this bright young woman. It was in dental college that Dolly met Bart Corbin; they had fallen in love and began spending every waking moment together. Within months Bart had proposed; this took Dolly aback, and she politely declined. The ambitious college student had no intentions of allowing anything to come between her and her dreams, and a man wasn't gonna hold her back. But Bart wouldn't take no for an answer, he pestered her to accept his proposal and he became controlling, domineering. Dolly told several friends of Bart’s obsession with her; friends watched helplessly as Dolly began withdrawing into herself. Finally, she gathered her courage and broke off the relationship.

Bart simply couldn't handle the rejection. At first he begged and pleaded for a second chance, he even threatened suicide. Taking pity on him, Dolly began seeing him again, but not in she serious manner. In November of 1989, Dolly was ready to move on, she broke it off for good. Within days of the break up, bad things began to happen. Dolly was finding different windows and doors in her apartment left open, openings which she was certain had been closed, plus her car was vandalized. She knew it was all Bart's doing, and she did report it to police. Still, Dolly's heart was too big; she was aware that pressing charges would ruin Bart's career before it even began, so she dropped the charges. But Bart didn't stop here, he began stealing her dental tools, messing with her contact lens solution, he even stole her beloved cat, Tabitha! Then he ruined Dolly's senior project, a set of dentures which she'd been painstakingly working on throughout the year to make perfect; suddenly this bright young woman was flunking out of dental school. Bart wouldn't stop, and Dolly became so afraid that she borrowed her father's gun for protection.

Wednesday, June 6th of 1989 started out like any other: Dolly went about her usual routine, and Bart called her; she hadn't been home long when a friend knocked on her apartment door. Said friend came into the apartment, and noticed a man standing alone in the dark bathroom; sadly this friend didn't say anything to Dolly about it. They thought that Dolly must know he was there, and maybe she hadn't wanted anyone to know she had a man over. If only this friend had said something, Dolly might still be alive.

Later that day, Dolly’s roommate came home to find her sitting slumped over on the couch, covered in blood; a .38 revolver was laying in her lap. Despite the harassment, despite the fact that everyone said she would never commit suicide, police deemed the death a suicide. For the next 15 years there would be no justice for Dolly. When his first victim's parents heard of Jen's demise, they promptly contacted Jen's family. They immediately knew that Bart had done it again, and these two families who had never met before suddenly had a very strong bond; together they were determined to get justice for the women in Bart's life. Dolly's case was finally reopened, and police realized that the college student had not shot herself.

At Christmas of 2004, Bart was finally indicted for the murder of Dolly Hearn, and the next month he was charged with killing his wife. Thankfully the man who had given Bart the gun just a week prior to the murder came forward; because of this Bart plead guilty to the murders of his wife and former girlfriend. There dentist was sentenced to two concurrent life sentences and will be eligible for parole in late 2020.

There's actually a third murder in which Bart was suspected, a colleague and an acquaintance.

Jennifer’s sister, Heather Tierney, has officially adopted Dalton and Dillon. She has raised them alongside her own children. They are reportedly doing well. 17 years after her murder, Dolly Hearn was posthumously granted her Doctor of Dental Medicine Degree.

[readerimagines]

can u write more bandit/reader.... that other one was so good and you wrote him perfectly u_u

It was just a long and absolutely boring turn for the man that had to drive around checking that the zone of Berlin that he had to take care of was calm. They chose him to do that job, with his experience in special public order he was such a precious operator in their squad. The point is that yes, it was too calm. With that temperature it was hard even to breath and only tourists were around at that time. For a place like Berlin, that has barely seen 30 degrees in summer, that sudden wave of terrible heat was so unexpected and destructive for the mood of the local people, used to cold air and not always too bright weathers. He adjusted his gear and hopped down the car to stop near the square and enjoy his break. Luckily a recent directive from “above” allowed them to wear something more casual, a pair of shorts and a t-shirt, both black to give it a somehow professional look, even though it was quite evident that it was a momentary set of clothing for circumstances like that, where anyone could even pass out from the high temperatures. He almost drank all the water in the little bottle, so he bought another one and, exiting the store, he noticed an apparently worried figure on a bench at the bus stop.

“ Sprichst du Deutsch?“He asked the girl, scaring her for the sudden speech that woke her up from her research for something in her bag, while she kept a luggage under her legs with a strange agitation. She raised her head to look at him and tilted it, confused. “Oh, Sir, did I do anything wrong? “The young woman asked panicking internally. “Have you lost something? “He then asked, receiving the answer to his previous question with her English reply. “Ah… Is it so obvious? “ She asked with a trembling voice, caused by her terrible embarrassment. “Actually yes, I must have dropped my purse somewhere and… Well, I can’t find that bloody thing! I’ve bumped onto someone while exiting the metro and now I’m without my ID, money and tickets and the damn keys to get back at the apartment I should live in… “The man massaged his temples with a hand and sighed with a slightly amused smile. “Isn’t it an universal not-said rule that you should hold your bag close to your body when you ride public vehicles? “ He asked jokingly, at least he found something to do in a boring, scorching day like that. “Well, yes, but… yes, I’m kind of distracted, but it’s okay, I can… Um… I can ask a friend to stay at their place, really! “ Y/n said, trying to appear like she had everything under control. “Well, you may give me the address so I can drive you there, then. Without a ticket you can’t ride anything and as you said, you don’t have any money either, with you. Am I right? “Was he trying to make her bury herself in embarrassment? Was it so obvious the fact that she just kicked herself out her own apartment and had no way to get in it, since it was her first day in Berlin and didn’t remember the address? Because yes, she wrote it down in a piece of paper inside that magic purse and thought that cleaning the phone memory was a good thing before going in a place she had never been in, deleting all the informations she needed to get at least at home.And yes, it was quite a weird day. “I… I don’t remember it, let me call her a second! “She said laughing nervously while calling her friend that, not knowing that she went there in Berlin a day before, turned off the phone because of some things she had to do. Y/n just grunted in frustration and turned back to the officer that was watching the scene laughing silently. “Let’s go check in the Metro’s offices, okay? Maybe someone returned it. “He offered and this time the other didn’t have any choices at her side.

It was weird, she was in a car with an officer that, let’s be honest, was quite a sight, that was just driving comfortably speaking trough the radio to a coworker that, as she could pick up through the German not-too-familiar language, was called… Jäger? Was it a real name? And… Bandit? What did she get herself into? As he closed the conversation with his fellow worker, he leaned his attenction back to her.“So, my coworker said that there at the Metro someone in fact brought a purse, but another agent has it and you will probably not see it until tomorrow, since she got a red code outside the city and didn’t get back at the station to go directly to take care of that. We need to see what to do with you since you could even be some kind of undercover terrorist or whatever. Let’s check if a everything is okay, ja? “He asked, even if it sounded more like a warning, while he parked the car and pulled out the digital database every officer kept during their roams around the city, starting to ask for her informations again, to check that at least in photo she could resemble the person described on the screen. “Well, it appears that even your fingerprints correspond to the ones here, so… I guess we’ll have to wait until tomorrow. “She nodded and sighed tiredly, looking away. “Where will I stay tonight, though? It’s not like I have any money or anything, so… Do you know a place where I can pass the night? “Her concern filled her words as she rubbed one of her eyes. “Try to sleep a bit now. I can do another trip around my zone before we get back at the station. I’ll see if anyone has an extra room at home. I’d let you sleep in a cell too, but that doesn’t look too nice and you look already scary enough with those dark circles and sweat all around the place. “ He was joking, but it hurt a bit, inside her mind. Not for the joke itself, but because she felt horrifying too, after hours of trip, stressed for the whole day and tormented by the high temperatures. It’s like the universe took her “what else could be wrong” as a challenge, when she started the day by getting on the train in public with her trousers inside out without even realizing. She just nodded and yawned covering her mouth, before falling rapidly asleep, with the police man turning the air conditioning in the car on, low, to keep them both cool and not evaporate with the sweat. ___

She somehow felt it would have ended like that, all the cards were on the table for her to see that she had no options: She should have slept at that agent’s place. It was so awkward, but at least she had her luggage and didn’t have to stink for any longer, but one problem was towering between her and her beloved shower. “I’m sleeping on the sofa, stop it. You need to rest properly. “The man insisted taking some covers for the night, just to make the sofa a little less hard. “I insist, please! I’ve alredy taken all your time and made your work hard, at least sleep decently! What if you don’t sleep well enough and you fall asleep at work? “ She said looking at him, the humiliation of stealing his bed after all he has done for her was too much for her to take. He turnes to face her, raising a brow while he ruffed his blond hair to let it breathe, after a day with the helmet on. “Who said I have to work tomorrow? And I’m not so soft that I can’t afford a day of work just because I didn’t sleep. Anyway, I’m Dominic, if you don’t stop whining about my bed it won’t be a pleasure to meet me and I’ll just let you sleep in a cell. “She sighed, puffing her cheeks for a second. “Well, thank you then! “ She finally gave up, looking around, trying to feel more comfortable in that situation. “Good, go take a shower or I’ll have to burn the blankets tomorrow. “He placed a hand on her shoulder and showed her the bathroom door, placing a towel in her arms.

Half an hour after, the woman was outside the bathroom with some clean clothes and a more acceptable aspect, at least she looked more relaxed than before, that had the face of a person on the verge of a breakdown. A delicious smell was the first thing that reached her nose when she walked into the hall, towards the small kitchen. “Woah, what are you cooking? ““I hope you’re not vegetarian. Meatballs and some salad. Nothing special, but I don’t feel like eating too much. “ The man explained turning off the stove and mixing the bowl’s content. “If you’re still hungry there is some garlic bread in the cupboard. Just take it and eat. “Y/n watched him curiously. Why was him so nice? Maybe it was because of some sort of sense of duty, but that Jäger, Marius as she learnt he was called at the station, offered to help too and Dominic just took her at his own place instead. That made her laugh a bit internally, but didn’t say anything. “Okay, thank you again, really.” She replied with a smile, stealing a meatball with his permission. ___

“So… How long did you say you will stay here in Berlin? “ The blond asked rubbing his face with his hands, trying to wake up a bit. “Actually… I’m here to find a job and if I see I can live here I’d like to… just stay here. “ They were awake from probably ten minutes and Dominic looked absolutely, stunningly terrifying. Not that he wasn’t handsome or anything, is just that he was the opposite of a morning person, with that grumpy face and groans he let out when he popped his bones stretching. She offered to make coffee and this time he was the one letting it go and accepting it.

-‘I’ve left you my bed after all. You owe me one. ‘ That’s what he said with his low pitched voice in a murmur, between yawns. -

“I see… Take this. And try not to lose it, thank you. “He took her phone and unlocked it by placing her finger on the button as she usually did, gaining a gasp from her.

“Wha-““Shut it a second, do you always complain like this? “ He scoffed the girl that just blushed and rolled her eyes. To be a police man he really was annoying! But, she had to admit that it was… fun. The athmosfere between them was so friendly and relaxed that she could almost get used to it… Not even the time to realize what actually happened that he placed her phone back in her hands.

“There you go. If you need anything, just call. If I have the time and the will, I’ll try to help. Don’t call Jäger, he’s an ass. “

She laughed and he stared at her for a second, smiling slightly. “Before going to take your purse back, do you want to have lunch together? I’m paying. Plus, without your money I can’t see how you can do it yourself, so, Ja, I’m doing it. Objections? “She smiled and poured them a nice cup of milk and coffee, shaking her head. “No, Sir. ““Good, or-““You’ll let me sleep in the cell, yeah, yeah.” She interrupted him, mocking that little joke he tormented her with, the day before, causing him to snort slightly.

(I know it’s not exactly a BanditxReader, but… YET! I got this idea and thought it could be cute, above all because it’s an evident start of something. May write a sequel one day, just to make it more clear, but yeah, I wanted to create this kind of affectionate but fun atmosphere with them teasing each other and stealing glances or smiles just because they have a sympathy for each other that they don’t have with others that later on can develop in something more! I hope you like it and feel free to ask again for something more specific if you want! )