#mine blips for 30 minutes and that's it

[vanilla-bean-buttercream]

God trying to give me a third bad thing to happen to me before good things can happen but I keep rolling nat 20s

[halfmoonshines]

summary; a song fic for buckyxreader to the tune of timeless by taylor swift

Down the block, there's an antique shop And something in my head said, "Stop," so I walked in On the counter was a cardboard box And the sign said, "Photos: twenty-five cents each" Black and white, saw a '30s bride And school lovers laughin' on the porch of their first house The kinda love that you only find once in a lifetime The kind you don't put down And that's when I called you and it's so hard to explain But in those photos, I saw us instead

Dating the Bucky Barnes had come with it's understandable share of challenges; media scrutiny, being surrounded by people you used to consider larger than life. But there was more than surface level struggles; mostly being his acclimation to modern society. He had only been free from HYDRA control for a short time before the blip, and it had only been three years since everyone had been brought back. There were still things that made him stand still in the middle of the street, brows furrowed and jaw set. Like this antique shop.

You felt the tug on your hand when he abruptly stopped, and you turned your attention to the store he was surveying. The window was decked in 'old timey' memorabilia - old baseball cards, first editions of books, and black and white photos. Noticing his hesitation to make a move, but obviously having his attention drawn, you pulled him into the store with a smile.

"C'mon, Buck."

The smell when you entered reminded you of a candy shop before close, the hint of a sweet smell lingering. Bucky led you to a display of photos, his hand warm in yours and the sign announcing '25 cents each'. Bucky used his free hand to shuffle through the photographs while you peered over his shoulder until he got stuck on one. A soldier returning home, a woman in a dress kissing his cheek in welcome.

You could only wonder what he must be thinking. Was this how it would've been for him, if he'd made it home? How would it have felt to take his first step back into Brooklyn?

After a few minutes of his uncertain fingers hovering over the photograph you snatched it out of its holder. "Let's get it."

Bucky glanced at you as if shaken from a dream. "Are you sure, doll? We don't even know who those people are."

On a crowded street in 1944 And you were headed off to fight in the war You still would've been mine We would have been timeless I would've read your love letters every single night And prayed to God you'd be comin' home all right And you would've been fine We would have been timeless

Your smile was sweet as you replied. "We can pretend they're us. I'm just welcoming my soldier home."

"Oh yeah?" His smile was more than enough to make you continue.

"I was heartbroken when you shipped off; I wrote you letters constantly. But I knew you would come home to me."

"I love you." Neither of you would mention the water shimmering in his gaze.

Time breaks down your mind and body Don't you let it touch your soul It was like an age-old classic The first time that you saw me The story started when you said, "Hello"

requests here

[5-seconds-of-bucky]

Kisses

A/N: Okay, so let’s pretend that Bucky didn’t blip �� That is the job I am trusting you with as you read this, dear reader (especially during a certain part, but you’ll get there when you get there) Also, please ignore my lack of original concepts, as I am well aware that I used this similar concept for a Shawn fic a while back (I promise this version is quite different and much better written) Anyways, happy reading! :)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem Avenger!Reader

Summary: Different types of kisses throughout you and Bucky’s relationship

Word Count: 4.3k+  (oof, much longer than I intended. Sorry, friends!)

Warnings: Swearing, reader gets stabbed, mentions of blood, mentions of pregnancy, (brief) mention of death (nobody actually dies)

---

The First Kiss

It was quiet as the two of you walked down the hallway, save for the occasional sounds of Bucky’s boots scuffing on the linoleum. Whether it was because you didn’t want to wake up anyone else in the compound this late at night or because there was nothing left to say, you weren’t sure.

After months of longing looks and nervous conversations (and a bit of pushing from Steve), Bucky finally found the courage to ask you out on a date. He made it a whole ordeal, even bringing flowers when he asked if you wanted to grab some sandwiches from a nearby deli and eat them at the park. You would be lying if you said you hadn’t been waiting to hear those words for a while now and told him you’d be happy to. Your shy smile made Bucky’s insides melt and he found himself mirroring one back at you.

Now, your third date--a midnight hike through a trail you suggested--was coming to an end.

“Can I walk you back to your room?” Bucky broke the silence, chewing his lip nervously as he awaited your answer.

“Your room is right across the hall from mine. Aren’t you going that way anyways?” you giggled.

“Let me be a gentleman,” he insisted as you rounded the corner of the hallway that led to your rooms.

“I mean, how can I say no to that?”

“I don’t think you can.” His signature smirk and charm had you melting and you stared at the floor in hopes that he wouldn’t see the obvious ways he affected you.

The two of you arrived at your door almost too soon, and you found yourself wishing that your night together wasn’t over quite yet.

“I had a great time with you, Bucky.” You turned to fully face him, looking up shyly into his eyes.

He took one of your hands with his, bringing it up to his lips. “I did too, Y/N. We should do it again.”

“The date or getting eaten alive by mosquitoes?”

“The mosquitos were endearing but I was more so thinking of another date.”

“I’d like that.” You squeezed his hand before letting go, pushing your door open and taking a step forwards before Bucky’s hand grabbed your wrist. He gently spun you back towards him, his charm suddenly replaced by a more timid look.

“Um, can I . . . would you let me . . .” he glanced down to your lips. “Can I kiss you?”

You didn’t respond, simply placing your free hand on his cheek and leaning towards him. His hands both went to wrap around your waist as your lips brushed and your other hand came to rest on his chest. The kiss was slow and soft. There was no need to rush as you stood there in the hallway at 1:45 in the morning, wrapped around each other like you couldn’t let go.

You finally broke away, feeling Bucky’s chest steadily rise beneath your palm as you calmed your own breathing. You tried to play it cool on the outside, though you were screaming with glee internally.

“Goodnight, Bucky.” You slowly slipped out of his grasp, a twinkle in your eyes that hadn’t been there before.

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

The Welcome Home Kiss

Your eyelids seemed to droop more by the second as you tried to keep yourself awake. The caffeine you had earlier could only do so much to curb the sleepiness that was settling in your bones. The fact that you were sitting in your bed at the moment probably wasn’t helping, but you were too tired to move.

Waiting up for Bucky seemed like a good idea until it was 2:30 in the morning and he still wasn’t back. He would probably scold you when he got back, saying how sleep deprivation didn’t look good on you, but you didn’t care. You hadn’t seen your boyfriend in a week and you missed him. If you had to pull an all-nighter to do so, so be it.

The sound of footsteps outside your door pulled you from your thoughts. It only took a second to recognize the familiar clunking of Bucky’s combat boots, causing you to perk up as you waited for him to peek into your room.

The footsteps paused outside your door for a moment and you held your breath in anticipation. The door didn’t open though, and the footsteps became fainter, presumably walking away from your room.

Does he think I’m asleep? You frowned. Usually, he at least opened the door to check in on you.

You pulled the blanket off your body, getting out of bed and padding out of your room towards Bucky’s. You did your best to stay quiet as you twisted the door knob in case he was already asleep. It wasn’t uncommon for him to pass out as soon as his head met the pillow after a mission. Lord knows he needed the rest.

You were met with an empty room when you peeked your head in. You almost left, assuming that your excited mind had been playing tricks on you, when you caught sight of light peeking out from beneath the bathroom door. A smile crept its way onto your face and you closed the door behind you, sitting on the edge of his bed and waiting for him to come out.

A few more minutes passed and you debated just letting yourself fall asleep there when the bathroom door swung open. Bucky stepped out, wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt that you had tried to steal on multiple occasions. He didn’t notice you until he was almost to his bed and lifted his gaze from the floor, jumping back with a “shit!” when he saw you.

“What are you doing up, doll?” he asked once he regained his composure.

“Waiting for you,” you replied simply, pulling him into a hug as soon as he sat down next to you. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too.”

You pulled back just enough to press your lips against his, relishing the languid movements of his lips against yours at the absurd hour of the morning. His arms traveled down to your hips as yours moved to wrap around his neck.

“Welcome home, sergeant.”

The Fevered Forehead Kiss

You were burning up.

The sweat drenched shirt you were wearing was sticking to your body and the fact that Bucky, AKA: the walking furnace, was laying next to you, wasn’t helping in the slightest. His arm was slung over your back, which made your situation that much worse. He seemed to be sleeping peacefully: a rarity with him. Moving out of bed was sure to wake him up but you really needed to change your shirt.

You sighed, deciding that you needed to get into some dryer clothes if you had any hopes of falling back asleep before the sun rose. Prying yourself from Bucky’s grip as carefully as possible, you swung your feet over the edge of the bed and stood up. A wave of dizziness overcame you, forcing you to brace yourself against the wall. A quiet groan escaped your lips when the dizziness started getting worse rather than fading away. Your vision started to tunnel: a surefire sign that you were going to pass out.

A pair of arms wrapped around you and Bucky’s face came into view. He gently eased you back onto the bed, supporting your back as he layed you back down. You felt a hand brush over your cheek as the dizziness faded and your senses returned.

Bucky frowned at how warm your cheek felt beneath his touch. You were feeling a little warm when he carried you to bed after a group game night--of which you had fallen asleep halfway through--but he didn’t think much of it then. He smoothed some hair back from your forehead and rested his lips there to better judge your temperature.

“Shit, doll. You’re burning up,” he murmured.

“It’s really hot in here.” Sleep was clawing at you but you were uncomfortable beyond belief. “I need to change my shirt.”

Bucky silently helped you out of the shirt you were wearing, throwing it in the hamper before shuffling over to the dresser to get you another one. He grabbed the first one he saw, making his way back over to where you were laying and helping you into it.

“Get some sleep, sweetheart,” he said as he pressed his lips to your forehead once more. “I’ll be right here.”

The “Shut Up!” Kiss

The Quinjet was filled with chatter as the team headed back to the compound after a successful mission. You managed to get the intel you needed and nobody got hurt in the process--well, nobody except you, but no one needed to know that.

You managed to get yourself stabbed in the right bicep when you were making your way back to the jet. It wasn’t horribly severe, it just hurt like a bitch. You were quick to take care of the Hydra agent and keep moving, knowing the team was going to want to get back to the compound as quickly as possible to celebrate. Missions without some kind of injury were a rarity with you guys.

You just assumed that you’d wait until you got to the compound and stitch yourself up there without anyone knowing. Seemed easy enough of a plan, right?

“Hey, doll,” Bucky said as he sat down in the seat to your left with a kiss to your cheek.

“Hey, babe.” You leaned your head on his shoulder, snuggling into the warmth radiating off of him.

“I’m so ready to get in bed.”

“You said it.”

You were able to block out the pain coming from your arm for a moment, allowing yourself to relax in your boyfriend’s presence instead. That was, until Bucky’s arm came up to wrap around your shoulders. You winced when his hand brushed over your wound, cursing internally when you felt him stiffen up next to you. Of course he was going to find out.  

He pulled his hand back, seeing it covered in red. “Is that blood?”

“Yes but that doesn’t matter right now. You know what does matter? Getting to bed cause you look-” You sat up, rubbing your hand over the wound yourself, finding that there was significantly more blood there now than there was earlier.

“You are literally bleeding right now!” He raised his voice slightly and you glared at him, not wanting to draw attention to the situation.

“I know but-”

“I love you but if you shut the fuck up right now, Y/N-”

“Buck-”

Bucky grabbed your face, quickly bringing your lips to his. “You are going to stop talking and let me take care of this, okay? No ifs, ands, or buts. I don’t wanna hear ‘em.” His voice was stern but you could see the concern in his eyes.

“Okay,” you sighed, dropping your eyes to your lap.

“Now let me see your arm so we can fix you up.”

The Top of the Head Kiss

“You don’t think it’s too soon, do you?” Bucky asked Steve as they sat in the kitchen. It was early on a Thursday morning, when everyone else was either asleep or doing an early morning workout. The two super soldiers had already finished their daily morning run and decided to enjoy a cup of coffee in the kitchen before the rest of the team showed up.

“Buck, I thought you were going to propose after the fifth date. You’ve been together for almost two years. I think it’s about time,” Steve answered with a chuckle, enjoying the bashful look on his best friend’s face.

“I just wanna do it right, you know?” Bucky bit the inside of his cheek as he contemplated the right way to propose for what was probably the thousandth time. “I know she doesn’t want something that’s so romantic it’s cheesy but I want it to be special.”

“I’m sure you’ll figure it out.” Steve patted Bucky’s arm as he got up to put his mug in the sink. “You know she’s going to say ‘yes’ no matter what.”

“Yeah, I know. It’s just scary trying to-”

“Morning boys.” Your groggy voice rang through the kitchen, causing Steve and Bucky to immediately shut up.

“You’re up early, sweetheart,” Bucky commented as you made your way over to him.

“Thought I’d be productive today.” You ran a hand through his hair, still unruly from his run, before placing your lips on top of his head. “Whatcha’ guys talking about?”

Steve and Bucky shared a panicked look. “Uhh . . . super secret boy band stuff.” Bucky’s hands made their way to your hips, fingers messing with the hem of your shirt.

“Ohh, okay. Let me just grab my breakfast and then I’ll let you plan your little boyband stuff.” You ruffled Bucky’s hair and busied yourself with making a bagel, winking at him before leaving the kitchen.

“You better hurry up,” Steve chuckled. “Cause she’s gonna figure out what you’re doing soon if you don’t.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Bucky grumbled. “I’m working on it.”

The Passionate Kiss

“I’m so hungry!” you complained as you took your suit off, having just returned from a mission. You weren’t able to eat lunch earlier and your stomach was making sure you knew just how much it did not appreciate that.

“We stocked up the fridge yesterday so you should be good to go,” Bucky said from his place on the edge of the bed. His eyes stayed glued on you as you slipped on a pair of shorts and one of his Henleys.

You smiled brightly at his words and made your way over to him, giving a quick peck to his temple and grabbing his hand. “Care to join me?”

“Course, doll.” He stood up and followed you out of your shared room, wrapping an arm around you and pulling you into his side as you walked to the kitchen. Everything was going according to plan.

The mission you just came back from? It was fake. You didn’t know that of course, but Bucky had Steve and Tony help him set it up so he could get ready for what he was planning on doing tonight without you either finding out or getting overly suspicious. What was he planning on doing, exactly? Proposing. He was finally going to propose tonight.

You and Steve were sent out on an undercover “mission” in which you had to pretend to be a couple in order to attend a ball and gather intel on a possible new Hydra branch. Bucky wasn’t quite sure how Tony managed to set the whole thing up, but he decided not to bother himself with the logistics. There were more important issues at hand.

He patted his pocket as you parted from his side to grab plates. Yup, the ring was still there.

“Why don’t I get the plates and you grab what you want from the fridge, sweetheart?” he suggested.

“Oh no, I got the plates. You grab whatever you think is good. I’ll eat whatever.” You took two plates out of the cabinet and made your way to the table, your back to the fridge.

This is going to be harder than he anticipated.

In his debate to decide the perfect way to propose to you, Bucky somehow came to the conclusion that the best way to ask you to be his future wife was by spelling out “Will you marry me?” on the refrigerator with a bunch of magnets. A picture of the two of you from when you first started dating was placed next to it with a heart magnet, and Bucky was pretty proud of himself for the idea. He forgot, of course, that you could be a little oblivious sometimes when it came to noticing things.

No need to stress about it. She’ll notice eventually.

Bucky grabbed some things from the fridge, microwaving a few before bringing them over to the table and sitting down in the seat next to yours. “Bon appetit!”

“¡Muchas gracias, señor!” You smiled, already dumping a few things onto your plate and digging in.

“That was a completely different language,” he chuckled.

“And?”

He shrugged his shoulders. “Tell me ‘bout the mission.”

“It was alright,” you said through a mouthful of food. You swallowed before continuing. “I don’t know why they sent Steve with me instead of you. You’d think that since we had to pretend to be a married couple, they’d have me go with my boyfriend.” Damn, Tony really didn’t try to be that subtle, did he?

“Yeah, strange . . .”

“Anyways, it was pretty easy. I didn’t even have to go to a debriefing!” You put some more food on your plate, noticing that Bucky had barely touched his. “You okay? You’ve hardly eaten.” You motioned towards his plate.

“Hmm? Oh, I ate before you got home so I’m not that hungry.” It wasn’t entirely a lie. He ate, just not a lot to be considered a meal. Nerves.

“Uh huh.” You gave him a weird look as you took a bite of food. “You’re up to something.”

“Me? Up to something? Never.” He watched you finish your food and sit back with a satisfied groan.

“Okay, sure.” You gave him a playful glare as he took your plates and got up to put them in the sink. You grabbed the leftover food and containers, and put them in the sink, nudging Bucky’s hip with yours.

“You trying to start something, doll?” he asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Maybe I am.” You looked back at him, completely missing the colorful magnets on the fridge yet again as you opened it and put the food back inside. Your hand caught the ‘W’ when you tried to take your hand off of the refrigerator handle, causing it to fall off and clink on the ground.

“Ill you marry me?” you read off the fridge, a confused laugh escaping your mouth. “What?”

Bucky playfully shook his head. He walked over to you, picking up the fallen magnet and putting it back in its place. He leaned against the fridge as he watched you read the phrase again.

“Buck, are you being serious?” Your eyes lit up, though there was a hint of hesitance in your voice.

“I don’t know, you tell me.” He pulled the black velvet case out of his pocket, getting down to one knee.

Your hand slapped over your mouth, trying to contain the squeal of joy threatening to jump out. “Bucky!”

He flipped the lid open. “Y/N Y/L/N, will you marry me?”

You bit your lips together, nodding your head vigorously. “Yeah. I think I’ll marry you, Bucky Barnes.”

Bucky stood up and you grabbed his face, crashing your lips onto his. It was messy but perfect for the moment. Your heart was beating a million times a minute but you paid it no mind as you tried to pull Bucky even closer.

“I love you,” you said once you pulled away for breath. Your eyes watered as you tried to keep tears from falling.

He leaned back in to slot his lips between yours again. “I love you too.”

The Relieved Kiss

Bucky wasn’t sure what exactly to expect when he rushed out with the team to find Captain Marvel lowering down a giant ship in front of the compound, but nothing could have prepared him for what he was about to see.

He’d been a mess since Thanos snapped away half the universe. Unbeknownst to him, you were up in space when the battle happened, leaving him to assume that you had dusted away with the millions of others and left him behind to pick himself up.

While Bucky suffered in his own personal hell down on Earth, you were stranded in a broken spaceship with Tony and Nebula. Up until your rescue, you were sure that you were going to die up there, staring into the void of space. You recorded a message for Bucky after Tony recorded his for Pepper in hopes that it would someday make it back to him. Then Captain Marvel came to save you and bring you back to Earth; to bring you back home.

Bucky ran up with Steve to help Tony, supporting the man who looked like he’d been to hell and back a few times. He stepped aside once Pepper ran up, choking on his own breath when he looked back to the steps of the ship.

You held onto Nebula’s arm as you slowly stumbled down the stairs. Bucky let out a sob at the sight of you, immediately rushing up to help you. You felt so fragile in his arms and it took everything in him to not collapse to the ground in shock, not sure if it was relief that you were alive or horror at your condition

He held you to his chest as tightly as he could once you made it to solid ground, his vibranium arm holding you up by your waist while his flesh hand held your head to his chest.

“Oh my god,” was all he could say as he stood there, body shaking as he cried

“Hey, I’m okay.” Your hand shook as it came up to weakly pat his shoulder. He could tell you were completely out of it: eyes distant and mind barely there. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw someone approaching, ready to help get you to med bay.

He pressed his lips to the crown of your head, gently rocking you back and forth in his arms. “You’re alive.”

You tried to pull back in his grip, forcing him to loosen it slightly. “I love you.” You leaned up to kiss his lips, though it ended up being more of a brush of your lips than an actual kiss.

“I love you too, sweetheart.” He kissed your hairline, scared that kissing your lips would steal more oxygen away--something you desperately needed more of in your system right now. “You’re gonna be okay.”

The “Holy Shit!” Kiss

You weren’t sure how much longer you could keep it a secret. You were sure he would’ve figured it out by now: the sticks in the trash, the sudden avoidance of certain foods you would usually never pass up, the second heartbeat that now accompanied your own.

It wasn’t that you didn’t want him to know--you had actually been trying for a baby for a while now--you just weren’t sure how to tell him. Is this how he felt before proposing?

The opening of your bedroom door interrupted your thoughts. You were met with the sight of your husband shrugging off his jacket when you turned around. He cut his hair recently. Something about it being “too hot for this shit.”

“Why are you wearing a jacket? It’s June,” you giggled.

“The air conditioning is fucking blasting and I got cold while I was doing my paper work, if you must know,” he said, laying the jacket on the chair you were standing next to. He left a quick kiss on your lips, leaving you craving for more.

“You’re crazy.”

“I’m crazy? I think you have the wrong guy here, doll.”

“No, I don’t think I do.” Your hand caught his, tangling your fingers together. Should I just tell him now?

“You keep thinking that. Steve asked me to help train some agents here in a few minutes so I gotta go now.” Another quick kiss and a wink and he started making his way out the door.

“Wait, Buck!” He turned around, almost out the door. “I need to tell you something real quick.” You motioned for him to come back over.

He took a few steps forward, a confused look on his face as you grabbed both his hands in yours. He could hear your heart rate picking up, which only served to worry him.

“So, I was wondering if you would be free to go to the hospital about eight months from now?” You gave a small smile, hoping he’d catch on quickly. “I’m not sure what the exact date is going to be quite yet but I’d really appreciate it if you could be there.”

Bucky frowned. What business did you have at the hospital that you scheduled nine months ahead of time? “Babe, what are you talking about?”

“I think we’re going to need to find our own place too. We’ll need a lot more space.” He still wasn’t catching on. “I doubt having three people in here would be super pleasant.”

He frowned even more and you simply giggled, bringing his hands to your stomach. “I’m pregnant, Buck.”

“Ohh!” He let out a sigh of relief, glad that that was all you were worried about. “Had me worried for a second there, doll.”

It was your turn to frown. “What?”

“From the way you started, I was worried you were dying and this was some sadistic way of telling me.”

“Nope. Quite the opposite, actually.”

“Was wondering when you were going to tell me.” His thumbs rubbed circles into your belly.

“You knew?!”

“I heard the heartbeat weeks ago. Took me a while to figure out what it was but I figured you’d tell me when you were ready.”  

“Damn your supersoldier hearing.” You leaned your head on top of his shoulder, letting out a small groan.

“Holy shit though,” His voice was soft as he rested his chin on your head. “we’re having a baby!”

“Yeah,” You lifted your head up slowly to see the biggest grin on your husband’s face. “we’re having a baby.”

A hand came up to cup your cheeks as he leaned into your lips, kissing you deeply and trying not to cry. “Holy shit!”

---

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[dontcare77ghj]

We Interrupt This Program

Wanda x reader x Vision

Monica had dreamt of her mother and aunt. Memories from long ago when everything had been okay. 

She had woken up in the same uncomfortable hospital room chair she had fallen asleep in, to her hands forming from dust.

Monica had jumped in her chair with a gasp at the strange image before her head snapped over to her mother's hospital bed.

An empty bed.

As Monica jumped to her feet, she suddenly became aware of the loud crashes and screams echoing outside the room.

When Monica opened the door, she was greeted by the disturbing image of people forming from dust.

Monica had rushed past the dusty people and to a doctor.

"Excuse me," She tried to say.

"They're all coming back!" The doctor snapped. "They're all coming back. We don't have the capacity!" He said before rushing away.

Not deterring from her goal, Monica continued to race through the hospital halls until she crashed into a nurse.

"Excuse me? I'm looking for a patient in room one-o-four."

"Who my wife? Do you have a phone?" The man asked.

"I don't have a phone."

"I have to call my wife." The nurse said before turning away from Monica.

People were still appearing around Monica as she rushed towards the hospital front desk and crashed into a man.

"Are you okay? It's okay, I've got it." A nurse said, helping the stranger up before Monica could pull him to his feet.

"I'm looking for a patient in room one-o-four," Monica said to the woman behind the desk, who waved her off.

"I don't know what to tell you." She said before walking away.

Why will no-one help me? Monica wondered as she stared all around her. Where is my mother?

"Monica?" Her name was called loudly over the din. Monica spun to the person calling her name and let out a sigh of relief at the familiar figure.

"Oh, Dr. Harley, thank God!"

"I can't believe it." The woman said, staring Monica up and down.

"I was,"

"Where did you go?" The doctor cut Monica off.

"I've been in her room since she came back from surgery," Monica told her. "I mean, I might have fallen asleep, but no longer than twenty minutes. Dr. Harley, where's my mom?"

"Your mom, she died, honey." The doctor admitted, staring at Monica with honest eyes.

"What?" Monica asked, staring at the doctor in horror. "No. No, no, no, you're mistaken. My mother, the procedure went well. You said so yourself. Clean margins. You're discharging her today."

"The cancer came back." The doctor said, causing Monica to scoff.

"Okay, stop. Stop. You're, my mom is Maria Rambeau, look it up. I mean, look it up. Maria Rambeau." Monica demanded, rushing to the check-in desk and slamming her hand on the counter.

"Monica, I don't understand what's or how, but you need to listen to me. Maria died three years ago." Dr. Harley said, pulling Monica away from the desk.

"Three? No. No, no."

"Which was two years after you,"

"After I what? After I what?" Monica demanded, willing herself to not let her face crumple.

"After you disappeared."

Monica had been dead for five years, well gone as the rest of the world put it. She disappeared in her mother's hospital room, and when she woke up, five years had passed.

Monica had been gone for five years and her mother two. 

The only difference, her mother wouldn't be coming back any time soon.

But Monica was Maria's daughter. Monica had been raised by the strongest of women and refused to crumble under grief's pressure.

So Monica had thrown herself back into the world. She had forced herself back into the life she once lived.

It had been three weeks since Monica and the rest of the universe had found herself undusting, and now she was walking through the SWORD headquarters, preparing for a meeting.

Monica had flashed her badge at the scanner, but the doors wouldn't open as the scanners beeped at her.

"Ma'am? Over here, please." A man from the desk called her over.

"Hi, good morning. I work here, and," 

"If you did, your badge would work." The man cut her off, staring at her with a blank face.

"Right." Monica chuckled nervously. "Um, I have a meeting with,"

"You know who this is?" Tyler Hayward asked, appearing beside Monica.

"This guy." Monica smiled, relieved.

"Captain Monica Rambeau." Hayward stuck his hand out.

"Director Tyler Hayward." Monica nodded, taking his hand and shaking it firmly.

"Acting Director." Hayward corrected. "You haven't aged a day." He complimented.

"And you look old as hell," Monica commented with a smirk, causing Hayward to chuckle.

"Come on, let's catch you up," Hayward said, leading Monica away from the desk and towards the doors she'd tried to enter. "It's been three weeks, and you're the first to report. Can't say I'm surprised, Captain."

"How are the numbers for the astronaut training program?" Monica asked as she and Hayward walked down long and winding halls.

"Dismal. Lost half my personnel in The Blip, and half of those remaining have lost nerve." Hayward told her with a frown. "The program hasn't been the same you've been up there, Rambeau. Shifted away from human-manned mission and refocused on robotics, nanotech, AI. Sentient Weapons, like it, says on the door."

"It also says, "Observation and Response" on that door, not "Creation," Monica noted.

"The world's not the same as you left it. Space is now full of unexpected threats." Hayward told her.

"Always full of threats. And allies." Monica corrected the man.

"Listen, Monica, I just wanna acknowledge the awkwardness of the situation. I know SWORD's your home." Hayward acknowledged, stopping in the middle of a pristine white hallway. "Your mom built this place from the ground up. You grew up here. You should've been here to help name the replacement."

"You were the obvious choice," Monica said with a work-approved smile.

"I was the only choice."   

"I wasn't gonna say it," Monica smirked as Hayward chuckled quietly. "Look, Tyler, you know the job you have to do. I'm here to do mine." She told him, nodding to herself.

"Let's get you back out there," Hayward said, opening the door to his office and letting Monica step inside. "The FBI is in a tizzy over a missing person case up in Jersey."

"Missing persons?" Monica asked, raising a brow.

"I know. But the FBI has requested the use of one of our imaging drones, and I need a chaperone." Hayward told her.

"Tyler, drones usually chaperone me." Monica shook her head.

"I get it." The man nodded before Monica cut him off.

"Look, if this is because of, you don't have to worry about me. I'm good." Monica assured, cringing at the thought of her lost five years.

"There's no easy way to say this but, you're grounded," Hayward said, causing Monica to pause.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"Terrestrial missions only," Hayward confirmed.

"You're kidding. For how long?" Monica scoffed, glaring daggers at the man. "Whose protocol is this?"

"Your mother's," Hayward admitted. "She implemented guidelines in the event vanished personnel ever returned. Look, I know it's a raw deal, but there is one positive takeaway." He said as Monica rolled her eyes.

"And what's that?"

"She believed you'd come back." He said, causing the woman before him to freeze. "You'd be doing me a big favor with this FBI thing, but if you need more time,"

"No. No, I'm good to go." Monica cut him off, looking much sourer than when she began this meeting. 

"Excellent. Keep me updated, Captain." Hayward stood, handing Monica a file which she took with a frown.

Monica made the drive to Westview, New Jersey, the next day. 

The plan was to get there that morning and be out of there by the end of the week. 

In all honesty, Monica did not want to do this assignment. It was so far beneath her pay grade and not for someone with her skill set, but Monica would grin and bear it.

Monica would take whatever assignments she had to to get back to what she used to do. 

It was 11:30 in the morning when Monica pulled up to the edge of Westview where an FBI agent stood, talking with two officers.

"James E Woo, FBI." The agent introduced himself, pulling a card out of nowhere, causing Monica to smile.

"Monica Rambeau, SWORD. What's the story here, Agent Woo?" Monica asked, taking the business card between her fingers.

"I've got a witness set up down the road in Westview, and this morning, it looked like he flew the coop," Woo explained.

"Your missing person is in the Witness Protection Program?" Monica confirmed. 

"I have contacted known associates, relatives," Woo started, but Monica cut him off.

"And let me guess, none of them have seen him either?" She asked, a clearer picture of what was happening now in her head. 

"No. None of them have ever heard of our guy." The man said, shattering Monica's picture.  "Something seemed hanky to me, so I took the first flight out of Oakland to interface with the local law enforcement, which is when I encountered a new wrinkle."

"What is that?"

The FBI agent didn't respond merely nodded his head over to the two police officers, and the two made their way over to them. 

"Pardon me, Sheriff. Would you mind repeating your claim about Westview to my colleague here?" James asked the blank-faced Sherrif.

"No such place." The Sherrif shrugged.

"You're saying the town of Westview, New Jersey, doesn't exist?" Monica asked, turning to the visible sign, with a raised brow.

"It's what I keep telling your G-Man here, but he won't listen." The man said, sipping his coffee.

"I see. And, I'm sorry, but what town are you from?" She wondered.

"Eastview." The man answered, causing Monica's befuddlement to grow.

"Thank you, Sherrif. We'll reach out if we need further assistance." James dismissed the officers as he and Monica turned back to her car. "I pulled phone numbers for all the residents, I'm only through the D's, but so far, I got diddly squat." He told her.

"So you can't reach anyone inside, and everyone on the outside has some sort of selective amnesia?" Monica asked.

"This isn't a missing person's case, Captain Rambeau. It's a missing town. Population 3,892." James said, turning to the sign.

"Why haven't you gone inside to investigate?" Monica questioned the agent.

"Cause it doesn't want me to," James told Monica, causing her head to snap and face him. "You can feel it too, can't you? Nobody's supposed to go in." He said, finally acknowledging the unsettling feeling in the air. 

Monica couldn't respond. She couldn't think of a single thing to say at that moment, so she didn't.

Monica didn't say anything as she opened her trunk and pulled out one of the SWORD drones.

"What about you?" Monica asked as she set the drone up.

"Me?" James confirmed before letting out a small chuckle. "Well, I'm from Bakersfield originally. Growin' up, other kids had Micheal Jordan posters on their walls, but I had Elliot Ness." He explained as Monica moved to stand beside him.

"No, no, no. I mean, why is it that you have an awareness of Westview? Or me, for that matter?" Monica asked, focusing on the controls in her hands. "Is it because we are outside of a certain radius or maybe because we don't have a personal connection?"

"I don't know, maybe,"

"Wait. Where'd it go?" Monica cut James off as the video feed fritzed and the drone disappeared from the air.

"It was right there," James said as Monica stalked closer to the town.

As Monica got closer to the town's edge, she finally noticed the cause of the man behind nerves. 

"Whoa."

"What is it?"

"Some sort of energy field," Monica said, raising her hand towards the force field. 

"Careful, Rambeau," James warned, stilling at Monica's actions. "Captain Rambeau!" He exclaimed when Monica's hand touched the field. "Watch out! Rambeau! Captain Rambeau!"

But it was too late. Monica had touched the force field, and she had disappeared.

Darcy Lewis had been through and experienced so many things in the past thirteen years. Experiences that had completely changed her definition of weird.

That's why when she was approached by two SWORD agents, camped outside of her apartment, asking if she would help on what they were described as an anomaly, Darcy didn't bat an eye before agreeing.

Now Darcy was sat in the back of a van with three other people.

"Hey, what's your field?" Darcy asked the man across from her, breaking the silence of the car.

"We're not supposed to talk to each other." The man shook his head, eyes wide.

"Hmm? Boy Scout leader. Got it." Darcy rolled her eyes before turning the woman beside him. "And you?"

"Nuclear Biology." The woman told her

"Artificial Intelligence." The bald man beside Darcy said.

"Astrophysics." Darcy nodded. "We got the full clown car. It means whatever the threat it, SWORD clearly has no idea what they're dealing with."

"I'm a chemical engineer." The Boy Scout leader piped up.

"No-one cares." Darcy shot him down quickly as the van came to a halt.

"Alright, grab your gear." An agent from the front ordered.

Darcy was the first to exit the car and survey the chaos around her. 

They set up a base camp faster than I paint a base coat. Darcy thought as she walked past several men and women.

"Ms. Lewis." A man called, walking over to her.

"Dr. Lewis." Darcy corrected him. 

"We have your gear inside." The agent said before leading her towards her station.

"Those drones you're sending in, what kinda data are you getting?" Darcy asked, watching as one drone approached Westview on a screen before disappearing.

"I'm afraid that's highly classified." The agent told her.

"You can't see anything?" She asked, causing the agent to freeze.  "FBI, Army. I saw the Air Force Office of Special Investigations out there." She commented, setting up her computer. "Research Lab, Space Command, too. A bona fide, joint, multi-service response. Looking forward to a commemorative T-shirt. Is there somewhere a lady could get a cup of coffee? You guys look like you might get down with those little pod things, horrendous for the environment, by the way."

"Make your assessment, please." The man sighed, irritated by Darcy's comments. 

While going on her mini-tirade, Darcy had been setting up her equipment and station. She now looked down at a small device in her hand, watching it scan the area.

"Whoa. I mean, whoa." Darcy said, her eyes incredibly wide, as she adjusted her glasses.

"What're you getting?" The agent demanded, moving closer to her.

"A colossal amount of CMBR," Darcy told him.

"CM?"

"Cosmic Microwave Background Radiation." She clarified.

"We've been told the radiation is within a safe limit." The agent said, looking at Darcy in concern.

"It is, for now."

"Wait, what do you mean?"

"Sh!" She cut him off with a hiss. Darcy watched the device in her hand with rapt interest as it continued to beep. "There are longer wavelengths superimposed over the noise here." She thought aloud, chewing on her lower lip. 

Darcy surveyed her surroundings before she found what she needed beside her. 

"I got it," Darcy grunted as she heaved a large piece of computing systems onto her desk. Darcy fiddled with the settings and the knobs before a blurry picture began to appear. "I need a TV. An old one. Like, not flat." She told the agent beside her.

Hours later, it had begun to rain, but that didn't stop SWORD operations.

A man in a plastic hazmat suit walked over to where Hayward was standing, allowing the rain to soak his form.

"You good to go?" Hayward asked, yelling slightly over the weather.

"Yes, sir." The man nodded. 

"The sewers will take you straight into town. Try to find anything you can on Rambeau." Hayward ordered him.

"Copy that." The man said, beginning to descend into the sewers.

"Agent Franklin. We will keep this channel open for you." Hayward said over Franklin's earpiece as he crawled through the small tunnel.

"Copy."

"Keep me updated," Hayward told the assembled team before walking away. 

"Director Hayward," Woo said, jogging beside Hayward. "Between you me and the bedpost, I am not confident about this mission."

"Thanks for the feedback, Jimmy. If only my drones were as forthcoming." Hayward said as they entered a tent. 

"There's no reason to suspect the perimeter doesn't extend subterraneously." Jimmy tried to reason. 

"There's no reason to suspect it does."

"We don't know enough about the nature of the threat to send another agent when the first is yet to return," Jimmy told the director.

"Someone must miss you back in Quantico." Hayward scoffed. 

"No, sir. Softball season's over, sir." Jimmy joked.

"What do we have up?" Hayward asked, walking further into the room and towards a female agent.

"Radar, lidar, sodar, infared." She told him.

"Cycle through," Hayward demanded. When the woman couldn't get anything up on the screen, Hayward let out a sigh. "Will someone get me a useful visual, damn it?" He asked before loud studio audience laughter rang through the room. "What is that? Who's doing that?" He asked as everyone began to look around.

"Who are those people?"

"What are you wearing?"

"And why are they here?"

"What are you wearing?"

Hayward froze as he caught sight of a dark-haired woman watching the source on an old-fashioned television.

"Well, it's our anniversary!"

"Our anniversary of what?"

"Vision now is not the time to debate your failing memory processors."

"Is that?" Jimmy asked, leaning on the desk beside Darcy as several other officers and Hayward crowded behind her.

"Yeah, it looks like them." Darcy nodded, not taking her eyes off the screen.

And sure enough, on the screen before her was a black and white video of Wanda Maximoff, Y/N Barton, and The Vision.

"You move at the speed of sound, Y/N makes a storm with her pinky, and I can make a pen float through the air. Who needs to abbreviate?" Wanda questioned incredulously.

"Look, I know it's been a crazy few years on this planet, but he's dead, right?" Darcy asked, turning to Jimmy, who hadn't taken his eyes off the screen. "Not blipped, dead."

"Excellent plan. Where's the tenderizer?" Vision asked.

"We're looking at him," Y/N said as she handed Vision the tenderizer.

"What am I looking at?" Hayward demanded. "You. What is this? Where's this coming from?" He asked Darcy.

"Out there," Darcy said, throwing her arm up in a vague gesture to the outside. 

"You didn't answer the back door. For your upside-down cake." A dark-haired woman said, holding a pineapple in her hand.

"Is it authentic?" Hayward asked.

"I'm not sure how to answer that," Darcy told him.

"Is it happening in real-time? Is it recorded? Fabricated?" He pressed.

"I don't know. I don't know. And I don't know." Darcy told him. 

"What do you know?" Hayward demanded.

"My equipment registered an extremely high level of CMBR. That's,"

"Relic radiation dating back to the Big Bang." Hayward nodded.

"Yeah." Darcy nodded. "Entwined was a broadcast frequency. So I had one of your goons pick me up a sweet vintage TV, and when I plug this bad boy in, voila, sound and picture."

"Dinner is served."

"So, you're saying the universe created a sitcom starring three Avengers?" Jimmy asked, staring at the screen in confusion.

"It's a working theory." Darcy shrugged.

"Get me transport back to headquarters now. And someone get me, Clint Barton." Hayward demanded, causing two men to rush away. "Are we recording this?" He asked the woman.

"Never stopped," Darcy informed him.

"I need immediate analysis. Now, people. Let's go!" Hayward said before walking away. All the agents scattered, keen on following orders, leaving Jimmy and Darcy alone.

"He's a charmer." Darcy scoffed.

"Great work." Jimmy smiled before getting up and walking away.

"Hey, thanks." Darcy grinned happily. "Maybe I can get that coffee now?" She asked, looking around, but no-one even looked up. "Or not. That's cool." She grumbled, turning back to the screen as the episode finished and three kissed one another. "Aw!"

"First and foremost, our main objective is to get any intel on Captain Rambeau. Originally this case was a missing person, so we're going to start there," Jimmy explained to the gathered group. "We've successfully identified three individuals inside the Westview anomaly." He added, hanging up pictures of Wanda, Y/N, and Vision in their 1950's garb. "Let's keep going."

"This guest is leaving your home." Mrs. Hart said as Darcy frantically typed away at her keyboard.

Everyone in the room had a job to do to find out what was happening in Westview.

Some were watching the footage on repeat, taking copious notes, Darcy was attempting to find out who was playing who, people were tracking the radiation waves coming from the town, and Jimmy had been filling out a whiteboard with questions.

"Mr. and Mrs. Hart. Played by Todd and Sharon Davis." Darcy announced, holding up two forms with pictures of the two before hanging them up beside the three other photos. 

"Computational forms," Norm said. "And no-one can process the data quite like you do, pal."

"Agent Woo." A man interrupted Jimmy's watching of the footage before handing him a form.

Jimmy slightly smiled as he read it before calling out, 

"Abhilash Tandon is Norm."

"Harold Copter is Jones!"

"We got Isabel Matsueida cast as Beverly!"

"John Collins as Herb!"

It had been hours of searching, trying to figure out everyone's identity, and Darcy was tired. 

Tired and hungry.

She had just made herself cup ramen and made her way back to her desk when she let out a gasp and dropped her noodles. 

"Jimmy!" She called, dropping into her seat, not even bothering to clean up the mess. "Damn it, Woo. Hurry up!"

"What?" Jimmy asked, rushing over and freezing when he saw who was on the screen. "Oh my god." Jimmy sighed, sinking into a chair beside Darcy.

"Does she seem okay to you?" Darcy asked as the two watched Monica read a newspaper while Wanda, Y/N, and Agnes spoke in the background.

"Well, she doesn't appear to be harmed in any way, but that is definitely not the boss lady I met yesterday." Jimmy determined.

"So what, deep cover? Monica has to play along?" Darcy asked.

"With whom? Or else, what? All right. Brass tacks, Dr. Lewis. What are we lookin' at here? Is it an alternate reality? Time travel? Some cockamamie social experiement?" Jimmy asked

"It's a sitcom. A 1950's sitcom." Darcy explained, shaking her head.

"But why?" Jimmy wondered.

"I'd like to know that myself." Clint Barton demanded, now standing behind the two.

"Agent Barton." Jimmy greeted, standing up and moving towards the man. "I was told you wouldn't be here until tomorrow."

"Well, it turns out a quinjet makes journies a lot quicker," Clint said, crossing his arms. "Where is my daughter? And where is Wanda?"

"We'll have to fill you in later, Hawkeye." Darcy piped up. "I think I have an idea how to contact them."

"How?"

"So there's this radio that sits in the kitchen, right? The next time someone's washing the dishes, which happens like once an episode, barf, we'll shoot a signal to that little guy." Darcy explained.

"Sounds like a plan. What do you need done?" Clint asked. 

"This transmitter will mimic the frequency of the broadcast, and if my theory is right, allow us to speak to either Y/N or Wanda. This is totally gonna work." Darcy explained, continuing to set up the station. "Don't touch that." She admonished Jimmy.

"Agent Woo." A woman called, walking over to the three with a file.

"Is this from the current episode?" Jimmy asked, looking at the picture in his hands.

"Aired about two minutes ago." The woman nodded.

"What is it?" Clint asked, looking over the man's shoulder.

"What does it look like to you?"

"It looks like a retro version of a SWORD drone," Clint noted as Darcy took the picture out of his hands.

"Bingo." Jimmy nodded.

"But how did it change and why?" Clint wondered.

"Uh, to go with production design?" Jimmy guessed.

"Or to render it useless." Darcy theorized.

"Why'd you colorize it?" Jimmy asked the female agent.

"I didn't." She shook her head.

"Let's get this show on the road. Clint, you're with me." Darcy said, grabbing her laptop and rushing back into the tent with Clint on her heels.

Darcy and Clint donned their headpieces before Darcy turned to the window.

"Jimmy, you ready?"

"Ready," Jimmy affirmed, holding his thumb up. 

Darcy and Clint took their seats in front of the screen where Wanda and Y/N were now talking with Monica.

"Uh, Jimmy, Monica is talking now. She's got a speaking part." Darcy told him.

"What is she saying?" Jimmy wondered.

"Say those pants are peachy keen. Both sets."

"She likes their pants." Darcy shrugged. "They're at some sort of swim club. We've never been here before."

"Is it the sixties still?" Jimmy wondered.

"Still the sixties and still black and white." Clint relayed, not taking his eyes off the screen.

"The girls are with another character," Darcy told Jimmy. 

"Another person." Jimmy corrected.

"I can't help but wonder if the three of us haven't gotten off on the wrong foot, Dottie. And I'd like to, we'd like to, correct that if we can." Wanda said to a blonde woman.

"Ooh, radio on the side table!" Darcy cheered. 

"Start talking," Clint ordered the man.

"Wanda, do you read me? Agent Barton, are you there?" Jimmy asked. "Can they hear me?"

"I don't think so," Darcy told him. 

"Keep trying." Clint pushed.

"Wanda. Wanda, can you hear me? Agent Barton, do you read me? Wanda? Y/N?"

As Jimmy continued to speak to the two, Clint and Darcy were staring at the screen intently, waiting for any sign they might hear. 

For a second, it looked like it might have worked. The radio on the television crackled before the show jump cut.

"Pop quiz, Wanda," Dottie said as Y/N wrapped her hand. "How does a housewife get a bloodstain out of white linen? By doing it herself."

"Wait." Darcy stuttered, staring at the screen in confusion.

"What?" Jimmy asked.

"I don't know," Darcy said. "That was weird."

"What was?"

"Nothing." Darcy shook her head when the show faded to a commercial. "It's over. Mission failure."

"It was worth a try. Good effort, Darcy."

"Yeah, come on in," Darcy said, pulling off her headset.

"You saw that, right?" Clint asked, pulling off his own. "I wasn't imagining that. The screen cut?"

"It's an old TV, Clint. It flickers." Darcy sighed.

Franklin had been crawling through the sewers for what felt like days. It was hot inside his suit, he was sweating, and the sewer smelt like a sewer was supposed to.

But Franklin kept crawling along. 

He kept crawling even when he passed through the energy field, and the cord around his waist fell off.

No-one was sure what had happened to Franklin. He'd never checked in with base, and when the cord had been rewound, the end had somehow turned into a child's jump rope.

When morning came, no-one had slept. Everyone at the SWORD base had stayed awake all night, continuing their search into the Westview anonymity.

Darcy wasn't sure who had suggested it, but soon the room had been filled with old-fashioned TV's all playing the latest episode. 

The show was now in color as the decade had shifted into the seventies.

"Sweetheart, do you think it's time to,"

"Call the doctor."

"1950's, 1960's and now the '70's. Why does it keep switching time periods?" Darcy asked as she, Jimmy, and Clint sat in front of the same TV. "It can't be purely for my enjoyment, can it?" Darcy wondered, grabbing a handful of popcorn.

"I can't believe Y/N and Wanda are both pregnant," Jimmy commented, watching with rapt interest.

"I can't believe I'm about to be a grandfather." Clint sighed, staring at the screen in confusion.

"Can I ask you something?" Darcy asked, turning to Clint. "Do you seriously not know where Wanda and your daughter were before this?" She questioned the archer, recalling what she read in his statement.

"No. I don't know where they were." Clint shook his head. "And I'm the only person to blame."

"That can't be true." Jimmy tried to assure.

"It is." Clint nodded. "I hadn't seen Y/N since 2017 when Thanos snapped. She was on the run with Wanda and team Cap after the raft, but I'd taken a plea. After Banner snapped and Thanos dusted, my only thought was to get back to my wife. I left Y/N with Wanda on the battlefield." Clint admitted. "I abandoned her."

"Look, I wasn't there during that final fight, but I can imagine the chaos after," Darcy said to the man. "It's not the coolest thing you could have done, but it's understandable."

"Shh!" Jimmy hissed. "The girls are giving birth!" He said, causing Darcy and Clint to turn back to the screen. "Congratulations, Agent Barton, you've got a granddaughter."

"Yeah, and two grandsons."

"Twins. What a twist." Darcy sniffed, causing both men to turn and face her. "What? I'm invested."

"He was killed by Ultron. Wasn't he?"

"Did she just say the name Ultron?" Jimmy demanded. "Has that happened before? A reference to our reality."

"No. Never." 

"Don't go near her." Wanda snapped, stopping Geraldine from moving beside a sleeping Y/N. 

"Hey, I'll take a shift rocking the babies." Geraldine offered, beginning to move closer to the bassinets when the babies started to cry.

"No, I think you should leave." Wanda shook her head, blocking the bassinets from her view.

"Oh, Wanda, don't be like that," Geraldine said, staring at Wanda as though she were the crazy one.

"Who are you?" Wanda demanded, staring at the woman in anger.

"Wanda." Geraldine shook her head as she took a step back. "I'm. Wanda, I'm."

"This is different," Darcy said, staring at the screen uncomfortably. 

"What happened? Where'd she go?" Jimmy asked as the screen glitched. The screen glitched to the end credits, which showed Wanda, Y/N, and Vision now sitting on the couch, each holding a baby. 

"God not again." Darcy sighed, reaching over Jimmy to her laptop, which was recording the episode. Darcy quickly typed away at her computer, and it brought up the last ten seconds of the scene. "There's nothing here!" Darcy snapped when it played the same.

"You think it's still a glitch?" Clint asked her. 

"I don't get it. One second, Monica is standing right there, and the next, she isn't. Someone is censoring the broadcast." Darcy realized.

"But where's Rambeau?" Jimmy asked right as alerts began to blare.

"Alert! Boundry has been breached!" The alarm screeched, causing the entirety of the tent to rush into action.

"Who are you?" Wanda demanded, stalking closer to Geraldine. 

"Wanda, I'm just your neighbor." Geraldine attempted to reason with the woman.

"Then how did you know about Ultron?" Wanda demanded, tilting her head to the side.

But Geraldine couldn't answer, causing Wanda's hands to glow bright red. 

"You're not my neighbor," Wanda whispered tearfully. "And you're definitely not my friend. You are a stranger and an outsider. And right now, you are trespassing here. And I want you to leave." She said before blasting Geraldine out of her home.

It took a second for Wanda to realize what she had done. Geraldine was gone, and there were large holes in the walls. 

She stared at her hands in shock before looking over to her wife, who was just beginning to stir. 

Thinking quickly, Wanda used her powers to pull the house back together and reset it.

Before Wanda could wonder too much about what she had done, one of the babies let a loud cooing noise.

Wanda had just moved back in front of the bassinets when the front door slammed open.

"Wanda? Where's Geraldine?" Vision asked, rounding the couch to stand beside a stirring Y/N.

"Oh, she left, honey," Wanda told him, not turning to face him. "She had to rush home." She added, finally turning to the man.

But the sight of Vision caused Wanda's eyes to widen and a gasp to escape her mouth.

Vision had lost all his color. He was grey, his eyes white, and there was a hole in his head.

"What?" Vision asked. "What is it? What's wrong?" He asked, moving closer to Wanda.

When Wanda looked up, she was relieved to see Vision was back to normal.

"We don't have to stay here. We could go wherever we want." Vision reminded his wife.

"No, we can't." Wanda shook her head. "This is our home." She smiled.

"Are you sure?" 

"Don't worry, darling. I have everything under control." She said as Y/N sat up on the couch with a yawn.

Outside of Westview, Jimmy and Darcy had made it to the scene.

"Monica!" Jimmy gasped, kneeling beside the woman. "Are you okay?"

"It's Wanda," Monica whispered, staring at the night sky blankly. "It's all Wanda."

"I thought you said you'd wake me if the babies cried?" Y/N asked, taking Tommy into her arms.

"I had it control, sweetheart. You needed your rest." Wanda said, picking up Luna. "What should we watch tonight?" Wanda wondered, moving over to the couch.

Y/N and Vision followed their wife and sat on either side of her, each holding an infant. 

Today had been a series of crazy events, but it had had the best outcome. Y/N thought staring down at her son in her arms and her other children in the arms of her husband and wife.

Something is happening here. Vision thought glancing down at his squirming daughter. 

We’re safe here. Wanda thought with a smile as she made faces at the baby in her arms. I’ll keep us safe.

Taglist is open throughout the entirety of the series.

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[wint3rs]

DANCE, wilson&barnes.

(a/n: this was requested by my friend, maddy! y/n is going to be wearing a dress, but feel free to imagine what you’re wearing! and this one is messy and long as hell..)

– summary : three’s a crowd

– warnings : mentions of cigarettes, curse words, sexual tension, mentions of choking (in a sexual way ofc)

“you’re putting me through what?” you were the last one to arrive at the new compound. “agent y/n, we need you to go undercover with wilson and barnes for the next mission.” sam was leaning against the wall, with bucky next to him. they both had a smug expression plastered on their faces. “but i’m suspended!” you argued. fury only stared at you, waiting for you to surrender.

“fine.” for a split second, you saw bucky smirking even more. you rolled your eyes, not wanting to give him the satisfaction he wanted. “now that you’re all here, listen to my briefing. if you have any questions, ask each other.” sam, being the patriotic man he was, nodded.

“the three of you are going to tokyo. there is a briefcase containing SHIELD's old files, on project BIRDFLIGHT – a machine that could kill anyone with powers, now in the hands of mr. arthurs." fury opened a tan-colored file in front of you. "arthurs... familiar name." you said. "that's because he used to work in galactic science division back in 2012." fury replied, flashbacks filling your head. “oh! the creepy dude?” fury seemed to nod at your question.

you shrugged your body in disgust, as you remembered him. “and that’s where the three of you come in. intel says he’s going to sell the old projects to one of the most wanted man in CIA, his codename is silverparks, but of course – they couldn’t find him.” you knew exactly what was going to happen.

“wilson and barnes will pose as y/n’s business partners, y/n you own a weapon factory somewhere in eastern europe – you get close to him, you handle the files. barnes will take silverparks, wilson will get arthurs.” the three of you nodded in unison. “remember, this is an undercover mission. you can go now, get ready. the jet will be here at 6.”

fury left the room, leaving you with sam and bucky. it had been a while since you saw them, and every time you meet – they will always flirt with you. “so…” sam spoke up first. “it’s good to see you again.” you glared at him. “don’t even start, i’ll break your neck.” he chuckled. “see ya later then baby.” sam winked at you.

“aren’t you going to follow your stupid boyfriend? i need to read arthur’s files.” instead of leaving, he went closer to you. “doll, you haven’t forgive me at all, huh?” bucky raised an eyebrow. “no, and i won’t.” you gritted your teeth. “you had your chance, now fuck off.”

you had history with the winter soldier, it didn’t take long for you to forget him, that was when sam came along – but you didn’t work out because of your agent life. “if i had another chance to wrap my arms around your neck, i’d do it all over again.”  you were left flustered and embarrassed by his statement. “oh my god this is going to be a mess.” you muttered to yourself.

the ride to tokyo was painful for you. the boys argued about who was sitting next to you, even if it was only the three of you inside the jet. “i want to sit next to y/n!” sam elbowed his best friend. “no, i’ll be sitting next to y/n.” he barked. “no, sit your ass down somewhere else.” sam added. “boys, you’re both pretty. go sit somewhere else, this jet could fit the entire fucking avengers.” and in the end, none of them sat next to you.

tokyo was one of your favorite places. it. was peaceful, you haven’t visited the city after the blip, so this was your first time being back. “we’re staying at the clint’s old hideout?” sam asked, gaining your attention. “yeah he gave me his key, it’s well kept.” you replied, unlocking the place.

“we’ll be here for 2 days, please don’t trash the place. you both can take clint’s room, i’ll be on the couch.” you announced. “no, no. what kind of person am i to let you sleep on the couch?” sam shook his head. “alright then i’ll sleep with y/n and you can sleep on the couch.” bucky suggested. “like hell i would let that happen!”

“okay how about the three of us just fucking camp out in the living room? is that fair? if i hear you two arguing again, i’m gonna fucking choke you.” you threatened them. “kinky.” sam blurted out. “ugh!” you groaned.

you hated how you were going undercover with the two horniest men as your partners. “just talk to y/n about this, i’m sure they will understand.” “okay.” they were talking but as soon as you stepped out the bathroom with you red velvet dress, their eyes were on you. “whew.” sam whistled, making you shoot glares at him.

“with you looking like that, i wouldn’t mind abandoning the mission and take you out on a date.” bucky was obviously flirting with you – but you didn’t bother to look at him. “shut up, fury’s calling.” you picked up the call and turned it to loud speaker mode. “this is going to be a quick message, but y/n, you’re in charge. don’t fuck this up or i will suspend your ass again.” before anyone could reply, fury ended the call.

“well that was quick.” you walked to the front entrance. “y/n can we talk for a bit?” there was tension in the air and you could smell it. “what do you want? we’re gonna be late.” you were ready to walk out to the car, but he gripped your hand tightly.

the two of you held eye contact, “buck, calm down.” sam said, intervening. “what bucky wanted to say i- is, we should put everything behind. this mission is really important, and if we let our emotions get into this… things are going to be complicated, you used to be our y/n, fun and cheery.” he finished.

“oh really? me getting my emotions involved? tell that to this man in front of me! no really, ask him! and have you seen yourself? your eyes haven’t left me since i walked in to the compound! me? getting my emotions tangled? go fuck yourself.” things were heated.

“are you done?” sam raised an eyebrow. “yes.” you replied, sitting down on the couch. “how do you feel?” sam asked once again. “fine.” you admitted – feeling free of your built up anger. “see, you needed that. we good now?” you took a second to regain your emotions and nodded.

the car ride was silent, you felt bad for bursting out. you finally had the guts to speak up to them. “i’m sorry.” they both didn’t say anything. “the reason why i was an asshole to you both because we didn’t work out-“ “you did date sam?” bucky cut you off. “i thought you knew?” you were as confused as him. “no i didn’t! what the hell man, y/n’s mine!”

“no what, y/n is mine!” sam argued. “you’re both not mad because i blew up on you?” “nah, i’m mad because he dated you!” bucky pouted. “and i’m mad because he dated you too!” and with that, you felt like the old you. the one they used to know.

clubs used to be your things, you thanked god that the deal was going to be held in your type of scenes. it didn’t take long until the three of you arrived at your destination. it wasn’t packed but it was full enough for someone to make a deal unnoticed.

“according to intel, silverparks should be here in an hour, and arthurs in thirty minutes.” bucky said, looking at his phone. “we have 30 minutes to spare.” sam walked to the bar and ordered drinks. “really? we just made up and you want to drink?” you chuckled. “it’s a celebration.” you pulled out a pack of cigarettes, offering sam and bucky.

“pussies.” you shook your head. “hey! i’m not a pussy for taking care of my lungs.” bucky took a shot of his alcohol. “very funny.” the lights were dim and you weren’t able to see their faces clearly. not lying to yourself, you do find them hot.

bucky was staring at you, again. his eyes were filled with lust that you once knew. you smirked and nudged him, “you wanna take your thirst to the dance floor?” teasing bucky was always fun. “i don’t dance y/n, you know that.” “that’s lame, fine. i’m taking sam.”

on the other hand, the man was giddy when you dragged him to the dance floor. the music was loud, encouraging you both to dance. “come on sam, don’t act like you don’t want this!” with that, his hands were already on your body. “30 minutes won’t be enough!” “then make it enough!” you smirked.

the winter soldier stared at you, lust still filling his eyes. you knew he was never one to dance in clubs, but with what you’re doing – he had to step in. sam was all over you but in a blink, he was replaced by someone. his hands were cold and it made your shiver.

you were now in the middle of two men who were going to eat you up anytime soon. sam was always a fun person to hang out with, he was charming and always knew how to make people laugh – but this sam was different. he was controlled by his lust and that made him hotter than usual.

bucky was always shy and a well-kept person, unlike his best friend. it wasn’t publicly known that this man was the definition of A Horny Teenager, but you’ve seen that side.

their eyes were still on you, but before they could do more than just grinding their bodies on you – a familiar face entered the club. “2 o’clock, let’s get him boys.” they stopped their action and went back to character. “after we get this job done, we’ll finish what we started.” you encouraged them. “now, let’s go.”

[youre-killing-me-fandom]

Parkner week 2020 Day 1: future au

This trope was not my own idea. Also, this is my first time writing fanfiction so it’s probably terrible. All constructive criticism is welcome. 

..........................................................................................

The last thing Tony Stark remembered was the white-hot pain of the stones' power rushing through his body followed by the peaceful relief of feeling nothing as his surroundings slowly drifted away. 

Yet there he was, standing inside of a building that looked strangely similar to the Avengers Compound though at the same time, completely different.  

"Tony… you've been gone for over ten years…" said Pepper slowly with tears in her eyes. 

Tony's eyes widened in shock. "What year is it?" 

"2036"

Tony's mind had to take a second to process what he was hearing. He had been gone for thirteen years, which means Morgan should be almost eighteen, Peter 29, and Harley 30. His kids grew up without him; his baby girl was an adult; Peter and Harley had graduated for Christ's sake, from both high school and college. Tony couldn't have held back the sob he let out even if he tried.

"Oh Tony…" she gathered her husband in her arms. He buried his face in her neck and let out heart-wrenching sobs. His tears were beginning to dampen Pepper's neck when she started to run her fingers through his hair in a soothing manner. 

"They were devastated, you know," Pepper began, "Everyone was, but it took them longer to finally accept that you were gone." 

Tony raised his head and furrowed his eyebrows in confusion, "Who?"

"Harley and Peter," replied Pepper, "Harley locked himself in your lab for days on end and wouldn't come out until someone went in and forced him to get some rest. Peter wouldn't eat and hardly got any sleep from all of the nightmares he was having. It finally got to the point where Helen had to hook him up to an IV after he passed out once. That was when I told them both that you wouldn’t want them doing this to themselves. After that, they started to make progress.” 

Another wave of sorrow hit Tony like a brick wall. His boys were so upset over his death that they neglected their own health. How many times had they willingly allowed themselves to be hurt because of him?

"But they got better," continued Pepper, "They were able to find comfort and start looking after each other." She let out a chuckle. "They were practically attached at the hip. Still are." 

That made Tony smile. He was glad that they got along. He always wanted to introduce them but never got the chance to before the Blip happened. 

"You should see them. You'd be so proud. They're both helping me so much with Stark Industries. I honestly have no idea what I'd do without them," said Pepper, as she wiped away the remaining tears left on his face.

"What about Morgan? How’s she?" 

"She's amazing," said Pepper. Tony tried to make a comment about how of course she is, she’s his daughter, but Pepper just ignored him with an eyeroll.  "Peter says she's the perfect combination of you and me with your brains and my business skills. God only knows one day the three of them are either going to take over the world or destroy it." 

Tony let out a snort, "That sounds about right." 

···································

They continued to talk about everything he'd missed for over an hour when Pepper let out a startled sound, “I forgot to tell you-"

"Hey Pepper, do you know where my..laptop...is…" said Harley as he walked in before making eye contact with Tony and tapping his watch, which turned into a repulser that was aiming straight at the older man.

“Harley?” Tony asked in wonder, tears threatening to spill again. Harley looked different from how he did when he had last seen him, but that was, without a doubt, him. His dirty blonde hair had grown long enough to reach just above his ears, and, Jesus, was he tall. The blue-eyed boy looked like he reached a height of about 6’3”, a full two inches taller than Tony himself. He was about to say more but was cut off by a startlingly hard voice. 

"What the hell are you doing here?" yelled Harley. Pepper jumped up in alarm at the younger boy's harsh tone and stood between the two of them, getting in the way of the repulser's shot.

"It's not him, Harley." Not who? Tony thought.

Harley’s narrowed eyes never left the other man as he replied with a snarl, "Tony’s dead, so who else could it be?" 

"It's not, I had Friday check to make sure it wasn't an illusion. Do you really think I wouldn’t think of that?" said Pepper, her voice laced with accusation. 

Harley looked at her for a second before reluctantly lowering his gun “No...but then how-”

“Your guess is as good as mine. He said the last thing he remembers is using the stones against Thanos before ending up here.” 

Tony watched them talk back and forth for another ten minutes while he processed what just happened. What did this person do to make him so hostile? Before he could stop himself, he voiced his confusion. 

Harley stopped arguing with Pepper and turned to him with a sigh, “You’re really you, aren’t you?” His eyes searched Tony for any hesitation while he waited for an answer. 

“Of course, who else would I be? Seriously, what’s going o-” 

He was cut off by someone throwing themselves at him and wrapping their arms around him in a firm hug. “God, I missed you, old man.” 

Tony relaxed in his grip and returned the hug tightly. “Missed you too, kid” 

It took them several minutes to rein in their emotions and let go of each other, their faces wet with tears. Neither of them were ever really good at emotions, both preferring to make sarcastic comments rather than state their true feelings.

“So, you never answered my question,” stated Tony. 

Harley looked at him in confusion, “What question?” 

“Who did you think I was?” Tony both wanted to change the subject and satisfy his curiosity, but Pepper and Harley gave each other a worried glance before tentatively turning back to him. 

“It’s a, uh, long story,” Harley said, “A lot happened while you were gone," but as he raised his arms to start explaining, Tony noticed something. 

“Hold on a second...Is that a wedding ring?! You're married?!"

“Oh, well, I guess,” The blonde boy sheepishly rubbed his neck. 

“What do you mean you ‘guess?’” Tony cried, “Who is it? Do I know them?” 

Harley looked overwhelmed, but it was obvious that Pepper found this all amusing due to the bright laugh she let out. “I told you he would go crazy if he ever found out. Just wait until he hears who it is.” The boy glared at her for a second, wishing she wouldn’t encourage the older man. It wasn’t that Harley was afraid to tell Tony about his husband, but...he was kind of afraid to tell him about his husband. Both Harley and Peter knew that Tony had seen them both as sons, and they had mournfully speculated on multiple occasions what his reaction would be; however, now that he was given the chance to find out for himself, he was hesitant. Would Tony be mad at them? God knows that neither of them would be able to deal with their pseudo-father's rejection very well, especially Peter. 

“Well, you see, it’s-”

“Tony?” Tony’s head shot up at the sound of his name.

“Peter! Wait, it's not-” Harley tried to reach out to the other boy, but he fearfully jerked away from the incoming touch, eyes wide. When he saw this, Harley’s blue eyes softened into something akin to hurt and a small sympathetic noise left his throat. 

“Peter, sweetheart, you’re ok, you’re safe. It’s not Beck,” spoke Harley softly, as if he were talking to a frightened animal, but it didn’t seem to work.  Peter began to hyperventilate the longer he looked at the scene in front of him. In an attempt to block out the illusion, he quickly shut his eyes and covered his ears, trying to defend himself against the more than likely painful experience he was about to have.

“Pepper, get him out of here!” snapped Harley, and it didn’t take long for Pepper to grab Tony’s arm and pull him out of the room despite the boy’s rude tone. At this point, Tony was very confused. He thought Peter would be ecstatic to see that he was back, not fearful. And who is Beck? The name is vaguely ringing a bell. Is that who Harley thought he was? What did he do to Peter that would make him have a panic attack the moment he thought he saw him?

Once he and Pepper were out of sight from the other two, they came to a stop. “What the hell was that all about?” Tony demanded. 

Pepper let out a long sigh, and in that moment, she looked very tired. "Do you remember Quentin Beck?" 

The second Tony heard the man's full name, memories of a brown haired man screaming at him rushed to the surface of his brain. That psycho was who everybody was so defensive against? Tony remembered the project they were working on. Beck was brilliant, but he had proven himself to be unstable when he tried to use an experiment with their work on an unsuspecting intern. After that, Tony had stopped the partnership between them and wrote up a contract that said Tony got full rights to the product and Beck would only get part of the credit since Tony had done most of the work anyways. He really hoped that didn't result in consequences for his protege. 

But unfortunately his hope ended up being dashed when Pepper began to explain all of the things Beck had done to Peter in Europe as revenge for what Tony had done, from revealing his identity and framing him for murder to hitting him with a speeding train (of all things), all while psychologically tormenting him with illusions of his worst fears and most traumatic experiences. Apparently while Peter was on the run as an international criminal, Pepper and Happy had sent him to stay with Harley to lay low while they cleared his name and did damage control. 

Tony couldn't believe what he was hearing. His son had gone through hell and back in the wake of his death and Tony wasn't there to help him.  Peter must've felt so alone, not to mention all of the PTSD he must've gotten from the whole ordeal.

Pepper saw the combination of anguish and fierce protectiveness on his face and assured Tony that yes, Peter had been through a lot, but between Harley, Happy, May, Morgan, and herself, he was able to mentally recover for the most part. He still has nightmares and panic attacks about what happened but he is now able to put the suit on and protect New York despite what happened to him as Spider-man. 

Tony still had so many questions, but before he could voice any of them Friday’s robotic voice said, "Mr. Keener wishes me to tell you that you may make your way back to the living room."

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

As Pepper slowly led Tony back to where the boys were, she cautioned, "Just give him some time. One of Beck's favorite things to torment him with was you."

Tony's anger flared once more. How dare Beck hurt his kid like that. It's a good thing he's dead because he definitely wouldn't be alive for much longer with Tony here now. 

When they finally re-entered the living room, what Tony saw made him freeze. Peter wasn’t cowering against the wall anymore but was now standing in Harley’s arms with his face buried in the taller boy’s chest. Harley had his head rested on top of Peter’s chocolate curls as he serenely swayed the both of them back and forth and murmured something Tony couldn’t hear. He looked over to Pepper to see if she was seeing the same thing he was, but she was just looking at the two with fond eyes before quickly glancing in Tony’s direction with a smug smile. He raised his eyebrows at her in question but she just gently shook her head and cleared her voice to grab  the others’ attention. 

Peter and Harley both looked up, startled, before de-tangling from each other minus one hand. The former looked at Tony with hesitation and asked, “Is it really you?” 

“Yeah, bud, it’s me,” replied Tony, trying to put as much sincerity in his eyes as possible. 

When Peter heard that, he let out a sob and let go of Harley’s hand as he threw himself at his mentor. Tony was quick to meet him halfway in a bone-crushing hug, securing his arms around the boy as he turned his face into the younger man’s temple. Peter was openly crying with his head tucked into Tony’s neck, the tears on his face soaking the older man’s skin, “I missed you...so much,” hiccups breaking apart his speech. 

“God, I missed you too, kid,” was all Tony could say in response. 

It felt like hours before they let go of each other, them both trying to make up for the years they didn’t have together. When they finally took a step back, Peter went back to Harley’s side and grabbed his hand again, seeking comfort from it. That was when Tony noticed the gold band on his ring finger as well. “What the hell?! You’re married too?!” he shouted. 

Peter, Harley, and Pepper all gave each other a look that lasted a little too long, and Tony felt like he was missing something, “What?” 

“You really haven’t figured it out yet?” replied Pepper with a touch of humor in her voice. 

“Figured what out?”

“I guess I never actually told you who I was married to…” chimed Harley, “It’s, uh, it’s Peter. Peter’s my husband.” The couple gave each other a look full of love and adoration before turning back to Tony to see his reaction.

Tony’s breath was knocked out of his lungs, “Holy shit, seriously?” He always knew the two of them would get along together like fire takes to oxygen, but he never imagined this. Though now that he thinks about it, it kind of makes sense. The boys are very similar with their love of science yet are complete opposites personality-wise. Harley is rough around the edges and prefers to avoid discussing feelings or showing his true emotions, much like Tony does. While Peter, on the other hand, is soft-hearted and does his best to think about everybody else but himself. Together, they seem to complete each other, picking up the slack in one part of the other’s life that they weren’t aware was weighing them down. 

This time Peter spoke up saying, “Yeah, uh, we’ve been together for over ten years now. About four years ago Harley proposed to me and we got married two years later.” Tony’s heart dropped at the thought of missing their wedding. 

“They were both pretty upset about you not being able to be there, so we set up a chair in the front with a picture of you sitting on it,” added Pepper. 

Tony tried to will away the tears that were threatening to spill again but a few of them ran down his cheeks anyways. He was touched by their gesture and walked forward to engulf them both in a hug that they returned, “I’m happy for you, boys.” The two of them seemed to relax at that, but by then, everyone in the room was crying. 

“I’m glad you’re back,” whispered Peter with a smile despite the tears running down his face. 

“Me too, kid, me too.”

[brookecuzyes]

The Captain’s Kid —

E.2: The Star-Spangled Man (Part 2)

The Falcon and The Winter Soldier Fanfic

Main Masterlist — TCK Masterlist

Summary: We think of the after-life as a peaceful place. A place where there are no worries. When a girl comes back from the dead, so to speak, she has to find a new place in society— which ends up with her becoming a superhero. She’s been trained for the worst, but nothing could’ve prepared her for the things she was going to endure.

Word Count: ≈3.5k

Warnings: a little cursing, racial bias

———————————————————————-

Three knocks could’ve been a delivery. A whistle indicated a rebellious group. The door opened with a small creak. The person behind the door unlocked the lock which held chains together so no one could get in. The girl who knocked on the door, Karli, stepped back while the person opened it all of the way. She and her group walked into the building without a word, while the person looked around and closed the door, locking it immediately.

“You must be famished.”

“Very hungry,” one replied, everyone unanimously agreeing.

“Okay. My wife and I cooked. It’s an old family recipe made with the finest chicken livers. Please serve yourselves. Anything you want. Anything. You ask me.” The group walked over to a table that held containers of the dinner the couple had cooked. “There is some coffee here and some crackers. Uh, anything we can do for the cause. Please follow me.” He started walking and talking.

“You’re becoming a bit of a legend. I hear more and more people talk about the freedom fighters who are pushing back.” He turned to Karli. “They call you Robin Hood. Every day, more people love you. You’ll find refuge wherever you go.” He opened a door which led to a small room, letting everyone in.

“My wife and I made this just for you. Everything is completely clean. She made it nice and cozy.” The group was starting to settle in, saying their thank you’s to the man, when Karli’s phone went off.

You took what was mine.

I’m going to find you and kill you.

One guy walked over to the computers to see the news on them. “Shit,” he said. “They’re already looking for us. I’m wiping out aliases off any public traffic sites now.”

“Karli, we can’t stay here for long,” said Lennox, another one of the soldiers. “Six years ago, would you have imagined people supporting a cause like this?”

“We’re not playing no more,” she responded. “We can’t let the same assholes who were put back in power after The Blip win. The GRC cares more about the people who came back than the ones who never left. We got a glimpse of how things could be. I need to know that you’re all committed, because after tomorrow, there’s no going back.”

“Yeah,” said Matias, after a few seconds. “One world.”

“One people,” replied everyone else.

“One world.”

“One people.”

“One world!”

“One people!”

——

Back on the plane, Sam was laying across the seats, Alyxandria was leaned back in a chair with her head thrown back, and James was sitting on a small cargo box (the same box Alyx and Torres was using earlier) and was just staring off into space in deep thought.

Sam looked at James and noticed his face. “You all right?” he asked softly. After a moment, he responded quietly.

“Let’s take the shield. Let’s take the shield and do this ourselves.”

“We can’t just run up on the man, beat him up and take it,” Sam replied, sitting up. “You remember what happened the last time we stole it?”

“Maybe.”

“You stole the shield?” Alyx asked.

“Yeah. Seems like James forgot, though. Let me help you out: Sharon was branded enemy of the state, and Steve and I were on the run for two years.”

“Oh, shit,” she muttered.

“I don’t know about you,” Sam continued, “but I don’t wanna live the rest of my life la vida loca. We just had our asses handed to us by Super Soldiers, and we got nothing.”

“Not entirely true,” Bucky responded. He hopped off of the box and walked over to sit a few seats away from Sam. “There is someone that you should meet.”

In a few hours, they landed in Baltimore, Maryland. The trio was walking down the street— in the middle of the street— to get to this person's house. There were two kids sitting on the sidewalk and they were excited when they saw Sam

“Hey, it’s Black Falcon!” The kid exclaimed.

“It’s just Falcon, kid,” he replied.

“No, no. My daddy told me it’s Black Falcon.” Sam stopped walking to converse with this kid but James continued walking.

“Is it because I’m Black and I’m the Falcon?”

“Well, technically, I mean, yes.”

“So are you, like, Black kid?” The kid threw a look and his friend started laughing.

Sam chuckled. “I got him, right,” he said to the kid laughing. The other kid blew him off saying, “Whatever, man.” Sam couldn’t stop laughing.

He caught up with James and Alyxandria who were on the steps of the patio. James knocked on the metal door, and it made a loud rattling noise. A teenage boy opened the door and inspected the three.

“We’re here to see Isiah,” James said.

“Nobody named Isiah live here,” the kid replied. James sighed.

“Look, we just want to talk to him.”

“You must not hear what I just said. You ain’t getting in this house. Y’all can leave now.”

“Tell him the guy from the bar in Goyang is here. He’s gonna know what that means.”

The kid took a minute before responding back. “Alright, wait here.”

“Nice kid. How do you know this guy?” Sam asked after the teen closed the door.

“I used to. We had a skirmish during the Korean War.”

“I feel like this is more than some skirmish,” Alyxandria added. James looked at her as the door opened again. He just gave her his stare and started walking in. The three walked in together.

“Today’s your lucky day,” the boy said. “He said he wanna see for himself.” They didn’t say anything, until James started talking.

“Isiah?”

“Look at you,” Isiah said.

“This is, uh, Sam and Alyxandria. Sam and Alyx, this is Isiah. He was a hero,” James explained. “One of the ones that HYDRA feared the most. Like Steve. We met in ‘51.”

“If by met, you mean I whupped your ass, then, yeah. We heard whispers he was on the peninsula, but everyone they sent after him never came back. So, the U.S. military dropped me behind the line to go deal with him. I took half that metal arm in that fight in Goyang, but I see he’s managed to grow it back. I just wanted to see if he got the arm back. Or if he’d come to kill me.”

“I’m not a killer anymore,” James replied. Isiah looked at him like he was crazy.

“You think you can wake up one day and decide who you wanna be?” he asked. “It doesn’t work like that. Well, maybe it does for folks like you.”

“Isiah, the reason we’re here is because there’s more of you and me out there.” Said James.

“You and me,” Isiah repeated.

“And we need to know how.”

“I’m not gonna talk about it anymore,” Isiah said harshly. He picked up a small metal container and threw it. It got stuck in the wall and made a loud noise while doing so. The boy looked upset. Sam and Alyxandria were looking at the container in the wall, while James was looking at the ground. Isiah started walking up to him and started talking.

“You know what they did to me for being a hero?” He asked. “They put my ass in jail for 30 years. People running tests, taking my blood, coming into my cell. Even your people weren’t done with me.”

Sam looked upset, in a way. “Isiah,” he said, but was cut off by him.

“Get out of my house!” He yelled. James turned around to start leaving and Sam was still looking at Isiah. The boy came up to him and said, “Let’s go, man, let’s go.” Alyxandria followed behind James, not sure what to think about all of this.

Sam was walking quickly down the stairs.

“Sam,” James said, but Sam cut him off.

“Why didn’t you tell me about Isiah? How could nobody bring him up?” He was mad. Alyxandria hadn’t seen this side of him before. They all walked back to the street and were walking side-by-side. James didn’t respond.

“I asked you a question, Bucky,”

“I know.”

“Steve didn’t know about him?”

“He didn’t. I didn’t tell him.” They stopped walking. Sam and James were standing across from each other and Alyxandria was standing on either side— in the middle, almost.

“So you’re telling me that there was a Black Super Soldier decades ago and nobody knew about it?” James didn’t respond and just stared at him. A police car approached them and let their siren go off for a second. Everyone turned their attention to the car.

“Hey,” an officer said, getting out of his car.

“What’s up, man?” Sam asked. He still sounded pissed, and this wasn’t helping matters.

“Is there a problem here,” a second officer asked.

“No, we’re just talking.” Sam replied.

“There’s no problem,” Alyxandria said.

“We’re fine,” James added. The officers walked closer to the three.

“Can I see your ID?”

“I don’t have ID. Why?” Sam asked.

“Okay, sir, just calm down.”

“I am calm. What do you want? We’re just talking.”

“Just give him your ID so we can leave,” James said.

“James, no. What have we done?” She told him, siding with Sam.

“Thank you, Alyx. I’m not giving them shit. We’re just talking!”

“Hey, hey. Is he bothering you two?” The officer asked.

“What- no!” Alyxandria exclaimed.

“No, he’s not bothering me. Do you know who this is?” James said, harshly. The other officer went up to his partner and whispered, ‘Hey, these guys are Avengers.’ The officer looked at him and went wide-eyed.

“Oh, God, I am so sorry, Mr. Wilson,” he apologized. I didn’t recognize you without the goggles.” Sam looked disappointed. “I’m really, really sorry about this.” James gave the same disappointed look when another cop car pulled up. “Guys,” the officer sighed, “just wait here, okay?” He walked away back to his car, his partner following along.

“I didn’t… I didn’t tell anybody because he had already been through enough,” James said to Sam, finally answering his question. Sam and Alyxandria just looked at him. Sam was pissed, Alyx was silently observing the situation. Sam shook his head when the officer came back.

“Mr. Barnes,” he said. “There’s a warrant out for your arrest.”

“Look, the president pardoned him for all that,” Sam explained.

“Not for that. You missed your court-mandated therapy. It’s like missing a check-in with your PO.” James just sighed. He knew. “I’m sorry, Mr. Barnes, you’re under arrest.” James complied with the officers, letting them take him. Sam and Alyx watched as they put him in cuffs. Sam continued to stare at him and didn’t say a word as the car started driving off. Sam looked back at Isiah’s house before walking off. Alyxandria followed him.

“Hey, Sam,” she said. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” He responded, keeping his eyes in front of him. Alyx turned her head away from him, catching the mood.

“Sorry, I’m just… pissed. That’s all,” he said after a moment. He stopped walking and put his hand on Alyx’s arm. “Don’t let me take it out on you.” She nodded and gave him a sad smile.

“Where are we going?” She asked.

“Getting Bucky. I don’t want to, but it’s the right thing to do.” Alyx chuckled at the statement, Sam too. They started walking again and Sam put his arm over Alyx. She rested her head on his shoulder, thinking about everything.

“Let’s not make this a regular thing,” Alyxandria suggested. Sam smiled and chuckled.

——

They arrived at the police department and sat down, waiting for James to be released, when someone came up to them.

“Sam and Alyxandria. I’ve heard a lot about you. I’m Dr. Raynor. I’m James’ therapist,” Raynor introduced herself. The two sat up and Sam was the first to get up and shake her hand.

“So nice to meet you. Thank you for getting him out,” he said.

“That was not me,” she replied.

“Christina!” Someone called out. Sam and Alyxandria turned their heads to be met with John Walker. “It’s great to see you again.” Alyxandria groaned, putting her forehead on Sam’s shoulder— she didn’t want to look at the man.

“You gotta be kidding me,” Sam said. “You know him?”

“Yeah, we did some field ops back in the day,” she responded.

“I hear you were working with Bucky, so I thought I’d step in,” Walker explained. “Bucky’s not gonna be following a strict schedule any longer.” Alyxandria, by that point, had lifted up her head.

“We haven’t finished our work. Who authorized this?” Dr. Raynor asked.

“Um…” Walker said, then pointed at himself. A buzzer went off and a door opened. Alyxandria looked over and saw James walking out of the doorway. “He’s too valuable of an asset to have tied up. Just do whatever you got to do with him, then send him off to me. Got some unfinished business, him and I. You guys, too.” He walked away saying, “I’ll be outside.” Sam stared at him, and Alyxandria scoffed.

Unfinished business…

“James, condition of your release, session now. You too, Sam,” Raynor announced. She started walking to the corridor James walked out of.

“That’s okay, I’ll be out here with-“ he started, but was interrupted by Raynor.

“That wasn’t a request!”

“What about Alyx,” James asked.

“Rogers, you don’t have to come,” Dr. Raynor said.

“This isn’t fair,” Sam complained.

“It’s not my fault I’m the only functional one here,” she teased, turning around and walking out of the building. Sam glared at her before walking towards the corridor Raynor and James went through.

When Alyxandria walked outside, the first thought that crossed her mind was that she was going to sit out there for thirty or so minutes, waiting for the guys to finish their little therapy session. However, she was met with a different fate.

“Miss Rogers!” someone called out. She looked around and recognized two faces that she didn’t want to: John Walker and Lemar Hoskins. She reluctantly walked over to them, giving them a small smile.

“It’s Lieutenant Rogers, Captain,” she corrected, putting emphasis on ‘Captain’.

“My bad, didn’t know you were keeping the rank,” Walker responded, leaning up against the police car they were standing next to.

“Tell me a bit of what you got on these guys,” Alyxandria asked, stopping in front of the two.

——

“You guys are leaving me with no choice. It’s time for the soul-gazing exercise.”

“I like this better,” James said.

“Oh, God. He’s gonna love this,” Sam added. Their voices soon started overlapping each other, while the guys moved their chairs to face each other.

“You should really do this,” Sam said.

“I'm going to,” James responded matter-of-factly.

“Get close,” Raynor directed.

“This is a good exercise. Thanks, Doc,” James thanked.

“Alright, get close,” she said again. The guys scooted their chairs up, where their knees were touching. “Come on, a little closer.” They started to scoot up but stopped half-way.

“Which way you want to go?” James asked, moving his hand from left to right.

“Why’re your legs open?”

“Right or left?”

“You know what?” Sam said, moving his knee in between James’ legs. “Fine. Here. You happy now?” He pulled James’ chair closer to him. “We’re locked in.”

“That’s a little close,” James exclaimed.

“Very. That’s what you wanted, right?”

“Now, look at each other. You need to look at each other in the eyes.” Both guys started looking at each other. “There, you see? That wasn’t so hard.” The guys weren’t breaking eye contact. They weren’t blinking. Dr. Raynor caught on

“Wait, what’re you doing? Are you having a staring contest?” Sam’s eyes twitched a little bit. “Just blink,” she said, snapping her fingers together in between their faces, making them blink. “Sweet Jesus. Alright, James, why does Sam aggravate you?” James turned and smiled. “And don’t say something childish.” He hung his head and thought for a second.

“Why did you give up that shield?”

��Why are you making such a big deal out of something that has nothing to do with you?”

“Steve believed in you. He trusted you. He gave you that shield for a reason. That shield, that is… that is everything he stood for. That is his legacy. Alyx can tell you, she’d know. Steve was her dad. He gave you that shield, and you threw it away like it was nothing.”

“Shut up,” Sam replied.

“So maybe he was wrong about you. And if he was wrong about you, then he was wrong about me.” James’ voice trembled at the end. Sam just stared at him.

“You finished,” Sam asked. James replied with a quiet, ‘yeah.’ “All right, good. Maybe this is something you, Alyx, or Steve will never understand. But can you accept that I did what I thought was right? You know what, Doc? I don’t have time for this. We have some real serious shit going on. So, how about this; I will squash it right now. We go deal with that, and, when we’re done, we both can go on separate, long vacations, and never see each other again.”

“I like that,” James responded.

“Great. Well, let’s get to work. Thanks, Doc, for making it weird. I feel much better. I’ll see you two outside.” He finished, standing up and giving James a harsh pat on his shoulder.

“Thank you!” Dr. Raynor said. “That was… really great.” After Sam walked out the door, James got up from his chair and started towards the door before Raynor continued speaking.

“I know that look, what’s wrong?”

“What was rule number two, again?” He asked.

“Don’t hurt anyone.”

“Goodbye, Doc,” he replied, waking out of the room.

Sam and James walked out of the police department together in what started out in silence before Sam made a comment.

“Well, I feel better,” he said.

“I feel awful,” James replied when a siren and its lights went off. Sam and James looked over to see what was happening, and saw John Walker messing with the cop car. They saw Hoskins next to him, and Alyxandria leaning on the car next to John.

“Gentlemen!” Walker cakes out to the guys. They started walking over. “Good to see you again.” No words eeee said to him.

“Look,” he continued, “if we divide ourselves, we don’t stand a chance— you guys know that.”

“So, what do you got?” Sam asked. He stood in front of Walker, and James went over to the end of the hood to lean his arm against.

“Well, the leader’s name is Karli Morgenthau,” Alyxandria started.

“We’ve been targeting civilians who’ve been helping Karli move from place to place,” John said.

“They geotagged a location, then scrambled the signal,” Lemar explained. “But our satellites have found their symbol popping up in various displaced communities all across Central and Eastern Europe.”

“We think that she’s taking the medicine she just stole to one of these camps,” Walker finished off.

“Well, there are hundreds of those all over the planet since The Blip. So, I guess you’ll have to look real hard,” James taunted— at least, that’s how it came off.

“Good thing I have 20/20 vision, huh?” Walker shot back.

“Where is she now, Walker? Do you know?” James asked, raising his voice.

“No, we don’t know, Bucky,” Walker responded, also raising his voice. Alyx looked at him funnily. “But, it’s only a matter of time before we find out.”

“Things are really intense for you, aren’t they, Walker?” Alyxandria got off of the car and moved so she could face everyone.

“Take it easy,” Sam told him. “Look, Walker’s right. It is imperative that we find them and stop them. But you guys have rules of engagement, and all kinds of authorizations you have to get. We’re free agents. We’re more flexible. So it wouldn’t make sense for us to work with you.” Sam and James started walking off and Alyxandria took one last look at John and Lemar before following.

“A word of advice, then,” Walker said, stopping the trip for a second. “Stay the hell out of my way.” The two walked off dramatically. Sam, James, and Alyx were watching them leave, but turned back to go do their own thing.

“Asshole,” James mumbled under his breath.

“So, what are you thinking?” Sam asked James after walking for awhile.

“Well, I know what we gotta do,” he responded. “When Isiah said, “my people”…”

“Oh, don’t take that to heart. That’s not what he meant.”

“No, he meant HYDRA. HYDRA used to be my people,” James explained. Sam scoffed.

“Not a chance,” he said.

“Walker doesn’t have any leads.”

“I know where you’re going with this, no.”

“He knows all of HYDRA’s secrets. Don’t you remember Siberia?”

“So, you’re just gonna go sit in a room with this guy?” Sam asked.

“Yes,” James replied, hesitantly.

“Wait, what’s happening?” Alyxandria asked.

“We’re gonna pay a visit to someone,” Sam said, stopping on the sidewalk.

“Who?”

“We’re gonna go see Zemo.”

———————————————————————-6/25/21

[headoverhiddles]

Matrimony - Pope x Reader (Let Me Make You A Martyr) [Part II]

Synopsis: Tensions rise with Pope, but you both have a common goal. Or, you believe it to be common. 

Notes: Second part of three! Enjoy loves. 

Tagging: (ask to be added) @peachynun​ @elrosew​ @livelifewondering​

PART I 

PART III

You wake to the sound of your alarm. 5:30 am.

You get out of bed, and pull on your jogging clothes. A run should clear your head. On the way down, you sneak one more look into Pope's bedroom. You can't see much through the dark, but the bed looks empty. He must be downstairs skulking around somewhere, unless he enjoys a nice refreshing jog before the sun comes up... which you doubt. 

Out on the path, the sun starts to rise through the pine trees. You jog along the road that you arrived on, smart enough not to jog in the direction of Pierce's cabin alone. Slipping your earbuds in, you listen to Marilyn Manson's Odds of Even, the thunk of the beat in time with your steps.  

You’re not thinking about Pope that way. You’re just interested in him. Interested in the idea of him. He’s an interesting man! Who... you’re interested in. 

So, you've got feelings for Pope.

Not feelings, per say, but... an intrigue. And there's definitely a physical attraction there, though you can't tell if he returns it. Probably not. Sex and romance probably weren't even blips on his radar. All he probably thinks about is killing people, disposing of their corpses swiftly and without hassle, and jacking off when and if he feels lonely.

You bite your lip. Damn, that's hot to imagine. Why do you always fall for people who either hate you, want to kill you, or just plain aren't nice? 

If you even mess up a little on this hit though, he'll kill you. Literally. He will not hesitate to take you out as well if you fuck up. But you're not going to fuck up. You may not be a hitman, but you deal with creeps like Daegland Pierce all the time in your job. You know how they think, and that's an advantage Pope doesn't have.

You return to the cabin, breathing heavily. A thin sheen of sweat covers you, and you look around. Isn't there a river somewhere near here?

You approach the rushing brook, grateful for the already cool mist rising from it. You peel off your top and bra, and do the same for your shorts and panties. There's no one out here in the brush, so you don't have to worry about that.

You toss your stuff on a nearby log, and get into the stream. Oh yeah. Yeah. That's nice. You float for a moment, staring up at the sky and listening to the birds. Then you hear another noise. A much closer noise.

You get your ears out of the water, and listen... then you nearly drown in fear as you hear a loud thwack right behind you. Whipping around, you turn to see--

"Holy shit!" you scream.

"Morning," Pope says. He brings an axe down on another piece of wood.

"I'm...! Oh my god, you didn't say anything, you--"

"Well," he pushes up his glasses, "I figured I wouldn't bother you in your morning activities, and you won't bother me in mine." He gestures to you with the handle of his axe. "You do have some pretty tits, though."

"Jesus fuck," you whisper, covering your chest. "Don't... look!" Pope shrugs, and goes back to splitting wood. "Why are you even out here?!" you demand, trying to swim back to the shore inconspicuously. 

"I'm sorry, is this restricted land? Do I require a fuckin’ permit?"

"You-- just, what are you doing?!"

"It's cold at night here," he mutters, "And any sensible person would seek warmth during the dark hours."

"Excuse me?!"

"You're excused, you know I don't mean whoring around with you."

"Right. If I came into your bedroom at night, opened up my bra and sat on the edge of your bed, you'd tell me to fuck off?"

Pope smirks. "Aww. Princess doesn't like the thought of that, does she?" You gasp, crossing your arms. You stop crossing your arms when it's apparent that just makes your boobs look even better. "Look, kid. Unlike you, I didn't come out here to screw around. I came here to kill a motherfucker, and get paid. That's what I do, that's what I intend to do."

It's futile arguing with him, and any headway you made tolerating each other last night at dinner (however small) had now been wiped clean. You'd show your worth on your own-- and you've got nothing to prove. Not much, anyway. There is zero part of you that wants any validation from Pope at all. Or praise. Or a... a "good girl." A "good... good little girl... yeah, babygirl, just like that..."

Shit.

---

"Do not make one wrong step. He can't know we're here."

You follow closely behind Pope, trying to get his attention.

"Hey. Hey! Why are we doing this now? Why don't we wait until--?"

"You have to get to know everything about a person's environment before you kill them. You need to know any possible traps they've set up, any kind of security or backup they've hid up their ass."

"B--"

"Stop speaking, no speaking. Shh. For once, shhh." He holds up a hand, then when he's sure the coast is clear, he beckons. "Follow me."

You do. He points to the other side of the house, but you're already ahead of him, back to the painted wooden panels. It's a better looking cabin than yours, obviously furnished and newly renovated with millions of dollars in dope cash that should've gone to home growers like the business you work for.

You snake around the back of the house, and check the window. It's cracked open an inch. Looking around, you push it open a bit farther, and carefully, ever so silently, you climb in. Pope is already in the house, in the living room. He's got his back pressed to the wall, and his head tilted to look up the stairs.

You're about to turn to check the kitchen, when you feel something in your back. You turn slowly, preparing to meet the barrel of a gun and your untimely demise, but you just find the end of a dirty wooden spoon in a soapy pot.

"Oh," you breathe, putting a hand on your chest. You hear a gun cock at the back of your head.

"What the fuck you doing in my house?" You look behind you, and maneuver around. It's him. It's Daeg. And he's in his bathrobe.

"Hi!" you suddenly say, the first thing popping into your head the option you're going with. "You must be the neighbor!"

"What?" Pierce growls.

You wave to Pope, who's staring at you with some mix of contempt and confusion. "Honey, come here!"

"What the...?" Pierce mutters, and points the gun at Pope as he reluctantly walks over to join you. "Who are you people?!" 

"We just moved into the cabin next to yours! We're Mr. and Mrs... Warner!" You pick a name off the top of your head. You grab Pope's hand, and the death grip you get back tells you he's not in support of this tactic. But, there's no going back now.

"Yeah," he grumbles, "This is my wife. Ain’t she a sweet little piece of ass?"

You give a giggle for good measure, tightening your grip on his hand in warning, and this guy looks so utterly dumbfounded, it's hard not to laugh.

"I'm gonna ask you this again, you stupid shits. What the FUCK are you doing in my HOUSE?!"

"Looking for sugar," you say.

Pope falls into his role. "Yeah. My wife here was... baking."

"I tried to tell him he gets enough sugar at home, but he wouldn't listen, the scoundrel!" You slap him lightly on the arm.

"Well. Just can't get enough of the girl. But that river flows both ways, don't it?"

You shudder slightly, but keep your smile up. Then it hits you. Ingredients... baking! You know just how you can get put of here without an ass full of this guy’s buckshot!

"Now, the reason we found your place, was..." you move in a little closer to Pierce, "I was looking for a certain kind of ingredient. If you know what I mean."

The man's demeanor changes. He looks around, tucks his gun. "How do y'all know about that?"

You wink. "I know lots of things."

"Now, sweetheart." Pope tugs you back, a little too roughly. "Remember to be modest. At least for my sake." His hand travels down to your ass, and you bite your lip.

"Of course, honey. Of course."

Is he getting a little too into his role?

---

You both can't believe you were able to make nice with Pierce long enough to get out of his house. It was a life-saving idea, but it also posed a problem. The two of you had been invited back for dinner the next night, to supposedly buy some of his ‘stock’.

"It's perfect! That's when we kill him!" you hiss, as Pope walks ahead of you through the bramble.

"The tone of this whole thing is fucked up. It’s not right. This isn't how things work."

"What, not used to having a fake wife along for the hit? A little imagination can save your life."

"Don't talk to me about life," he mutters, "I'm ready to end yours."

"Yeah. Fine. Threaten to kill me."

"Oh, I'm not just threatening."

"At least we didn't get shot to bits by the most notorious drug dealer in the American midwest."

"I do things my way," he replies calmly, "I don't need a little brat like you telling me how it's gonna be." You ball your fists and beat against a tree. He's infuriating!

"Will you at least show me how to cut the wood you were chopping this morning? You're right, we should stock up." He looks back at you, that same indifferent expression back on his face.

"You chose to come out here and bother me. Make yourself scarce, or I swear to God or whatever the fuck, I'll drive you out to the middle of the woods and leave you for the wolves."

With that, he walks inside, screen door banging.

You sit down on a log by the car. After a minute, you get up, start the car with the keys on the seat, and turn the radio up.

More honkey tonk wailing. Whatever. Maybe country was good for the soul, and all that.

You lay down on the log, and watch the forest flora sway around you as Hank Williams croons through the open air.

 ---

You open your eyes. It's dark out.

The car radio is still going, and you're not sure quite what time it is.

You hear footsteps behind you, and look up to see Pope walking over to the car. You sigh, rubbing your eyes and waiting for his complaints. "Sorry," you murmur, "I should've turned it off before I--"

"It's fine," he cuts you off curtly, and you give up trying to explain yourself, waiting for him to disappear again. This was such a mistake. Coming out here with him, wanting to be a part of this. You wanted to see the job done, sure, but maybe you are out of your depth. Christ, the guy is an expert sharpshooter, with the lack of mercy of a navy seal and the personality of a hermit. It's time to give up.

You look up again when you don't hear the door close. He pauses, walks over to you, and sits down. He takes his cigarettes out of his shirt pocket, puts one in his mouth, and lights it. He tilts his head up to look at the stars, and takes his glasses off, setting them down beside him.

"C'mere," he whispers. You sit up, frowning, and follow his line of sight. You inch closer to him in confusion, and settle in next to him to watch the sky too. He takes another drag of his cigarette, the embers glowing in the low light. You find the scent of him, along with his presence out here, comforting.

The night bugs grow in volume around you, and soon, you begin to hear coyotes in the distance.

"They're beautiful," you murmur. He hums.

"They’re dangerous."

"Like someone else I know," you whisper. If he hears you, he doesn't let on. He just exhales smoke toward the sky, and listens to the noises of the night. His voice, low and gravelly, rises above the sounds.

"You ever heard of a Wendigo, kid?"

"No," you tell him.

"It's an old legend my grandfather told me. He says there are skinwalkers out here in the forest. They can shapeshift, take the form of whatever they want. Animals, people. Strangely odd. Just a little too odd to be considered human."

"You think those coyotes are skinwalkers?" you ask softly. 

"Nah. The only things here pretending to be something they're not are you, and me."  

---

You wake up in bed, not quite certain how you got there. It's still nighttime... you don't know exactly what time it is, but you don't want to reach for your phone. You stare out the window for a minute, and frown. The scenery outside doesn't look quite right, like it’s too foggy to see. 

There's a slight creak in one of the floorboards, and you see a shadow eclipse the dim lantern light from the hallway.

You roll over in bed, and see Pope standing by the door. He hasn't got his glasses on, and his hair looks a little messed up, as if he's been sleeping.

"What is it?" you mumble, trying to sit up, "Something with Pierce? Did he... is everything okay?" Confusion fills you as he walks toward you, but it's replaced by desire with every step closer he takes. He looks like he's been kept awake by something. "Pope?"

"Shh." He sits down, making an indent in the comforter. "I want you, sweetheart."

You breathe out, and after a second, you lean forward slowly. He meets you halfway, reinforcing the kiss, and you moan softly against his lips. His hand comes up to cup your cheek, and he lays you down, resuming the kissing once he's got you against the pillows. "Couldn't get you outta my mind," he whispers, "Couldn't get this... outta my head."

"This feels strange," you murmur, "You hate me."

He doesn't respond, just moves a hand down beneath the covers to stroke between your legs. An exhaled prayer of his name falls from your lips, and he presses a kiss to your chest, tongue swiping out every so slightly. You look down at him again, and reach out, starting to unbutton his shirt, all the way down. With each button, more tattoos are revealed, even though they appear blurry to you, as if your mind is trying to fill them in for you. Must be the dark.

"You're so fucking sexy," he whispers, and pushes your panties aside.

"Please," you beg.

"Let me give you what you need, baby girl. That's it." He looks into your eyes with his own dark orbs. "Trust me now?"

Your chest rises and falls quicker as he adds another finger, rolling your clit with his thumb as he pumps in and out. He's making soft noises as he does, grinding his erection into your thigh on the bed. You start to gasp as you feel your orgasm coming on.

"I'm... P... Pope, oh god, I'm... c-c--"

He strokes you just right with those rough fingers, and just as you come undone, your eyes open.

Pope is gone. You're alone, in bed. You stare at the headboard, realizing you're on your stomach. Shit, you've been grinding into the mattress. You regain a little more consciousness, the events of your dream all fresh in your mind.

 Giving a disoriented moan, you flip over, lying on your back. Your hips wiggle, and you tug down your panties, dipping your own fingers into your soaking wet heat. You didn't think he had this kind of effect on you.

You moan to yourself softly as you quickly curl your fingers in a hurried motion, hips arching slightly. Yeah... yeah, like that. You gasp, and finally cum hard thinking of Pope on top of you like that, kissing you, touching your body, sending you over the edge.

You come down to earth, head spinning in the cold, dark bedroom. You can hear soft snores from the other room. He must have brought you upstairs and put you in your bed before turning in. If any of that outside was real. What if that was part of the dream?

No. You can still smell the faint scent of Pope's lingering cigarette smoke on your jacket, which is still on. You shake your head, taking it off and tossing it on a chair across the room. All you need is a good night's rest.

[squidbatts]

(he got) the wrong lovers

Caroline kneels and runs her hand over a happy blue hen. She lets herself enjoy how the chickens shake their feathers as she strokes them and the low contented coos they make.

The Farmer returns, offering Caroline a hand. “I’m sure the girls are enjoying your attention, but you’re mine tonight.”

or: caroline gets a dinner invitation from the kind farmer down the way

((hi sdv fans! i’m sorry that my first fic for this fandom is going to be a player/caroline fic with a bittersweet ending, but sometimes It’s Just Like That. there’s a little infidelity, because Obviously, but really and truly this is mostly pre-slash and caroline being conflicted and confused. please enjoy i guess???))

{ao3}

When the letter comes to the house, Caroline is shocked. All of their mail is usually for Pierre, supply forms or Head of Household things, or for Abby, her little magic magazines or a video game she’s ordered from the city; Caroline can’t remember the last time a piece of mail that wasn’t spam came in for her.

“What’s in the mail, dear?” Pierre asks as Caroline brings the whole stack into the kitchen. She sighs when she sees that he’s already begun eating, despite how she had asked him to wait for Abby. He has to open the shop, Caroline knows that, but he can’t wait five minutes to have a family breakfast?

“I got a letter,” She says, then flushes at how excited her voice sounds, like she’s a child on Feast day. “It’s from the Farmer.”

Pierre hums, disinterested. “Anything for me?”

“Ah, yes, sorry. A seed order form for next season.” She hands the booklet over and Pierre is easily absorbed by both it and his breakfast. Caroline doesn’t sigh, not aloud, but she does allow her shoulders to rise and fall before she leaves the room to remind Abby to come eat. It’s not like Pierre is looking at her anyway.

She doesn’t open the letter until later, after the store’s opened and after Abby’s left for the Museum, not because she’s ashamed or because it’s a secret but because it just seems like it’s something she should do alone. Like it’s private. She’s sent the Farmer letters before, with recipes and tips, but the Farmer’s always seemed the type to prefer face-to-face communication and she’s certainly never heard of anyone else getting anything in the mail from them.

Caroline, the letter reads, ink dark and deliberate but still a bit messy, letters flowing into each other in a half-cursive script like the Farmer’s hand couldn’t keep up with their thoughts, Sorry I can’t ask you in person, doing some stuff on the farm, but would you like to come over today at 5? It’s okay if you can’t, I’m just making a new recipe and wanted you to try it first.

Caroline reads the letter twice more before refolding it and tapping it against the countertop, thinking. Tonight… Well, tonight was going to be like any night: she’d cook and eat dinner, have some tea and read a book, try to get Abby to take her online classes seriously or wear something with a bit more color or stop doing all that occult nonsense or something. The only blip in her monotonous life is what topic she and Abby argue about -- that, and the Farmer’s visits, recently. There’s a part of her that wants to cling to that which is comfortable and routine but the more Caroline thinks about it, the more appealing it seems; she hasn’t had someone cook for her in a long while, and she’s never been out to the farm. Besides, she and the Farmer are friends now, right? She’s been to dinner at Jodi’s plenty of times, and though those were joint family dinners with Abby and Pierre and Jodi’s Sam and Vincent, this is barely any different. It wouldn’t be difficult to make food enough for two and put it in the fridge, She reasons, Surely even Pierre can work the stove well enough to warm up a tray of cheese and cauliflower.

She nods, final, and pops into the store to tell Pierre of her decision. He’s talking to Harvey and when he sees her, he holds up a hand in a clear wait a moment. Caroline frowns but stands beside the counter as the men finish their business and their chatter, an obedient wife.

“Yes?” Pierre asks when Harvey leaves.

“I just wanted to tell you that the Farmer’s invited me to dinner.”

“On such short notice? We’ll have to decline, I was going to do inventory tonight-”

“No, dear,” Caroline interrupts, rolling her shoulders back to stand straighter, “They invited me. I’m going to go over, this evening, I’ll leave dinner in the fridge for you, okay?”

Pierre makes a face, nose scrunching and corners of his mouth falling. “When did they ask that? I haven’t seen them in today.”

“They haven’t been in, but that’s what the letter was about,” Caroline says, then, when Pierre continues to look confused, she clarifies, “The letter I got this morning. It was from the Farmer, remember?”

“Oh, yeah. That.” Pierre says. Caroline can see that he obviously does not remember. She takes a breath in through her nose.

“I was just letting you know what I was going to do. I’ll write heating instructions and leave them in the kitchen but, if all else fails, you can put it in the microwave, it just might get a little mushy.”

Pierre makes another face but Caroline doesn’t give him a chance to argue, retreating to the kitchen to make dinner so she can have enough time to get ready before heading out.

When she leaves home at 4:30, pinning a note on the fridge to remind Pierre how to warm up their dinner, she walks down the dirt-trailed path towards the farm and realizes that it’s been ages since she’s been out here, out of the town center in general, really. When she and Pierre first moved to the Valley, she remembers going on long walks, through the forest and down the beach, up to the mountains and following the winding of the rivers; now, she spends her days either at home, in the square talking to Jodi and Evelyn, or at the community center. Time has made me boring, She thinks with something close to regret, wondering what the bright-eyed girl who used to sneak out to the Wizard’s tower in the evenings would think of her now.

As soon as the farm is in view, the Farmer is as well, leaning on the side of their house and absentmindedly fiddling with something. When they see Caroline, they put whatever it was into their ever-present backpack and jog out to meet her at the path.

“Hey,” They say, grinning, “You made it.”

“How could I not, with such a kind request?”

“You’re the kind of lady that deserves a kind request,” The Farmer says, and Caroline blinks in surprise but feels her smile grow all the same. The Farmer looks away, rubbing at the back of their neck. “Anyway, I’m about ready, but I’ve got to grab something from the coop first. You can come with me if you want.”

Caroline does want, so she follows the Farmer and lets them open the gate for her as they enter the livestock area. When they enter the coop, Caroline almost takes a startled step right back out the door; it is one thing, she discovers, to know that there are going to be chickens in a place, but it is something entirely different to suddenly be in a small room full of chickens.

“Oh, don’t worry, they don’t bite,” The Farmer says, sensing her reluctance. They pause and continue with, “Well, most of ‘em don’t. Mind that black one in the back, though I’m sure Voidy will be on her best behavior.”

The black chicken clucks loudly, almost in argument, but stops as soon as the Farmer sends her a sharp look. The whole exchange is enough to make Caroline laugh and snap from her nerves. She kneels and runs her hand through a happy blue hen’s feathers and when another chicken, this one white, comes over to investigate and Caroline pets her as well. She lets herself enjoy how the chickens shake their feathers as she strokes them and the low contented coos they make.

“Got it,” The Farmer says finally, returning and offering Caroline a hand. “I’m sure the girls are enjoying your attention, but you’re mine tonight.”

Caroline’s face flashes suddenly hot at the certainty in the Farmer’s voice, at the cocksure tilt of their smile, at the rough callouses on their hands as they pull her up with an easy motion and a bit too much power, causing her to stumble into their chest. She stills in shock for a moment, just a second, but it’s a second where she’s pressed against their work-hardened muscles, close enough to share the same air. The Farmer’s eyes are bright even in the dim light of the coop and Caroline’s pulse kicks up as those bright eyes soften. Then, quick as it had begun, the moment is gone and Caroline clears her throat and takes a step back.

“Sorry.”

“No need to apologize,” The Farmer assures her, and they hold the coop door open and the chickens back as she leaves.

Stepping outside helps clear her head a bit and she’s thankful for the cool evening air. The Farmer leads her back to the house and asks her to wait while they duck inside, so Caroline takes the time to press a palm to her still-quickened heart. What is up with me? she wonders. She figures that she’s probably just oversensitive; Pierre’s been so busy with the store, especially now that Joja’s closed, so someone paying as close attention to her as the Farmer does is obviously going to be a bit flustering. Especially when they’re that strong, She thinks, then immediately squeezes her eyes shut and shakes the thought away. The Farmer emerges then with a wicker basket on one arm and they refuse Caroline’s attempts to hold it.

“It’s rude to make a lady carry her own dinner,” The Farmer says, though they do offer their hand out to Caroline again. She doesn’t think she’s held hands with a friend since her childhood but Caroline takes it anyway, feeling the back of her neck heating up as the Farmer smiles softly and squeezes her hand.

The Farmer swings their attached hands gently as they walk further into the farm. They tell Caroline more about the chickens, about the kinds of crops they're growing this spring, and about how they’re experimenting with different types of jam.

“Once I get the sugar levels right, I’ll give you a jar,” They say easily. “What’s your favorite fruit?”

“Ah, I suppose I like apples, but really, you don’t have to-”

“I won’t do it if you don’t want any, but it’s not about ‘having to,’” The Farmer cuts in. They give Caroline an assessing look before shrugging and looking towards the darkening horizon. “I want to. I’d like to do nice things for you, if you’d let me.”

“I- uh,” Caroline swallows thickly, self-conscious and blushing. “That’s incredibly kind of you.”

“I already told you, you deserve kindness,” The Farmer says simply.

They don’t look back over to her, but their grip on her hand tightens slightly, comfortable and secure. They walk in easy silence until they reach their destination at the farm’s greenhouse. Inside, it’s nearly balmy and the air smells like fresh fruit and something else, familiar and pleasant to her. She can’t place it until they make their way around the towering blueberry, tomato, and grape plants and she finally sees two whole rows of valuable planting space taken up by her favorite flower, as well as the red-check blanket spread out next to the plants.

Caroline runs forward, unable to contain her excitement, and runs a finger down the petals of a particularly bright blue summer spangle. “These are out of season! How did you get them?”

“I asked the traveling merchant. I was going to just grow them and give them to you, but then I got this recipe and Abigail mentioned-” The Farmer cuts themself off, flushing. “Anyway, they’re for you, or, uh… I could keep them growing here if you'd like, and you could come by anytime to see them.”

“Really?”

“I grew them for you,” The Farmer says again. They take her hand and pull her towards the blanket, putting down the basket as they sit beside Caroline. “Now, this is my first time making this for someone else but all the ingredients are fresh, so…”

They push the basket towards Caroline, watching her intently as she opens the lid. When she does, she almost immediately drops it to bring her hand to her face, covering her shock-opened mouth. “You-”

“I can’t promise it'll be any good,” The Farmer is saying as they open the basket and remove the tupperwares of fish tacos by themself, red to the ears. The tacos smell delicious when they open the lids, like the sea and sun-warmed wheat, and they look even better. “No Gus-quality guarantee, but I tried my best, and-”

“It’s perfect,” Caroline interrupts, voice still muffled by her hand. Her heart feels full and light like there’s a balloon of pure happiness behind her ribcage, and she shakes her head in disbelief. “This is all so wonderful, I- I don’t know what I’ve done to earn this and I know you’re going to say it’s just a kind thing but this is- Perfect. This is just so perfect.”

Caroline drops her hand, letting it fall atop of the Farmer’s own, and the Farmer startles a bit. They look at her, eyes wide and face flushed, and Caroline feels her cheeks start to hurt because of how wide her smile is. I must look so silly, She thinks, An old lady like me so emotional over something like this, but still she can’t quell her joy.

“I,” The Farmer starts, eyes darting around Caroline’s face. They turn their hand under Caroline’s until they’re holding hands again, this time with fingers intertwined. “I’m glad you like it.”

“I love it,” Caroline confirms and pulls the Farmer in for a tight hug, pressing her face into their neck. When she pulls back a bit, arms loosely around them, the Farmer is still looking at her with that same wide-eyed wonder and it reignites her own embarrassment. “I’m sorry,” she starts, “That was-”

She doesn’t get to finish her sentence before the Farmer cuts her off, not with words but with action as they close the scant space between them and kiss Caroline, a soft press of chapped lips against her own. Caroline, for a moment, kisses back; she’s so full of joy and love, and the Farmer’s lips feel so right against her own as her eyes slip closed and her body presses closer that it takes a second for her brain to catch up. But as soon as it does, she near throws herself away, half-crawling off the blanket and directly into the bed of flowers that had so overjoyed her earlier. Her hand comes back up to her mouth, covering not happiness but horror now as the lightness in her chest turns into a churning weight in her gut. The Farmer looks just as shocked as she is, though the recognition doesn’t make her feel any less sick.

“I didn’t mean to-”

“I should go,” Caroline says over whatever apology the Farmer is trying, standing and brushing her skirt off. “I mean, look at the time! It’s so very late, and I’ve been at your farm for some time, and I really need to get home.”

“Caroline-”

“My family-” Caroline starts, only for the words to stick in her throat. She clears throat, ignoring the embarrassed and guilty sting of her eyes, and continues, “Pierre and Abigail will be waiting for me and I really shouldn’t have imposed on you like this.”

“You could never impose,” The Farmer says, mouth twisting sadly as they stand. Caroline takes another stumbling step back, feeling the stem of a flower snapping beneath her shoe, but they don’t try to cross the distance she’s put between them. “I shouldn’t have done that, but Caroline, you’re always welcome here.”

“No, I,” Caroline shakes her head helplessly, wipes a desperate hand at her eyes, “I don’t think I should come over again.”

The Farmer nods dolefully and takes their own steps back, gesturing at the blanket. “Take a taco at least, please. I made them for you.”

That’s the problem, Caroline doesn’t say. Instead, she takes one of the tupperwares and says, “Thank you for the meal.”

“It was no problem,” The Farmer says, still looking at her with those bright, earnest eyes, and Caroline- can’t. She can’t do this.

She shakes her head again, not trusting herself to even say goodbye, and rushes out of the greenhouse. It’s dark now, as she finds her way off the farm and down that country lane back into town. She doesn’t run, because there’s no way to know who’s watching and there’s nothing more gossip-worthy than fleeing into the night, but her steps quicken the closer she gets to home, where she’s relieved to find the store empty and unlit. She stops just inside the doorway, leaning back against the hard wooden door as she finally allows her shoulders to shake and the confused tears to fall from her eyes.

She feels like she stands there for an eternity, silently trying to dissect the night and see how it went the way it did, figure out what kind of shameful signals she was putting out that made the Farmer think that she’d ever-

But you did, a part of her brain hisses, You did, and you liked it. Caroline, alone in the dark of Pierre’s store, shakes her head roughly. No, she was just confused; it’s been a hard time for her and she’s been so stressed with the house and the store and Abby and she was just so lonely, it only made sense that her heart would get friendship mixed up in feelings like that. It was just an embarrassing accident, she assures herself, wiping her eyes and straightening her back. All there is for it now is to apologize, stay away from the Farmer for a bit, and pretend it didn’t happen.

Caroline takes a deep breath and nods to herself. She walks into the house proper, pausing when she hears noise coming from the kitchen. “Pierre?”

“Nope,” Abby answers. As Caroline enters the kitchen she can see her daughter at the table, eating shredded cheese out of a bowl by the spoonful.

“Abigail.”

“Sorry mom,” Abby says but doesn’t stop eating the cheese. Caroline sighs. Abby nods her head towards Caroline’s hands, eyebrow raised. “Is that what the Farmer made you?”

“I wasn’t quite as hungry as I’d hoped,” She says as her stomach flips again at the mention of the Farmer, just to remind her that she’s in no shape to eat tonight. “Did you enjoy the cheese cauliflower?”

Abby snorts, “Yeah I did, but dad just went to the Saloon.”

“He what?” Caroline spins around. Abby shrugs, eating another spoonful of cheese.

“Yeah, I don’t know. He’s in bed now, so I guess you could ask him about it tomorrow.”

“If I had known that he was just going to get dinner from Gus then I could’ve-” Caroline stops, takes a deep breath. She opens the fridge and puts her untouched fish taco next to her husband’s untouched serving of cheese cauliflower. She exhales and relaxes her shoulders. She has no right to be upset with Pierre right now. “Nevermind. It’s not a problem.”

“‘S still not nice,” Abby mutters around her spoon, “For all he complains about cooking, you’d think he’d appreciate…”

Abby trails off with a roll of her eyes and Caroline waits for the usual Make your family play nice instinct to rise in her chest, for the Have some more respect for your father! to fall from her lips before she can even think about it, but it… doesn’t. Caroline frowns, just slightly.

“Well, don’t stay up too late, okay?” Caroline says, instead of anything else, and kisses Abby on the forehead when she grunts her assent.

As Caroline gets ready for bed, she finds herself thinking about the greenhouse again. She looks in the mirror and presses a hand to her lips -- wondering what she’d looked like to make the Farmer kiss her, wondering if that had been their plan all along, wondering what could’ve happened if she wasn’t a wife and mother. She splashes water on her face to help clear the thoughts away. Musings like that are for girls half Caroline’s age, a girl like Caroline was before she met Pierre and moved to Pelican Town and had Abigail. Farmers and greenhouses and summer spangles, none of that is for Caroline any more; she has her life, and that's enough.

[wildbirdmagick]

Some of the Rune Soup premium members started a side project of angel bothering in June. This is my “What did I do this summer” essay. It was an experiment for me the entire way and nothing below is said with any form of authority. This is just my experience.

How we worked with the angels

The whole thing felt magically entangled from the start. Looking back, I’m not sure there is a piece of my life this working didn’t touch. I really wish I had written a long-form journal throughout. Now that we are at the end it’s hard to see how and when each piece snapped into place. Trying to summarize it here has been like taming a dragon.

Everyone knew they wanted to do some magic with angels, but not sure what. The UK had a scrying group working with Rudd’s Keys to the Gateways of Magic and we decided to run with that. Going into the project most of us had never tried scrying or even followed along with a grimoire. We started a discord server to keep everything in one place and it served as the backbone of the working. It was a constant source of resources, discussion, and inspiration.

Rudd’s Keys to the Gateway of Magic is a series of 10 invocations to the planetary angels. Each angel coming from their respective layer of heaven. The order we did them in was: Metatron/Moveable Heaven, Raziel/Starry Firmament, Cassiel/Saturn, Sachiel/Jupiter, Samael/Mars, Michael/Sol, Anael/Venus, Raphael/Mercury, Gabriel/Luna.

Each invocation is about a 25-minute long prayer… though I think long-form angelic contract law is a better description. It’s dry and monotonous. But that is a feature of its design, not a flaw. Reading the prayers you quickly slip into a trancelike state. After the prayers, you spend 10 minutes scrying with your stone. To make it work for a group we had different members read the invocations, then we all separately scryed. After that, we would spend 30 to 40 minutes comparing notes. The group discussion after each scrying session is what made this working zing. I can see why scrying is sometimes done in pairs.

I think one of the first discussions on discord was “What even am an angel?” (This is a bit of a Rune Soup inside joke… it’s what you say before you dive into the philosophical goo of something and try to pull out its quintessential meat.) From that question, our project took on an exploratory direction. Most of us were calling on angels to better understand them, their story, and their place in the cosmos.

For me, the main questions were, which I hope to answer for you at the end.

- What even are angels?

- What do they want?

- How can we work with them?

Early on I would use the two week period between sessions to interact with each angel. The most used method was right before sleep or after meditation I would ask the angel to show themselves. Or I would ask them to show me something. I did not use formal prayers or rituals. Just a simple “Yo, you up?” The results from these sessions were small blips of information that would only make sense later.

It feels weird to say they just sorta showed up, but they did. Some with better results than others. It didn’t feel like I needed an elaborate ritual or prayer. Instead, they felt quite willing.

I think the best way to illustrate the answers I arrived at is to walk you through the three most important contact events I had. Or skip to the end when I try to sum up what I think about angels.

Michael

Michael was pure fire. I had never worked with them before. I did this invocation solo and by coincidence, it landed on Michaelmas (September 29th) By the time we worked our way to Michael I was better at asking questions and getting answers. My first few scrying sessions were mostly a jumble of pictures and me desperately trying to piece something together.

With Michael, I asked what are we doing with all this? Like yes, this is fun to call you all up... But why did I just jumble through 25 minutes of prayers that I only sorta believe in? What’s next and why?

Michael told me “The magic is in the creation of the prayers, the sigils, the drawings. Repeating and replicating someone else’s words is fine, but it is a shadow of what comes from the creation process. Each one of us should always seek to divine our own system. The power of grimoires is not that these prayers or these sigils are correct or powerful. It’s that this person took the time to write and make them. Following someone else’s grimoire/system is just training wheels.”

The scrying session was really moving and I wanted to honor them with something. I started drawing an altar card for Michael. I am an occasional artist—emphasis on the word occasional—but as I drew Michael, something flowed out of me. It felt right. I share this not to say my drawings are some masterpiece. It is to illustrate the creative process of making something for the angel was magic. As I drew I understood the angel differently.

Again, I was presented with the evidence that just mentally sitting with the angel brought presence. Not quite like scrying, but small nudges and flows. It was like sitting with someone while you paint their portrait. You aren’t speaking but you are taking them in. Trying to distill their essence onto the canvas.

The process was so delightful that I decided to do the whole set of angels. With each picture, I poured over the notes in my journal and paid attention to syncs, signs, and dreams. Often little bits would click into place and make my vision of the angel more concrete.

If I had to put words to the feeling... it’s like they want you to connect or talk to them on a different level… one of creation and inspiration. Something about angels (or some angels) makes them more accessible. It’s less that my drawings are a correct representation of them, but a representation of my connection to them. I’m showing them how I see them. Letting them look through my eyes so I can look through theirs.

Raphael

Raphael is the only angel that showed up for me in a traditional way. They were a brilliant ball of wings and light that shimmered and turned slowly. My drawing of Raphael is exactly what I saw. When I asked what was their form, they told me they are the speed of white light.

I asked what they could teach me and light burst from my palms, then my eyes and mouth… then every cell in my being. They told me that healing comes from a physical action connected to a mental intention.

The important thing I want to stress is the light that shot from my palms was a feeeeeeling. I’m emphasizing this to hopefully better describe it. Do you know when you wake up from a dream and you can still taste or feel the thing in your dream? Maybe it was a sex dream with a random coworker and you spend all day at work feeling awkward around them because you can still feeeeeeeel it?

This is how the light shooting from my palms was. It was a feeling. The next morning in meditation I could feel that light. I can still grasp at it now a month later, but it’s harder, farther away. That feeling was Raphael’s virtue. The thing they had to teach. But let’s put a pin in that thought. We will come back to it, I promise.

Gabriel

My Gabriel session confirmed what I got from Michael. At this point, I was much better at communicating and asking questions. Gabriel said they are the angel that has the most contact with humans. They are the signs and syncretistic events.

When I asked Gabriel how to work with them they told me to “Create their likeness and know them.” And to “Lay their virtues on your shoulders like a mantle.”

A tarot spread the next day solidified what I was getting. The center card was the six of wands from the Dracxidios Tarot. It shows a human body with energy flowing from their centers and connected to an anatomically correct heart. In my journal I wrote next to it, “Humans in flow are angelic” I mention this note because I’m not sure why I made that connection. It wasn’t something that stuck with me until I went back into my notes.

The surrounding cards in my tarot spread were The High Priestess and the eight of coins. Which speaks of bringing things from intuition into tangible form. In the end, I think this is what angels want more than anything. They want you to take what is inside and make it physical.

Now to perform my greatest trick… to wrap this whole thing up in a package and try to deliver it in some coherent package. 😉

What even am angels? (Or at least what are these angels?)

This is just my answer from this moment in time. (Which happens to be November 9th at 9:27 am, in case you’re wondering.) You should ask yourself a question like this. But don’t just think it in your head… write it down. Go on. I’ll wait. Things become very slippery when you try to make them concrete.

To me, angels are fractal emanations from gateways of being. They are like a concept of being that gained consciousness. They are persuasions fluttering on the edge of perception.

An angel is never one thing, but a revolving mass that changes. Which face of the emanation you connect to is up to you. I think on some level it matters who you are and why you are calling on them. It’s like the stupid two wolves thing, except with fractal beings there are infinite connection lines. Which means, I can’t tell you what your angels are because your angels are different than mine.

What I can say is that they have always been here.. with humans that is. They get wrapped up in the dominant metaphysics model of the time quite easily, but to say they came with Christianity is silly. They do not feel Christian, and I doubt they give two fucking shits if you are either. They are just happy to work with whatever model you are working with… because the true control here is the picture you paint of them and what you do with it.

And lastly, I believe that angels are not above, but below. They are not found in the layered heavens above, but deep within the pools of self. They are beings of the subconscious. This is why they are so easy to contact and why they lend themselves to dream, journey, and intuition work.

What do they want? And how can we work with them?

Call them up and “know them.” Angels bear gifts, but they can’t teach you something if you never interact with them. I can summarize what I got from them and hope it helps you, but really these things are tailor-made for each person.

Lay their virtues on your shoulders like a mantle. Once you see the essence of what they are, how can you think with that? Raphael was the key to understanding that each one had a gift to teach. And that I could hold that gift in my mind's eye and change my perception. This point is much harder to articulate because it is a feeling. All I can do is tell you to pay attention for it. Maybe even ask for it.

Create their likeness. This might be knowledge for me personally, but I think it’s worth sharing. While I enjoyed using Rudd’s angel calling method because it worked so well, it isn’t my style. Throughout the project, I had been wondering how to do more scrying without long prayers. Michael answered, and Gabriel confirmed… find your own dial-up method. For me, that has been my drawings. Each person will have their own way in. Once you make contact strengthen that connection with contemplation and representation. This is the key to their gateway.

This last piece is just a suggestion. Like I mentioned in the beginning, I wish I had kept a longer journal. Angels are of the subconscious and they communicate that way. They are entangled beings that will show up in every aspect of your life. It’s much easier to put themes together if you keep a journal of notes, thoughts, and feelings. I kept only the most basic notes, and this made it much harder to pull things together for me.

[nitewrighter]

Gency Week Day 6

Forget-Me-Not

A little late but here’s some Genji and Mercy reminiscing with photos!!!

----

Genji stood in the doorway of the apartment--their apartment--well, it was about to be their apartment, before, it had just been her apartment, but now with Genji staying over practically every night, they figured they might as well make things official. 

“...You have to have more than that,” said Mercy, putting her hands on her hips.

“I... lived with monks and was raised by ninjas,” said Genji with a shrug as he adjusted the duffel on his shoulder. There was a single box in his arms with some of his things as well. A handful of the things in the box were just things he had picked up since answering the recall and coming to the Watchpoint. There were some wooden frames of his disassembled sword stand sticking out of the box, but not much else.

“I mean, I knew you were always a bit of a minimalist, but...” Mercy trailed off.

“You’re minimalist too,” said Genji.

“I... I decorate! I have my relief tchotchkes!” said Mercy.

“I love that you travel and save lives all over the world and people pour their heart outs to you and give you heartfelt gifts for your relief work and you just call them ‘Relief Tchotchkes.’” He craned his neck to look into her office, “Most of them are in one place though, anyway.”

“...I just... this is going to sound weird and obsessive, but if we’re both living here, I.... I want this place to feel... lived-in, you know?”

“Your office is definitely lived in,” said Genji, smugly.

“Har-har,” said Mercy, rolling her eyes.

“We could do the college dorm thing--hang up christmas lights, get some tacky movie posters...” Genji walked past her with a smile in his voice, “You like ‘They Came From Beyond the Moon,’ right?”

Mercy huffed and snickered. “...Pictures,” she said after a few beats.

“Mm?” said Genji.

“We should put up pictures--like, in frames.”

“Like an old couple?” said Genji. 

“Athena can make some high-quality prints--we have pictures of ourselves, right?”

Genji paused and put his box down on the table. “Do we?” he tilted his head.

----

“Agents--It’s been a while since you’ve made your way back to my primary terminal,” said Athena.

“Well you are everywhere, technically,” said Mercy.

“I do like having you take the time to come here, though,” said Athena.

“We like the big screen,” said Genji.

Athena giggled. “What can I help you with?”

“This is going to sound odd but, do you have pictures of us?” asked Mercy.

“Many Overwatch agents dump their photos into my data stores when they run out of storage on their own comms but won’t delete them. I can run a cursory facial scan?” Athena suggested.

“That would be wonderful, Athena, thank you,” said Mercy.

“Scanning,” said Athena, the screen blipped for a few seconds, “Excluding official and bodycam footage, I have 249 image results for Agents Shimada and Ziegler. I can filter it by photos containing both of you where you are among the center subjects?”

“That works.”

“Right. I have 45 photos from the ‘general’ folder of other agents, and 11 photos from a file recently dumped by Agent McCree titled, ‘Watchpoint Cryptids.’”

“...’Watchpoint Cryptids?’” repeated Mercy.

“I believe it’s a joke on how difficult it is to get a photo of either of you,” said Athena.

“Well.. scroll through what we have?” said Genji.

“Understood,” said Athena.

There were very few photos from Genji’s Blackwatch days--both for the obvious reason that Genji was in Blackwatch, and the fact that back then Genji didn’t like having his photo taken. Mercy looked frazzled and overworked in nearly every photo of the old days. There was the old lineup of Winston passing the physical for active agent duty with Tracer cheering next to him, but both Mercy and Genji were practically on opposite ends of the photo there. From there photos of both of them seemed to be taken more frequently, no doubt thanks to being put on a strike team with Tracer, who tended to take a lot of photos to deal with gaps in her memory from Chronal disassociation. 

There were a handful of group photos. There was a photo of the first time their strike team was all suited up---Genji seemed more confident in this photo than almost all the other previous photos combined with his new prosthetics. They agreed to frame that one. There was one photo of Mercy and Genji sleeping on each other’s shoulders on the orca with Tracer in the foreground holding a marker. Then there was a blurry bluish selfie of Tracer, still holding the marker, with Genji chasing her in the background with a crudely drawn mustache on his faceplate and Mercy chasing after him. There was a photo of Winston and Tracer victoriously holding up empanadas after the Havana mission (it would have been a nice photo to frame if it hadn’t caught Mercy mid-chew.) Then there was another selfie--apparently taken by Genji given the angle of his arm, taken within Mercy’s lab. Mercy had dark circles under her eyes and was dramatically posing at a petri dish.

“...I don’t remember that one,” said Mercy.

“You don’t remember that one? You were half-crazed from caffeine overdose and what must have been 30 hours without sleep. You had just cracked a new compound that would reduce the number of individual nanobots in the biotic tether without sacrificing healing output and you had me take this photo for posterity.”

“You remember that?” said Mercy.

“You passed out two minutes after this was taken,” said Genji, “I had to carry you back to your on-site apartment.”

Mercy reddened a little. “Oh...” she said quietly, “Sorry about that.”

“I didn’t mind. You’re carrying the team half the time, someone ought to return the favor now and again.”

Mercy smiled, then looked up at Athena’s screen. They scrolled through a few more---Reinhardt grinning with his arms wrapped around them both, easily dwarfing them.

“I like this one,” said Mercy, “I could see it framed.”

“I think he cracked a rib of mine when we took that,” said Genji.

“I healed you,” said Mercy, “Let’s frame it.” Genji just chuckled.

“What was the first one we ever took together?” said Mercy, scrolling back through the archives.

“This one’s from you, Agent Ziegler,” said Athena bringing up a photo of Mercy looking sweaty and frazzled in a sweatsuit with Genji’s arm strung over her shoulders. Genji had his very first prosthetics, rudimentary leg blades and a somewhat omnic-looking prosthetic arm. Genji’s face was covered by a surgical mask and several bandages. Both were giving a thumb’s up. It was clearly a clumsy selfie being taken by Mercy.

“...Your physical therapy,” said Mercy.

“I can’t believe I didn’t make you delete that,” said Genji.

“It was your first steps since the--since we met,” said Mercy.

“I was on so many painkillers...” muttered Genji.

“Oh you can tell,” said Mercy. She looked at Genji and smiled.

“What?” said Genji.

Mercy nodded her head at the photo on the screen.

“That one?” said Genji.

“It’s our first photo together!” said Mercy.

“I look like a disaster,” said Genji.

“We both look like disasters!” said Mercy and then she said, with deep ache in her voice, “It’s our first photo together!”

“’Greasy topknot and sweats’ is a very different disaster from ‘freshly tenderized pork loin wrapped in metal and bandages.’” 

“Genji...” Mercy squeezed his arm slightly. 

“...we’ll make one print, but that doesn’t mean we’re framing it,” said Genji, folding his arms. He gave a glance to Athena, “What about something more recent?” asked Genji.

“This one was... 5 months ago. In Nepal,” said Athena, bringing up a photo of Genji with Mercy next to him, Zenyatta on the other side, and several Shambali monks behind them. Genji’s mask was off and his scars were crinkling with his smile.

“Oh that one’s much nicer,” said Mercy, “We can frame that one.”

“It will be nice to have a piece of Nepal in our home,” said Genji with a slight smirk in his voice. 

“Our home,” Mercy repeated the words and looked at him. She couldn’t really place last time she called a place ‘home’ let alone said the word ‘our’ in front of it.

“And this one,” said Athena, bringing up a photo of just Mercy and Genji, also a selfie, being taken in front of one of many of Nepal’s mountainous vistas.

“That one’s beautiful...” said Mercy.

“That one’s my comm lockscreen,” said Genji.

Mercy snorted. “So we’re framing that one,” she said with a smile.

“I can live with framing that one,” said Genji. He started counting on his fingers, “So there’s the group photo with our strike team, the photo with Reinhardt, the physical therapy photo---which, we are not putting that one up in the living room---and the two pictures in Nepal. I’d say that’s plenty!”

“That’s only five,” said Mercy, folding her arms.

“Well... we’re going to take a lot more, and so many of these are just work-related. We should take pictures of us on dates, on vacations, pictures at parties, holidays, wedding photos--”

“Wedding photos?!” Mercy sputtered.

“...hypothetical wedding photos,” said Genji.

“You’re just moving in and now you’re talking about wedding photos,” said Mercy with a smirk. 

“Hypothetical wedding photos,” Genji said a bit more insistently, “What if we get married and I say, ‘Oh Angela, I want to put this picture of us at our wedding up, but then where will we put this photo of our Strike team eating empanadas?’”

Mercy snickered. “You’re thinking very far ahead.”

“I’m a ninja. We pride ourselves on being prepared,” said Genji.

Mercy just smiled and looked back at the screen. “I suppose home is a thing you build, then--we shouldn’t just push everything out there all at once...”

“Well, yes,” agreed Genji, “At the same time, looking at these photos... you’ve been home for me for a long time, Angela.”

Mercy blushed and tucked her hair back. “You’re home for me too,” she said quietly. There was a beat and then she elbowed him. “We are not putting the empanada picture up.”

“No we are not,” said Genji with a chuckle in his voice.

[the-irish-mayhem]

Happy Fosterson Week Day 2: Outside POV! This fic stemmed from my love of fake academia, but also my absolute desire to never write an academic paper ever again. So I found a bit of a middle ground. Fair warning: Both Jane and Thor have passed away in this. But never fear, their life together was long and happy.

A generation later, a budding social scientist tries to figure out Jane and Thor.

Read on AO3.

Legacy.

Post Thread Created: 1/23/01 Originally Posted: 1/23/01 Post Edited: 10/30/04

Edit 10/30/04: WOW, I did not anticipate that this post series would blow up the way it did! Thank you to all who shared this and supported me in this journey, and if you’re wondering, yes, my book is now out! You can get your copy of The Dynasty That Never Was: A Biography at your local retailer, the Bionic Press cloudstore, or at your local library.

Just a little bit of context: this was very early in my thesis writing process, back when Jane and Thor were only planned to encompass a single chapter of my book (ha!) and I was planning on writing a straight cultural analysis rather than the cultural analysis-slash-biography it became.

Okay, now on with the original post!

Good morning, fellow New Asgard Anthropologists. For any newcomers, my name is (future Dr.) Melanie LaComb, and the purpose of this blog has been to share my research on a little more of a ground level, record my process of writing my thesis, and talk/write through some problems and put them up for community collaboration. It’s also nice to be able to shed the academic discourse for just a few minutes and write informally. So much freedom! So many exclamations and I statements! Anyway, I’m writing this new post to talk my way through a bit of a new thorn in my research. The late Thor Odinson and Jane Foster.

A lot of academics have kind of scoffed at this problem of mine—they were two extremely famous individuals! Integral to so many galactically significant events! Of course there is absolute mega loads of information on them! There must be dozens of biographies and at least two definitive autobiographies for beings of such impressive historical stature!

This may shock you, but NO there actually isn’t. Or, I suppose in some ways there is but not in the ways that would be most useful for me. For Odinson, who grew up on Old Asgard, the destruction of the planet meant the destruction of many records kept from his years before the Greatest War Against Thanos. His years afterwards are better trackable, but hardly centralized and hardly the more personalized records I am (now trying to get at. Foster, known on Midgard as Dr. Jane Foster and colloquially throughout the galaxy as “Jane the Thinker” or “Jane the Brilliant,” is surprisingly easier to get a handle on. Her fame wasn’t contingent upon her marital status, and she was well-known in scientific circles even before the first battle of the War in the year 2012.

So the root of my problem is this: fitting this pair into my New Asgard diaspora research. Because they are….. how do I say this…. not fitting? With my methodology? (I went to the school of redundancy school, but F*ck I’ve been writing and writing and writing for like 8 hours today already and I’m not changing it so THERE.)

So most of my research deals with the formation of a New Asgardian identity, and it relies heavily upon the shared cultural experiences of the Dark Elf Invasion of Old Asgard and the death of Queen Frigga (an aside, but one of my classmates, Korla Majer, wrote a really stellar article on why the Dark Elf invasion should be included as one of the major battles of the Greatest War, and how the dismissal of the event by most historians actively hurts our understanding of galactic politics at the time and I absolutely 10/10 would recommend you go read it after you finish this blog post) as well as the battle for and destruction of New Asgard. For beings so long lived as us, Asgardians have proven that we can make our memories as short as we need to, and those two events seemed to create the largest basis for the new cultural identity forged on Earth. (For some obvious reasons, namely being the events that led to the planet being destroyed and necessitating the move to Midgard, but ANYWAY.)

But I can’t really deny Jane and Thor’s place in the New Asgardian identity because their effect on the masses is well-documented. There are libraries full of memes, old paper magazines with paparazzi photos paired with barely-real stories that say a lot more about the readership than they do the subjects, even some old FanFiction that I was able to dig up that is in some ways more helpful than all the academia from that time period combined XD

In my roundabout way, the problem I’m trying to sort through is this: HOW do I tackle the Jane/Thor chapter?

Because in my original outlining of my thesis, I had planned on their chapter being a quick summation of how they met just before the Greatest War’s beginning, courted through the course of it, and married at its conclusion. Then, I’d give some context on their influence on galactic politics (because despite what some people erroneously think, they actually were not the monarchs of New Asgard. They remained advisors only after Thor abdicated the throne and named Brunnhilde [of house Dragonfang, an extremely old and well-respected Old Asgardian family] his successor. There was the five year gap of the Blip where Thor was officially King, but it was hardly a politically significant time as for much of this period Thor was gone from New Asgard), how some political maneuvers affected the general New Asgardian populace, and then move back to the cultural study portion of things. But the more sources I gather about them, the more I think this chapter might need to be extended, or made into some… sub point of my main thesis.

Because while I said earlier that information on them is hard to find (because it is!!! You try making document requests to 17 different universities on 15 different planets!!!! Alfheim literally delivered what I asked for in a light spectrum file format!!!!!!!! Like WHAT!!!!!! AM I SUPPOSED TO DO WITH THIS????? HOW DO I CONVERT THIS INTO A PDF OR EVEN JUST MAKE IT COMPATIBLE WITH HOLOREADERS) it’s not always the quantity that’s the issue, it’s the content. I found myself longing to know more about who these people were and why they did the things they did. I’ve always found that I've done my best research when I follow my gut feelings, and research things that I’m passionate about. New Asgardian diaspora culture? I’m living it, baby! I’m very interested because my generation is the first generation to have never set foot on Asgard, and that’s something worth exploring!

And now here I am weirdly fascinated by an almost-king whose magical powers are pretty legendary who was banished and fell in love with a woman (who was 100% human at the time, by the way) whose scientific theories were so advanced that her own people thought she was a bit of a kook until all of her theories started getting proven right. From a non-academic perspective, that sounds like a freaking romance novel or epic movie or something. (Which, by the way, it was! There were at least 6 separate pieces of media [film, novel, television show] that were based on their story that I can find on record.) So on a personal level, here I am wondering why two people in the past got married in spite of wildly different life circumstances/why one of them abdicated a throne that was his birthright, and on an academic level A) trying to figure out how to fit this weird fascination into my thesis B) how did these two political and cultural figures shape the cultural landscape C) was their effect on the cultural landscape more or less significant than the two events which have been taking the most of my focus for the last year? D) how productive is it to even ask the question of more or less significance?

*screaming*

A few people have asked me if I should just switch my track to talk about how they affected Brunnhilde’s rule over New Asgard (which, in case you missed previous posts, Brunnhilde is a huge part of my current thesis as she essentially presided over what I’m terming “The New Asgardian Cultural Renaissance” and was absolutely critical to how things were shaped.) I’m hesitant to do this because this has actually already been done. I’ll stick JSTOR links in the endnotes, but Dr. Hamel Radley literally wrote this. “A King For the Ages: Brunnhilde’s First Three Decades.” Also, Dr. Leslie Storn’s “A King’s Court: Brunnhilde’s Advisory Council.” AND Dr. Jorseph Naulty’s “King Brunnhilde’s Surprising Advisory Council: Steady Hands, Scientists, Military Minds, and Galactic Politicking.” Look, there’s a LOT on Brunnhilde’s rule, and a LOT written on her advisory council. She was the ruling monarch, so it’s pretty par for the course.

But for how politically and culturally significant they seemed to be, there’s not really much specifically on Jane and Thor. Their cultural influences are given lip-service, and that’s it. (Again, Jane has been scientifically significant in a way no one has achieved since Albert Einstein, so in that way she’s more famous than her husband, but scientific notoriety isn’t the same as recognizing the fullness of her cultural contributions.)

I brought this stuff up to my advisor, and she said to keep pulling this thread because I’m on to something here, I just need to figure out what.

So my next research goal is to reach out to their descendents. They have a few children and grandchildren living, and hopefully at least one of them is willing to speak to me about them as people so I can get that portion of things nailed down before I go insane.

My almost-insanity probably bled into this post a little bit because it’s redundant as heck and you can bet your bum I am not spell-checking or proofreading. I need a break from that garbage. The life of a doctoral student continues.

Here’s to pulling the thread. Hopefully something useful unravels.

-(Future Dr.) Melanie LaComb

Reply posted by: Winsome34, 1/23/01 08:23

Melanie--this is a super interesting track, and your advisor was absolutely right when they said to follow it. I think it would be really interesting to read a sort of half-biography, half-cultural analysis piece. Would be really unique, and I’m sure any doctoral committee would find it an engaging topic.

Not sure if you’ve tried the Avengers Museum and Historical Library yet, but that might be a good place to go for some more primary sources, since Thor was a founding member and Jane was closely tied to them throughout their life. They have a really solid amazing librarians there who know the stacks backwards and forwards. I relied heavily on them when I was researching my last paper about racism against superheroes of color in the early 21st century.

Reply posted by: KorlaMajer, 1/23/01 10:22

Thanks for the shoutout boo ;) Your thesis is gonna be amazing!

ALSO: I have a light spectrum file converter from my dad. He does a ton of business with Alfheim and they are NOTORIOUS for sending incompatible LSFs.

Reply posted by: Chloe Durbin, 2/2/01 20:40

Hey! My mom is actually really tight with Thor and Jane’s oldest daughter Valkyrie. I think they knew each other from school or something back in the day, but she’s really awesome and basically my aunt, so if you need an intro or a number to call, I’ve got you! Just shoot me an email chdurbin02@naun.edu. She’s really approachable if you don’t mind walking up to a lady who is literally 6’8” and looks like she literally HAS killed a man with her bare hands. But super nice though!

Universal Reply posted by: Blogmaster, 5/3/01 06:27

Thank you everyone for the tips! It’s going to help so much! The Avengers Library has actually been majorly helpful (I never even thought to look there, honestly!) and Valkyrie has agreed to sit down to an interview (of sorts) so everything is seriously looking up. And THE LSF CONVERTER WORKED LIKE A CHARM.

[dontshootmespence]

Watch Me

A/N: After the disastrous season 14 finale, I felt a compulsion to explain that confession in a different way. Not sure how many pieces this will be. Kind of depends on feedback because it was so impromptu, but I am using this first part to fulfill my “season 14″ bingo square for @cmbingo.

Chapter 1

“Watch me.”

Watch me. Watch me. Watch me. Watch me. Watch me. Watch me. Watch me.

Twenty-three hours a day behind gray stone walls left a woman with a lot of time to ponder. Fixate on those last words and the loss that came with them.

As she scraped her fingernail against the wall, digging those two words into the concrete over and over and over again, Cat Adams waited for those four words. You have a visitor. While the walls of her solitary cell weren’t soundproof, she could hear little but the sound of her own voice as she plotted out her revenge. The ragged screech of her nails against the wall served as a wonderful deviation from the norm.

Once those four beautiful words caressed her ears, she could set her plan in motion. She could be outsmarted again, but with insanity collapsing in on her at an alarming speed, she didn’t care. Plus, she was already in solitary. What else could they do? She would go out with a lasting impact. She would ensure that neither Spencer Reid nor Jennifer Jareau would ever forget her. In their every waking moment, the two would see her face and hear her voice. Of that she would make sure.

For months she’d built up her contacts – found the weak ones and exploited them for her own benefit - and with every rare opportunity she had to send out mail, she sent a letter to the same woman.

All were different in little ways, but they conveyed the same message. Come and visit. If Cat knew Jennifer Jareau, and she was sure she did, the female agent would eventually get sick and tired of receiving letters and would visit her purely to tell her that nothing was going to happen. But Cat knew better. All she had to do was get Jennifer in the room with her and the plan would fall perfectly into place.

It had taken quite a bit of coercion and the inclusion of a few more people in her plan than she would’ve preferred, but the bow was finally strung and ready to be loosed.

As she paced the miniscule cell, going over and over her plan in her mind to ensure that everything was in place, she heard a knock on the door. The guard’s voice traveled through the little slat where her food was usually delivered. “Adams, you have a visitor.” 

“Who is it?” She asked. Cat stood facing the wall, a warm smile on her face as she rested her head against the cool concrete.

“An FBI agent named Jennifer Jareau,” he bellowed.

Perfect.

Honestly, she’d expected it to take a little bit longer to get Jareau in here, but the sooner the better. She was actually going crazy in here.

Taking her usual stance with her back against the door and her hands behind her back, she felt the cool metal of the handcuffs snap around her wrists so she could be escorted to another room where she’d meet with her illustrious visitor. “Don’t know why anyone comes in here to see you,” the guard said roughly.

“Everyone loves crazy chicks,” Cat replied dryly, “even if they don’t want to.”

It was too bad she couldn’t turn this guard to her side. He was better looking than the one she’d managed but she did what needed to be done. After sitting her down and locking her cuffs in front of her to the table, he twisted his wedding ring around his finger, something she noticed he did whenever she tried to make a move on him. “You know the drill. You’ll have half an hour.”

“Yup.” She popped the ‘p’ at the end of the word, not bothering to look up as he left the room.

Just as she’d suspected, the agent waited a fair few minutes to walk in, probably in an attempt to throw her off her game, but her time in solitary had only honed it. The door creaked open to reveal the second agent she wanted to see. She’d prefer having Spencer here, hands on her throat, but she was determined to make both their lives hell, and this was the best way to do it.

“Looking a little haggard lately,” Cat said with a devious smile, the subtle laughter in her voice crawling up JJ’s spine. “Never a dull day at the BAU, am I right?”

“Cut the crap,” JJ snapped. Wonderful. She was already on edge. “All it will take is a few words from me to take away every single privilege you have inside these four walls.”

She wanted Cat to snap at her, to lose control, but her constitution had only grown in the two years since they’d last seen each other. “Take a seat, Jennifer,” she said icily, “we have so much catching up to do.”

“No, we don’t.” After getting Spencer out of prison and the whole Scratch ordeal, they were all exhausted. None of them needed this right now. “What do you want? You said you had something to tell me and frankly there’s nothing you can say that’s going to get you a leaner sentence or a cell in gen pop, so you can save it.” She stood up to leave the room.

“How’s Spencer doing? He lost his mind yet? I bet Diana is getting worse and worse every day.”

JJ snapped back around and smacked the table, the sound reverberating against the walls. “Spencer has forgotten about you. You’re not even a blip on his radar. We’ve had important things to deal with. Not you.”

“He’s in pain. He’s always in pain. So are you,” she said, pointing her finger towards JJ’s crystal blue eyes. “I can see it in your eyes, actually the bags under your eyes but you know what I mean. Anyway, your pain isn’t over yet. The thing you seem to forget about me is that I don’t let things go. Someone is coming for you, courtesy of yours truly. In this moment of terror, you’re going to confess to Spencer that you’ve always loved him.”

“Absolutely not,” JJ responded curtly, once again getting up to leave.

“Oh, I forgot to ask how Will and the boys were. He takes them to school, right? Leaves the house with them between 7:15 and 7:30. Gets them to school by 7:45. Henry’s in until 2:45, but little Michael is only in for a half-day. He’s just turned three?”

JJ spun around, tears damned up against her eyes as her voice quivered. “How?”

“On the weekends, you all go to the park down the block from your house - only on Saturdays though. Sundays you play soccer in the front yard as one big happy little family,” she sneered. “I know every waking moment of your lives, Mrs. Jareau, so if you’d like to take a seat again, we can speak like adults.”

Blood boiling, JJ sat down, mind running with how she could possibly know what she knew. How had she gotten hold of her schedule? How did she get someone to help her even in solitary? “Now,” Cat started again, “when that someone comes for you – and believe me you’ll know it when it happens – you are going to tell Spencer you’ve always loved him. You’ll live through the ordeal, I’ve made sure of that, but the after effects of such a confession will be monumental I’m sure.”

“What makes you think he’d even believe me? We’ve been best friends for years. He knows I don’t feel that way about him-“

“Because he’s lonely. You know Spencer, but I do too. You’ll play him for as long as I say.”

“No,” JJ replied, shaking her head and pushing away from the table. “No, I won’t. I won’t do-“

“You will. Because if you don’t, I only have to make one phone call and any of your boys could get a bullet between the eyes.”

“I’ll tell the guard outside-“

“You can if you want, but the one that’s out there now just got in and he’s mine. He’ll make that phone call and little Henry will just-“ She made a finger gun and pointed it at herself.

JJ could feel the bile searing her stomach, eating away at her insides. She could easily jump across the table and choke the life out of her, but if she knew Cat Adams, the woman had thought of nearly every eventuality.

“You know I’ll sniff out every single person you’ve used and exploited and I will put a stop to this,” JJ stated. Her voice shook with each word and even she didn’t truly believe the words she spoke.

Cat nodded. “I know. The BAU is good but I’m better and by the time you find everyone I have in my arsenal, the damage will already be done. The thing with the BAU is that you close a case and move on, but me – I’ve had two years to focus on nothing but you. My baby was taken from me and I’ve had nothing else to occupy my time but you.” She stood up as far as she could given the cuffs and leaned over the table. “If anything changes on my end, my guard being changed out for instance, or anything changes on your end, I will know and one or all of your boys will die. Are we clear?”

“You have taken on the wrong mother,” JJ whispered softly.

“No,” Cat replied. “You have.”

The two women shared a tense look before JJ left without a word, speeding passed a different guard than the one that had ushered her in to speak with Cat in the first place.

Outside and blinded by the sun, she lurched forward, her lunch ending up on the ground in front of her, her breaths coming in short and shallow. Once she caught her breath, she stood up straight and powered toward her car, slipping inside without a glance to anyone or anything. She couldn’t tell anyone anything – not until she knew.

Will and the boys…

Spence…

She couldn’t do this to him; He’d been through too much already. But she couldn’t say anything if Cat truly did have eyes everywhere like she insinuated. The lives of her husband and children hung in the balance. Once she’d dismantled Cat’s army, she would tell Spencer and he would understand…right?

                                                          -------

As she woke up the next morning, JJ shivered, knowing that somewhere nearby someone was watching her and her family. Wiping away the steam on the mirror, she saw the bags under her eyes and the bloodshot in them. She’d tossed and turned so badly that Will had woken her up fully to ask if she was okay. That was when the first little lie left her. “I’m fine.” 

With a faked smile and kisses for her boys, she headed to work, grabbing her usual morning coffee along the way – and Spencer’s too. She clenched her hands so tightly are the cups she almost exploded the drinks all over herself. Even this one benign gesture became tainted knowing what she had to do.

Once she got to work, she grabbed the coffee and headed inside with a drive she normally couldn’t muster so early in the morning. Every spare moment she had was going to be dedicated to dismantling Cat’s plan. But she had to go it alone.

“Hey JJ,” Spencer said, his sleepy morning smile piercing her heart in the worst way. He reached for the coffee she’d brought for him and she stiffened as his hand brushed hers. She couldn’t do this to him. How was she supposed to lead him on like this? Who’s to even say it would work? “Thanks for the coffee.”

“No problem, Spence.” Without another word, she turned with a strained smile and headed to her office.

“You okay?” He called. “You seem tense this morning.”

Of course he knew. He always knew. “Yea, I’m okay,” she replied. Another lie. “Just had a hard time getting the boys up for school this morning. They wanted to stay home and I wouldn’t let them.”

Before he could notice her tells, she turned and bolted toward her office, breaking into a silent sob as she closed the door behind her. The reality of what she had to do was finally, truly, hitting her and she couldn’t stop from shaking as the sobs racked her body.

If she’d only let Spencer kill Cat two years ago, she wouldn’t be here now, having to weigh the lives of her boys against the friendship she’d leaned on for more than a decade and a half.

@emilyshurley 

[risingleomoon]

April 30, 2021

Dear Reader,

Everyone has a different version of the truth. This is mine.

Word Crimes

I did not choose a word for 2021. My word for 2020 started out as "Discipline"; which I now find to be utterly Ironic. Eventually my word for 2020 was erased entirely and I suddenly shared my Word of the Year with every other human on our planet: Pandemic. Such a strange, ugly word that we have now shared for an entire year.

When 2021 arrived, I'm not ashamed to admit that I was too afraid to choose a word and trust it. I almost chose "healing" or "hope" but decided I'd be safer if I held off. I told myself that I didn't need to choose a word this year. Just in case no one had any designs to Heal the World. I'd wait and see what was being offered first. After all, the world is a mess and there are no words left to describe my new state of living. I don't even trust myself anymore. It was The End of The World (as we know it) but I did not feel fine.

Now the first quarter of 2021 has passed and I've taken another hard Reflection at the songs around me and how I can use their words to best tell the whole story, all sides. A story that begins with a Secret and whose ending is as yet Unwritten. A story of truth forgotten, of lies exposed and of what happens when one forgets herself.

My story. My words. My verity.

***

The First Word:

Watershed

Have you ever had A Moment Like This: A real Moment of Truth where you stared hard at your crossroads and knew, instinctively that no matter what you chose, Everything Has Changed? They're called "Watershed Moments" and most people don't know about them until well after the fact. Some say it's a case of "lessons learned" or the growth of Wisdom, Justice and Love. Even rarer are we who can stand before a Watershed Moment and call it by its name. I'm big on names. They mean things. They matter. October 22nd 2019 was a Watershed Moment that I dared to come to pass. I looked it in the eye as I heard his full name and knew, I Have Been Changed For Good.

JLM was the first man I ever chose without any safety net at all. Quite literally, Nothing Else Mattered. I allowed every change that came with a life altering event. Even if no one but me knew it was life altering. I kept it secret. I kept it safe. He came in like a windstorm; churning up old dust and whipping leaves of futures past in my face. "You Remind Me of Someone I Have Not Met" I told him. Always a prophetess, I am. That would be the biggest truth of them all. He shared his name, birthdate and Family Portrait with the most powerful and important men in my life. I let myself fall in love with Serendipity and Happenstance.

What is six months in the correlation of time? It's a second, a blip even. When you look at the Five Hundred, Twenty Five Thousand, Six Hundred Minutes the average human measures their year with, six months is nothing in the way of time. Yet an entire lifetime for me was Hanging By A Moment. "Hold me closer Tiny Dancer" he'd sing, so very like my dad all those years ago. I would have married my music man. For five of our six, we were the very essence of life itself. As the holidays came and went, we attended events and family gatherings. A rising power couple and Didn't They Almost Have it All. Best of all, it was a true love match. Suddenly I was Goldilocks and I found everything to fit just right. Queen Midas. Until the music stopped.

The Second Word:

Silence

I read once that even the birds will stop singing during the Calm Before the Storm. They tuck themselves safely and silently into their nests, hoping to ride out whatever is to come. I often wish I had the senses of a Flightless Bird. Then I would have recognized the silence around me for the danger it was.

While we now accept 2020 as the Year Lost 'Round the World, it didn't start out with such an easy acceptance. March 17th, 2020, Lilyana went to school for the last day of in-school learning of her 3rd grade year. It was also the day I had the first of my Two Pina Coladas and I was well on my way to Margaritaville. March 20th, the country announced we were in an official Pandemic. I bought two more bottles and created my "Pandemic at the Disco" playlist (Since deleted. Trust me, you don't want to know…)

I was a Lost Boy from Neverland now to everyone, but barely anyone knew it. Suddenly everything else mattered. I couldn't even scream; "I Think I Need Help". JLM's concern grew as my manic depression increased. When he realized he couldn't save me, we began fighting. A foreign concept to us. We never fought. Finally, the 21 Guns were brought in. On March 30th, I took my first shakey steps into a new Sober, holding the hand of the one who has always been there, since he found me among The Fray. By then it was too late. I was saved but the relationship with the man I'd come to see as my NotHusband had been destroyed by my Descent Into the Depths. I'd come out of my inebriated state but stepped into a deafening silence.

When the world fell into a Schism as Covid-19 took us hostage; true-to-form, I filled that silence with the loudest, most exuberant demolition of my life that I could come up with. And Nothing Else Matters was destroyed by my Wrecking Ball. Why couldn't I have stopped to listen to The Sound of Silence instead of filling it with my own needless noise. The simple answer is that I am big and loud. I do everything big and loud. When I am happy, this is usually a non-issue. Sadness, anger and (even worse) frustration can make that big and loud a bit problematic. Nine times out of ten, I have a security structure in place. A team of individuals who know the warning signs, who are close enough to control and contain my big and loud. A pandemic is a game changer in so many ways. I still had that team, held that support but now I was also standing on my own. Quite possibly for the first time in my life. I Fell from the Wall.

Yes, I'd been left decimated by all that had happened in the time from March 17th to April 20th of 2020. I may or may not have been of dual minds at that time. I wasn't exactly Broken, Just Bent. On one hand, I was desperately seeking to repair the damage I'd done with JLM. On the other, I felt that I needed a temporary replacement. Just someone to fill the void for a minute. Until JLM came to his senses.

The Third Word:

Rebound

JCB was the perfect candidate. He met all my physical requirements (and then some), a Smooth Operator who blew my mind with his wit and intellect. Living just minutes apart, I love having a boyfriend practically Out My Back Door, he would be the best choice for an easy rebound. It wasn't supposed to last long. He was chosen for ease and convenience and I absolutely never intended to become his DogMom. Today's Disturbia stems directly from that fact. I didn't mean to do what I did, even as I strategically placed my Men on the Chessboard. Intent and roads paved to hell. Hell hath no and all that. I wasn't exactly a woman scorned but the world would still face my fury.

Ahh, but Love is Strange. In the early days, I shared only what I was obligated to share. I bent the truth and utilized all accessible loopholes to ensure that we are never going to have that Two Become One thing happening. From the moment we met, we decided on Once. Only Once. There was no need to become too close after all. He's just a Temporary One. Let me assure, I make no attempt at justification. I aim only to explain the facts as I know them. Perhaps it was wrong to utilize a human bookmark. Perhaps it was that Someone who Saved My Life Tonight. Perhaps it set in motion all that was to come. Either way, Things Happen and there's no going back.

We were happy. Genuinely. This rebound man and I. From 'The Once' to Once Upon A Dream, we enjoyed each other fully. So what's wrong then?

Everything.

The Last Word:

Verity

As of this writing I am being given the silent treatment/ghosted by my partner of over a year. I wish I could say this was the first time. It's not even the First Time in Forever. JCB has turned out to be quite the narcissistic personality. While he has offered up a wonderful case study over this past year, I am now struggling with The Climb. What started as character flaws I could easily overlook (after all, he was supposed to be temporary), have now become Toxic and must be expunged. Because now, I Feel Everything.

The problem with the truth is that others don't want you to tell it. They'll do whatever it takes to make you stop speaking. Some put their hands right over your mouth. Others slowly replace your voice with theirs. Sometimes, it might take awhile to notice. I've noticed. Now it's your turn to Hear My Voice.

The chronicle of abuse I've mislabeled as being my own fault will not be reported here. My truth is not in the details of horror and fear. My Truth About Love is in that I was as easily moved to co-dependent behavior this time as I was in the past. I allowed myself to settle into an old comfort zone simply because I was living in a Perfect Illusion. That it was an Illusion created by my own mind, notwithstanding. A wonderful psychological study, my JCB is. I might be an even better one.

Yet somehow, JCB is the only man I've ever chosen from day one to day now without any reason beyond "Because I Can". No matter what he has or hasn't done, he's never held me captive. Perhaps that's why I Find My Bliss in Ignorance. Perhaps that's why I allowed all I allowed. Perhaps that's even why I'll continue to allow it. I continue to choose.

Moving forward Into the Unknown, these are my truths:

The past is not the present & people are not temporary.

Gaslighting is real & pandemics suck.

Words Matter. Choose them wisely.

The music is playing again everyone. The Bitch is Back.

[ghosty-schnibibit]

new amnesty liveblog actually on time for once! ^u^

i’m listening to this episode after having just started my third relisten of balance. just finished here there be gerblins this morning, memories :')

that fuckin heathcliff reveal is still so good two weeks later omg

oooooh new music! :0

aubrey is me with every cat

"nooo you may not pet me" i love heathclif so far omg

please no rhyming omg

this is so good holy cow

don't give away the tim curry sword duck we all love it

love the money ruffling foley work there justin

"i'm declawed" aww :(

I LOVE BEACON SO MUCH

ruchard

so beacon isn’t silvan? welp, so much for my theory about minerva being the interpreter :/

god i love duck newton so much

"it is a thing of complete ugliness" pfff

who the fuck is eliot ness? just did a google, he is one creepy mf

"i... borrowed it from a museum" n e d 

thank you duck

anybody else hear that dip into taako voice there

i keep hearing this weird lil blip and i think its from the dice program they’re using

scavenger hunt :0

this sounds so freaking cool!!!

heathcliff's hitlist!

oh my god ned what the shit, what are you doing you absolute fool

"and not your... gun-gun"

"you were a nasty kid, huh?" "yep!" aubrey my baby

i love these boys so much

narf blaster

this sounds so fucking cool omg

"it was a toy for a baby" god i love heathcliff

ilu travis omg

i watched my neighbor totoro with my mom during the two weeks i had off before the summer semester and all i can picture is the cat bus

shield jacket! cool! :D

wait, shit, isn't the pine guard patch on the jacket?

sweet moon cows

this sounds so fucking cool omg

"visually loud" nice

JET PACK??? DUCK WTF

"NO LET'S MAKE A JET PACK BECAUSE NOW I'M FEELING ATTACKED" god i fucking love you heathcliff

someone make a gif of that p l e a s e

justin ilu 

they have spent 30 minutes with this boy

"on a hot roll, as nobody says" i'm gonna start saying that

the rocketeer is from the early 90's, and i’m assuming he would have watched it around 10-12... so is duck like, mid-forties? 

THE FLY MASTER

hmm... no mention of the mystery package in the ad break... did they already sell out? god i'm glad i already pre-ordered mine

what's up with the queue? 

oh no, this sounds super sad :(

this is really fucking sad holy shit, god damn griffin D:

okay this is giving me such balance memories

whip stitch???

"thank you granddad devil" i love this

this music is amazing and this description sounds so pretty

aww vincent :D

i love this guy omg

i know griffin said he was a spectral man but all i can picture for this dude’s voice is owl from winnie the pooh and i don't know why

AWWW CUTIE

i really hope we get to learn the cute lil girl's deal soon

okay how many fucking middle names does ned have at this point???

woodbridge! i love him already

OH NO D:

this woman's voice is so soothing

aubrey my baby ilu so

so... is aubrey the avatar then???

aww, so she's a lil princess!

god i fucking love woodbridge

awww vincent you're so cute ilu. i'm very suspicious now but ilu.

NED NO

TOMMY WISEAU THE MUMMY MAN CRYPTID

god this music is cute

i'm looking at the player and there’s only 10 minutes left to this episode... you're gonna leave us on a spooky cliff hanger aren't you griffin?

"this whole arc has been one very wild day" that was the majority of the balance arcs too, we’re used to it lol

upper plate of what???

god i can't wait to see the fanart of this outfit

"literally tens of peoples homes!" bless you ned chicane :’)

so this is where the stock music comes from lol

god i love ned chicane so damn much

NED DID YOU REALLY EXPECT HIM TO PULL OUT BEACON ON LIVE TV?????

duck my baby what the fuck

god i love this cheesy stock music

oooh no what's going on

oh shit is this the thing from ned's backstory?

ARE YOU KIDDING ME GRIFFIN YOU'RE SENDING ANOTHER BRITISH GUY AFTER YOUR FATHER????? G R I F F I N

final thoughts: this was a really fun episode! love the new characters, and i can’t wait to see where this goes! also nice to see griffin’s british accent got better lol

until next right thursday ^u^

[worryingthing]

I couldn’t quite get my mind to settle today, so after some extensive restlessness and rumination I gave up and decided to try to the only two things I know to be sure remedies: going for a long walk and going to seeing a movie. 

It finally broke from freezing today, for the first time since I’ve been back and for the first time in maybe two weeks. It felt like spring, even with snow still piling up all along the sidewalks edge. My landlord remarked how it felt balmy, and how we’re crazy to feel so, but that’s what happens with these big overbearing sensations. When a headache finally recedes the resumed normal state of a painless existence feels euphoric, simply by the pleasing absence of that all encompassing harshness. 

I was going to go buy new glasses but decided the interaction and potential of peak self consciousness was too much for the way I was feeling. So instead I downloaded an app, picked a seat, and walked 30 minutes to the theater to see The Shape of Water. I knew little about the film except for some trusted friends good reviews and the speech GDT gave at the Golden Globes, which I sobbed to because I like the sheer indulgence and delirium of award shows, and it’s shocking in a way to see something born of a place of dark, pure romanticism win, or even be recognized. Initial advertisements for the film annoyed me because it’s central creature deeply resembles Abe Sapien, a character I really adore from Mike Mignola’s BPRD and Hellboy comics. GDT tried his hand with Hellboy and although the films left me wanting, there was still a lingering sense of trust for the man who at least wanted to try to get those stories right.

It did the trick. Sally Hawkins performance left me glowing, determined to see how long I could go without speaking, as if somehow a word passing my lips would break the dam and all the warmth that had flooded my senses in the film would burst forth and be drained. I felt very much under a spell, overwhelmed with a sense of quiet intimacy I really hadn’t recalled since the first time I saw (and don’t hate me please, but I feel there are more than a few nods in the film) Amelie. I work at home mostly and lead a very quiet life, so I guess I’m always a little in love with quiet, daydreamy characters in the movies. I left the film mildly bewildered, wanting to linger in silence, wanting not really to go home, but not knowing where else to go. 

Downstairs was the sprawling Dekalb Market, not quite the quiet escape into a pint of a glass or wine that I’d hoped for. I paced around, making several passes by a new wine stand, and then finally went into Trader Joes still in my semi-dream state. Nothing I bought really made sense outside of impulse: biscotti, chocolate covered raisins, sprouted cinnamon bread, grapefruit seltzer, a small bouquet of orchids, aged gruyere. The cashier pointed out my basket was arranged in a color gradient, and it was. He said it made him happy. I wanted to ask “are you an artist?” but knew the risks of such asking such questions. He told me about grapefruit marmelade, and I wondered if I should buy it next time, even though I’ve no idea what to do with marmelade. I have a box of oranges that came in a grocery delivery on accident and I look at them on the table as if they’re foreign, as if I didn’t grow up in a state sinking in its own orange groves. They’re not really mine so I shouldn’t eat them, right? Or whatever that says about me. 

On the walk home I tried to think of which bar might be quietest and would have the cleanest draft lines. I wanted something to sink into, a Guinness maybe. Just quiet, just a place to hang on to that saturated feeling, outside of my regular familiarity. But my nerves got the better of me and slowly each blipping dot in the map of my mind was passed and I ended up back in my home, worried still about breaking the quiet, logging back in, leaving the pacifying bubble of cinema. Two blocks from my home a small bullish looking dog quietly “roooooooeeed” in response to a passing ambulance. Everything felt permeatingly tender and when I got home the cat inspected each flower in my 5 dollar bouquet as if each had grown and been cut just for her.