#of which they had none and sent me on several wild goose chases around the store

[milkweedman]

am starting to think that there is nothing less helpful and correct than the manuals for fiber arts tools

[hertzwritings]

The secrets we keep

A/N: SMUT WEEKEND IS UPON US!! Let’s start out sweet… Hahhahahahah, no, we’re not. Get y’all a tall drink of water, because we’re kicking this ish off with a dominat, angry Nomad!Steve (in looks, at least).

You can buy me a coffee here, and I’ll write you a personalized drabble, one-shot or multichapter fic – the sky is the limit, so go nuts, my loves.

Remember, feedback feeds the soul and my requests – and askbox – are always open – there’s no limits, because I am me and I have none.

MASTERLIST

CHRIS EVANS MASTERLIST

ASK ME ANYTHING/REQUESTS

Pairing: Steve Rogers x female reader

Contains: language, slight angst, mentions of blood, mentions of knives, mentions of fighting, mentions of guns, mentions of wounds, Avengers!Reader infidelity, smut (MINORS DNI) slightly dark themes, fingering, Dom!Steve, Possessive!Steve, oral (m receiving), spitting, degradation, humiliation, Beefy!Steve, Nomad!Steve, praise kink, sir/captain-kink, cream-pie, spanking, hitting, slight knife-play, breath-play, slight hate-fucking and probably something else, I lost track (also I’m ignoring the end of Endgame because I can and it sucks ass)

W.C.: 4.030

  The secrets we keep

To say the mission had gone sideways down shit creek and you had lost your paddles along the way, seemed to be an understatement. You were surrounded by bloodied and bruised men, all with snarls on their faces and guns pointed at your face.

Not that it really mattered, not to you. You weren’t one of the best Widows for nothing.

You heard the muted grunts and twangs of metal hitting concrete from the other side of the wall and heard Steve’s voice ring out – you couldn’t hear what he said, but you liked to imagine it was kill every single fucker in front of you.

Yes, Captain.

You snarled and ran headfirst to the closest enemy, jumping and locking your legs around his throat, effectively squeezing the life from him. His arms flailed and the idiot still had a finger on the trigger, which meant the semi-automatic went off in any and all directions, taking down most of his comrades, severely injuring the rest.

Were they all new? With a single flex of your thighs, you heard the unmistakable crunch of a windpipe collapsing, and the man fell to his knees, grabbing fruitlessly at you and his throat. You let go of him, mostly because you had no reason to continue letting your legs wrap around him. He was dead, anyway, it was just a matter of time.

You made quick work of the living, but bleeding men on the ground, before sauntering out of the room, knocking on the door where you heard the shield whoosh through the air before clanging against something – probably a person. “Why the hell are you knocking!?” He shouted as you came in. Blood was spattered in his beard, and you lifted your eyebrow, leaning against the wall; it was the larger part of the warehouse, enemies lingering in shadows, and before Steve had time to reprimand you, you grabbed your knife from the holster on your thigh, let it fly through the air and hit the intended target square between the eyes. Steve turned and saw the guy, dressed in all black (typical) fall to his knees right behind him.

“Just… Fight, for fuck’s sake.” He grumbled before leaping at another oncoming enemy.

“Aye, aye, Captain.��� You mocked and joined the fight.

  The trip back was both long, boring and full of tension. Steve was glaring daggers at you, while Bucky looked between the two of you, waiting to see who’d break first. Sam was half asleep.

“’How could you not get the goddamn files?!” Steve barked finally. “HA! Sam, you owe me fifteen.” Bucky said, punching Sam’s injured arm a little harder than necessary. “Asshole.” Sam grumbled and while rubbing the injured arm, pulled out a wallet from God knows where to hand Bucky the money. You rolled your eyes at Steve, crossing your arms. “If you hadn’t sent me on a wild goose chase, I would’ve. But no, in your infinite wisdom, you sent me alone to the wrong side of the building. Don’t blame me for your mistakes.” Bucky groaned and handed ten of the fifteen back to Sam. Steve narrowed his eyes. “Don’t you dare put this on me.” “Likewise.” “If you hadn’t paraded yourself around like a whore before getting the files, we would have been fine.” You pretended that those words didn’t hurt. He had asked you to, so you’d have a way in, this mistake wasn’t on you. “That was your bright idea, Steveie-boy. You even chose the outfit. Captain.” And with that, you closed your eyes and pretended to fall asleep. You heard Bucky say something akin to dude, what the fuck, but it didn’t matter much. Steve was an asshole when he didn’t get his way, and you knew it.

 -------

You pulled your tac-suit off and threw it in the hamper, before you slipped your pajamas on, texting your boyfriend as you walked. Martin was nice, sweet and an accountant, which meant very little bossing around, no bruises and no missions. Good for you, really. You didn’t really look where you were going, your face buried in your phone as you walked to the compound kitchen to get yourself some aspirin and a giant bottle of water. Your shoulder ached and your knee looked like a Pollock-painting, which meant a world of hurt tomorrow.

You bumped into a very broad, very hard chest and almost fell to your ass. Steve stared down at you, eyes ablaze – you gulped. That was a look, you didn’t want to be on the receiving end of. “Steve.” You tried to step around him, but he moved with you and clenched his jaw. “Steve, I do actually have somewhere to be.” You said, a little annoyed at his antics. “What, to be with your boytoy?” You rolled your eyes. Typical men – you have one heated kiss, both covered in blood and cuts, and suddenly, he had some moronic claim to you. You cocked your eyebrow.

“What’s it to you?” you shot back. His eyes darkened and you knew you were extremely close to crossing a line. “Don’t try me. You already ignored my orders, dismissed your mission and tried to put it on me. Don’t fucking try me.” You would never get over the perfect Captain America, the golden boy, swearing. He didn’t really seem the type, although the beard and longer hair had clearly inspired some level of bad boy. “Oh, shut up. Just because you are an arrogant ass, doesn’t mean the rest of us are. I’m happy to make you see your own faults, Captain.” You sneered and tried to step around him again. Your phone buzzed in your hand, but you didn’t get a chance to see whatever Martin had answered, because Steve grabbed your shoulder and slammed you against the wall, pushing all the air from your lungs. You groaned at the impact.

“Be a brat one more time, I’m begging you.” He threatened with dark eyes. You almost couldn’t see the blue anymore and realized he hadn’t even showered yet, blood still dried in small flecks in his beard, his tac-suit still on. You narrowed your eyes.

“Get fucked, Stevie. I’m not a brat to tame.” “I’ve dealt with worse.” Your thighs shook a little and you were acutely aware of the force he used to hold you to the wall. He would definitely leave his fingerprints embedded in your skin. You ignored the pooling heat that rushed between your legs, a familiar, dull ache settling.

“Oh, honey, cute of you to think there’s any brats like me.” You whispered, not really caring anymore. Anger was rolling off your shoulders in waves and he had to just step one step closer, and you’d have your knife against his throat, Captain America or not. He cocked an eyebrow confidently and his leg slid between yours, his thick thigh pushing against your treacherous core. Asshole.

“Anywhoo, unless you plan to use actual force on me, I’ll be on my way.” You tried to move your legs, somehow cross over his giant thigh, but the friction made you whimper instead. That seemed to do him in, and he growled, picked you up faster than expected, hauling you over his shoulder – you tried to punch his back, trying to hit an area near the shoulder blades that normally would most men buckle, but Steve just chuckled and slapped your ass hard enough to make you feel nauseous. “Put me down, asshole!” Your phone vibrated in your hand again. “Shut up, oh my God, do you ever just stop talking!?” He growled and threw you over the couch in the common room. You grunted on impact, your ass still stinging, and you narrowed your eyes at him; your phone had flown out of your hand as you landed on the couch, and it lit up with several messaged from Martin.

“What the fuck, Steve?” you roared, but he simply stalked to you, eyebrow raised and caged you between his arms, your back sinking into the back of the couch. “FRIDAY, lock any entry-points to this room.” “Captain Rogers…” He didn’t wait for FRIDAY’S response. “Just do it!” “Yes, Captain Rogers.” Slowly, one by one, you heard the locks on the doors click and his predatory smile widened. You phone buzzed again. “You are insufferable.” “Yeah, well. Part of my brand.” You answered, but you heard it yourself – your voice didn’t have the bite, it usually did, and it was breathier than normal. “You think you can talk back to me, act out like a fucking brat and not get punished for it?” You rolled your eyes, trying to ignore the implications behind the words. “Oh, what are you going to do? Keep me off missions until I’m begging on my knees?” You realized a heartbeat too late, that you had done yourself a great disservice by talking back. “Well… I’m getting you on your knees no matter what.” He asserted, his eyes darting back and forth over yours. You didn’t have time to react, to retort or to even think, before his lips were on yours.

You yelped against it, his hand tangling in your hair and a growl came from the back of his throat. The kiss was all teeth and tongue, anger seeping in along with want and lust – he was rough, rougher than you had expected him to be. He tugged your lower lip between his teeth and bit down and pulled your hair roughly. The pain made you hiss through your teeth, and you felt him smile against you. You cursed yourself for feeling anything other than annoyance, but it was the plight of you – Steve fucking Rogers and his dirty mouth made you feel tingly in all the right places. He slid his tongue against yours and practically hoisted you to your feet by your hair.

“Quiet, all of the sudden?” He whispered against your lips. You were about to bite back at him, say something incredibly stupid, when he lifted his eyebrow in a challenge. “Now, now, you better be careful with that filthy mouth of yours.” You narrowed your eyes at him and ignored the throbbing between your legs.

Asshole.

“Make me, America’s asshole.” His eyes flashed, and you could barely see any blue left; he pulled back slightly and forced your mouth open with a thick finger, before he spat at you. It landed on your tongue, and despite feeling like you should be disgusted by it, it made your legs tremble and a small whine come from your throat. “Swallow.” His voice was commanding, and you honestly didn’t dare disobey right now. He grinned wickedly as you swallowed and looked back at him. “Such a good whore, aren’t you?” God-fucking-damnit. His large hands came to rest on your shoulders, and he forced you to your knees, slowly and forcefully.

“Steve, I have a…” “I don’t give a rat’s ass about your boyfriend. Mention him again, and I’ll fucking call him to make him listen to me fuck the brat out of you.” You squeezed your thighs together and he chuckled darkly as he began undoing his suit. “You like that? Wanting him to hear you get fucked raw by me, until you’re too stupid to do anything but scream my name?” He fisted his cock in his pants, and your eyes widened – even hidden behind layers and his hand, you could see just how big he was. “You want me to fuck you stupid, sweetheart?” His voice was deep and dangerously quiet. “Yes.” The answer came before you could even think about the implications of it. “Good girl.” He gently caressed your face with his thumb before his entire palm connected with your cheek. The sting made you yelp, and you almost lost your balance. Your cheek was burning, and your eyes watered, but a gush of slickness coated your underwear, and you couldn’t help but moan slightly at the warmth spreading on your cheek. “Open your mouth.” He demanded and you cocked an eyebrow at him, tilting your head slightly. “Why?” There’s no fun in playing without biting back a little. Besides, Martin might be nice, but you needed rough – especially today, where you were already burning with rage. He growled and held your chin in a vicelike grip, bending down to face you. “Little girl, do you have a fucking death wish?” You stood your ground, trying desperately not to let his tone get to you – your underwear was most definitely ruined by now. “Maybe.” “Open. Your. Fucking. Mouth.” He pressed harder against you, and slowly, but surely forced your mouth open. Your knees followed, spreading your legs a little wider, either to get some kind of relief or to steady yourself better, you didn’t know. “There’s my girl.” He pulled his cock out and you almost drooled at the sight, when he stood at full height again, staring down at you. He was huge.

Thick and long, an angrily pulsing vein running along the underside of him, and the head throbbing and red, leaking precum. He was a fucking sight for gods. You looked at him and caught his eye. “I thought you were going to fuck the brat out of me, are you just going to stand there?” He chuckled and with a single thrust, he let his cock slide between your lips, further and further in, until you were gagging around him, and he hit the back of your throat. He moaned, and the sound sent shivers down your spine. Tears spilled down your cheeks and drool began seeping from your lower lip, pooling on the floor beneath you; he grinned at you. “Is that all you can take, you dumb, fucking whore?” he asked – you knew it was rhetorical. “That won’t do, will it?” He grabbed a fistful of your hair and pushed further into you, his cock sliding down your throat; you were gagging and choking around him, spit flying out around his cock, and his hand went to your throat – he felt the bulge, he created in your throat and smiled at you. “There we are, baby girl. Look at you, so quiet when my cock is buried in your throat, huh?” He slowly pulled back, giving you a chance to breathe, but as soon as you had sucked it in through your nose, he slammed back in again and then he began fucking your throat like he wanted to murder you.

You were whining as much as you could around him, gagging loudly and tears were streaming down your face, mixing on your chin with the drool; he held tightly to your hair and fucked you relentlessly. You were sopping wet, the commanding and domineering attitude he had was more than enough to make you wetter than a fucking waterfall.

“Fuck, you’re good… Look at you taking my cock so fucking well, baby.” He groaned and pulled out of your throat, looking down at you. You were heaving for a breath, wiping the drool and the tears from your chin before looking back up at him. “You like it rough, don’t you, baby?” He whispered. “Like getting choked out on my cock?” You nodded, breathless still. He discarded the top part of his suit, letting it hang from his back and he looked at the small pool of drool and tears under you. “Face down, ass up.” “Steve, I…” “Did you talk fucking back to me?” He snarled and grabbed your hair again. You whimpered. “You’re a dirty, fucking girl, darling, and you’re going to look it.” He forced your face down and you felt your cheek connect with the wetness of your drool; humiliation rushed over your body at the same time as a new surge of heat fell between your legs, and you were about to fucking combust. “Not such a smart mouth on you now, huh?” He let go of your hair and stood, letting his boot rest on your neck, barely applying pressure. “Don’t you have anything to say to me, or did I already make you dumb, just by having my cock in your throat?” He jeered. That was it. Your eyes flew open, and you glared at him, a wicked smile spreading on your lips. “I thought you were a dom, captain. Is that all you got?” Might as well go full out. “Oh, baby, don’t threaten me with a good time.” He whispered back, and lifted his boot from your neck, moving to stand behind you. You didn’t dare move. “These fucking shorts… God, you’re making my life a living hell every day, you wear these.�� He tugged them down your legs and you hissed at the way his short nails scraped against your skin.

  “Oh, baby, all this for me?” He ran a finger against your wet underwear, pressing in against your folds and you mewled at the sensation. “All this from fucking your throat and calling you a dirty whore, baby? You really are fucking filthy.” He almost sounded proud. “I hope you’re not attached to these.” He said casually before ripping them straight from your skin, leaving a lingering burn on your hips; you pushed back against the sensation, and he chuckled darkly, leaning his wide body over yours, his lips grazing the shell of your ear. “All of this? Is mine. Got it?” You whimpered and tried to nod, but he slapped your ass hard enough for you to see stars. “Words, baby.” He rubbed a hand over the spot, he had just hit, and you moaned. “Yes. All yours. Yours, Captain.” He hissed and removed his face from yours.

You felt a finger dip inside of you easily and bucked your hips against it; it already felt so fucking good, and it was one finger. He chuckled darkly. “Look at you, so fucking ready for me already. Do you get this wet for your little boytoy, darling? Does he fuck you this well?” he added another finger, and you were just about to explode. “Steve, fuck, I-I’m…” He stopped moving instantly “What did you call me?” His voice was menacing. “Shit, no, I’m sorry… Captain, please…” Your pussy pulsed around his fingers, desperate for friction, but he pulled them roughly from you and spanked you hard. “Here I was going to reward you for taking my cock so well…” He spoke slowly and measured. “I guess you need some more punishment.” He moved around for a little bit and you couldn’t really see what he was doing from your vantagepoint, but you definitely heard the sound of a phone ringing. “No, please, he can’t…” Your words ended in a moan when he pushed inside of you roughly, bottoming out. The saying split in two wasn’t something you believed in, but in this moment, you might start. He filled you completely, the head nudging your cervix and your thighs trembled, coated in your own slick – you didn’t care that your face was wet from spit, that your cheek was burning or that the phone was currently calling your boyfriend. All you wanted was for him to fuck you. “You don’t get to cum, until I say so.” His voice was strained, and it gave you a sick satisfaction that he was just as affected as you were. “Yes, captain.” You moaned. “Good, fucking slut…” You vaguely heard the phone being answered, but any semblance of thought left your head, when Steve drew back and slammed back in. You screamed and bucked your hips, trying to meet his deep thrusts; he chuckled and you heard another voice somewhere, but didn’t give a shit for right now.

  He fucked into you with ruthless abandon, the wet sounds of your pussy paired with martin’s voice from the phone echoing throughout the room; you barely had the wherewithal to even notice your boyfriend’s voice. “This… Fuck…” Steve gasped and angled his hips a little to press deeper inside of you. “Is how you fuck Y/N, boytoy. Hear her scream out for me?” He snapped his hips and you whimpered, teetering so close to the edge, you were sure you’d collapse if Steve didn’t hold your hips up. “You should see her… Spread out wide, taking my cock so fucking good… She’s getting off on…” he groaned. “On knowing you’re hearing her like this… So fucking cock-drunk she can’t even fucking speak.” His words were addictive and you felt yourself clench around his large cock, drawing him deeper inside. “You’re going to cum for me, baby? Cum for your captain?” his finger found your clit, and you couldn’t hold it back. “Yeah, that’s fucking right, cum.” Your mouth opened in a breathless and soundless scream as you came around him, pleasure rippling through your veins; he was fucking you harder than ever, letting you ride it out on him. “She just came… Fucking shit, baby… All over my cock.” He whispered, clearly aimed at Martin. “She’s mine.”

Something came over you as the haze of your orgasm died down, and energy shot through you; there was no way you’d let him have the last word in this. You managed to roll your hips slightly, eliciting a groan from Steve, and in one move, you had your legs wrapped around his waist, flinging yourself to the side; he tumbled to the ground, still inside of you and pulled you with him. You quickly managed to straddle him, hand searching for the intended mark and found it; the small knife in his thigh holster.

You leaned down on him, your breath fanning over his face, knife in your hand and slid back down on his cock again, moaning as he bottomed out. You let the knife rest against his jugular. “Now, Steve, that wasn’t very nice, was it?” You smiled wickedly and began moving slowly, lifting yourself almost fully off his cock before sinking back down. He hissed as you pushed the knife a little harder against him, and you felt his cock twitch. You sped up, riding him faster and faster, chasing your second high – you really didn’t care about his comfort right now. You were both moaning and groaning, your wet pussy slapping against his abdomen as you came fully down.

After a minute, Steve chuckled. “Very cute, bunny.” And with that, he grabbed your wrist, twisted the knife from you and held your hips and kept you steady, sinking his heels into the floor. “Now… Where were we?” He began fucking you relentlessly now, a hand snaking around your throat and squeezed lightly. You gasped and your pussy clamped down on him as he pistoned in and out of your wet heat; he pulled your face to his. “You’re mine, Y/N. You’re my filthy slut, mine to use…” He groaned and snapped his hips again. “To use whenever I want.” Your eyes were rolling back in your head. “If you don’t want to be, easy enough. Don’t cum.”

Bastard.

You came as he pulled your lips to his, kissing you roughly and swallowing your screams as you came undone around him. His hips stuttered and he groaned against your lips, filling you with himself, painting your trembling walls white.

You were both heaving for a breath when you tried to get off him, but he held you in place with bruising force to your hips. “Don’t you dare move. I’ve wanted this for too long for you to just get off.” He mumbled and kissed you again, surprisingly gently this time. “Jesus, Steve.” You muttered. “Told you I was a brat-tamer.” “I’d like to think you’re a me-tamer.” You sassed, kissing him again.

“Yo, why’s the doors locked? Guys? Are you killing each other or something?” Sam’s voice was muffled by the door, but you really didn’t care, because Steve twitched inside of you again. You arched a brow at him. “I can do this all day, baby.” He replied. “Seriously, what the hell are you guys doing?? FRIDAY won’t answer!”

“Shut up, Sam!” You both said in unison, before his hips began to roll again and you lost yourself to the feeling of Steve.

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

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[mckinlily]

.the force

Summary: Learning the ways of the Force is not always an easy process. Sometimes lessons can take years, even lifetimes to master.

Sometimes your master seems to go out of his way to make it worse.

Shiro felt the chaotic stirrings in the Force just before Keith stormed into their shared quarters. 

“You ASSHOLE!”

A faint warning had him snapping his hand up to catch—

A rock?

It was a decently pretty rock, with nice blue and green flecks scattered through it, but overall no more interesting than any other mid-sized pebble they might pick up on a mission.

Keith fumed at Shiro’s shoulder behind the couch, massive waves of fury and irritation flooding off him in Force. So far, all lessons on releasing emotions into the Force had only taught Keith to get better at projecting his feelings, rather than control them.

Ah, well. It was progress. 

Maybe. 

With deliberate casualness, Shiro put down the mission report he had been reviewing and turned to his padawan.

“Hello, Keith. I could have sworn that wasn’t the correct form of address on Coruscant. Or did I miss a memo?”

“Stop being an ass,” snapped Keith.

Shiro raised his eyebrows. Keith just glared back. So this was going to be one of those conversations. Shiro leaned back into the couch.

“You’re going to have to be a bit more specific, Keith. Precisely what part of my assery do you want me to stop?” 

Then, recalling he was supposed to be a master and not a fellow padawan, he quickly added, “Ah, not that you should be using that kind of language anyway.”

Keith responded with several words under his breath that made it quite clear he was not taking Shiro’s advice.

Shiro sighed. “Keith. If you have something you want to talk about, I’m here. But for that to work, you’re going to have to actually, you know, talk.”

Keith gave an explosive exhale and flung himself over the back of the couch to land in a sulky sprawl next to Shiro.

Shiro bit back the urge to correct. He still wasn’t certain how to be a Master to a padawan learner—wasn’t even sure he knew how to be a Knight— and Kolivan’s old lectures echoed in his ears. Kolivan wouldn’t have let such impropriety slide. But what his master would have done and what Shiro’s instincts said were constantly at odds, and Shiro just didn’t know which one was right.

This time, his instincts won out. Shiro slumped against the side of the couch, and nudged Keith with the toe of his boot. “What is it.”

Keith shoved Shiro’s foot off the couch and scowled. He pointed at the object in Shiro’s hand. “That’s a rock.”

Shiro double checked that he was, in fact, still holding a rock. He looked back at Keith. “Yes?”

“It’s a kriffing rock!”

This time Shiro ignored the language. “Keith, you’re not giving me much to work with here.”

Keith flung in hands in the air. “It’s from Dazibalb! You said it was special!”

“I...did?”

Keith’s face was getting flushed as he waved his hands about. “Yes!”

“Um…” Shiro examined the innocuous stone in his hand, trying to see how it could be the source of the drama with his padawan.

“I spent a year—a kriffing year!—meditating and researching on it because my master—who is supposed to be TEACHING me—made it seem all important and special. And. It’s Just. A Fucking. ROCK!”

Shiro took a single breath in. Keith was clearly worked up. Shiro was a Jedi Knight and Keith’s master to boot. He needed to react calmly, rationally, with precision and compassion. He let out his breath—

And burst out laughing.

“Shiro!”

“I—aha!—I can’t—”

“Stop it!” Keith grabbed a pillow and started walloping Shiro with it. “It isn’t funny, Shiro!”

“Argh! Keith, get off me—a whole year—”

“Stop laughing, you asshat! I spent MONTHS on this! I went to Master Slav!”

Shiro lost the battle and dissolved into peals of laughter. He could barely breathe through his wheezes while tears gathered on his face.

“I can’t—I can’t—Slav?!”

“I didn’t want to fail!”

Keith’s voice—hardly reliable at the best of times, poor preteen—cracked on that, and Shiro, even crying with laughter, recognized it for what it was. He pushed himself upright, failing (though trying) to force down his laughter.

“I’m not laughing at you.”

Keith pulled back and folded his arms. “Yes, you are,” he sulked.

Shiro choked back another bout of inopportune laughter. “I’m not. It’s just—” A snort slipped out of him, his cheeks hurt—and, nope, he was laughing again. “It’s not you. But your face—”

“Really helping your case there, Shiro,” grumbled Keith, looking away, and damnit, Shiro really needed to pull himself together.

He couldn’t stop the snickering, but he could throw his arm around the younger boy’s shoulders and pull him close. “I adore you,” he promised into Keith’s hair.

Keith still grumbled. “You said—I asked if there was something special, and you said it held the secrets to the Force!”

“I was teasing,” said Shiro, slowly remembering a seemingly meaningless conversation from ages ago. He snorted. “I didn’t expect you to take it seriously.”

“How was I supposed to know that?!” snapped Keith. “You’re my master. You’re supposed to be teaching me, and half this Force stuff doesn’t make sense! You said and—I didn’t know!”

And that, Shiro realized, was the crux of it. The Council hadn’t been happy when Shiro took Keith on as a padawan, claiming he was too emotional and too old, and Keith knew it. He worked hard in his classes, but he was up against classmates who had been studying the Force and the way of the Jedi since they were in diapers. Shiro knew Keith worried. Nevermind that he was a prodigy, insanely powerful, and picked up new Force techniques faster than anyone Shiro had ever seen. Keith felt like he was constantly behind.

“Every padawan has fallen for something like this,” Shiro reassured, ruffling the kid’s hair. “Every. One. Someone started a rumor that the Force comes from little microbes in your body, and that rumor still circulates the creche to freak out Initiates all the time. It happens for everyone.”

Keith huffed. “You didn’t have to laugh at me.” He sounded annoyed, but hurt burnished his presence about the Force. 

“I’m sorry,” said Shiro earnestly. Keith’s outrage was funny but not his hurt. “Keith, I would never intentionally make you feel or look stupid.”

Keith flung his arms out. “I don’t know anything! Everyone knows all this stuff, and I don’t know any of it! I’m supposed to be a padawan.”

“You are a padawan,” said Shiro, tugging on Keith’s padawan braid to emphasise the point. “It doesn’t matter what everyone else knows. You’re a padawan learner. The point is to learn, which you’re doing. Where everyone else is doesn’t matter.”

“Younglings know more than me,” grumbled Keith.

“What did I just say?”

Keith rolled his eyes. “Stupid Jedi crap. It’s easy to say when you’re not the one people are calling a non-sensitive in class.”

Shiro snorted. Hard. 

“Not at you,” he said to Keith quickly, shaking his head and smashing down dangerous fury that threatened at the mistreatment of his padawan. He snorted again. “If your classmates can’t tell how strong you are in the Force, maybe they are the ones who are non-sensitive.”

Keith slumped, somewhat pacified but still unconvinced. 

“You know, Master Yoda didn’t even talk until he was fifty years old. His species ages so slowly most of his clan had already become Masters before he even left the Creche.”

“But he’s Yoda,” protested Keith.

“And how do you know that in ten years, someone won’t be saying the same thing about you?” challenged Shiro. “You’re already one of the best pilots in the Order, and you’re not even a senior padawan yet. You might feel like you’re struggling to catch up now, but I guarantee that before long, all of us will be fighting to keep up with you.”

Keith snorted. “Sure, Shiro.”

“You’ll see,” said Shiro, his nose in the air. “I’m right.”

Keith rolled his eyes. “Whatever.” And Shiro let him have that. They wouldn’t break through all of Keith’s issues in a day. Instead, he changed the subject.

“Did you really spend months researching?”

Keith slumped into the couch. “I didn’t want you to think I failed you,” he muttered to the floor.

Shiro’s heart trembled and melted. It was deeply humbling to realize how seriously Keith had taken his offhand remark. And a little terrifying. His padawan trusted him so completely, and he—he wasn’t even sure he deserved his rank of Knight. 

(How did one go about being a master? How did he be a master when he couldn’t even go to his own master for help? When he couldn’t be sure that he hadn’t been Knighted merely because no one had wanted to finish his own training?)

((No one had wanted to train Keith, either, he remembered. Shiro was determined to make sure his padawan never grew up with the same doubts.))

“Did you keep your research?”

Keith looked at him with narrow-eyed suspicion. “Why?”

“I figure if you put in all the work, you might as well get something out of it,” shrugged Shiro. “I bet we could put together a good case for an independent study. Free up your time for more advanced piloting classes.”

Keith’s eyes slowly lit up. “You mean it?”

“Of course, kiddo,” said Shiro. “I didn’t mean to send you on a wild goose chase.”

Keith huffed. Shiro squeezed his shoulders.

“I promise. I’ll be more careful about my teasing. And when I set you a task, I’ll make sure you know it’s an assignment. None of this vague hint stuff.”

Keith grumbled under his breath, but relief whafted off of him in the Force. Shiro really didn’t understand how so many in the Temple described his padawan as unreadable. Keith projected everything. Loudly. If only you took the time to listen.

Shiro tugged on Keith’s padawan braid again. “We good?”

Keith flopped grumpily against Shiro’s side. “You’re the worst,” he said, though the pulse he sent through their training bond didn’t back it up.

“I really am sorry,” said Shiro.

Keith squirmed against his side. “I just feel so dumb,” he admitted in a low mumble. “Anyone else would have known it was just a rock.”

“Well…” Shiro held up the rock, running his senses over it. It had certainly started as an ordinary rock, but things that were in close contact with the Jedi rarely stayed that way for long. Shiro could feel the vague impression of Keith in it, his loyalty and passion, all wrapped up in his fierce determination. Shiro concentrated on the rock as well, focusing on what he felt for Keith, his pride and joy in his padawan, and pushing that into the Force.

When he finished, the sense wasn’t as strong as he would have liked it—Shiro wasn’t very practiced in Force Impressions—but it was there.

“Here,” he said, passing the rock back to Keith. Keith took it somewhat suspiciously, and Shiro felt him prod hestistantly at it in the Force.

“Oh. Huh.” Keith looked up at Shiro, clearly looking for a confirmation that what he was feeling was real.

“Maybe it didn’t start out special,” said Shiro. “But it certainly is now.” He took a chance and ruffled Keith’s hair. “Just like you.”

“Argh!” Keith batted his hand away. “What are you so sappy?”

“Excuse you, I am genuine, charming, and eloquent.”

Keith frowned at him. Then, taking Shiro completely by surprise, he shoved him with the Force, knocking him off the couch and sending him sprawling on the floor.

“Ooof. This is how you repay me?” groaned Shiro from the ground. 

“Yep.” Keith preened, unrepentant from his position on the couch. Shiro took a moment to appreciate how far he’d come from the bitter, scared slave he had been when they first met. Smug and triumphant was a good look on him. 

“All right.” Shiro accepted defeat. “Pass me my datapad. I need to finish that mission report.”

“Your—What? You’re going to work from the floor?”

“Yep,” said Shiro, not even bothering to sit up.

“You are so weird,” concluded Keith, but a second later Shiro’s datapad was dropping onto his face and he snatched it out of the air. 

“Thanks,” said Shiro. He started scrolling through his notes, trying to find where he left off. 

“You’re the strangest master in the Order,” said Keith.

Shiro looked up from his datapad. “Would you rather the Council reassign you a different master?” he said hesitantly, trying to hide how the possibility cut him.

But Keith quickly shook his head. “No. I’ll stick with what I’ve got.”

“Me too,” said Shiro, quietly hiding his relief. “I wouldn’t trade you for any other padawan out there. Not for the entire galaxy.”

“Good,” said Keith. 

But still, the bond between them seemed to hum just a little warmer and stronger after that. 

[eirian-houpe]

Darkness Falls On Hyperion Heights - Chapter 2

Fandom: Once Upon a Time (TV)

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Relationships: Belle/Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold

Characters: Belle (Once Upon a Time), Rumplestiltskin|Detective Weaver, Wishverse Captain Hook | Detective Rogers

Additional Tags: Angst, Supernatural Elements, Hyperion Heights (Once Upon a Time), UST, Smut

Summary: When Librarian and Scholar Belle French arrives in Hyperion Heights in search of an artifact stolen from the British Museum and to enlist the help of Detective Weaver in that search, events in the Heights go from mildly intriguing to dangerously terrifying. Can Belle and Detective Weaver find the truth before time runs out?

Read previous chapters on AO3

Chapter 2 - Two AM

Two in the morning was not Weaver’s favorite time of the day by any stretch of whomever’s imagination you cared to examine, but that night he longed for it to finally arrive. It had been the dullest night in the history of Hyperion Heights. They hadn’t even brought in anyone drunk and disorderly on whom he could take out his frustrations, which left him pushing paper all night long after a particularly unsatisfying cheeseburger that dripped grease onto the front of his shirt and sent him scurrying for the break room in search of some Dawn and a paper towel to take the worst of it off before it ruined the entire garment.

Rogers left at midnight, claiming he had to see a man about a dog, and Weaver supposed he deserved that, but none-the-less spat invectives after his partner, and ill wishes about getting soaked, then catching his death of cold, none of which he meant. The other detective might annoy the fuck out of him sometimes, but he wouldn’t really ever wish him ill, and it really was coming down out there.

The first flicker of power happened precisely thirteen minutes later, just as Weaver got up to go and re-fill his coffee cup to get him through the next couple of hours until quitting time. The wind suddenly picked up, throwing the sheets of rain against the precinct’s windows. In the next minute there was a sharp crack, and the air inside the station fizzled. Weaver felt the hairs on his bare arms, and the back of his neck rise. Overhead the strip lights faded in and out twice with an accompanying electrical buzz, all of which was drowned out by the trailing explosion of thunder, so loud that the windows shook, and some of the desks in the front office actually moved, visibly, across the polished floor.

“Fuck!” Weaver hissed, rubbing his hands up and down his arms as if to ward off a chill that wasn’t there. “Shit!” he added a moment later - for good measure. He wasn’t afraid of thunder - there actually wasn’t much at all that Weaver was afraid of - but there was something about this that made a cold sweat form on his brow.

The hum of the copier warming up as the power stabilized both made him jump, and provided a comfort. Everything was fine.  Everything was normal, just fifteen minutes later than before.  He hadn’t thought it had been that long, but with everything, he wasn’t really paying attention to how much time had passed; only what was happening, and how he’d felt.

With a sigh, he retraced his steps back into his office, closed the door and locked it, then he threw himself into his chair, and reached for the bottom draw of his desk, rewarded as it opened with the steadying clink of glass on glass.

Belle stepped out of the hotel bathroom, her hair twisted up into a towel, her body wrapped in a thick, comfortable bath robe, and little else.

She didn’t usually shower so close to bed time, because it always woke her up, meaning she would be awake for hours longer, mind buzzing. Even if she tried not to think about anything she’d seen or read - anything she’d noticed, after the long flight, the meeting with the detective, and then looking through all her notes and papers - the artifacts of her research, she felt grungy and uncomfortable.

It seemed the promised storm had finally materialized. Lightning flashed outside of the windows, illuminating the room in white brilliance instead of the muted yellow light of the lamps on the nightstands, heralding, by barely a few seconds, the rolling moan of thunder. The rain sussurated insistently against the window and Belle shivered.

She rubbed her tired eyes, and glanced over at the bed on which her photographs and notes lay strewn, only partly organized while she was reading them. The rest could wait until morning. She would just leave it all where it was and sleep in the other bed tonight.

She shivered again at the thought of sleep, crossed to the door of her hotel room, and flipped the deadbolt. It wasn’t her physical safety that bothered her though, in spite of a degree of lawlessness she’d already witnessed in Hyperion Heights. Her discomfort - her feeling that shadows were gathering in more than just the corners of her hotel room - was always stronger when she had been studying her notes, and trying to get to the bottom of the theft of the Spear of Camlann. It wouldn’t be the first time if she woke from sleep tonight crying out from some kind of nightmare… feeling wet, and cold and alone - in pain and heavy with destiny.

“Stop it, Belle,” she told herself firmly. “You’re only setting yourself up for a fall.”

In spite of her self-admonition, she still glanced in the directions of the corners of the room, watching the gathered shadows that shimmied and danced in the unpredictable flashes of lightning as the storm continued to wreak its havoc on the city.

In the name of the gods, may Birch stand before me and Willow behind; Holly to my left and Oak upon my right.

She thought the words as she whispered them, and in her minds eye saw the trees  as if their branches wove an invisible roof above her head, and walls all around her. It was a common practice for her and she’d taken to it several years in the past, when strange thoughts and nebulous fears disturbed her sleep.

It gave her comfort even if it did nothing more practical than that.

With a last look around, she pulled back the covers of the bed not strewn with papers, and slipped beneath the soft, cool cotton, letting the robe fall to the ground beside the bed as she did. Tomorrow would be soon enough to find the next step in the trail.

She would also call in on Detective Weaver again just to see if he had changed his mind.

A hot cup of coffee later, and his composure restored, Weaver took a walk down to the evidence room. It took him a few tries to get the security system to register the swipe of his card, but eventually the lights on the panel turned green and he was able to pull open the door.

He flicked on the overhead light, pausing for a moment in the doorway to let the light that slowly chased away the shadows reach into the far corners of the room. Perhaps not completely composed then. With a deep breath to bring himself to order, he finally stepped over the threshold and allowed the door to close behind him.

He reminded himself that he had come down to put away some of the outstanding items of evidence that had been sitting around on his desk for far too long, but he wasn’t sure that he convinced himself that it was the real reason.  Why else would it be?

“Not exactly any less fucking creepy down here,” he said aloud, uncomfortable that he’d felt the need to break the silence of that room otherwise only occupied by the slight buzzing of the fluorescent lights.

He knew exactly what was going on. He knew what he had to do to figure it all out: follow the evidence.  How could he know that everything French had told him was true? He had allowed her to get under his skin - inside his head with the tales of her missing artifact. That was proven by the feeling that he clearly recalled he’d experienced as he looked at her photograph. It was still far too fresh in his memory, even after so many hours.

“We’ll see about that,” he said almost angrily and strode across the room to snatch up the receiver and hit the button to connect him with the operator.

”What do you want, Weaver?”  The sergeant he spoke to sounded bored. ”It’s late, and I’m tired, so this better not be another one of your wild goose chases.”

“Get me the London Metropolitan Police,” he said.

”Excuse me? London, England, Detective?”

“No, fucking London, Timbuktu-yes of course London, England,” he snapped.

”I, um… Hold on, I’ll see what I can do.”

Weaver hooked leg of the stool that was pushed beneath the table with the toe of his boot, and pulled it out from underneath, before falling, with mounting fatigue, onto it. What had gotten into him? It had been no longer a shift than any other day, and yet he felt as though he had been working for twenty-four hours straight. He began, idly, to push around the pieces of evidence that he’d come down here to deal with, not really paying much attention to any of them.

There was the cast of what looked like a boot print, a work boot by the look of it; a cigarette lighter - the kind with the flip lid, where moving the wheel produced the spark, a sliver of flint - about three inches long, with an edge that looked razor sharp, that had been napped by repeated blows by another object, presumably another stone. There was a dried and flaking blood stain on the flint shard. There was also a piece of ribbon, twisted and knotted at one end, but otherwise an unremarkable strip of half inch wide, ivory colored silk. Almost in the middle of it, was a single, partial print.

He stared at them all for a long time until the phone rang, startling him back to full attention.  It made him jump, jangling in the thick silence of the room, and he hurried to answer it as though the sound of it would offend some unseen being.

“Weaver!”

“Detective Weava?” The voice on the other end of the line had a distinctly foreign, distinctly Cockney, London accent, and the Glasgow in him bristled.  He grunted confirmation. “Detective Inspecta Lewis, London Met. What can I do for ya?”

“D.I. Lewis, Thanks for taking my call,” he thought politeness would be a good start, although for reasons other than his Scottish roots, just speaking to the man completely rubbed him up the wrong way. “I… had a visit today from a young woman. Said she was a curator at the British Museum. Chasing after some stolen artifact, apparently.”

“Oh, Fak me!” the words came out as almost a huffed sigh. “That’s where she’s rolled up, is it?”

“Brown hair, beautiful blue eyes. An accent you wouldn't soon forget…” he frowned at himself. Since when had he noticed the color of her eyes in the way he’d described? “Gave her name as French. Belle French.”

The detective inspector let out a shallow laugh, that ended in an almost verbal frown. ”Belle French.  You sure? Coz that sounds an awful lot like Lacey.” He didn’t wait for an answer, just went on, “Wha’eva she told ya’s a load o’ bull. There’s a warrant out for ‘er arrest. I can fax it to ya if ya like.”

Weaver frowned, Liking the British detective even less, but thanked the man anyway, and recited the fax number. He wanted to see the warrant with his own two eyes before he even thought about what he was going to do next.

“Anyway,” Lewis was still rattling on in what Weaver felt was an annoyingly superior way, “She’s the one what broke in. Made off wiv ‘alf a dozen bits and pieces, none of it werf a damn accordin’ to the director of the Weston Gallery, but it’s the principle of the fing, right? Lets face it, B&E is a crime no matter ow ya frame it.”

“Yeah,” Weaver answered absently, making several assumptions based on the man’s words. “How about you send a list of the stolen items along with that warrant, Detective Inspector, and I’ll see what I can do to recover them for you.”

“Tha’d be smashin’,” Lewis answered. “Got it all right ‘ere’ on me desk. I’ll send it right ova.”

“Thank you. You’ve been very helpful,” Weaver countered. “I’ll be in touch if I find anything more.”

“Right,” Lewis answered. “Yeah, I’ll keep in touch.”

“Tosser!” Weaver spat as he hung up the phone. He snatched up his jacket from where he’d left it lying on the top of the table, and swung it over his shoulders, putting it on as he strode toward the door, and shoving his hands deep into his pocket.

[redledger]

texting with a 106 year old man, a discord thread (pt.2) with @epiitaphs​ (pt.1 here)

NAT

She waited on the doorstep, a little soggy from the rain and arms burdened with enough Thai food to feed a family of four. They could always drop some off to Marina in the unlikely event Bucky didn’t finish it. All her kit fit neatly in her rucksack, she travelled incredibly light on tips like this. She lent against the wall, wishing he would hurry the fuck up.

BUCKY

Once he sent the text in reply, Bucky straightened up his closet nest a little - it wouldn't make her stop worrying, but it couldn't hurt. And there was even some food still left in the cupboards. That was also good proof that he was doing fine. Everything settled, he padded over to the door, unlocking it  - and opening it without being told, Liho cradled in his flesh arm. "Welcome home. For a day or two."

NAT

The sight of the two of them was actually pretty adorable. It reminded her of the fake apartment in Novosibirsk. Coming out of the cold and into the even colder home they had shared. It probably felt like a decent chunk of his life, if he remembered if. It was only a fraction of hers, but some of the happiest memories she had ever had. It was enough to be close to another living person then.

She moved inside, pressing a kiss to his cheek and struggling to balance all the food herself till the made it through the hall and into the kitchen. “Is the news still on? Did they have a cause of death?”

BUCKY

The kiss felt like it held the weight of several decades. They'd done that before, then. He remembered some of their time together, but time combined with brainwashing kept those recollections scattered and out of focus. When he doubled down on trying to remember, it usually got better, but now wasn't hte time to get lost in the past. 

He followed her to the kitchen silently, gently petting Liho as he went. "I left it on." He shook his head. "Won't say. Just murder - mysterious causes, looking for perpetrator. They will cast blame soon, but they haven't yet." He held the cat out to her a little once she set the food down. "Say hello to her too."

NAT

She set everything down, immediately confronted by a big black fur all extended in her direction. She switched to Russian, and for a woman who claimed to not want a cat, Nat sounded like she was taking to a baby.

”Oh look at you, what did the mean man do to you? You just want a cuddle don’t you-“

Her arms opened, scooping the mass of fur into her chest and covering the cats head on kisses. She did miss the scrappy thing. And she made a fuss knowing it might make Bucky happy.

“I’ve text a source for more information. Plates? Do you think we need them?”

BUCKY

A quick smile crossed his face as she cooed at the cat, clearly disproving all of her earlier statements about disliking the furry thing. ”The mean man fed her and gave her lots of attention,” he informed her as he looked over the food she’d set down. Getting any of it out of the containers would have to wait her her cue, but it did at least smell good. 

”Careful not to spoil her.” There. A joke to her face. He was having a good day and that was proof. 

“Okay.” Involving more people could be dangerous, but if she had nothing at all, that was worse. “We don’t need them. But it might be helpful. Otherwise you won’t get anything of whatever I’ve chosen.”

NAT

It was welcome, to come home to him in such a good mood. Maybe it was the fact she was back, although more likely the fact he was hungry. She could live with that. The cat squirmed in her arms, wriggling at the smell of food. ”No, that’s not for you my little misery.” 

She set Liho down on the floor, pulling open the drawer to her left with cutlery. “You’re alright. I’ll just take the Pad Thai off the top, the rest is for you.” 

She paused, the reel on the TV catching her attention even though it just released what he said. “Go on, before you combust.”

BUCKY

"She's been very good for me. Maybe if you were around for her." There was no real point in attempting to convince Natasha to stay around. Both of them came and went as they pleased. He imagined she came back when he wasn't there, just as he stayed around mostly in her absence.

"Okay." That was good. He glanced over the bags she'd set down, calculating. Despite her accusations, he'd eaten while she was gone, but something like this would shore him up well for the future and for his current hunger. He assumed it was hunger, at least. Sometimes he wasn't really sure. 

"I took the explosives out of the arm, don't worry," he told her. For him, it felt like a joke, though sometimes those were hit or miss. Still, permission was helpful, even now. He took a couple containers for himself, reaching out for a utensil before going to sit on the floor in front of the TV.

NAT

They switched between Russian and English without delay, it was second nature after all. She handed him the fork, not really looking as her eyes were still glued to the tv. It was only when he sat down that it really registered in Nats brain want has happening. And she wasn’t hungry anyone. 

She missed his joke, missed his teasing. Here in the walls of her flat she could let her brain process, fully. No instead she reached for the bottle of wine and a glass. She hovered behind the breakfast bar in the kitchen, reading the scroll again.

“What we’re you doing? Whilst you were gone?” It couldn’t wait, not even until Bucky had finished eating. There was no stopping her when she was in this mood. “Where did you go?”

BUCKY

He ate, listening to the TV as he did. Chaos, confusion, death. It was, in its own way, old news. The world moved from death to death, from regime to regime, ultimately with more or less the same organizations calling the shot. That said, the fingerprints on this weren't obviously Hydra's. A good reason for them both to be concerned. 

"West Virginia. In the mountains, Point Pleasant area." If he told her, he could keep eating, and she was far enough away that there was no need to worry. "Cleaning up threats." He could tell her. She knew what they'd done to him, better than most. "There was a Chair there, I remembered. So I cleaned up."

And now here he was, back in the relative safety of her apartment, with her cat lurking around the far corner of the couch, waiting for a treat. He tossed a bite of chicken at her, which she ate with satisfaction. "Like I said. My own business."

NAT

“Threats to who?” Nat set the bottle down, swirling the wine in the glass. Finally she left the kitchen, completely forgetting about the food she has set aside and instead taking a seat on the sofa. She didn’t even look at him. She was concentrating on the face, trying to pull it forcibly from the depths of her memory.

“Hydra, not KGB then. Anything connected to this?”

BUCKY

“Me.” Or really - his continued freedom. He watched her approach, but her attention was directed to the TV, rather than him or his diminishing collection of food. “Maybe America, but I’m doing it for me.”

“KGB comes later. Their programming stuck better and lasted longer. Better off waiting. And Hydra presents the most credible threat at the moment because they want me returned or decommissioned.” Over all at least. “This base had a former KGB there. Ossi, not Russian. Started out Stasi, got comfortable with those holding the leash. Can’t remember why he defected.” There seemed to be a decent former Soviet to Hydra pipeline. “Human, though. Died in 2002. Not me.”

NAT

It was good, both seeing him eat and getting this much information from him. She set her glass don on the table, desperately running her hands through her hair as she bent low. None of this made sense, and what she had hoped would be breadcrumbs felt more like a wild goose chase. Another few minutes with the news reporter filling the silence was all she could manage.

“Any connection to the room? Or Madam?” She had to ask. The clarification Bucky wasn’t behind a targeted attack was something, especially given how messy and murky the timelines got. “Ex client? The American or the defector?”

BUCKY

He made use in the pause in her interrogation to keep eating. He considered leaving some of what was still sitting on the table for later, but decided to at least start in on some of it. Couldn't hurt. He was up and back by the time she asked her next question, sitting down quietly for someone his size and with a metal arm. 

"Madame, no. The Room, maybe. He had connections, I think. To many things." Their world was one big web of connections, reaching between every operative, whether they knew it or not. "The defector worked for Hydra, gave them information for me to use. Out of date, but better than nothing." That was parroted, clearly someone else's speech. "The Americans there...they are dead now. C4, controlled blasts. There's always been something funny about the old factory." Difference voice, different person's speech. "They were waiting for orders. Not responsible for Havanna, if that's what you're asking."

NAT

She didn’t pull her head out of her hands. Or move at all really. The cat followed him to food in the hopes of being involved but Natasha was buried in her own confusion.

”Fucking connections” She slipped for a moment back into her mother tongue, just because it angered her so much. She needed to pick over the details he had with a fine tooth comb at some point, as well as maybe scold him for being so reckless. He had always had a good memory, but she isn’t a fly felt him filling the gaps with what other people had said verbatim. “Waiting... four red room clients dead and counting. Always one step behind me. Havana was a message James, they’re not screwing around anymore. Not after the fall.”

Not after she had faced off with someone wearing her own image to play games. “Did you keep anything? Take any papers or hard drives?”

BUCKY

He tossed another bit of meat at the cat once he was seated and everything was arranged around him. She ate it in a flash. Bucky understood.

"Everyone knows someone." That had been true through the ages. He looked over a second. "Eat don't agonize. Hunger slows you down." He'd noticed on his trip back and forth. "Real food." That seemed necessary to emphasize. This was the man who'd taught her. "One step behind requires planning. They are watching. You need to find where from." What sort of surveillance they had set up. "They want you. Just you. Not me. Red Room, yes, but connected to you. Without question." Though he couldn't imagine some rogue faction would say no to having control of the Winter Soldier.

"I took the bus. No papers." He had indeed gone on a Greyhound and then on a hike. Not too much room for extra baggage there. "I have a drive from their computers, though." It was something he'd learned from her, though he wasn't planning on looking through the information at the moment. He didn't feel stable enough for that yet.

NAT

“Look at you, giving orders.” It was enough to crack a smile, even with her hands still firmly planted in her hair. He was right, she should eat. But she sat back, reaching for the glass of wine and finally taking a sip. “I am careful. Every job is vetted, you sweep this place for bugs constantly. I watch my back but they know the training...” 

It was harder to run when your every instinct was clear to someone else. She watched the cat gobble up her scraps eagerly, but she didn’t have the energy to call him out on it. “Will you let me decrypt it? I can take a first look. It might jog my memory, give me something to go off. The fake me... is there anything you remember about her that could help?”

At some point they needed to talk about his instinct for revenge. But not when it was actually coming in handy.

BUCKY

"I was in charge of you once." That's why he could do it. She had once been...not necessarily subordinate. But similar. And he had been in charge of training her. So it felt less wrong to tell her these things. It was simply how to be a good asset to them. "I would have noticed if you had gotten sloppy. If they know the training, then they must be somehow connected to it." It felt like it narrowed things down, a little bit. Not by much, but perhaps enough to find a good guess. "I have different operating procedures if you need modifications."

He nodded. "Yes." He dug in a pocket for a moment, tossing a flash drive to her once he'd found it. Better to keep the evidence close. "Shared data with other Hydra locations and local files as well. From my understanding as I watched it transfer." He hadn't done much of that - had gone off to complete some killings in the meantime.

The fake her. He had to think about that one, finishing a container off as he did. "Favorite." Not his, obviously, given whose apartment he was in. "Trained, but leniently. The only one I was told to avoid killing. Who says there is no favoritism among soviets." More thinking. "Did not stand out, but good at what she did."

NAT

“And you won’t be again. Trust me.” She was teasing, but from her perch it was nice to have some time together. The stress showed in her face and her shoulders but watching him eat was a good reminder her body functioned a little closer to his than she would like to admit. She was hungry, if she thought about it. 

She caught the drive, putting it in her own pocket for safe keeping. She’s get out her laptop once he was asleep and pour over the data, trying to find some kind of loophole she could use.

Natasha stood up, grabbing the container of abandoned pad Thai and a fork. Instead of heading back to the sofa though, she moved to the floor to lean against his side. “Agreed. She got lucky that she caught me off balance. It was definitely a her, you could tell by how she moved.”

She picked a three food with her fork, taking a few mouthfuls to consider his words. “I don’t know how old she was, the techniques were the same but the old masters might still be alive. She moved fast.”

She looked at the cat for a moment, then at him. “Maybe you shouldn’t stay here. If they are after me, I mean. Could be compromised.”

BUCKY

"Could you stop me?" Out of anyone, the answer was probably yes. Well - anyone who didn't have the words. "I don't want to be." No need, no desire. He just wanted to be his own person first. 

She stood, Bucky watching her closely to determine whether she was actually going to eat or get rid of it. He glared at her approach, but didn't strike out. As long as she stuck to her own business, he could manage. Maybe, since clearly he'd stopped eating. The lean was too much -  he nudged her back forward, wanting both arms free. Leaning to the other side, he kept eating once he'd determined that she was too. "Luck will not last forever." He nodded. "Not hard to tell much of the time. Especially not with who made her."

Another shrug. "New, I think. But I don't remember exactly." Another nod. "Some are. Very few, but I think there are two still living for sure." Those he would leave for much later. He couldn't destroy everything from his past, but if they remained a threat by the time he turned his attention to the Red Room more, he would reevaluate. 

He frowned. "Could be. I assume it is, usually. Someone's always watching, even if they don't know it yet themselves." He could go - he had other places he could live. And to call them less comfortable would be soft. "I can go when you do."

NAT

“Bet I could.” Not that she would. She was fine until he pushed her away, her eyes flicking up and down. She face masked any shock or hurt that would have registered. Perfectly neutral, and she shuffled away a little. Wanting to be close to someone and only having him to replicate it with was hard. Maybe she should call Clint once in a while. Maybe she should explain, or ask Bucky to use his words next time. But that was how things were. 

She took another forkful but her heart wasn’t in it. He’d pulled her mind out of it now. “Leave them for me. I’ve got plans. Promise?”

It wasn’t great, the idea of him leaving. Here he had someone to rely on him, even if it was just the cat. A bed he refused to sleep in, weapons dotted around where only he knew to find them. He could build his nest and block the world out, and she could breathe a little easier. 

“Tomorrow night. Your call. I’ll ask Marina to feed the cat if you’re not here. Where will you go?”

BUCKY

"We can spar." That was practice, though. Even if they fought to incapacitation, it wouldn't be the same as actually trying to stop him. Maybe when she was younger - there'd been more of a risk of death then. Or the times he'd tried to kill her. She moved away from him. Good. Just a little longer and he'd be ready to look forward to the two of them sleeping in her bed. 

"Alright. They're yours." As if they weren't discussing men who'd tortured and deserved the worst of tortures. Well - someone else might think that. For Bucky, they had trained well. Worked with him and on him. He'd been there to train the girls, but he had also learned many things that had ended up keeping hiim alive over the years. "Promise." Words meant nothing, but he would stay away.

"I will think it over." He hated choices like this. She was right - he shouldn't be returning even when there wasn't a huge chance this base was compromised. He was a fugitive. He was supposed to keep moving, and yet here he was. With a cat. He shrugged. "Somewhere." DC was destroyed. West Virginia was destroyed, and several others. "Maybe North Africa somewhere. Algeria. Could fit in there. Ouran, Algiers. Somewhere like that. But we'll see."

NAT

“We can, not tonight though.” She was careful not to say no to him when he put out suggestions. Shutting him down felt unfair, like kicking a puppy. He didn’t deserve that. Yet she was still tired tonight, from a long flight and what was sure to be a long week. Once he had his space he seemed a little less tense, and the cat was still sitting expectantly near them both. 

In time, when she had a full grasp of the truth, Natasha would track the old masters down and eliminate them. But there were other pieces of the plan in motion for now. She had no desire to play exterminator till she could be absolutely certain how it would end.

“Somewhere hot might be nice.” She didn’t even have details of where she was headed yet. That was a phone call and an encrypted email away. They were sharks, in their own way. Moving constantly to survive. That was the man she knew, although as his memories filtered back in he seemed to settle more. Maybe that was the American in him resurfacing. “Do you still want to go out to Colney island tomorrow? Up to you.”

BUCKY

“No, of course not. You wanted a quiet night.” With that came a quick grin. “And what would your neighbors think? You come home, you make noise, you leave.” Hardly neighborly. 

“Could be.” There had to be a base in that region. It’d just take memory and stolen files to find it. “Hot and dry.” He’d take that over a jungle any day. “Nights are cold in the desert. But not so bad.” He could see a night sky in front of him for a moment. He’d have to go through those memories to get anywhere. 

He set aside his last container, holding onto the fork for a moment. Because he could. And because she’d asked him a question. “Always making me make a choice, aren’t you.” It got on his nerves but it’d worked. “Sure. Middle of the day during the week and hope it rains.” That felt a little too easy to say. “For crowds, you know.”

NAT

“The neighbours might think I’ve got a man over. Who knows.” Others than Marina, Natasha kept to herself. A small smile here or a hello, just enough not to be a stranger but not enough to give anything away. A loner and a workaholic, even if what her job actually was seemed to escape them. She tossed a pice of chicken at the cat and handed him the container. She was done for now anyways. He clearly needed it more.

“You need help then you let me know. I can take a couple days off.” It might be good, to be in the field together again. To trust him and watch him work when her life wasn’t on the line. She spent too long chasing him down as a ghost, being on his side after over fifty years could be nice.

She smiled again. Small and slight, the corners of her mouth pulled up at his teasing. Someone had to give him a choice. “You got a jacket? I could get the bike out of storage. Or we take the subway.” It had been too long since she did something like that. It was funny, with an extended life how fast time seemed to slip by.

BUCKY

"They know you have me over sometimes." Whether he really counted was questionable, given everything - he was only sort of a person. He wondered what the neighbors said - beyond the eavesdropping he had already done. He stared at the container for a moment before taking it from her. It wasn't snatched back, so he dug in. 

"I will." Maybe. If he thought about it at the time. But she was a good option - he knew how she operated and he knew more or less exactly how much he could trust her. He'd probably also never hear the end of it if she found him doing anything particularly foolish.

"Yeah, I've got one with my stuff." It had occurred to him that he could keep things at her place if he really wanted to, but the thought of having it potentially found if something was compromised made him hesitate to keep anything besides weapons there. "Bike." That was an easy choice. "Subway's fine, but the bike would be nice."

NAT

“You’ve met the neighbours? Actually spoken to them?” If he had, she was shocked. It was decent, actual progress. It wasn’t like she hadn’t briefly had people come and go, but it was rare. Maybe only Clint counted. Even then it had been mostly his space, his place, his things. If there was someone else in the last decade it wasn’t anything in particular.

She watched him take the food, he looked like Liho. Permanently starved. “Your stuff?” He had to have a footprint, it just seemed wild to her. She thought about asking what stuff, or if he wanted to leave it here but that wasn’t really smart given the already present security concerns. “You want the bike then we take the bike.” She shuffled backwards, letting her back rest against the wall. She considered scooping the cat but it didn’t feel fair when the chance of food was still present. Liho got the privilege of sharing his meal, which Nat hadn’t earned. “I’ll get up early and head to the locker to get things sorted then.”

BUCKY

"Three times. And if they can see or hear anything, they know." Old people gossiped. He was pretty sure at least. Something told him that, at least. Probably a memory - though from when he had no idea. "Not for long, though." Bucky didn't really talk to people if he could avoid it. Sometimes it was nice, but so close to where he stayed felt like a risk. 

"I have a cache. And a backpack." A cache which he should probably move in a few weeks. Didn't hurt to be careful, after all. Especially when they seemed to be targeting Natasha. There were too many organizations in their pasts to ever lose the paranoia that clung to him. "Good. I want to see it, make sure it's a good one." Not that he didn't trust her, but Bucky was remembering amount of mechanical knowledge beyond how to do repairs on his arm. "Okay. You don't have to leave too early, though." He'd missed her, even if he hadn't yet admitted it. Maybe he would.

NAT

“Wow, and I keep making fun of you for being a shut in. You should have told me you’re turning into a social butterfly.” She watched him, green eyes reading his body. He was like an animal really, so much of him was instinct. “You still hungry?”

“Good.” Assets didn’t have stuff. Agents could drop everything with no warning and move. Leaving a footprint was a sign of real emotions, real connections. A footprint. “Oh it’s a good one. SHIELD don’t pay well but Stark loves to impress for birthday gifts. Apparently this was for my 30th.” That was what it said on file, anyways.

He was almost sweet as he said it. Almost kind. “Earlier we go, less people there will be. Don’t you want that?”

BUCKY

“Didn’t want you to lose a source of fun.” He tensed without tensing  when she asked, only his eyes moving to look down at the now empty container. Well - one more bite for Liho, which he tossed for the cat. “No. I’m good now.” He set aside the container, scooting a bit closer to her. 

He shrugged. “Weapons, mostly. Got no one just handing them over anymore.” And who knew exactly what he’d need next. “He should know, then. About motorcycles. Or at least machines.” He didn’t trust Stark but that seemed in the man’s wheelhouse. “How many 30th’s have you had?”

He shrugged, hearing the plates in his arm flutter. “I do. But you wanted rest.”

NAT

“There’s plenty of other things for me to make fun of, don’t you worry.” The second he inched close it was invitation enough. She loses the gap, settling on the side of his human shoulder and threading her fingers through his. She squeezed his hand just to check in, more for her benefit than his. “We should stop feeding her human food. It’s bound to be bad for her.”

They were both raised when animals got scraps from whatever was left on the table, but there was probably science to say half of it was toxic by now. Liho wasn’t super, like them.

“Anything fun? Anything normal?” So having stuff wasn’t necessarily a good thing. “You saying I don’t have taste? And asking how old I am? Did no one ever teach you manners?”

She rubbed her thumb over his knuckles, they very fake outrage in her voice matched with a smile. “A few. You missed a good one, in the eighties I had a gorgeous surprise party in Paris...” 

It had all been fake, obviously. The target needed an excuse to get her alone and as his live-in girlfriend it was the right move. But the cake was beautiful, and the champagne tasted good even if the tipsy act had been irritating.

“We’ll see how late we sleep and go from there.”

BUCKY

“I guess I’ll find out.” No worries there. She talked to him like he was another person - pretty much always had. She took the cue, moving closer herself and leaning on him. He squeezed back, remembering to be gentle. “I don’t do it often.” Which was probably telling of what he subsisted on when she was away. “But I can stop.” 

He could. He’d just have to find another way to spoil her. And persuade Liho that he wasn’t betraying her. 

 He was pretty sure weapons were normal. “Some clothes.” He wore layers, but his bag could also only hold so much.

“I am. Too practical.” Not that it was a bad thing when it came to vehicles, but in this case, it was nice to have fun. “I’m older, it’s okay.” He shook his head, punting a memory down the road. “No, wasn’t protocol.”

“Sounds like a good time.” Who knew what he was doing at that time. “Might’ve been in the freezer then.” Like ice cream, his brain provided. 

A nod. “A good plan.” Bucky was hopeful he’d get decent sleep, but he wasn’t capable of sleeping too long.

NAT

“She probably deserves it. Not like she was eating healthy before she found me.” That was important. Nat might have taken the poor scrap in but really it was Liho who should get the credit. Not just for making her life a little less lonely, but for making Bucky stick around too. 

“You could leave clothes here if you wanted.” It was nice to put the offer out there, maybe he’d take it if he ever felt ready. She laughed at his jab at her taste. “I’m practical because half of them get wrecked- Steve is a fucker for it. There’s no way a nice bike like this one is seeing any kind of Avengers duty.”

It was flashy. Bright red, more of a statement than a vehicle. But Stark liked his extravagance. “Come on. What about your family? Your Mom never tell you how to talk to a lady?”

Not that she was much of a lady, she just wanted to hear him talk. Natasha Romanoff was a weapon at best.

She nodded against his shoulder, tapping the floor with her free hand in hopes of coaxing the cat to join them.

BUCKY

“She does.” He firmly believed it, too, maybe seeing a little bit of himself in Liho from time to time. “If she’s eating, it means I’m eating too. You, I don’t know.” He’d seen how much was left in that container. 

“I could.” He’d have to think about which ones would seem normal or at least less suspicious of anyone ever looked through her place. A bit of a laugh. He squinted off across the room for a minute. “I think he’s been like that for a long time. And add in all of the Avengers, it will be worse.” He didn’t hate them - hatred was still an emotion he wasn’t sure how to tap into consistently - but he didn’t trust them. 

“Yeah, she did.” For a moment, his original accent stuck. “Too bad they burned all of that out.” He wished he could remember her better, but those memories were scrambled and painful. “Not sure I’d call you a lady like this, though.”

He watched Liho as she considered joining them. “Call her. That might help.”

NAT

“Long day, longer flight. That’s all, promise.” She didn’t eat enough, and sometimes wine counted as a food group. Not that she could be considered an alcoholic given the lack of side effects. Tonight she was simply distracted, but she’d make an effort tomorrow morning when they stopped somewhere. Pancakes at a diner, so he could devour a whole stack if he wanted. Maybe she should cook, she did know how. It was just that leaving again the day after made it feel a little useless. 

She read his squint, knowing that look. She loved her team, or what was her team. She missed them even if she was too jaded to admit it. Being on the outside was her resting state, but having people to have faith in and work beside... it was a nice change. She didn’t trust them, but that was her own issue. She didn’t trust anyone. Maybe worth the exception of the man on her arm.

“They egg each other on. Too much testosterone in one room sometimes. You’d like Thor, he’s a sweetheart. Very easy to mess with.” Nat shoved him a little for his remark. “It’s been too long since you’ve seen me in a dress, you need a reminder of how well I scrub up. You should call her, she likes you more.”

BUCKY

"Okay." He wasn't sure he believed that. What did either of them promising anything mean? Bucky could be ordered to tell the truth, but she couldn't. Not as easily, at least. "I know you can go a long time without it, but might as well stock up before it's a problem." Not that he thought she was heading for anything like that, but you really never knew. 

"It was like that in the war," he said. He was pretty sure at least. "Especially after Steve got there." That was after the experiments. A lot of that time was a little blurry and he wasn't sure how much he'd get back. "I remember the team a little." Moments, flashes, lunacy. 

"Sounds right up my alley. He's the alien. I want to know about that." What space was like, what he though about earth and other plants. What sort of things they had on his planet. Bucky smiled at the push. "You'll have to scrub up, then. Get fancy, make it look like you're slumming it with me." She did, but that was because he was around more. "Liho, come join us."

NAT

“I don’t work like you. All that food, I’d feel stuffed. Little and often is more my style.” That wasn’t a lie. She was a grazer by nature. It was less conspicuous. “I was thinking about breakfast on the road tomorrow, and then you can lecture me on how coffee isn’t a meal. How does that sound?”

She would make an effort, because it was better than giving him something else to worry about. She got up for a moment, slinking away from him to the breakfast bar to grab the spare wine glass and the bottle- and then her own from the coffee table. She poured one for him, curling back up against his side with tired eyes. Then Natasha extended it for him to take. It was good wine. Fruity and full bodied.

“What do you remember?” She didn’t have to keep pushing, but it was nice to hear there was a happy past somewhere. He had a family and a life before the war, something she had always wanted. She could share his memories like they were her own.

 “You’ll have to ask him sometime.” She hadn’t really quizzed the god of thunder, but if she was ever allowed to see them again then she would make an effort even if it was just to report back. “He speaks like a Shakespearean villain, so dramatic. Good texter though. Drives the others mad.”

Her friends. Or at least as close as she could get. “Next time I’ve got an event you could be my date. Have everyone jealous to have me on your arm.” It was a fantasy. One she would have liked if it had been reality. Instead he got here her, in unguarded moments. There was some kind of silver lining in that. She wasn’t performing, just at a resting state. The cat finally made a small noise, padding over with only her claws making noise on the hard wood floor and immediately purring as she clambered into his lap.

BUCKY

"Hm. You still need to eat at all, though." Wine wasn't a meal, but maybe that was just Bucky's need for a lot of sustenance to keep going talking. "Little doesn't mean nothing." He didn't need to push the issue. She was capable of taking care of herself. "Coffee is not a meal. I can tell you that now." But he shrugged. "That sounds nice."

Wine would not do anything to him. He knew this from before, he thought. Maybe not because of wine, but for some other reason. He took the glass from her when it was offered, her pressed up against his side. Something like this was not a meal - no need to protect it from her. 

He shrugged the shoulder she wasn't leaning against. "We fought in woods and fields and mud. A lot of mud. We'd scrape it off of everything. Throw it at each other until you got tackled. And then more muddy. It was one of those things - we knew we were wasting energy, but we needed something or we'd lose our minds." It was all jumbled together, but it was fairly linear. 

"You think I'll meet him?" It seemed like a big step when he already couldn't quite talk to Steve. Who he had known once. Warming up to Natasha had taken some time too. He didn't know how he'd approach a true stranger, much less an alien. "I wonder why he does." Maybe he had a translator device. That was from a radio drama, he thought. "How come? Because he knows how to text?"

A quick flash of a smile. "Metal or flesh?" They'd never get to that point. He was a fugitive from multiple governments, multiple agencies. Bucky didn't think he'd find internal or external peace for a long time. Maybe he never would. The cat listened to him - a victory. "See? You should come home more often. She thinks I'm the one who lives here." He petted the cat carefully, switching the wineglass to his metal hand.

NAT

“Alright doc, any other health advice for me?” It rolled off her tongue instantly, but not defensively. “I’ll have some biscuits from the cupboard or something if you’ve left me any. Does that sound fair?”

She noticed there was far less of a reaction this time, less of a drive to protect. Maybe it was because he was full, or he read that she was no real threat. Nat closed her eyes to listen to him, a soft smile spreading across her face. He had mud, where she had only known the bitter winters of war. The way Bucky spoke made it seem like the mythical good old days people referred to. The brotherhood and camaraderie that she had never fully known.

“If you want.” The chance was almost none. Not without a small miracle, yet it was no harm to anyone to pretend. “He’s dramatic. Good heart though, always means well. He send paragraphs, huge long statements of intent and it drives Tony mad. Someone might have told him it’s rude not to state the time and date at the start- oh and of course sign off.” She laughed, fully proud of herself.

She set her glass down to her left to wrap her arm under the one she was leaning on. Looping it lightly as he stroked the cat. “This one. Metal one is too stiff. Does it still hurt?” 

He didn’t have to say it. It was clear, both in how he held himself when no one was looking and how he slept. When he wasn’t in a blanket nest in the hall closet. “Yeah, I know.” It was the first time she fully conceded the point. But how was there a way to tell him this still didn’t feel like home? She was on the outs with the Avengers, her identity was known and she had a lot to answer for. Especially to Steve. 

She didn’t open her eyes but let out a heavy sigh. “If I know you’re here it’s more likely. I’ve not exactly got friends in New York right now.”

BUCKY

“Breakfast is healthy.” If she wanted to make fun of his suggestions, he could do the same. He considered. “That is okay.” Probably. She wouldn’t each much and since he had a base he could get more food. She had picked up food for him today. This was a fair exchange. “There is good in the cupboard by the refrigerator. The cat food is under the sink. Your choice.” A joke. 

She relaxed into him more fully, closing her eyes in his presence in a way that no one had dared do in a very long time. Maybe the last time had been her. 

He didn’t want things like that. He barely knew which brand of food he wanted over another. “Maybe.” Probably not. But he didn’t want to disappoint her. “He sounds like a nice friend for you. Not normal, but at least he’s nice.” A quick huff of a laugh. “Of course. A good protocol you designed.” It had to be her, if it annoyed the other ones. And if she was actually laughing like that. 

She got even closer, touch light. Escapable. The cat settled into his lap, purring almost imperceptibly. The metal one was an amazing piece of engineering, he’d been told. But it wasn’t really his. “Nothing above baseline. It’s stable.” There were some slightly damaged plates, and he was often on the edge of the weight of it causing problems. But today it hurt no more than usual. 

“I thought you might.” They’d talked about this before, and she wasn’t a fool. She sighed, air currents playing over his arm. “I can tell you when I’m here.” Right, yes, she’d blown every cover on record. “I’m a friend. I think, at least. I haven’t tried to kill you for at least a year.”

NAT

“I don’t know who it would be worse for you to take food from, you or little misery down here.” Her time was warm, it wasn’t an accusation. Just an observation. And he was funny, so he earned another soft laugh. It was a welcome distraction when he was funny, a reminder there was a human beneath the pain and hazy memories. 

“I think our definition of normal was broken a long time ago. I’ve been hanging out with men in spandex and robot armour, it’s hardly a good measure.” His maybe was non-communal. She didn’t miss it for a second, shattering her daydream just a little. It was fair for him to be skeptical though, and it wasn’t like she was going to be allowed back in stark tower anytime soon.

“You want me to take a look?” She was indeed tired, but that ball he slept in had to be making things worse. There was hardly much she could do, but she knew enough about the human side of his body. How it carried stress and how to relieve pain if need be.

“You’re a friend James. Definitely a friend.” That much she was certain of. As much as Natasha was attracted to danger, she wouldn’t be curled up on the floor with him like this if there was any doubt. The metallic sound of his arm was oddly soothing. “It’s refreshing, nee level of friendship for us.”

BUCKY

"Me. She cannot tear you from limb to limb." Bucky thought what he might be feeling was some sort of defensiveness. She hadn't taken anything from him, but there was always the possibility that one day she might. She could starve too. 

She laughed a little, though, and he relaxed slightly. "I agree." He couldn't imagine what that could be like. They'd always sent teams with him - normal people. "They stand out a lot more than you do."

He didn't know if he had the energy to want much - his body was still working through the food he'd just eaten. He could let her that close. He knew that. "If you want to." It wasn't a yes or a no, but he set down his glass at his side to pull his shirt off one-handed while trying not to disturb the cat. 

A friend. It was nice of her to think that. He still wasn't sure that was allowed, but it'd be nice. "Thanks." She had tried a little less to kill him. "I guess so. I take care of your cat for you, you make fun of me."

NAT

She hummed softly, knowing he wasn’t joking. He could pull her apart at the seams if he really wanted to. She just had enough trust that he didn’t. 

Natasha shuffled off the wall to get a better look at his back, hands on it the second the shirt was over his head. It had been a long time since she had seen it in real detail, and so many of the scars were new. Of course she knew how brutally cruel his life had been. But she was more than a little grateful he couldn’t read the sadness in her eyes as she surveyed the damage. She started at the base of his spine, digging her thumbs in with a little pressure and slowly, carefully moving them up towards his shoulders. 

It was hard to tell what was metal and what was knots. “If anything hurts, tell me. I mean it.” Once she hit underneath his shoulder blades, she ran her thumbs outwards, just underneath the curve.

“Seems like a fair exchange, although if I’m going to keep feeding you I might have to work a bit more. You eat like a racehorse.” Hopefully he would see that as more teasing and not a reason to stop showing up.

[indigosandviolets]

War Changes Kids

Pairing: Joseph Liebgott x OC x George Luz

Word Count: 2,418

Summary: Easy Company is placed in Bastogne, and Andrew has to deal with some very unfortunate business. A supply kid is injured and Andrew makes some conversation with Luz.

Notes: This chapter does have a bit of gore in it, but it’s accurate. This chapter did take longer than anticipated, but that’s simply because Luz and Liebgott are only in Bastogne for 3 minutes combined, tops.

Part Twelve of We Happy Few

Bastogne, France

The cold had started its permeation in Easy Company when Andrew woke up freezing and wet, never a good combination to start with. He groaned as he sat up in his foxhole, not really remembering who he had shared it with - Smokey, maybe?

The wet had started in his hair from the snow that had melted it in, and moved down the back of his neck and to his -

Oh, fuck, Andrew thought as he sat up, already feeling like complete shit. He yawned, checked to make sure none of the blood had soaked through his pants completely, grabbed his bag and set off to a quiet and solitary place in the Ardenne Forest.

“Mornin’ Marin,” Guarnere said as Andrew walked by, and he answered with a wave. Andrew really did not feel like talking to anyone anytime soon. Guarnere seemed to take this as offense. “Marin. Hey. What the fuck?”

Andrew groaned, turning as his bag hit his back. “Yeah, Bill?”

“What’s with the attitude?” Guarnere asks.

“I gotta take a shit,” Andrew supplies. He’s had to tell the lie several times before, and in worse conditions. Sure, it was cold as hell now, but it’s easier to cover it when it’s freezing cold over it being hotter than the devil’s anus. I gotta work on my swearing, Uncle Andy would shoot me.

“How was spending the night with Ramirez?”

Suspicions proven false, alright then. “Barely noticed, to be honest with you.”

“What the fuck is with you then?” Guarnere asks. He looks around for a few moments, and then pulls Andrew to the side. “Hey. Everything okay?”

“Yeah, I’m alright,” Andrew says. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You just seem pissed off and you just woke up.”

Andrew shrugs. “My birthday’s coming up and I’m spending it freezing my ass off with the guy who took out more fences than Germans instead of having a drink.”

Andrew’s anger over that wasn’t faked. He was genuinely upset about it — albeit his emotions were more present because of the current situation — and would’ve loved anything other than sleeping in a cold foxhole with Ramirez on his birthday. Nothing against Ramirez, but Andrew did have other company in his platoon he would have loved much more.

“It’s your birthday?” Guarnere asks. “When?”

“Three days, I’m pretty sure,” Andrew answers. “It’s on the twenty-third.”

“Today’s the twenty-first.”

“Is it?”

“You worry about your shit, Andrew, I’ll worry about your birthday.”

“Thanks, Bill,” Andrew says and Guarnere walks away, finding a new person to annoy or at least talk to.

Andrew walked further into the forest, and after finishing what he set out to do — now with a lot more blood under his fingernails — he had to find a place to either get rid of his clothes or boil the blood out of them without them freezing back over.

Then, of course, the universe decided he wouldn’t stop running into people. As Andrew prayed for no one to find him, the person who no one seemed to be able to find made himself very apparent.

“Private!” A voice called out, and he didn’t pay much attention until footsteps started to follow him. “Private!”

Andrew turned around to see Lieutenant Dike. “Sir?”

“Corporal! Corporal…?”

“Marin, sir.”

“Corporal Marin,” Dike finally started. “Your reputation precedes you.”

What the hell is that supposed to mean? “I’m sorry, sir?”

“How are you, Marin?”

Andrew yawned. “Tired, sir.”

“I can see that. Where are you from, Marin?”

“Fulton,” Andrew answered. How could he ever forget. Part of him wonders if Dike could have any idea what it was like for Andrew to grow up, if anyone could ever understand, and maybe it’s the blood underneath his fingernails that makes him think of this but he just wishes he-

“Where is that?”

“Illinois.”

“Do you miss it?”

Do I miss it? Fuck you, do I miss it? “Not at all.”

Dike nods, and without another word, turns back around and heads further into the forest. What the hell was that?

Andrew shakes his head and dumps his clothes in his foxhole beside a newly awakened Ramirez.

“Mornin’ Andy,” Ramirez said, the gravity of his voice coming through. “How are you doing on this fine Wednesday morning?”

“Better than ever,” Andrew replied sarcastically. “What about you?”

“Could be better, could be worse. Speakin’ of, do you have any on you?”

Andrew sighs, reaching down in his pocket for his pack of cigarettes. Despite him packing what he thought would be plenty, that number seemed to dwindle, and fast. He hands one over to Ramirez. “You need a light?”

“I got it,” Ramirez says. “By the way, Luz is lookin’ for ya.”

“That so?” Andrew asks, and Ramirez nods. “Which way did he go?” Ramirez tilts his head to the right. “Thanks.”

-

Luz’s asking for Andrew was going to have to wait. Roe and Spina were in need for medical supplies, and Andrew was sent on a wild goose chase to find more morphine and bandages, and scissors if possible. This search ended up being put on hold, thanks to a certain supply officer Vandenbosche.

Vandenbosche wasn’t a supply officer, but the way he walked made it seem like he had a high importance about him.

It almost reminded Andrew of Captain Sobel, but Captain Sobel would have been yelling at Andrew about the way his coat was worn instead of addressing the problem at hand. Vandenbosche was very good at addressing this problem, especially considering his problem was in his knee.

Second and first platoon had been pushed into sudden battle, meaning that while the very few supplies that were being dropped off had to be put to use almost immediately. Andrew barely began firing when the supply kid fell beside him, calling out for a medic before he hit the ground.

Andrew dropped his gun, pulling Vandenbosche away from the gunfire as he kept calling for a medic.

“Hey, Vandenbosche, it’s alright,” Andrew reassured him as he began tearing the fabric around the kid’s knee. “Medic! Doc! Medic!” Andrew poured the sulfur clotting powder over the kid’s knee.

“Hey, Vandenbosche, look at me,” Andrew says, turning his face to look at the kid. Tears are streaming down his red face. “What’s your name? First name?”

“William,” Vandenbosche answers, wincing as his leg moves.

“William? That’s a nice name, William,” Andrew tells him. “Medic!”

“Jesus, fuck!” William cries out.

“William, I know it hurts like a bitch, but we got Catholics here and I don’t think they want you taking the Lord’s name in vain.”

“Fuck you, I am Catholic!”

Andrew would’ve been laughing if he wasn’t grasping at his jacket for syrettes. It then dawns in him that he had given the last of his morphine to Roe, who was God knows where now.

“Medic!” Andrew yells out again. It’s almost like he’s back in Carentan, except he’s not the one who’s been shot. “Do you have any morphine?”

William quickly shakes his head. Andrew cries out for Roe again, looking around to see if anyone else could help, but everyone else is in the line of fire.

“William, William, look at me,” Andrew says to the kid. “I gotta move you to a foxhole, alright? If you stay out here any longer you’re fucked.”

“I’m fucked regardless!” William yells back. Andrew rolls his eyes before grabbing William by his shoulders and elbows and dragging him a few feet to the nearest foxhole. William wailed in pain the entire time, but that happens when you don’t have any morphine on you.

“Keep calling for Doc, alright?” Andrew says, stepping up out of the foxhole. “I gotta kill some krauts.”

“You’re gonna leave me here?” William yells at him.

“The fuck do you expect? Medic!” Andrew breaks. “I’m supposed to be shooting at Nazis, not trying to fix some kid’s leg while I get shot in the fucking back.”

Andrew gets his gun and moves to another foxhole, one that has Sergeant Lipton in it.

“Morning Sarge,” Andrew quickly greets before firing. “How has your day been so far?”

“Just fine, Marin,” Lip replies.

Andrew can still hear William Vandenbosche yelling for a medic, and Andrew hates to hear it. Everything hurts and he’s sure the blood from his knee is all over Andrew’s hands and gun.

Blood from a kid. The German kid-

Andrew shakes his head, running the thought out of his mind. He can’t afford to think about it now.

You left him alone, you idiot! He’s going to die and it’s going to be your fault! Just like that kraut that you killed!

Andrew isn’t sure how many krauts he shot, or when they stopped firing back, or when he stopped firing. He just knows that it’s over when Lipton places his hand on Andrew’s shoulder, jolting him from the trance of his thoughts. He can still hear Vandenbosche calling for a medic.

“Shit, Sarge, do you have any morphine?” Andrew asks. “That kid is in a hell of a lot of pain.”

Lipton reaches into his pocket and hands a syrette to Andrew. “Since when are you a medic, Marin?”

“Since they started needing a third.”

Andrew goes back to William, climbing into the foxhole and sticking the morphine into the kid’s leg.

“How old are you, William?”

“Eighteen.”

Andrew looks over at him. “Are you serious?”

William nods.

“Jesus H.,” Andrew mutters. “I was nineteen when I signed up. I turn twenty-three this week. How the fuck did they let you in?”

William shrugs. “I don’t know.”

Andrew looks up at the sound of footsteps, seeing Roe. “The real medic’s here.”

Andrew gets out of the foxhole, looks at the blood covering his hands, wipes it off, and looks back down at William. “I did what I could, Will.”

-

“I’ve been looking all over for you,” Andrew says, his shoulders slumping as he almost falls into Luz’s foxhole. “You know how far away you are from second platoon? It’s a fucking trip.”

Luz looks up at Andrew with a confused look on his face. “I didn’t know you wanted to see me that bad.”

Andrew repeats the confused look right back to Luz as he sits down beside the older man. “Ramirez said you came looking for me.”

Luz shakes his head. “I wasn’t. I figured you were busy, running around and being Doc’s third.”

Luz wraps his arm around Andrew’s shoulder as Andrew gets out two cigarettes. “Son of a bitch.”

Andrew hands Luz’s Lucky Strike over as he lights it. “What?”

“There’s this kid,” Andrew says, his voice straining as he takes a drag. “William Vandenbosche.”

“Replacement?”

“Nah, supply line. He got shot in the knee today.”

“So?”

“I had to treat him. Doc and Spina were nowhere to be found. I dragged him to a foxhole, got the sulfur on him, shot some Germans, and got back to the kid with some morphine. Doc finished up.”

“Jesus,” Luz says. “How old is he?”

“Eighteen. I was older than him when I enlisted.”

“Well, so was I,” Luz tells Andrew, making Andrew look over to the older man. “And look what happened to us.”

“I don’t know, George,” Andrew says. “We’ve been here almost three years. Three years ago, that kid wouldn’t have been able to drive. I know these are dire times and the line’s stretched thin, but you would think at some point Roosevelt would find it in his heart to not send an actual kid to war.”

Luz pulls Andrew in closer and presses a kiss to his forehead. “War...changes people, right? You’re the only guy who’s been shot twice and has still kept his humanity about him.”

“What other choice do I have?” Andrew replies. “Act heartless like Sobel? I’d like to see him out here.”

“Why? So he can be jealous of you? Who the hell would be jealous of this place?”

“No, no. Just to see him squirm I guess,” Andrew explains. “He told me that sick men do not make paratroopers. Well, Sobel, guess who the fuck got the Unit Citation.”

It’s quiet for a moment. “Stay here for the night?” Luz asks Andrew. “I really miss you.”

“I miss you too, but Muck and Penkala will be back soon. I’m not even supposed to be over here.”

“So?”

“I don’t think you’d like to share me with those two.”

“I wouldn’t like to share you at all,” Luz laughs. Oh, you dumb bastard. Andrew, why the fuck are you doing this? “Can I get a kiss before you return to your beloved second platoon?”

“Of course you can,” Andrew says before pressing one to Luz’s lips. They linger there for a moment while Luz presses his forehead against Andrew’s.

“We’re gonna get out of here soon, don’t worry,” Luz tells Andrew before he pulls away..

“Not in enough time for my birthday.”

“Hey, Guarnere’s figuring out something for that. Like I said, don’t worry.”

“You’re in on it too?”

“Only a little. I think second platoon is more involved than we are.”

Andrew cocks an eyebrow. “What makes you say that?”

“Just a thought, that’s all.”

Andrew shakes his head as he stands up. “I’m looking forward to it. I’ll see you soon, alright?”

Luz sighs. “Soon is not soon enough.”

“You forget we’re fighting a war.”

“We’ve been fighting a war. Doesn’t mean I don’t miss you.”

Andrew looks back into the foxhole. “I miss you too. I’ll see you later.”

As Andrew walks away, he can’t stop thinking about William Vandenbosche, about how that kid will be forever shaped by the impacts of this war. The kid had only seen a part of it before he was injured, but he would still carry that for as long as he would remember. He almost felt guilty, not pulling the bullet out, but he knew he couldn’t. He wasn’t meant to or supposed to. He had probably done something he wasn’t supposed to when he pulled the bullet out of Liebgott, but that was Joe. He knew Joe. He didn’t know Vandenbosche.

Andrew’s body throbbed as he found his way back to his foxhole, sitting across from Ramirez, who was now in a deep and long sleep. He couldn’t blame the guy, who had wrapped himself up in a blanket as tight as he could. Andrew thought about doing the same, but he couldn’t seem to do just that as he fell into the quiet bliss of unconsciousness.

-

tag list: @alienoresimagines @fromcrossroadstoking @easyroses @leximus98 If you want to be added, let me know!

[iwantthedean]

The Division

Part Seven: The Past in the Present

Summary: Rookie agent Sam Campbell comes face-to-face with his past.  Pairing: Dean x OFC Finley Word Count: 2175 Fic Warnings: Language, angst, canon-typical supernatural elements. Chapter Warnings: None, other than above. I think.

Masterlist

The crowd in the conference room was bigger than Sam had seen since coming to The Division. He had heard a variety of reports of the things that had happened a few nights ago — Cuthbert Sinclair’s assassination, Finley O’Connor going missing right after — but no one had yet offered an explanation. 

“Ladies and gentlemen, if I could have your attention, please.”

A man of short stature stood at the front of the room, hands clasped and waiting for everyone to quiet down. What he lacked in height, he seemed to make up for in presence. One look at him and Sam was certain he would have answers by the end of this meeting. 

“Thank you.” The man let his hands drop, sliding one into the pocket of his neatly-pressed trousers. “I’ll cut right to the chase. My name is Mick Davies. In the wake of Cuthbert Sinclair’s assassination, I have been sent her by your British counterparts to manage The Division until one of you can be appointed to do so. You may see an associate of mine, Mr. Arthur Ketch, roaming around. You’ll be best interested to not start a conversation with him, just let him speak to you, or avoid him altogether.”

Sam frowned; no words of comfort? No respects paid to a man who had been the head of The Division for longer than Sam had been alive? Only quick, cold introductions — and, now, a picture of Finley O’Connor pulled up on the projector screen. 

“Many of you will be familiar with this woman, but for those of you who aren’t, let me inform you. This is Finley O’Connor, The Division’s top recon agent. Two nights ago, she came back after drinks with colleagues under the guise of getting a file for a case. We believe that she took that opportunity to assassinate — execute — Cuthbert Sinclair.”

Sam glanced over at Benny. He knew that the vampire was relatively close with Finley, as much as she allowed others to get close, anyway. Other than the initiation fight with her, Sam didn’t know much about Finley. He did know, however, from the look on Benny’s face, that it was unlikely Finley O’Connor was the true culprit in Sinclair’s death. 

“Going forward, we will be labeling Finley O’Connor an enemy of the state. Anyone who sees her should apprehend her and bring her back here immediately — dead or alive.”

A woman Sam didn’t know raised her hand. “If this is all American government business, why have you and your colleague come to maintain the status quo until further notice?”

Mick chuckled. “I suppose you wouldn’t all be Americans if you didn’t question authority, right? Ketch and I reached out as soon as word of the assassination reached the British Men of Letters, with whom we are associated. The government accepted, in light of the fragile work we all do. If that’s an acceptable answer for you, we’ll continue on with the briefing.”

Sam maneuvered his way over to Benny. “Benny — what is going on?”

Benny took a deep breath. “I don’t know, but I don’t like it.”

Just under forty-eight hours later, the story was all over the news. Cuthbert Sinclair was dead and Finley O’Connor was being held responsible for his assassination. Sam sat with Benny at a bar many of The Division’s agents liked to frequent, sipping from a longneck and watching the reports on the television above the bar. 

“Crazy, isn’t it,” the waitress commented, shaking her head and delivering another round. “That girl was in here the night it all happened. They say she left here and then went and killed that old guy — who does that?”

Benny and Sam exchanged an uneasy glance. When the waitress was gone with their empties, Benny leaned in to Sam. 

“Something has to be done about this.” He took a deep breath. “I’m putting you on a tail, Campbell. I have an idea of where Finley might have gone.”

Sam cleared his throat. “Yeah, you know, I don’t think — Finley told me herself that she has nowhere she would go when she needed to run. She could literally be anywhere.”

Benny chuckled and knocked back half of his new beer. “Remind yourself that you’re still learning, Sammy-boy. I’ve known Finley better than anyone for a really long time. She has people, even if she doesn’t want to admit it to someone she just met. Can’t imagine why she wouldn’t want to tell a newbie everything about here, immediately. She’s such an open book.”

“All right, all right,” Sam said, rolling his eyes. Benny’s sarcasm reminded him of when his older brother used to give him a hard time about things. “Where do you think she’d go? And how are we going to find the place?”

Benny leaned back in his chair. “Easier than you think.”

When Sam arrived at the place Benny had directed him to go, there was, of course, no answer to his pounding on the door. Reluctantly, Sam used the key Benny had provided him, and stepped inside the old, forgotten place. 

“Whoa,” Sam breathed, taking it all in from the top of the staircase. He could see more as he descended the steps, and each new piece that came into view put his research-hungry brain further into overdrive. 

After a few minutes of wandering the underground location, Sam’s mobile rang. He punched the button to accept the call, still looking in awe as he trekked through hallway after hallway. 

“Did you find her?” Benny inquired. 

“No, no one’s here, I don’t think. I’m guessing if they were, they would have dropped me by now.” Sam ran a hand through his hair. “Benny, what is this place?”

“Old Men of Letters bunker. Before Abaddon, before we were The Division. That’s been home base for her contact for a while now.”

“How’d they manage to get in?”

“They’re Legacies,” Benny replied, matter-of-fact. That wasn’t a term with which Sam was familiar, but Benny’s tone told him that the Q&A was over. “There’s someone they may be going to meet with. If I can track her, I’ll send you new coordinates. In the meantime, head east on the main highway. I’ll update you as soon as I can.”

Sam felt as though he was being sent on a wild goose chase, but he was here to follow orders. So, he got on the main highway, headed east, no clear destination. 

When Sam finally caught up to them, Finley and another woman were breaking up a fight between two men. He couldn’t see the face of the other woman as she pushed a dark-haired man away from one with sandy, brown hair, but as he drove to a more isolated parking spot, the man Finley was now speaking to came into view. 

Dean. His brother. Too many years had passed since the brothers had seen each other — since John and Dean had dropped Sam off at that boys’ home and had never come back for him. Sam had since stopped using Winchester as his last name, changing it to Campbell. In his mind, his mother deserved the honor of a continued family name; in his mind, she would never abandon him. 

The first thing Sam wanted to do was get out of the car and pull Dean into another fight, but he was here on orders, he reminded himself. He would trail them as he had been instructed to do and leave his personal bullshit at the door. After Benny assured him there was no time to worry about conflict of interest, Sam did his best to concentrate only on the mission he had been assigned. 

As the days passed and Sam continued to keep a close eye on Dean, Finley, and the other man and woman with them, his anger slowly faded away. He saw bits and pieces of the life Dean had been dragged away to with John. Dean hadn’t been old enough to have any sort of voice with their father when it came to decisions regarding Sam. Maybe it wasn’t fair to hold him accountable about that. Sure, Dean could have come looking for him after the fact, but for all Sam knew, Dean had looked for him and had come up empty. The longer time went on, the more Sam simply wanted to know his brother. 

Now, it seemed the fugitives had nowhere else to go and nowhere else to turn. A call from Benny gave Sam the information he needed to relay to Dean and Finley, and came with a warning. 

“When you go to talk to them, Sam, the blonde woman — you might recognize her. I don’t want you to be taken by surprise.”

Sam’s brow deepened into a frown. “I haven’t recognized her yet.”

“Once you’re up close — just listen to me, all right? You’re well aware there’s some weird shit that goes down in this world, and I’m not in the mood for questions. I wanted to confirm it before I said anything, but I have it on good authority that the woman traveling with your brother and Finley is Mary Campbell-Winchester.”

His mother. Sam had been watching her for days and hadn’t even known. Why would he suspect, though? Even knowing about all of the ‘weird shit’ in the world, nothing would have prompted him to imagine, even for a second, that the blonde woman was the mother who had died before Sam had the chance to form memories of her. 

Sam ended the phone call with Benny and decided it was now or never. He left his own hotel room to go and knock on theirs, fully expecting to be hit at least once. Finley would be suspicious of every agent, Mary wouldn’t recognize him, and he didn’t know the other man from Adam. Dean was his only hope of recognition — and even then, there was no reason for them to believe that his intentions were good. 

He had to knock several times before Finley opened the door. She grabbed him by the lapel and pushed him into the room. Prepared for such a visitor, Dean had pulled him into a chair and put a cocked gun to his head while the dark-haired man bound Sam’s hands and feet. 

“What are you doing here?” Finley demanded, brandishing a gun of her own. “They’ve already sent people after me once, that didn’t end so well. What’s a rookie like you hope to do?”

“Help you,” Sam promised, looking her dead in the eye. “I’m here to help you, Finley. Benny sent me. Besides — you’re traveling with my brother and my mother. I have every reason to help you out of this.”

Finley’s eyes snapped to Dean’s. The older Winchester stepped carefully around to face their hostage. “Sammy?”

“Hey, brother,” Sam nodded. 

The dark-haired man was still confused. “What’s he talking about? Dean, how many people from your past are gonna come out of the woodwork before this is all over?”

Dean worked quickly to untie the ropes binding Sam to the chair. He pulled his brother up to a standing position, and hugged him tightly. 

“Thought I’d never see you again,” Dean admitted, choking a bit on the words. “Dad left you in that place — I’m sorry, Sammy. I’m sorry.”

With those words, Sam returned his brother’s embrace; his suspicions were confirmed. Dean had no say in the matter. The two brothers didn’t part from each other until the hotel door opened and shut again, and Mary Campbell-Winchester walked through with a bag of fast food in one hand and a pack of beers in the other. 

“What’s going on?” she frowned. 

Dean looked at Finley, then at Sam, then back to Mary. “Mom, this is Sam.”

Mary’s eyes immediately filled with tears. “Sammy? You’re a little bigger than the last time I saw you.”

Sam chuckled through his own tears. “Yeah, just a little.”

“Oh, well, um …” 

Mary was suddenly in a frenzy to set down the things in her hands. She rushed to her little boy and threw her arms around him. Sam had never hugged anyone so tight in his life. This woman who had carried him for nine months, had given him life … this woman he had only ever seen in pictures and dreams … she was here, and she was real. 

“How did you find us?” Dean finally asked, breaking the silence. 

Sam swallowed and sniffled, exchanging an amused glance with Finley. “I work for The Division. I’m still the new guy, so I haven’t been there long. In fact, this bruise still fading on my face? That’s from this one here.”

Finley blushed a little, realizing she had beat up Dean Winchester’s little brother. “It’s an initiation thing. He got a hit in.”

They all had a tension-easing chuckle about that, then sat down to eat the food Mary had brought and crack open the beers — and listen to what Sam came to warn them of. 

Keep It Original: @ashleymalfoy @atc74 @melbrandes @smoothdogsgirl @illisea @ravenesque​ @spnbaby-67​ 

The Division: @xtina2191​ @itsallaboutthedean​ @roxyspearing​ @adoptdontshoppets​

[searingdestiny]

Braxiatel short story

I wrote a thing! A braxiatel story of sorts so please feel free to read! 

Keep in mind I am not the best story writer in the world I love description and dialogue is not my strong point. I hope you like it anyway! Also forgive my spacing? I know its weird X~X

Tagging a few people forgive me: (hope you like it sorry for bugging you!)

@alyona11 @stillthesunkenstars @loombarrow @devilfromthestars @volucris-liga @thebraxiatelcollection

                              Dark hearts and Dark souls                                          

Bernice was annoyed. Beyond annoyed actually! She had wanted Brax to collect a specific type of manuscript for her and what did he do instead? Made a balls of it is what he did! He not only had it already he had sent Bernice and her crew on a wild goose chase and she was furious. She was definitely going to give Brax a piece of her mind as she stood before his office door on the collection. She was about to enter when something stopped her dead in her tracks.

A clink sound.

The sound of ice hitting the edge of glass and she knew someone was in there as she pushed the door open ever so slightly.  She noticed that Brax’s office arm chair was empty however his guest armchair had someone sitting in it. The person had their lanky arm stretched over the side holding a shimmering whiskey glass. Inside was the liquid and sitting in the center was a perfectly sculptured spherical ice. Bernice was about to speak but then she froze in place as the man leaned over to glance back at her.

The eyes that glanced back at her from beneath tar like black hair were nothing like she had ever seen. Sure Brax shared a similarly contemplative appearance however this was no pensive gaze. This cold stare send a shiver down her spine and she knew in her heart if she did not vacate the vicinity that this man would not hesitate to kill her. The eyes were a hollow dark blue almost like the depths of the oceans on Galasicia 12 but harsher like a monsoon was brewing in those waters. Ready to swallow the planet whole.

She carefully and with a slow movement stepped backwards out of the room closing the door after her. That look was enough to make her sweat and her breathe to freeze in her throat. Once the door was close she could still feel those eyes etched into her soul before she abruptly turned around only to be greeted by Braxiatel. When she bumped into him she let out a shrill yelp and leaped away without realizing. She was panting heavily as if she had forgotten to breathe for the last few minutes as she gazed up at similarly dangerous yet comfortingly less dagger like eyes.

Braxiatel found this both confusing and amusing as a smile danced across his lips “Well Bernice I did not expect my appearance to cause such a fright! Whatever must you think of me?” he asked her whimsically. He was about to follow it up with another piece of whit but he stopped himself. Something was off and the way she looked at him made him pause “Bernice?” he asked her now concerned. The look she gave him he had seen a million times before but nothing this extreme and not on the Collection. She looked shaken and visibly was trying to compose herself but failing miserably. He felt his chest tighten in anger for a moment before he calmed it wondering what had caused her such a scare.

“Oh! oh...Brax...it’s just you” she finally said between nervous breathes finally realizing she could breathe. “I came looking for you but...well...” her earlier anger had now been completely quenched by the dark tidal wave that hide behind that door. She inhaled and slowly exhaled relaxing herself “I...well...Brax?” she asked hesitatingly looking into his face to make sure he was her Brax. She was pale and felt uneasy still standing close to his office door.

Brax sighed a little becoming a little irritated with this odd behaviour of hers “Bernice...please...you know me well enough now to know that I hate when you do this” she stated clearly “Just ask me. I will either answer or not it is as simple as that” he shrugged at her. He was using a calm voice however he did not want her to feel rushed or pressured she was already nervous enough as it was. “What is it you wish you ask me?” he looked at her now curious as to what the question would be.

“Well” she began closing her eyes as she asked the question not wanting to see his reaction “You know the Doctor? I know the Doctor and well...at times he can be eccentric and  moody, well that’s putting it lightly he’s a nightmare on legs. However I have only ever seen him get angry once or twice and not even mad enough to cause a reaction...” she trailed off again something catching in her mind. “Have you ever seen the Doctor have a look that could kill?” she asked him honestly her voice catching in her throat as she asked. “It’s ridiculous right? He is an idiot and a dork but he would never give someone a look of death...would he?” she began to question herself then and there.

“Bernice! Now hold on just a moment! What exactly are you implying?” he asked folding his arms at these weirdly absurd accusations. “I know of the Doctor naturally and he is a good natured, albeit a bit mislead, dolt who would never harm a fly...well...not intentionally and without good reason” he rationalized. “Also if you don’t mind my asking...why the Doctor of all people? Why ask about him?” he was put of a little by her accusations and a little hurt by them. He would never openly admit that to her however. “Listen Bernice why don’t you take this” he offered her the manuscript “You can lecture me about your mission later and go have some tea...try to relax” he said to her with a sleek voice.

She shook her head coming back around and easing herself out of her anxious state “You are right” she took the manuscript and was about to leave “Brax” she turned to him. “Be careful” she swallowed nervously “You have a guest in there and...if I am honest I never want to see him again” she said as she walked off trying to keep that look out of her mind.

Braxiatel watched her leave a sense of curiosity overcame him as he glanced at his offices ornate door. What person could cause Bernice Summerfield, of all people, to act like someone had threatened her with a stare! He collected himself as he approached the door. He was thinking of who could be behind this door as he knew it couldn’t be another of his alternative selves. She had asked about Theta, The Doctor, instead of about him. Why? What did this person have to do with the Doctor and he hoped desperately it wasn’t the Valeyard. Last thing he wanted to contend with was a Doctor with a negative attitude. As he touched the door knob to go into his office he heard it.

A clink sound.

He knew the sound all to well as it was one of his glasses he used for Brandy or Whiskey whichever mood he was in. He felt intruded upon now as he realized someone had helped themselves to his liquor cabinet. He opened the door and instantly he felt the room become ever so slightly colder. Not due to temperature drop just from the presence in the room. He locked the door behind him making sure the Collection was safe and this person had no where else to go. He saw the same lanky, pale and gaunt had that Bernice had seen holding the same whiskey glass with ice. It was half drank.

Before Braxiatel could get a word in the man spoke and the voice made Braxiatels hearts race and then sink all at once. “I am afraid...I scared your pet” was all he said in a hoarse voice that sounded like someone sharpening a sword with another. As the man peeked around the side of the chair. His smile was cruel and his eyes had a look to them that you just could not shake. Slowly and with careful consideration he got up standing tall with a very defensive stance. His eyes were trained on Braxiatel and had not left him since he had entered the room. “This is your office is it not?” he asked nonchalantly despite his cold empty words “Why not come in and make yourself at home like you always do” he suggested with an eerie smile.

Braxiatel felt his soul shudder and his hearts want to stop in his chest as the man that stood before him was Theta! A twisted, demonic and dangerous version of his younger brothers first incarnation long before either of them had changed. However this version definitely had changed and for the worse it seemed. He reminded Braxiatel of stories that Bernice had found in manuscripts depicting demons or those who worshiped a demon of the underworld. He was frozen to the spot unsure of what his next words should be but he knew he had to ask. “T-theta?” he asked him his own words tripping him up as he asked them.

The other man narrowed his eyes at him with a look of distrust and pure resonated hatred. “I was once” he started turning to face Braxiatel “Then I became one of you, not by choice mind you, one of you killed my Braxiatel” he said this so casually it was almost funny. If he was not dead serious about it. “So I took his mantel instead. None of you seem to care as long as I keep to my universe however I believe the memo was not passed on to you” he frowned which looked even worse on his face. “So to answer your question Braxiatel” he said the name with spite “Yes and no” he offered as an explanation “I am what I am and that is all I can be” he smirked enjoying playing games with words. “Now!” he said eyeing the other “We have important matters to discuss and I would rather we not stand like idiots...” he said waiting for the other to move.

It took several moments for Theta’s words to hit him hard as he realized what this Theta had been through. He knew other versions of himself had killed others but he had not even considered what those Theta’s must have gone through. He realized the other was staring at him impatiently as he coughed “That is a lot of information to take in” he stated walking very delicately to his office chair. As he sat the other mimicked him which made Brax shudder a little in just how much like him he was. He could tell from looking into those eyes that this Theta had been to hell and back a few times over. His once cheerful face gone and replaced with someone who hated everyone and everything living or dead. “Wait...what important information could you possibly want to ask me about?” he asked realizing this situation was bizarre enough. “What brings you to my universe?” he asked seriously although he was still wrapping his head around all of this.

Theta watched him with predator like eyes and it amused him how Braxiatel took on the role of another predator. He had cunning there was not doubt about that and he would have made a great adversary if it weren’t for the agreement. He sat at the same time as him and it made him chuckle inside seeing Brax outwardly shudder at the mirroring. “I am in your universe because I have misplaced a person, well I didn’t, the moon of Gallifrey misplaced someone” he ex-posited before looking serious. “My universe version of what you call the Master” he simplified “My version is not this Master but she is incredibly unhinged and dangerous” he answered thinking of how to make her sound. “Imagine if your Master managed to win constantly with whatever hair brained schemes they came up with! Universal catastrophe on a grand scale” he exaggerated for flavour. “That is what mine is capable of” he said with a sneer on his lips as he hated having to explain her to others. “I need her back and I tracked her somewhere here...in this universe” he made a gesture to the air.

Braxiatel paused and listened carefully to every word he spoke as he did not want to miss information. “So you are saying your people managed to lose a sociopath in our universe?” he asked arching an eyebrow in disbelief. “How?” he finally managed to ask as it did seem ludicrous.

“She is a sociopath yes but she is quite deceptive and incredibly intelligent” he hated talking about her it annoyed him “She managed to steal a particular device, of which I am forbidden to discuss with you, thus ended up here” he answered. “My tardis tracked her here but due to your universe’s strict laws, of which I have to adhere, I cannot use my Tardis here” he sounded incredibly indignant at that but kept his cool. “I am a hunter after all and I cannot, I shall not, let my pray escape no matter the costs” a twisted smile covered his face. “My tardis has its tracking ability but your tardis do not” he simply said “I am unable to use my tardis’ for its abilities so I must ask for help...from you” he said non to impressed.

Braxiatel went silent as he contemplated all the information, his mind working a mile a minute, then finally he spoke. “I shall help you but it means you and I shall be working together” he stated seriously “I do not want you wandering about this universe and meeting this universes Theta, rassilon only knows what that would do, I also assume you came to me because I am the only one who can help you” he stated that as a fact not a question. “If this is the case I will help you in whatever you need but you must listen to me. The rules of this universe are set and they are not like yours” he offered as an explanation.

Theta gave him a glare but he nodded in agreement as he knew the stakes were too high for him to go out on his own. “Speaking of your Theta, The Doctor, my Madame will probably target him if she knows what she is about” he folded his arms and looked irritated. “You will need to talk to your brother about this.” he said to him frankly “I cannot” he said simply.

TBC

[im-tops-bottom]

Battle of the Brooklyn Boys

"where's stark? Did you see Stark?"

"I'm sorry Steve but he took him"

"he? Who's he?"

"the winter Soldier"

Steve looks over at Nat in shock because that can't be right.

"are you sure?"

"yeah and you are one massive idiot. How could you not tell Tony what happened to his parents. You know what, I have no right to say that because I did it too."

"what happened?"

After the fight in Siberia, Tony hadn't returned for 2 weeks and no one had seen him. So Nat, Clint and Bucky were sent to retrieve Tony at the last known location.

Natasha tells Steve how as soon as they got there Tony was alive, in pain but still alive. She saw a shocked and scared look on Tony's face before you felt something in the back of her head. When she came to her vision was still blurry but she could make out Bucky dragging the iron suit with Tony still in it away.

Clint tells Steve how he tried to fight the soldier off but he didn't do any damage. He tried to save Tony but Bucky had sent him flying into a wall knocking him out. He only just woke up before Steve got through the door.

"I can't believe this is happening. If I had just listened to Tony. If I had let him use BARF on Bucky then maybe none of this would have happened."

"this wouldn't have happened if you had told Tony the truth in the first place. Lord knows what was going on inside that head of your best friend. We just made it real easy for him. Now he has one of the smartest people on the planet at hydras disposal. Since Tony was alive when he took him, I'm guessing they need him for something"

"Nat is right. We need to regroup back at the compound or Stark Tower and come up with a plan and real quick. I've got a feeling that whatever they did to Bucky, they plan on doing it to Tony. I know we had our differences but he's my best friend and I'm not letting anyone hurt him as bad as we have."

They 3 get up and find information around the bunker before leaving for the quinjet. They tell everyone to meet up because they have a problem. Once everyone meets up truths are shared and apologies are made.

"okay now that Rhodey and Sam have kissed and made up can we get this show on the road"

Everyone laughs as Clint has his eyes covered.

"I hate seeing couples when I'm alone. As soon ss we are done here i am retiring and spending the rest of my life as a hobo at Laura's Farm house. Screw you all"

Unfortunately it takes a month for them to formulate a plan as it's been hard trying to track the 2 down. They have searched far and wide only to find that the hydra bases have been destroyed.

"there's only 2 more Hydra bases that I can think of"

"and where are they?"

"one is in Romania and the other is Germany. Last time I checked Germany has a main base there with several smaller bases. Lady Hydra runs that show so I'll head to the Raft and see if I can speak with her. Get some info. I'll take Clint and Wanda with me."

"and I'll take the rest and head to Romania."

2 days later Steve is walking around the area as he was told by some citizens that they spotted a handsome man with s metal arm walking around.

Unfortunately there was no sight of the man so he heads back to the motel to get updates with the team.

Its not until the third day when someone spots the fallen soldier. Sam went out to the markets and spotted the metal arm. He calls Steve in and Steve goes on a wild goose chase.

"Bucky stop fighting me. I'm your friend remember. I'll always be with you until the end of the line."

Bucky looks shocked and scared for a split second but it's gone the moment he shakes his head.

"no Stevie i will not come with you."

"Bucky?"

"no. I've accomplished so much since I took Stark. All the trigger words are gone, I made him rebuild BARF and got most of my memories back. I have been destroying Hydra bases left, right and centre with his help."

"where is he?"

"who? Stark? Well I can brin him to you if you want. I promise you won't like it though"

Steve stands in a defensive position and clenches his teeth.

"what have you done with him?"

"let's find out shall we?"

Steve watches Bucky tap on a watch which brings up a holigram.

"if I'm the Winter Soldier then good ol' Tony can be the Iron Soldier"

Steve looks on in horror as memories of what Clint had said rushes to the front of his mind. He prays that what he thinks has happened isn't real.

"this is Hydra, my ai. Got Tony to make her for me. hysra have decided to call my little experiment Iron Soldier. It sounds so much better than him being called the Merchant of Death"

"as you wish master"

"good girl. Now bring my most prized possession here. There is someone I would like for him to meet"

"very well master"

It doesn't take too long and soon a grey iron suit with s star on the front that looks like Buckys arm lands. The helmet is shaped like a hydra head and robotic tentacles (kinda looks like extra heads) come out of the back of the suit where the Hydra symbol is placed.

"Hydra made this suit for him. Unfortunately I killed them all and took over the entire operation. We are working on building a better suit. You see I bought some vibranium from the black market so it will be stronger, lighter and better. But this will do for now"

"Tony! It's me Steve!"

Steve's heartbreaks as Tony's helmet opens up and cold confused eyes stare back at him the same way Bucky's did when he called out his name.

"who's Tony?"

Steve is pissed now. Pissed at everyone. Everyone but the one person he had been putting the blame on ever since. If only he had listened to Tony.

"iron soldier meet Captain America."

"what did you do to Tony?"

"well you see Tony was being a very bad boy so I made him good. He follows all my orders like a good boy"

"you wiped him?"

"well not right away. Tortured him first and when he wasn't willing to have a special serum injected into him, I beat him until he couldn't move and then strapped him down to the chair, and wiped him real good. Oh and because of your little shield to the chest incident, I had to get a scientist to recreate the arc reactor before I shot him in the skull"

"what did you put in him?"

"oh a touch of Howie's super soldier serum he used on you, some of the hydra serum used on me, extremis that I stole from some idiot and a dash of vodka. Hmm maybe I shouldn't have stuck the vodka in. He can't seem to live without it and it's getting expensive these days"

"ok enough talking. Come with me and we can protect the both of you. We can take down Hydra together. "

"oh I don't want to completely take down Hydra"

"what?"

"oh haven't you heard? I plan on taking over. I'll be the king and the iron soldier as my queen."

"I will not let you touch him again. If you're not coming then give him back"

"who Tony or me?"

"Tony. Who else"

"oh you do wound me soldier. Unfortunately he isn't going anywhere. You will have to pry him from my dead body"

Steve is getting ready to attack but pauses as he hears Bucky say some Russian words. It's too late when he finds out they were the ones set to unleash the winter soldier. This time it unleashes something in Tony and a massive fight happens.

Steve is in shock at how strong Tony is. He knew Tony was holding back in Siberia but doubled with the weird serum, Tony feels unstoppable.

It's not until a portal opens up above Tony and a lady lands on Tony saying "sleep" when things start to simmer down.

Steve looks up and sees run quinjet with a raccoon standing on top holding a rocket launcher and another with a man with glowy hands and a cape. He looks down to see the Avengers surrounding Bucky.

"it's about time you guys show up. I was beginning to think that maybe Steve was going to die."

Bucky gets a shock when the same lady lands on him and knocks him out.

Bucky wakes up in a room he recalls as the hulk room. He raises a brow as he sees Steve sitting down reading a book.

"where is he?"

"where's who?"

"you know who I'm talking about"

"oh he's just fine. H-"

Steve and Bucky look up to see Clint running into the room.

"sos Stephen, Wanda and Loki tried to break Tony out of his little funk but now he's a screaming mess crying out for Bucky"

Bucky immediately stands up and growls.

"what are you doing to him? He hates magic, of course h-"

Bucky is interrupted as Stephen portals through with a scared Tony who comes running towards Bucky. Stephen leaves closing the portal and Buck holds Tony tight. He looks towards the door and growls at everyone trying to stop Tony from shaking.

"what have you done!?!"

"I think we broke Tony"

"I will murder you all for hurting him. Don't you dare come near him anymore unless you plan on having a date with death. Now leave!"

Bucky carries Tony to his bed and lays down with him. Cuddling him as he continues to shake.

"death. So much death. I'm scared Buckaroo"

'damn they unlocked some of his memories. He'll need to be wiped' Bucky thinks as he holds Tony tighter while staring at Steve who refuses to leave.

"you love him don't you?"

"and how is that any of your business Steve?"

"because I love him too and I refuse to sit back and watch him get taken away. I will fight for him"

"and I'll fight you every step of the way"

Bucky stays up all night planning and assessing the situation. He doesn't want to fall asleep and have tony taken away.

The fight is on and Bucky refuses to give up. Tony belongs with him. Always has been. Always will.

Bucky better prepare himself because Steve is also planning on how to save Tony and get Bucky the help he so obviously needs.

One way or another some one is getting Tony and may the best man win

[maealbert]

Ice Hearts // The Liaison

AU Characters: Team x OC (Lucy De Luca) A/N: So I’m behind on posting, I think. but none-the-less, here is a new part! The Liaison Master List

tag list: @literallyreid @idkbutspencer @literallyprentissstwin @remember-me-forever-silent-angel @cynbx @tenaciousarcadeexpert @rawritsmolly @dontshootmespence @princesswagger15 @drspencerreider @illegalcerebral @marvelfanlife @rt8815 @punkpenguin2019 @extremeobsessions101 

Spencer stepped out of the elevator rubbing his eyes. Accidentally bumping into another agent, he mutters his apologies before walking into the bullpen. “Looking a little rough there.” Luke says handing him a cup of coffee.

“I was up all night with the baby..” Spencer mutters as he lays on the floor. “Lucy wasn’t feeling so good either.”

“How long has it been? Three months?” Matt says.

“Yeah, and Lucy’s sick so I’m taking care of the girls and the baby.”

“Don’t worry, she’ll be back on her feet in no time.” JJ says. “I have the perfect remedy for when I got sick after having Henry. I can swing by tonight if that works.”

“Please..” Spencer says collapsing into his chair.

“Whatever you just planned will have to be rescheduled,” Emily says as she leaves her office. “We have a case.”

“I’ll email it to Margaret. She’ll know what to do.” JJ says.

______________

“Milwaukee is requesting our assistance. Several women have gone missing within two weeks. At first they thought it just your typical missing persons case,” Garcia starts to explain before hotch stepped in.

“But then they started receiving packages,” He says sitting down at the table. “Instead of keeping these things in jars as souvenirs, he sent their hearts frozen in ice.”

“Here we go again with the hearts,” Emily says rolling her eyes. “Someone else is going into that house. Wheels up in twenty.”

“I like it when you say wheels up.” Hotch says as he wraps his arms around Emily in her office. “It’s really sexy.”

“I got from you.”

“Which is why it’s sexy.”

Emily slaps his chest and pushes him away making him laugh. “No come on, get your things. We’re going to be late.”

“At least my ear isn’t blown this time around.”

“That was one of the weirdest cases,” Emily says as she picks up her go-bag. “If I ever turn into that woman, please put me out of my misery.”

“That won’t happen. I could never became a serial killer for you to obsess over.”

“That’s what they all say.” Emily says as she leaves her office.

___________________

“Mom, are you sure you’ll be okay by yourself?” Julianne asks.

“I’ll be fine,” Lucy coughs into her blanket. “I don’t want to get you three sick. If I need anything, Garcia is just phone call away.”

“Alright then.”

“So just to make sure I have everything correct,” Will says as he comes down the hallway to her bedroom. “Vivien and Julianne get up the same time as the boys, Isaac wakes up every four hours. If I remember correctly, it’s three ounces of formula and two scoops of formula?”

“Yes,” Lucy says coughing again. “We found out that he loves anything that swings. Whether you swing him in your arms, or a baby swing or--”

“A hammock?”

“Yeah!” Lucy says. “He loves it in a hammock. Puts him right to sleep.”

“Okay, hammock, swing, arms. Got it.”

Lucy’s phone buzzed on the couch after everyone had left. Picking it up off the coffee table to see Spencer calling her. “Hey how’s work?”

“‘Well I’m calling to let you know that we are headed to Milwaukee for a case. How are you feeling?”

“Oh fantastic.” Lucy says sarcastically. “I asked Will if he could watch the kids for me. I didn’t want to get any of them sick.”

“Even Isaac?”

“Yeah.. He’s a really easy baby but I don’t want to get him sick. What’s the case on?”

“Spencer!” Emily shouts in the background.

“Ugh.. I can’t tell you,” Spencer sighs. “Emily forbade any one of us to talk to you about it. She wants you to rest and not stress over a case.”

“Stress me out? All I want to know is--”

“Lucy, no!” Emily shouts as she takes the phone away from Spencer. “You need to rest. I don’t want you worrying about the case, we have it all under control.”

“I know you do, I was just--”

“Goodbye Luce! Get some sleep!” Emily interrupts before hanging up.

“--wondering what it was about.” Lucy says rolling her eyes. Laying back down on the couch, she turns on the tv before burying her face in the blanket again to cough.

___________________

“Normally I’d fine things like this gross,” Tara says as she bends over to look at the frozen hearts. “But this so fascinating… Not for the owners of course, but you know what I mean.”

JJ shutters walking away from the table. “Remember the case in Milwaukee when a father used his son to lure women and he cut out their hearts?” She says to Emily.

“Don’t remind me… The whole flight after we briefed some more, I only thought about getting hit with a 2’x4” again.”

JJ smiled shaking her head. “I had nightmares after that case,” She says folding her arms over her chest. “For days I would wake up in panic because I dreamt he took my heart out of my chest.”

“Did you dream about me getting hit with a 2’x4”? Because I did.” Emily bluntly says before breaking out in a fit laughter with JJ.

Hotch walks into the room, his straight, angry face plastered on as if it never left. “People are idiots..” He growls setting the files down on the table. “I specifically said to keep this tight lipped and what do they do? Leak it.. It’s like they don’t want to listen and reek havoc.”

“Now you know what Lucy and I go through.” JJ says as she sits down at the round table away from the frozen hearts. “So our unsub isn’t keeping them as trophies. Why is he sending them here? To mock the police? Make them think that they’ll never find him?”

“Maybe he sees these victims has heartless..” Spencer blurts out. “Emotionally and physically.”

Matt and Luke both walk into the conference room after being at the Post Office. “What’d you find out?” Emily asks.

“One of the mail carriers was the one who picked up the packages from a house Melview Ave.” Matt says as she sits down at the table.

“But she said they were sitting on the porch of a house that was for sale,” Luke adds. “There hasn’t been a soul in that house for a decade at least, according to the neighbors.”

Emily picks up her phone and dials Garcia’s number. “So you know in Frozen where Elsa accidentally freezes her sister’s heart? Well this is worse. I had to stare at photos of puppies just to get those images out of my head.”

“Garcia, I need to find out who previously owned the home 2234 Melview Ave.”

“I’m on it. I’ll hit you up when I find anything.”

“Thanks Garcia,” Emily says before hanging up. “JJ, Matt, I want you two to head to the morgue and see if the bodies can tell us anything else.”

“This is like a copycat case.” Hotch says.

“But here are the differences,” Emily says as she sits down at the table next to him. “Smith lured these women with children, this unsub didn’t.”

“Maybe he doesn’t need to.”

“He doesn’t keep them at trophies, he mails them from this house to the police station.”

“He’s taunting us.. Smith didn’t do that.”

“Exactly.. Now here are the similarities. Same dump sites as Smith and the same tool was used to carve out the hearts. He even uses the same red marker.”

“But who would want to copy Smith? It’s been eleven years.”

Emily’s phone started ringing. “Yeah, Garcia.. You got me and Hotch.” She says putting her phone speaker.

“So I know why the house never sold for over a decade,” Garci says. “Do you remember Smith? He cut our women’s hearts and used his son to lure women to him?”

“Is that really the house?”

“Yes! I knew the address sounded familiar when you had me look it up. And do you remember David?”

“Yes, what about him?”

“Guess who the DNA belongs to?”

“So the DNA found underneath the nails of the these women belongs to Smith’s son, David?”

“Yes ma’am.” Garcia confirms.

“Guess he didn’t tie them up like his father.”

“That could be why he’s taunting us.” Tara speaks up. “He’s basically saying that I can do exactly what my father did and he wants us to know about it.”

“Why make it painfully obvious? Why not just keep yourself anonymous and send us on a wild goose chase until the case goes cold?” Emily says.

“Maybe it’s because it’s not over yet.” Rossi says.

__________________________

“How are you feeling?” Garcia says as she feels Lucy’s forehead.

“I’m freezing.. Like my whole body is cold. No matter how many blankets I have, I’m still cold.”

“It’s June and yet we can’t escape the cold,” Garcia says. “Have you called the doctor yet?”

Lucy nods her head. “I have an appointment tomorrow. He wanted to get me in today but he said I should be okay to come in tomorrow.”

“Well good, I miss having you at the office.”

“I know, perfect timing huh?” Lucy says before coughing again into her blanket. “How’s the case going?”

“Oh great! Great as in we might be finished by tonight.”

“Seriously?”

“Oh yeah, it’s a copycat..except for a few minor differences. Over a decade ago, we had this case in Milwaukee. This guy used his son to lure women to his home or wherever they were those days that these women went missing. He cut out their hearts and we think it had something to do with his wife leaving him and their son when the father was diagnosed with cancer.”

“And you guys think it’s his son?”

“Boy you catch on fast. How’d you know?”

“Lucky guess.” Lucy says coughing once more.

“Well anyways, yes it was him. His DNA matched the DNA found underneath the women’s fingernails.”

“Did he tell you guys why he copied his father?”

“Well it turns out that he hated his life after being in the foster care system for so long. He said he’d rather rot in prison than living his ratty life.”

“I’ve always hated the foster care system. Kids are treated horribly!”

“You’re telling me….” Garcia says. “If I could adopt every single kid in the system, I would in a heartbeat.”

“So will the team be home tonight?”

Garcia shakes her head. “She wants everyone to get some rest before the flight back in the morning. They haven’t had a case this short in god knows how long so it’s better to get some rest now before another one comes along. Plus with jet lag only twenty four hours apart? It would feel like you’re dying.”

Lucy giggles before coughing again, much harder than the past ones. “Garcia… Water..”

If you enjoyed this, than please be sure to leave it some love and some feedback!

Thank you! :)

[themurphyzone]

Aspects Ch 6

Warning: Stuff goes down!

Ch 6: Thoughtless

Aside from a permanent frown, the aspect didn’t have any distinguishing traits that separated him from the normal Heinz Doofenshmirtz. But Vanessa didn’t like the way his eyes bore through her, scrutinizing her every move as he waited for her to make a mistake. 

Well, she wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction. 

“Alright, back into the penthouse you go,” Vanessa said, not giving him time to react. 

Heinz scowled at her. “Don’t even think about buttering me up just so you can get a tattoo. Cause it’s not working.” 

“What? No! I don’t care about that stupid tattoo right now!” Vanessa protested, finally getting the door open. She quickly pulled the aspect inside before he had the chance to escape.

He waggled his finger at her, as if he were scolding a naughty child. “Don’t lie to me, Vanessa. You can’t wait to be independent. But you’ll just run off to who knows where and leave me behind. That’s the way it works.” 

The others weren’t nearly as difficult to handle, even though they fought all the time. 

Vanessa turned away, deciding to break up the fight between the Father and the Scientist so that she could preserve some of her sanity. While her dad lacked a filter at the best of times, he wasn’t usually so direct about his varying issues. From what she’d observed of nemesis battles, Perry usually had to pick out the real problem from a bunch of trivial, rambling fillers. 

“Can’t a guy just install modifications to the showerhead so the water will be the perfect temperature in peace?” the Scientist complained. 

The Father scowled, his eyebrows knitting dangerously together. “I don’t want my kids to be blown up by a self-destruct button in the shower! Do you even hear yourself right now?” 

“Norm won’t even fit in the tub! He’ll be fine! I wonder what kind of circuitry he’s got that makes him waterproof....” 

“You’re not treating Norm like a science experiment!” 

Before the Father could lunge at the Scientist, Vanessa stepped in between them. Holding both aspects at arm’s length, she glared at the Father in disapproval. He leveled one last threatening stare at the Scientist before backing off. 

“Both of you knock it off,” Vanessa said sternly, before turning to the Scientist. “And you should be getting back to the repairs.” 

The Scientist perked up. “I’m almost done with the barrel. Maybe a fresh coat of paint wouldn’t hurt either. I’m thinking forest green. Not too hard on the eyes like neon green, and definitely not ugly to look at like army green.”

“Yeah, you do that,” Vanessa agreed. 

The newest aspect folded his arms, scoffing at the Scientist as he stopped to gather several bolts that were lying around on his way back to the lab. “You’re really gonna let this guy build a machine for you? He’ll ruin everything with a self-destruct button. Or blow up cause he matched the wrong wires. Or it won’t function as expected. You’re banking on way too much.” 

“I can try again,” the Scientist muttered stubbornly. “With a few minor adjustments-” 

“The physical parts don’t matter,” the aspect said cruelly. “No matter how many times you’ve checked your math, no matter how many times you tighten a screw, the results always end in failure.” 

Norm raised his finger to interrupt the tirade. “AT LEAST DAD BLOWS UP AND DOESN’T GIVE UP,” he stated bravely. 

The Father grabbed Norm’s arm, tugging him in the direction of the closet. “I appreciate the spirit, Norm, but maybe we should just go into the closet for the time being. You can pick the game this time.”

Now that the aspect’s attention had been directed away from him, the Scientist stood up and made a break for the safety of the lab. 

“As for you,” the aspect snapped. “Stop pretending Norm is your son. He’s a hunk of scrap. There’s nothing that separates him from any other inator.” 

Norm’s permanent smile flipped downwards, and he took a step backwards. 

Before Vanessa could react, the Father launched himself at the thoughtless aspect, knocking him onto his back. 

She couldn’t find a better word to describe him. 

Thoughtless. 

As the two aspects hurled insults and used the nearby furniture as projectiles, Vanessa could only hope Perry was coming soon. She averted her gaze, doing the only thing she could. 

“Come on, let’s find something to do,” Vanessa said, leading Norm away from the battle. 

Interfering would only cause more pain. And she wasn’t keen on taking Perry’s job. 

After dragging the Performer away from five different pedestrians who didn’t have the time to listen to a monologue or song, they’d finally reached the door to the penthouse. 

“Not exactly grand, but I guess everyone’s gotta start somewhere,” the Performer commented. “At least it’s lively.” 

There was a loud crash on the other side, which worried Perry. His mind jumped to several possibilities, and none of them were good. He didn’t bother with the keys, and simply went for a well-aimed kick that broke the door off its hinges. 

“You should really perform with me sometime. Those kicks would completely dazzle an audience! Really, chorus girls don’t hold a candle to that sort of thing,” the Performer suggested. “Whoa, are those guys stuntmen or something?” 

Two aspects were throwing every piece of furniture they could reach at each other. 

“So you think you’re actually a good father, huh?” the other aspect jeered. The Father paled, rubbing his arms in an attempt to reassure himself. “Maybe if you hadn’t leeched off Charlene during your short-lived marriage, you could’ve had a whole family. You wouldn’t be stuck living on alimony for the rest of your life. You could’ve seen your daughter every day. Home movies, reading to her, comforting her. You couldn’t even give something as simple as that to her!” 

Perry had heard enough. He stormed up to the other aspect, who still hadn’t let up on the harsh insults. Perry swept his tail forcefully against the other aspect’s knees, sending him tumbling to the ground. Feeling his phone buzz with a text message, Perry quickly pinned one of the aspect’s arms behind his back as a warning. 

Found another aspect but couldn’t text you right away. Sorry bout that. Calling him Thoughtless cause everything out of his mouth is an insult. Norm and I are in the storage closet. Don’t worry, we got games here. 

-Vanessa

Perry sent her a thumbs up emoji and put his cell phone away. 

The Performer was already leading the Father away, trying to lighten the mood with some nonsensical rant against plastic flamingos. Perry waited for them to leave the room, then he released his hold on Thoughtless. 

“Oh like you’re any better than the rest of them,” Thoughtless snapped. “Why don’t you leave too? Go on. Find some other nemesis who’s higher on the threat scale. Get a higher paycheck from breaking their toys.” 

Perry folded his arms. Heinz should’ve known him better than that. OWCA could send him on a literal wild goose chase, refuse to let him take vacation days, or reassign him to a completely new area without his consent all they wanted. But his heart belonged to the Flynn-Fletcher and Doofenshmirtz family entirely.

Nothing the agency did could change that. 

“Besides, what do you need me for? Absolutely nothing,” Thoughtless sighed. 

Thinking of nothing else he could do, Perry placed on a hand on Thoughtless’s knee and squeezed. 

“NOW THAT YOU ARE 83.3% CLOSER IN YOUR QUEST TO HAVE DAD NOT BE NICE TO ME ANYMORE, PLEASE TELL HIM I LOVE HIM BECAUSE HE WON’T HEAR IT FROM ME,” Norm declared. “DO YOU HAVE ANY SEVENS?” 

Vanessa picked through the wad of cards in her hand. Maybe it was time to find a robot-friendly pack that was resistant to tearing and crumpling, she thought. She handed two sevens to Norm. “You can tell him, Norm. Just do it in front of me or Perry, and we won’t let him try to wriggle his way out. Promise.” 

“OKAY, SIS. DO YOU HAVE ANY ACES?” 

“Go Fish,” Vanessa said. 

It was strange. She’d never spent so much time in the storage closet before. It needed some sprucing up. Some extra lights,a few posters, and a couple tchotchkes would do wonders for a room. Then her eyes wandered back to the cardboard flaps that served as Norm’s diary. 

They had the Shell, who existed and nothing more. 

The Father, who held nothing but love for them. 

The Scientist, with the brilliant mind and enough curiosity to kill a thousand cats. 

The Performer, who revelled in the attention his musical number brought. 

The Thoughtless, who pushed everyone away to protect himself. 

So who were they missing? 

“Norm, you saw them when Dad used the inator on himself,” Vanessa said. “Who’s the last aspect we need?” 

Norm remained silent. “IF I TELL YOU, YOU’LL TELL PERRY,” he said in the quietest voice Vanessa had ever heard from him. 

Vanessa set her cards aside, taking Norm’s large hand in her own. “I’m sorry. But you don’t have a choice. I just want to know what we can look for.” 

“IN THAT CASE, I’LL MAKE A CHOICE,” Norm told her, his usual smile flipping upside down. Smoke quickly started to pour from the soles of his feet. “I’LL FIND HIM BEFORE PERRY THE PLATYPUS AND YOU CAN’T TAKE HIM AWAY.”

Vanessa bolted for the door, barely managing to make it to the outside before the smoke enveloped the storage closet. Perry was by her side in an instant, a rare look of alarm on his face. Seconds later, a loud crash shook the entire penthouse. 

They raced out to the balcony, only to see a hole in the roof and an angry, desperate Norm in the distance. 

AN: Thoughtless is the self-loathing side of Heinz. He lashes out at the world, which only brings further misery on himself. He hurts himself with self-defeating thoughts and the ones he loves by suggesting they abandon him. 

[lokifiction]

Relationship Status

It’s really no secret that the Avengers and Loki aren’t fans of each other, but when a seemingly invincible common enemy looms ahead, it is necessary that they learn to get along. However, it soon becomes quite clear that this will be no simple task.

Category: Fanfic

Rating: Teen

Notes: ...I know, it’s been forever since I’ve updated anything. I’m so sorry, guys. I feel absolutely terrible. My schedule is very busy, but for some reason this year it got away from me and days flew by without me even really realizing what was happening and this page kind of got put on the backburner. I’m really so sorry. I sincerely hope that this chapter makes up for the tardiness and that I do better in the future.

Warnings: None for this chapter.

Masterlist

First Chapter

Previous Chapter

Chapter Seventeen: The Test Run

“What do you think a better theme for the dinner party would be? ‘A Night out in Paris’ or mythology?”

Loki raised a brow at me from where he was chopping vegetables for our lunch, giving me a vision of domesticity that surprisingly suited him well. “Where did mythology come from?”

I shrugged, absentmindedly stroking Henry where he laid on the counter in front of me. “It’s springtime. Every year when that time comes around, I always delve into my Persephone aesthetic. Besides, I’m kind of craving Greek food.”

“Alright, then.” Loki nodded agreeably. “Go with mythology. I admire Hades and wouldn’t mind portraying him for a night.”

I squirmed on my stool, halfway laying on the countertop, staring at Loki sideways. “Yeah, but I feel like the Paris theme is more formal and appropriate. And French food is good, too.”

“Then do that one.” Loki reached for a sweet potato, not looking up from his perfectly even slices.

“I can’t decide!” I whined. “Tell me which one you would genuinely prefer.”

“Both sound equally as wonderful, or as wonderful as a night with the Avengers can be.”

“You’re no help.” I slumped out of my seat and came around the counter to embrace him from behind, burying my face between his shoulder blades. “Please tell me.”

“Well, actually, I had an idea for a theme, myself.” Loki put his knife aside and turned to face me, resting his clasped hands at the small of my back.

“Really?” I bounced in his arms. “Tell me!”

“How about ‘An Asgardian Feast’?” He smiled with a glimmer of pride in his eyes. “We could have Thor help us a bit, and give the Avengers a taste of the culture in Asgard so they understand us and our ways better.”

“Oh my god, Loki!” I squealed and reached up to kiss him in excitement. “That’s great! We have to do that one.”

“I’m glad you like it.” I may have been mistaken, but I thought I noticed a flush creep up on his cheeks. “It might be a bit difficult to procure all of the ingredients, and we may have to make some substitutions, but I already know of a few dishes that we could serve, as well as some ceremonial decorations we could make.”

“Oh, that’s genius!” I kissed him once more. “What would I do without you?”

“Your life certainly wouldn’t be as interesting, that’s for sure.” Loki playfully tapped my nose. I scrunched it in response and giggled before slithering out of his grasp and bounding towards the bedroom.

“Where are you going?” he called after me, opening his arms as if commanding me to run right back into them.

“I’ve got a wonderful idea for the invitations,” I replied over my shoulder. “I need to get it down on paper somewhere before I forget. What’s the proper Asgardian address format again?”

***

“I hope that the wardrobe guide I sent with the invitations didn’t seem rude or snobby or anything,” I fretted, securing the final braid of my traditional hairstyle. “I just wanted them to really experience the atmosphere, and dinner parties usually have some sort of dress code, so…”

“I’m sure you came off just fine. Stop worrying yourself sick.” Loki came up behind me, zipping my dress and placing a tender kiss on my shoulder. “Do you want to go take a last-minute look at the decor?”

I heaved a sigh that was a mix of anxiety and relief. “Yes, please.”

Before we made our way into the hallway, I paused in front of the mirror, straightening my skirt and checking my appearance for any fixable flaws. I had chosen to wear a golden evening gown with a wide halter neckline, and I accessorized with heavy gold jewelry, including arm cuffs and golden rings that Loki helped me braid into my hair. Altogether, my outfit was an Earthly version of what was commonly worn to banquets in Asgard, and Loki had donned a simpler version of his armor for the occasion.

In the wardrobe guide I sent with the invitations, I advised our guests to dress similarly, and to place emphasis on a lot of leather, metal, and flowing fabrics, and sent Thor out with the task of helping them achieve that. Praying that everyone wouldn’t just show up in suits and make me and Loki look like fools in our otherworldly garb, I made my way to the kitchen, the smell of what I considered to be home filling my nostrils.

It had taken nearly an entire day for me, Loki, and Thor to put together a menu that would reflect traditional cuisine on Asgard with foodstuffs found on Midgard, and another several hours running around New York to collect all of the supplies. The spiced wine mulling on the stove fragranced the whole house and gave it the feel of autumn despite the fact that it was the middle of April, and the pork we substituted for boar had my mouth watering. The menu also included an array of baked fruits, a pumpkin soup, an apple cake, along with numerous other things, and I was glad that our guests would have no idea if the recipes were accurate, so I only had to worry about the dishes being delicious.

After fiddling with some settings on the stove and putting a loaf of bread in the oven to be warmed, I followed Loki into the dining room to perfect the setup one last time. Again, our decor for the night was a task that required hours in our storage room and another full day of shopping to gather everything we needed.

Our house had many places to dine in, but Loki and I usually ate in the breakfast nook or at a small, intimate table next to a window in the sitting room. However, for the event we had utilized our largest dining room, which boasted a table that sat eighteen with plenty of room to spare. All around the walls we had hung golden draperies to give the illusion of the inside of the palace of Asgard, and a similarly colored fabric was draped over the dining table, for the Victorian-styled piece didn’t reflect the boxy furniture found on Asgard.

From directly above the table we had removed our usual chandelier and replaced it with an antique one from medieval times, that when purchasing we nearly gave the curator a heart attack when we told her we were actually planning to use it. Loki went to light its candles and I straightened the ornate bowls of fat, red grapes and gourds that made up the table decorations. It turned out that it was nearly impossible to find gourds in the middle of spring, so instead of adding that to the list of our wild goose chase shopping trip, Loki merely conjured some, and made them particularly beautiful, with swirling vines that draped all the way over the sides of the table and curled onto the floor.

“This dinner party has me in trouble,” I murmured as Loki passed me to light the candles that sectioned off the table. “It’s got me in such an autumn mood.”

“I’m feeling that effect, as well,” Loki agreed, admiring at our handiwork and wrapping his arm around my waist. “Though I’d hardly call it trouble. You know that if we had our wish, it would be perpetually autumn.”

“Just with slightly warmer temperatures for me,” I teased, brushing imaginary dust off of one of the napkins resting atop the plates in their engraved holders. “Loki, are you sure I arranged the place settings correctly?”

“They’re perfect,” he assured, kissing my temple before breezing to the other side of the room. “Stop fretting and come sit down for a bit before the guests arrive and you get all fluttery again. You’re going to exhaust yourself if you don’t.”

“Oh, alright.” I frowned in compliance, but still had to approach the table to push one last plate a millimeter more into place. We had originally planned on using our Thanksgiving china for the event to match the decor, but after remembering that we wanted to replicate an Asgardian feast and not have an autumn fest, Loki and I decided to go out hunting for new dishes for the night. After even more searching and a hefty sum, we had gold-colored china and brassy flatware, as close to what could be found on Asgard as possible. I took one last critical glance at our little portal to another world before joining Loki in the sitting room, where we barely settled down into chairs before the doorbell rang.

My stomach dropped as I jumped to my feet, dashing to the landing to let the guests in, but they turned out to only be Stellan and his two younger brothers, Luca and Teo. Since Stellan was the only one outside of my family briefed on Loki’s true identity, and since his family owned a high-class restaurant in town that all three brothers had worked for at one point or another, Loki and I figured that they would be the best candidates to come and be our waiters for the night.

“Hello, Camryn!” he greeted with a wide grin, bending down to hug me. “The place looks really spectacular.”

“Thanks, Stellan.” I patted his back and waved to Teo and Luca. “Thanks for doing this on your night off.”

“Oh, it’s my pleasure.” He reached down to pick up Bellatrix from where she was languidly rolling atop his shoes. “Bella and I go way back, so when I’m not waiting the table we can have some good catch-up time. And where’s Sir Henry?”

“He’s moping in our bedroom like he always does when we have company.” I rolled my eyes. “But if you guys’ll follow me to the guest bedroom, I have your outfits in there.”

On Asgard, servants typically wore arduous robes, but Loki and I made the express decision that even with the atmosphere we had created, the typical servant garb would look ridiculous. Instead, we procured sturdy brown pants and white tunics, along with some leather overlays that gave the effect we were aiming for.

As the boys were changing, the trio of lute players that we hired for the night arrived, and they set up in the corner of the dining room while I was briefing Stellan, Teo, and Luca on the dishes for the night and how to serve them. After one last meticulous sweep of the area of the penthouse we’d be entertaining in, Loki convinced me that there was nothing more that I could do, and urged me to sit next to him and wait for the first guests to arrive at last.

“Are you sure this dinner party is a good idea?” I worried, tugging at a hangnail with my teeth and shifting on the sofa.

“It’s a bit late to go back on that decision, isn’t it?” Loki replied with a raised brow, but rubbed my back reassuringly, tugging me closer to him and holding me tight to his side. “I’ll make sure everything is just fine,” he murmured against my temple.

When the doorbell rang, I sprang out of my seat once more, but Loki jumped in front of me before I could make another move, putting his hands on my shoulders and staring deeply into my eyes as he always did when he wanted to calm me.

“I’ll get it,” he insisted, squeezing my arms gently. “It’s likely just Thor. He’s coming early, remember?”

I nodded, letting out a breath and merely trailing along behind as Loki went to let his brother in. Thor arrived dressed in a simpler version of his ceremonial armor, much like Loki was, and bore a bottle of mead for the party.

“Don’t tell me this is one of the bottles you took from Asgard’s royal stores before you came to live on Earth,” Loki declared, popping the top off and peering inside.

“It is, and I only have three of them left, excluding that one.” Thor snatched the mead back. “This party had better be good, if I’m going to be giving up one of my precious remaining bottles of the finest Asgardian mead ever tasted.”

“Hey!” I protested, coming around from behind Loki and giving Thor a playful shove that, of course, didn’t even cause him to bobble in the slightest. “Are you doubting my skills?’

“Absolutely not, Camryn. I’m merely making a jest between brothers.” Thor patted my shoulder. “If I didn’t have faith that your party would be wonderful, I wouldn’t have brought the mead in the first place. The little I’ve seen of your show for tonight is fantastic, and I can’t wait to see more.”

“Thank you for saying so, but don’t scare me like that!” I reprimanded. “I’m stressed enough as it is.”

“My deepest apologies.” Thor cradled the mead like a baby. “Where might I put this? And where are the cats?”

“I’m throwing what might be the best dinner party of my life and all anyone cares about is the cats. I would scold you, but I relate.” I nodded my head towards the hall. “I’ll take you to put the drink in the kitchen. Stellan’s in there, so at least Bellatrix should be in there, too. You’ll have a contender for her attention tonight.”

“A most honorable challenge that I humbly accept,” Thor played along, bowing his head nobly.

Once Thor dropped his mead off and got his desired greeting from Bellatrix, I sent Teo off to answer the door and had Luca follow us into the sitting room with a tray of drinks, waiting yet again for the rest of the guests to arrive.

“Thor, they are coming, right?” I inquired, bouncing my leg up and down.

“They are, and I promise they’re not planning any tricks,” he assured, selecting a goblet of wine. “Relax.”

Loki rose from the couch and approached Luca, taking a glass and passing it to me.

“Everything will be fine, love,” he assured. “Besides, is anyone but the three of us going to be able to judge the accuracy of the night?”

“It’s not the accuracy I’m worried about,” I muttered into my glass, but took a sip and pretended to be pacified, sitting back and waiting for whomever our first true arrival would turn out be.

It ended up being Steve, who knocked on the front door at the exact arrival time listed on the invitation. Teo showed him into the sitting room, and Loki and I rose to greet him.

“Thank you so much for coming.” I gave him a slightly awkward hug and Loki shook his hand stiffly. “Why don’t you take a seat, and have some wine?”

“There’s no need to be so formal,” Steve assured with a chuckle, but obeyed my instructions nonetheless. “Your penthouse is amazing. Does it always look like this?”

“In the autumn,” I replied. “The current decor is special for tonight’s event, to really give the illusion of being on Asgard.”

“I see. Well, it’s really nice.” Steve took another once-over of the room, sliding his hands into his pockets. “I feel a bit underdressed, though. Thor and Loki are in their armor and you’re in that dress...The wardrobe guide you sent mentioned leather and neutral colors…”

“What you’re wearing is perfect,” I assured, appraising his dark brown pants and beige button-down, trying my hardest to resist the possessive embrace Loki pulled me into as Steve’s eyes passed over me.

“I’m glad.” Steve glanced at the clock on the wall. “Banner was right behind me, so he should be here soon.”

The words had barely left his mouth when the doorbell rang, and Teo entered the sitting room with Bruce in tow, along with Natasha and Clint. Luca served them their drinks and, seeing as most of our guests had arrived, I sent him into the kitchen to fetch the hors d'oeuvres.

“Clint and I were already going to carpool, and we met Bruce in the lobby,” Natasha explained before I could ask how the three of them ended up arriving together, plopping down on the sofa with her drink and straightening her beige gown. “You’ve got a really gorgeous place.”

“Thank you. That seems to be the general consensus tonight.” I fidgeted awkwardly, wishing I could sit but not wanting to do so with guests around. “Did you all make it here alright?”

“It’s a really easy ride from Stark Tower,” Bruce replied. He had dressed in a plain suit, though it was brown. “There’s a Metro stop less than a block away from here.”

“If you guys are all staying at the Tower, why didn’t you all come together?” I asked, noting the staggered arrival times and methods of our guests.

“Well, we knew Thor was coming early to help get things ready,” Natasha began. “Steve was the only one that left at a normal time. Bruce wanted to stay back to finish something in the lab, and Clint and I came straight from a mission.”

“Oh my god!” I exclaimed. “If you had to work tonight, you didn’t have to come.”

“Don’t be silly.” Natasha smiled warmly and took a sip from her glass. “We wanted to.”

“I’m glad we all did, because whatever’s cooking smells delicious,” Thor remarked. “When are we going to eat?”

“We have to wait until everyone gets here,” Loki spoke up with suppressed annoyance. “Does anyone have any idea where Stark is?”

“He left around noon to oversee some construction upstate,” Bruce replied, taking a bite from his smoked salmon crouton. “He should be back by now.”

“Oh, really?” Something bumped the back of my knees and I glanced behind me to realize that Loki had pulled up a chair for me. I settled into it and took my own crouton from Luca, and held Loki’s hand where it rested on my shoulder. “What kind of construction?”

Bruce exchanged a look with Steve.

“I don’t know the clearance level for that info,” Bruce explained, brow furrowed in apology.

“Oh, Norns.” Even though Loki was behind me, I could clearly sense his eyeroll. “More about those damned clearance levels.”

“Be nice.” I patted his hand. “You have clearance levels for your important dealings on Asgard, even if they aren’t necessarily mapped out.”

“Perhaps, but I’m accustomed to being the one at the top of those unsaid levels,” Loki rebutted.

Steve cleared his throat to catch our attention and spoke up, answering Bruce’s question. “They’re consultants and will find out about it eventually, so we might as well tell them now.”

“Are you building a Death Star?” I cocked an eyebrow, and Natasha leaned across where Clint sat next to her on the couch to reach Steve.

“The Death Star is from-”

“Star Wars, I know,” Steve interrupted with a playful eye roll. “I watched them last week.”

“Just looking out for ya, buddy.” Natasha patted his arm and sank back into her cushion.

“Anyway,” Steve continued, “we’re building a new Avengers home base upstate. We’ve sort of taken over Stark Tower, even though it’s still the functioning headquarters of Stark Industries, and the location in the middle of the city, while central to a lot of action, is leaving us exposed and vulnerable, with little space to grow.

“Around the new facility, there’s hardly any civilization for miles, and the land we purchased leaves seemingly endless room for expansion. We won’t have to coordinate space and scheduling with the Avengers team and the Stark Industries team, the environment will seem a bit more homey, and some of our new members will be better protected and contained from society there.”

“Well, that sounds interesting,” I replied. “I’d love to see it someday. If it’s out in the forest like that, I bet it’s beautiful.”

“It’s quite, as the mortals say, aesthetically pleasing,” Thor put in. “I feel very calmed inside the building.”

“And I’m sure you all need that, with all the high-stress work you do,” I said. “You should get Tony to put in a spa.”

Natasha laughed aloud. “That would be the best.”

Loki cleared his throat, reminding us all of his point. “But his business should be finished, correct? It was possible for him to be on time?”

“It should have been, yes,” Bruce replied.

“Well, where is he?”

“The fun is here!” As if on cue, Tony Stark burst into the room with an irritated Pepper on his arm.

“I’m sorry,” she lamented, rolling her eyes. “I couldn’t get him here any sooner.”

“I had to make sure I was at my best for this royal soiree.” Tony pointed to the tray Luca carried. “Is that salmon? Lovely.”

“Was there trouble on your way over here, Mr. Stark?” Loki asked, his voice dangerously cordial. Tardiness was not something he dealt with well.

“No, not at all. Traffic was great, weather was great. Everything was great.” Tony went for some wine and Pepper sighed heavily, covering her reddening face with her hand.

“Then why, might I ask, are you arriving so far past the time listed on your invitation?” Loki’s voice was a mere note away from being a growl. I reached for his hand to calm him.

“Well, you know how I like to make an entrance, and I wanted to make sure I looked impeccable, and worthy of what Camryn listed on that charming wardrobe guide,” Stark replied, gesturing to his outfit straight out of Game of Thrones.

“I’m amazed you took it that seriously.” I took a closer look at his attire, marveling at the fine craftsmanship. “Did you have that made?” “Sure did.” Stark patted his chest proudly. “I wanted to make something matching for Pepper, but she said it was too much.”

I noted Pepper’s stunning rust-colored evening gown.

“You both look amazing. Everyone here does, and I’m so thrilled that you’re all embracing the theme.” I rose from my seat and gestured towards the door. “I’m sure you’re all hungry. Since everyone’s arrived, should we proceed onto dinner?”

The group erupted into murmurs of excitement and began to file towards the dining room, but Loki gently held me towards the back of the herd and bent down to whisper in my ear once we were alone.

“I know our alliance is budding, but I’m absolutely infuriated at Stark’s behavior,” he ranted.

“I know you are.” I rubbed his arm. “But this is supposed to be a test run for the wedding, remember? We need to practice being civil even if something bothers us.”

“I understand, love.” He kissed the top of my head gently but insistently. “But if he tries to ‘make an entrance’ like that at our wedding, I’ll kill him.”

“Oh, believe me.” I took Loki’s hand and pulled him towards the dining room. “If he does that at our wedding, I’ll get to him first.”

When we entered the warm, candlelit dining room, I checked that every guest had found their place card and motioned for the musicians in the corner to begin playing. Luca passed out fresh goblets and Stellan entered with the first course as Loki and I made for the opposite heads of the table to deliver the toast.

“The music is a very nice touch,” Natasha praised, raising her glass in my direction. “I like it.”

“I’m glad you do,” I replied, then cleared my throat to address the room. “Welcome, everyone. I’m so honored that you’ve taken time out of your busy and important schedules to attend this party. Now, I know I’m usually the bridge between you and Loki, but tonight is another effort to make it so that a bridge is no longer needed. So, since our party is to replicate a traditional feast on Asgard, and he’s the one that actually grew up there, I’ll turn the floor over to him.”

Loki locked eyes with me and nodded once, clearing his throat before speaking, effortlessly capturing everyone’s undivided attention.

“Feasts are incredibly common on Asgard. To me and Thor, the spread before you seems an ordinary morning, midday, or evening meal. However, since this is a special event, I wanted to have a special banquet.

“There are many reasons for special feasts to be held on Asgard. A holiday, the returning of soldiers from war, a funeral, et cetera, but I decided that Camryn and I should host a dinner party best compared to a peacemaking or ambassador banquet, for often a major point of those dinners is to show off the culture of Asgard. That was the goal of the theme for tonight, and since every meeting between me and the Aveners is a peacemaking mission, I figured that no feast template could be better.”

Loki gestured to the corner where Stellan stood in his costume, now flanked by Teo and Luca.

“That young man over there is Stellan, and I’m sure you recognize Teo and Luca from earlier this evening. They will be serving you tonight. Now, I’m sure you’re all hungry, and the food smells incredible, so I will move right along with this introduction. Banquets such as this are almost always opened with a prayer to our gods, which is as good of a representation of Asgardian culture as anything, so I’ll get on with that.”

“Excuse me.” Steve politely raised his hand, ducking his chin sheepishly. “I thought you and Thor were the gods. What gods are gods supposed to pray to?”

“Excellent question, Steve,” Pepper interjected. “I was wondering that myself.”

“We pray to our ancestors in Valhalla,” Loki replied, a slight smile creeping onto his lips. “Even divine beings need guidance sometimes.”

“As for whom we pray to once we get to Valhalla, we have no idea,” Thor put in. “And we’re not sure we’d like to know.”

“The speculations we made when we were children only frightened us,” Loki added with a conservative grin. “Now, I typically pray to my mother, so it’s been awhile since I’ve recited a formal prayer like this, so forgive me if I make any mistakes.”

I bowed my head obediently, and I was happy to see that everyone else in the room did, too. I was a bit shocked that Loki revealed such a personal tidbit as coping with Frigga’s death to the room full of people, but I was glad to see him opening up.

Despite his warning, however, he recited the prayer perfectly as I knew he would. He didn’t pray in the traditional sense very often, but I loved it when he did, for the words spilled out of his mouth like beautiful poetry. His voice became melodic, and he often came closer to singing prayers rather than speaking them. I was completely hypnotized by the time he finished and continued the toast.

“Now,” he resumed in his normal cadence, “Asgardians are typically very bawdy and love their food, so the toast is kept short. To peace and friendship. May we make it and may it last.”

“To peace and friendship,” the room echoed, and as everyone drank from their glasses and took their seats, I got the feeling that, for the first time,everyone truly meant it.

***

Once the last course was cleared away and I felt incredibly bloated in the best way, I tapped on my glass with my knife to bring everyone’s attention. The sound wasn’t entirely necessary, for the conversation of the evening had been wonderful and typically involved everyone present at the party, but the action was something I had always wanted to do. Once Loki finished explaining the differences and similarities of Viking culture and that on Asgard and everyone’s eyes turned to me, I began my short speech of the night.

“Asgardian feasts are hardly ever just feasts,” I began. “As Loki said before, Asgardians are quite bawdy, and have a lot of energy, especially after being filled with wine. Feasts are typically affairs that last well into the early hours of the morning. Once the main meal is finished, there’s often dancing and singing and merrymaking, and a lot of the younger citizens will branch out to different taverns once the older attendees have retired. We, unfortunately, did not prepare for raucous activity, but to replicate the ever-changing scenery of an Asgardian banquet, we’ve decided to serve dessert and some of Thor’s Asgardian mead on the terrace.”

“He brought that stuff?” Stark gasped, dropping his hands onto the table, already a bit inebriated from the wine served with the meal. “Sign me up. Let’s go.”

With a giggle, I took my wrap from Loki and laid my head on his shoulder, leading the way out into the slightly chilly night air and onto the terrace that we had decorated just like we had the dining room, and lit with strands of fairy lights. Just like the New Year’s Eve party what seemed like an eternity ago, I felt like I had grown incredibly close to the people around me, and felt an enormous sense of kinship with them. I was sure that, like at the party, the effect was somewhat heightened by drink, but I felt that the new feeling was one that would stick around much longer.

The group gathered into seats around the fire as Thor distributed the drinks and Stellan passed out pieces of apple cake, and the conversation, which had been mainly centered around questions about Asgard, had no trouble picking up again.

“So, Loki,” Steve began, “you said that when boar is served at feasts, it’s usually been hunted and killed that day?”

“Yes,” Loki replied. “There’s no taste like freshly butchered boar, and unless there’s a siege in place, the royal family doesn’t eat boar unless it’s been killed that day.”

“Being royalty sounds like it’s worth it.” Natasha raised her eyebrows. “Thanks for explaining the whole boat symbolism thing, by the way. I never really understood it.”

“It’s my pleasure.” Loki smiled kindly, the mead making him a bit looser with his charms.

“This actually isn’t meant to be rude for once in my life,” Stark interjected, taking a bite of cake, “but do your horns symbolize anything?”

Loki actually laughed at that, and went on to explain without a complaint. After a long-winded speech about symbolism on Asgard that everyone’s drunkenness had turned into a stream of jokes by the end, Stark piped up again.

“I know it’s the drink that’s making me say this, but I think it’s important to be said.” He inhaled sharply. “Loki, after talking with and getting to know you tonight, I’ve decided that you’re not a bad guy. You’re different, for sure, but you’re not bad. You’re actually pretty awesome when you’re not trying to take over the world. I figured that you’d have to be to get a girl like Camryn, but now I really see it.”

“Thank you, Stark.” Loki squeezed my hand, and a small but genuine smile spread across his face. “Tonight, after getting to know you outside of the context of work, I’ve learned that you’re actually quite more brilliant and creative than I originally thought you to be. I may actually grow to enjoy your company, and dare I say, admire you.”

Stark put a hand to his chest, his next joke holding the tone of truth. “I’m so very honored.”

“I’d like to say something, as well.” Clint, who was usually so quiet but had become quite chatty and a jokester over the course of the night, stood from his chair. “Loki, I still don’t trust you. But if all of the people here that I trust with my life are growing to, I respect their decision. I feel that you’re deserving of it, and I think that someday I may come around on you.”

“Thank you, Clint,” I whispered as he returned to his seat, and for a few moments the only sound was the crackling of the fire as everyone processed the words that had just been exchanged, which bore the best kind of weight.

“It’s pretty late,” Bruce eventually said, voice cracking from the awkward breaking of the silence, “and I’ve had a lot to drink. I think I should go and make sure I can get a cab.”

“Wait,” I called out as he made for the door, then looked to Loki, silently asking for approval for what I was about to do. “Why don’t you...stay here?”

Bruce furrowed his brow. “Sorry?”

“Why don’t you all stay here for tonight?” I suggested shyly. “God knows we have enough room for all of you. I’m in the theatre tomorrow night, so I don’t have to go into work until later. We could make sort of a grownup sleepover out of it, and then go for brunch in the morning.”

Pepper cracked a grin. “That sounds like fun. Let’s do it.”

After everyone’s agreement, Loki and I dismissed Stellan, Teo, and Luca, and left Thor to entertain the group while we went to make sleeping arrangements for everybody.

“So, how about it?” I asked nervously as we stood in front of the linen closet, loading my arms with sheets, still in a bit of disbelief over what I had just done.

“You know, I’m actually feeling alright about it,” Loki replied, his bright eyes gleaming. “I’m still not too fond of the Avengers, but I think I might actually like them as individuals. I’m sure that, like at the New Year’s party, some of these feelings and progress are due to drink and will regress in the morning, I feel like they won’t regress as much as they did last time.”

“I’m so glad.” I dropped the sheets in my hands and hugged him instead, burying my face in his shoulder, breathing in his scent of leather and sandalwood and snow. “I feel like so much important progress has been made,  too. I’m so proud of you.”

Loki pulled me closer, resting his cheek on top of my head. “I don’t think it will be a problem to have them at our wedding, now.”

“Absolutely,” I agreed. “We won’t have to worry about any fights breaking out or any trouble being caused. We can focus on nothing but each other, just as it should be.”

“That is, if your extended family can behave,” Loki teased.

“Hey, one thing at a time,” I quipped. “My family doesn’t have access to the arsenal that the Avengers do, so the Avengers took priority in terms of peacemaking.”

“But now that problem is solved.” Loki hooked his finger under my chin and tilted it up towards him. “And I’m glad for it. Truly. For the first time in our engagement, I can be completely excited about everything that’s to come with no worries about anything else. And it’s the most wonderful feeling in all the realms.”

Next Chapter

[nettlestonenell]

@nettlestonenell:  And the truth is, if I'm being 100% real and honest is that: there is no fill-in fic. B/C Han and Leia never broke up. I mean, I don't see WHY the writers felt they had to break them up (other than they wanted a reunion scene). TFA's story can still function well without having blown all three of the trio apart in the intervening years. Certainly, Han's death can be just as resonant w/o his having to be estranged from Leia. Everything is crap in Leia's life in TFA; she's lost Luke, her son, Han, and she's still fighting the same war. It's more weight than her character should bear. So, in truth, there is no fill-in fic in my mind. B/C that break-up didn't happen.

BUT, if you've got a gun to my head, I reckon a fill-in fic that would upset me less would be: Han and Leia had it rough in the beginning following RotJedi. Han had trouble adjusting (not to being second to Leia in most people's eyes, but to State dinners and pomp and deportment, and, like trying not to flinch every time someone called him General Solo, and being expected to stay put in one place).

After decades of being on his own, at the beck and call of no one, joining the Rebel Alliance was a rough transition. He worried that more seasoned Rebels were snickering about him behind his back. He worried that he wasn't being sent on missions b/c someone was trying to protect him for Leia's sake. He flinched at being sent away from her (when he wanted to be close) and being assigned to tasks near her (when he wanted to get away)… His life of smuggling still dogged him on the rougher planets. Past scores and broken deals caused trouble he couldn't always get out of without a scuffle or a fire fight--that would have nothing to do with re-joining the galaxy under the Rebel Alliance, and banishing what was left of the Empire. He knew the upper echelon of the Alliance was having secret meetings about how to “deal” with him. He knew the meetings were secret, even from Leia.

He hated to feel like he was a burden on her, on her leadership, her effectiveness. He said none of this aloud.

Leia simply had no time. Like any new president in her first 100 (or first 1,000) days, she barely slept. She traveled extensively. She studied studied studied to learn things about all the new worlds they were trying to bring into the Alliance. She was one of the few left alive that had any background in, or affinity for, diplomacy. And on many worlds the cultural importance of a consort (and the fact her side was often vacant) was not to be underestimated. When he was there, Han made gaffes. Sometimes he was found to be wanted on the world they had traveled to treat with. It was rough and bumpy, but not impossible. And then came the baby. They were overjoyed. Excited, terrified. Chewbacca seemed like the only one who felt pretty chill about the whole thing. Then again, Wookies simply take turns wearing their young more or less for the first two years of life. But Leia was torn between her considerable duties and the baby, and Han was simply unsure what sort of parent he had the capacity to be (he recalled little enough of his own parents).

NN:  And then the baby showed signs of being, well, gifted. And Leia became convinced giving the child into Luke's care was the only way to avoid, to hedge against creating a second Vader.

NN:  Han didn't like it--not because of Luke, but--he liked being around the kid. It made him feel different, in a good way. A fresh way. But Leia was so sure it was the right thing to do, and he--well, he'd never been very good at figuring out the right things to do. So, he agreed.

NN:  When everything happened, they were still together. The Rebel Alliance had been disbanded, or nearly so. Leia's responsibilities had diminished. No one was complaining or strategizing about Han’s proclivities toward adventure and smuggling anymore. Han had started to feel something like comfortable.

NN: Ben's actions, his kidnapping/turning away from the Light, savaged them, though. They hung on each other. Sleepless nights were shared.

Luke disappeared.

Even more light and spark vanished from Leia's eyes.

NN: And Han...well, Han went back to what he knew. Except now, instead of chasing illegal cargo, he flew and bargained, and shook trees like the old days, no longer to locate valuable, illegal freight, but to try and find their son.

He always returned, but for months he'd be absent--radio silence--chasing leads with Chewie. Taking on dangerous cargo to finance his hunt.

NN: And then one day he came back and asked for Leia, and a new staffer of hers told him she was in a meeting, and could not be disturbed. And he spied something of the meeting, how elegant and perfect Leia looked in it. She laughed (his own perception too skewed to realize it was polite, not genuine, laughter), she parlayed.

I'm not needed here, he thought. I carry with me the shadow of my son, and all that has occurred, and all that has been lost. Because of me coming into her and Luke's life.

And he found Chewie, without explaining why, and determined he would not be back until he'd found both Luke and Ben, and she could laugh like that at him again.

Leia exited the meeting feel tense and drained. It was a masque, after all, this variety of diplomacy. A play without a script.

Did I see General Solo? she asked the new aide.

No, I don't think so, Ma'am, the aide replied, having been instructed by several of Leia's advisors that they would just as soon chase the smuggler off as have to keep putting up with his stubborn, backward ways.

@reblogginhood: ok, so you are obviously 100% correct that they never needed to break up Han and Leia, and it was dumb to do so, because he could have been out there and found Rey and Finn without having to be estranged (but...not even really estranged???) from Leia

and honestly, that was the most frustrating part--they didn't even give Han and Leia ANY kind of story

there didn't appear to be anything to reconcile; there was no story to their reunion; it was just there, it seemed for the Kylo backstory

RBHOOD: but ANYWAY

all that said

HOW DARE YOU GIVE ME THESE FEELINGS WITH THAT FILL-IN

and also THANK YOU FOR THESE FEELINGS

and of course, on the other side, Leia assumes Han just couldn't be happy tied down to the life she has to live

and assumes he's happier wherever he is out there without her

(mutual pining is my fave trope)

NN: Like, being royal and the dramatic irony of your staff keeping you in the dark about things/decisions/actions is certainly a jam of mine.

NN: But, you know, the loss of Han is also (importantly) the loss of Chewbacca for Leia. And for every time Han put a foot wrong, on so many planets the presence of a Wookie in the Alliance's retinue put a foot just *right*, lent an air of nobility to the proceedings.

NN: And he gave the best hugs, Chewbacca. Leia misses him.

NN: When she can't sleep (which is often), and she can't stare at another diplomatic briefing (which happens sometime after 2am), she lies down on the smallest, narrowest thing she can find; a chair, a couch, a cramped window seat--and imagines she's in a bunk on the Falcon with Han, his arm laced around her back as they sleep—as they always slept--to make sure she doesn't fall off the rack.

NN: Han, who would rather no one knew how sentimental he is (he pretends they don't notice that he treats a way-too-old ship like his own maiden auntie), takes to stopping by the O2 masks on the Falcon, hanging ever-in-the-ready. Sometimes he pulls one down, takes a hard, unnecessary drag on it.

Tells himself maybe that was it--that was the one, the one Leia always used. That in doing so he can once again share breath with her, be close.

NN: Chewbacca? Chewbacca worries. He doesn't mention it, but about six months after Luke goes missing he starts to shed, even though it's unseasonal, not the right time.

NN: He follows Han, they smuggle to finance their search, but the jobs seem more dangerous now, and Han gets less joy out of the danger than before. Solo is become a man driven, weary and almost spent, even from the moment he wakes. Chewbacca begins to feel too old for this life.

Chewbacca misses Luke. Luke was good for a laugh. Luke made them all smile, or worry in concert. That was his job, his function in this family. But the worrying before was never so laced with fear, with loss.

Chewbacca thinks: it is the difference between worrying over whether a stew might be burned, and whether your planet's deathly drought will ever end.

It is oppressive.

NN: The two of them chase the slightest whispers of Ben's whereabouts, surely the last people in the galaxy interested in finding the boy after what he did. They run after hare-brained, wild goose chase information they know to be nothing more than that about Luke’s location. Still, they carry on.

Occasionally, they find themselves learning news of what the Alliance is becoming: the Resistance.

Occasionally, a news transmission includes an image of Leia.

After seeing it, Han does not sleep for three solar days.

NN: Leia comes down with a migraine so rough nothing the medical droids can offer her short of sedation can take the edge off it.

But she has a meeting with a group that can help finance new weaponry her Resistance desperately needs.

NN: She insists on attending, knowing her inclusion in the talks is found to be inspirational, an essential stamp of approval, by many.

Traveling back to base in the shuttle, she retches long and hard into the nearest receptacle. I'm sorry, she apologizes to the pilot and the flight crew for the mess.

As they disembark back at base camp she realizes; it's Han's birthday.

RBHOOD: OH GOD NOW I'M CRYING AGAIN

just imagining the musical montage of leia and han thinking about each other at the same time as they can't sleep, thousands of light years apart

RBHOOD: ..........and of course, you know, diplomacy sometimes requires a bit of flirtation

and Han catches a video clip by accident on a news feed on a distant station

and after a moment of paralysis he thinks, this is good, this is good, this is where she always ought to have been, and I want her to be happy

and he almost makes himself believe it

NN: And then, off in the distance, Luke occasionally feels Leia's emotions, and he can't bear it.

NN: This is a 1000% pining-ready situation.

And then the montage starts with them a younger age, and then ends with some time lapse where they've aged into their TFA years.

RBHOOD: yesssssssssssss

they have become accustomed to the pain of loss and loneliness, but it hasn't lessened

NN: but their moment of reconciliation definitely occurs prior to the events of TFA. It actually happens when he loses the Falcon.

Chewbacca brings him back, finds where Leia & Co. are hiding. Han's been roughed up, he needs some rest and some light medical intervention. The two of them are on the run, so why not hunker down with some other people also on the run?

NN: No one tells Leia that Chewie has signaled their arrival. In fact, there are so many new people in the Resistance that most of them don’t quite recall the fact that Leia and Han were together, or the shape their lives took. It’s as though the textbooks of the day elide over Han, and his missing son—whom many come to incorrectly believe (as General Organa’s son) perished in the massacre of the rest of Skywalker’s students. It is a persistent misinformation.

But something brings Leia to the hanger that day, and though Chewie is not flying the Falcon, she runs up the lowered ramp of the unfamiliar ship he pilots into their hidden base, and finds her way to Han's side. Han's so in and out of it he doesn't know what year it is or how long (or if) he's been gone.

He speaks to her and holds on to her like no time has passed at all.

She recognizes it as the gift it is. Because in a short time he will recall it all; the pain, the loss, the distance.

But for those hours that it takes for medical to get him stabilized, he's thinks he's somewhere between just having been awoken from Carbonite, and being tortured by Vader in the Bespin system.

She memorizes every word he says, answers his every question in kind.

The human medical staff try to keep their blushes to themselves, unfamiliar with encountering their General in this form.

They have forgotten how very small of stature General Princess Leia Organa really is, how she has for decades shouldered the burdens of the movement without having anyone to shoulder her burdens.

They have forgotten, or never understood, that she loved a smuggler; the father of her lost child. That her brother, the mythical figure, was just a farmboy on a backwater planet.

That underneath General, beyond diplomat, around Princess--she is Leia, a soul distant from all those she loves.

RBHOOD: nell, that LAST LINE

that's GORGEOUS

it's a crime this is all in DM, tbh

NN: Stop tempting me to collect it.

I know I'm gonna wanna read it all again one day

RBHOOD: No you SHOULD collect it and post it

[ntheclover]

My first  X-Files fanfic.

Timeline: Set between Triangle and all things with spoilers for Per Manum.   Triggers: none Rated: PG Author:  ntheclover Word count: 3,300 In honor of my birthday (January 12)- my first fanfic. It has not had the benefit of a beta read, so please be kind.  It is fluff and not smut as I feel I would make an horrible smut writer-not my genre.  So enjoy this gift I gave myself to fill in some gaps leading up to the magnificent all things. Terrebonne Bay

“Scullllyyy!  Run!”   Special Agent Fox Mulder yells over his shoulder as he bolts from a dock side warehouse in the southern most part of Louisiana.  He catches a glimpse of her blue and yellow FBI issue jacket up ahead.   She is moving -fast.  His partner knows to listen when he gets a certain tone in his voice.  With legs twice the length of hers, he has no trouble making up the space between them.   There are a group of really angry drug runners chasing them.   Apparently, having two FBI agents show up while unloading their latest shipment makes them want to kill you.  Mulder thinks he would prefer an X-file any day compared to this.  Monsters, giant fluke worms, aliens-that is his thing.  Hired guns with giant guns-not so much.   Scully hears the urgency and realizes she has to find them a place to hide.  From the gunfire and shouting they are out numbered and out gunned.  They shouldn’t even be here.  When Kersh is angry at them for going off in the night to chase leads and fairy tales, he makes them repent by going out on “real assignments”.   The intel, she knows now, was off.  Way off.  The rest of the task force was sent to the opposite side of the harbor on what appears to be a wild goose chase.  She and Mulder were pulled from the group to review shipping paperwork with the dock master.  Why it all went to hell, she may never know. Who’s to say it wasn’t on purpose, a way to get rid of herself and Mulder forever.  Wow, she thinks.  My last thoughts may be that I am just as paranoid as Mulder and Kersh must really hate us to send us here to die at the hands of these assholes.   As he catches up with her, he spots their means of escape. He grabs her hand and pulls her towards a small boat that is running, tied up to the edge of the dock.  It is a small, dilapidated fishing dingy.  The owner must be one of the group of people standing on the other side of the dock.  Scully sees where Mulder is going with this, identifies herself as an Agent, and tells the group to get down for safety.  As if on cue, a bullet pings off a nearby pole.   Mulder grabs Scully around the waist and flings her over the  water gap and into the boat.  He follows, just as another bullet grazes his left arm, sending searing pain along it’s path.  Scully crawls to the helm and puts the boat in gear.  After releasing the boat from the dock, Mulder scrambles towards her, blood dripping down his arm, slick on the boat floor.  One more second with these guys and we are toast. “Let’s get a move on Scully!” Bullets fly all around them, but soon they are out of their range of fire.  Mulder wonders if they are still being followed so he lifts his head up to chance a look.  They are running down the dock, possibly looking for a small boat they can use to follow them in the crowded waterway.   “Let’s find a place to hide.  Try to wait them out.” says Scully over the roar of the wind and engine.   “We don’t have much fuel” notices Mulder as he taps at the controls.  He surveys the boat, looking for gas cans.  No such luck.   Scully scans the horizon.  “ Look at this map and see if there are any little coastal islands close.” She hands him a plastic coated map of the area’s waterway.  In this part of Louisiana, a man could live out on one of the islands that dot the gulf for years undetected.  Some of them only measure a few feet across in places.  They have no food, no water and very little fuel.  They also have no choice. He finds where he thinks they are on the map and decides to go west, away from the inlet.  “Let’s head out to Terrebonne Bay”.  He points the way and Scully nods, her hair flying around her face and batting at his cheek which is momentarily pressed up to hers.  He sneeks a glance her way noticing the smell of her lavender shampoo and the new perfume she has been wearing the last few weeks. Damn, she smells good. She sheds her light field jacket, one arm at a time while maintaining the helm.  I must smell horrible, she thinks, I am sweating so bad. She tucks the jacket in a storage net next to the captain’s chair.  They are out in more open water with no sign of anyone following.  She looks over at Mulder who is on his radio, talking to the team to let them know what has happened and the general directions to follow them for a pick up later. Before much useful information is exchanged, the radio goes to static, out of range.   Feeling suddenly distracted by the man next to her, she takes in the scene.  He is sweating, his own jacket still on in this heat, which gives him a slight glimmer.  She thinks he looks so handsome with his hair moving in the wind and the late afternoon sunlight making his eyes a paler shade of grey.  It was only then she notices the crimson stains on his clothing. “Mulder!  You’re hurt!”  She barely resists the urge to release the helm and search him for injuries.  Reluctantly she hangs on to the boat. “It’s just a flesh wound.  I’m Fine.”  He counters, trying to get his radio to work.  He finally tosses it and tries to work the one attached to the boat.  Just like this little heap they are in, it is ancient.  He manages to get it to turn on but it is all static.  Scully eyes him, trying not to laugh when he punches it-hard. “I don’t think that’s gonna help it, Mulder.  Take the helm and let me try.”  They manage to choreograph an exchange of positions without loosing control of the boat which is currently skidding across the bayou and in to the bay.  The land is getting smaller behind them.  In front is open water littered with green spots of earth poking to the surface.   Scully tries for several more minutes to get someone to hear her on the radio then resorts to punching the thing herself.   Mulder’s delight at Scully’s temper is cut short when the boat begins to sputter.  Glancing at the gauges, he notes the one marked gas has finally hit the big E.   “We need to find land fast”, he yells.  Scully surveys the immediate area for a spot bit enough to land the boat.  Several yards ahead to her right is an island roughly the size of half a soccer field.  It will have to do. She taps his shoulder and points but he has spotted it as well and makes his way over to what little land there is.  Along the shoreline are a few trees that have large roots that jut out in to the water.  He coasts the craft up to one and Scully secures the boat to one of the larger roots. Mulder steps over the side of the boat to check the water depth.  In this spot it is knee deep on him so it’s nearly waist deep on Scully.  He rolls up the bottom of his pants until they are above his kneecap then removes his shoes.  He tosses those to shore, barely getting the last one free of the lapping water.  he then turns to Sully and motions for her to come to him. “Mulder, you don’t have to carry me.  I won’t dissolve!”  He stands, arms extended out to her.  She remains on board the boat, hands firmly planted on hips. “There is no reason for you to get that wet Scully.  It just makes sense.  Come on!”   With a sigh, she relents and awkwardly crawls in to his arms.  He had envisioned a more “carry you over the thresh hold” style carry but it is more like a cat trying to stay above water carry with her arms around his head and neck and her legs wrapped around his waist.  He has no choice but to hold her bottom for support.   “Mulder.” “Yeah, Scully?” “Your hand is on my ass.” “Yep”. “I’m ok with it if you are.” “Yep.” Once on shore he manages to set her down without incident.  As soon as she hits solid ground she is pulling at his jacket.   “Whoah, Scully!  It was just a small ass grab!  I thought we were cool!” “Shut up Mulder.  I need to look at your wound.” “Oh.  How disappointing.” He smirks.  While she looks at the track the hot bullet ripped and burned on his outer bicep, Milder looks around the area, searching for a place to make camp. Most likely, they will be here for hours.  Possibly all night.   “Mulder, can you go back on the boat and get me some things?  My jacket, the first aid kit, your radio and search for any food, water, matches, containers that can be useful.  I am going to look for a place to shelter.” He stands at attention and gives he a salute. “Yes ma’am.”  He cracks a smile when she rolls her eyes and turns to go find a spot for them.   He returns from the boat about fifteen minutes later.  Loaded down to the point where Scully can only see the top of his head, he drops his bounty at her feet.  He then executes an exaggerated bow in front of her. “My lady, I bring you my ships bounty.  May it bring you comfort as we wait out this mess of an assignment”. “Well”, says Scully smiling at his silliness.  “I have had good fortune as well.  Grab your bounty and follow me.” They make their way about a hundred feet off the shore towards the interior of the island.  There is a large tree that has fallen.  It is as tall as Scully’s shoulder on it’s side and the same type root system that holds the boat in place is revealed.   Milder sorts through the things he has brought up from the boat while Scully takes inventory. “We can use that tarp to make some shelter by hanging it across these roots.  I can also brake some off to make a fire if you have some matches in that bounty.” “You are just flirty today, Agent Scully!” He teases her but inside he really likes where their conversation has been going the last few minutes.  It is rare she lets him tease her this much.  Maybe after seven years he is breaking her down with his charm. “In your dreams, Agent.  Now are you just going to stand there looking pretty or are you going to help me with this shelter?”   “You think I’m pretty?” She crosses her arms and gives him the look.  He laughs and begins shaking the dust out of the old tarp rather than take the conversation further.  She loves the way he plays with her, they’re own little game of cat and mouse.   Shielding the light from her eyes with her hands, she looks out over the water behind her and sees the sun is starting to set.  Orange and pink fluffy clouds color the spot where the earth touches the sky.  Honestly, as long as he is with her, she is not the least bit upset about being stranded on a micro-island in the Terrebonne Bay of Louisiana.   They make small talk and work together as they create a small shelter made of a blue tarp with one small rip, a six-foot woven rug, three bottles of water, four bags of peanuts and some gum.  Scully thought the gum was a nice touch. Scully uses the first aid kit to patch up Mulder and seems happier since she knows he is fine.  They share a dinner of the water and peanuts, Mulder making a sport of trying to toss them in each other’s mouth.  Once the sun goes down and the night takes over, they lay together on the rug and talk softly.   Sleep eludes them.  The shelter is warm and the humid spring swamp air is causing them both to feel sticky. Between the bugs and the heat, they are starting to become miserable.  Mulder can't stand it any longer and takes his shirt off, then his pants. “Mulder?  what are you doing?”  Scully sits up to see what all the movement was going on behind her. “I’m hot Scully.  I have boxers on.  Just imagine they are really thin shorts.  Aren’t you hot?” She eyes him and makes a small frown complete with a little pout.  “Well, yeah.  I’m miserable too but I can’t just take off all my clothes.” Mulder looks her over and meets her eyes.  “Why not?” “Because…” she protests. “I’ve seen you naked Scully.  You have nothing to be ashamed about”.  You are safe with me wether you clothes are off or on your body.” Scully thinks this over for a second then pulls her t-shirt up over her head.  The night air hitting her bare skin feels so nice she makes a little sound of joy.   “If I knew getting you naked made you this happy, I would have suggested this years ago.”  He soon apologizes when he sees the look shift to a not so happy Scully. She then takes off her pants and folds her clothes in neat piles beside them.  She lays back down next to Mulder, his front to her back.  They are just close enough that she can feel his skin graze hers when his chest moves as he talks, his hand resting on her arm. A lull in the conversation a few minutes later prompts him to ask questions-ones that have plagued his mind since she asked him be the father of her baby.  They both knew it was a big ask, but he had accepted.  He has felt closer to her now more than ever with the trips to the doctor and talk of the potential life they want to create together.   He has loved her for years but thought she could never love him back.  Why would anyone want to be Mrs. Spooky?  Scully was a smart and beautiful woman and he is a lost cause both career wise and emotionally.  Would he make her a good lover, boyfriend, husband?  Could he make her child, their child, a good father?  Was he insane for agreeing to bring a little human in to this dangerous world?   He did it for her-at first.  Now the thought makes him happy.  It gives him hope.  Lost in thought he didn’t hear Scully until her elbow makes contact with one of his ribs. “Mulder are you still awake?” “Ouch.  Yeah.  I’m just thinking.” “About what?” He puauses then: “You. Me. Us. Having a baby.” With the last statement she rolls over to face him, her eyes filled with question and concern. “Are you having second thoughts?”  There was noticeable pain in her voice and a her brow was lined with concern. “No Scully.  Actually I have been wanting to talk to you about our future.  I mean, I know we are doing the whole lab thing to make the baby.  But what about us.  Don’t you think that we should talk about being, you know, intimate?  I just think it would make the whole process feel more real and natural to the both of us.” Scully swallows hard looks away from him.  She has had the same speech rehearsed in her mind for weeks.  Is it possible to be so in tune with another person as she is to him?  They are opposites, this is with out question. But somehow, together they work as one. “Scully?  Have I upset you?  Please say something.” A tear forms in her eye and rolls down her cheek.  He reaches out and stops it’s progression with his thumb as he caresses her face.   “I’ve upset you.  I’m sorry Scully”. “No, Mulder.  Quite the opposite.  I have been feeling the same way since New Years and I was afraid that with asking you to have a baby with me was pushing my luck, that hoping for anything else was me being greedy with you and our relationship.” She exhales and sits all the way up, back straight and legs crossed.  He rises to meet her and takes her hand in to his. “Scully, how do you feel about me.  I mean really feel?” Her eyes look down at the rug.  She wants to say so many things to him but is afraid to say them in the wrong way.  This situation is so complicated-he is complicated. “Scully?” “Mulder, You know how I feel about you.  I asked you to be the father of my child.” “Well, yes but I mean beyond that.  It was-is the most amazing thing I have ever been asked to do.  But, I want to know why you asked.  Do you just think I’m a cool guy with great hair or do you see us having more?  Do you want us to be a family?” Realizing she is subconsciously holding her breath, Scully takes a moment to breathe.  She wants to grab him and hold him to her- scream at the top of her lungs that yes she loves him, yes she wants to make a life-a family with him.  But she can’t.  It is not that simple for her.  She doesn’t know how to let him in -to see all that she hides inside. “You know how I feel, Scully.  I told you.” Scully crinkles up her face in confusion.  “What did you tell me, Mulder?” “I told you I loved you.” “When?” “At the hospital after you and the Gunmen pulled me out of the water.  After you and I, well I and your look-a-like from 1939 saved the future.” Scully rolls her eyes.  “Mulder, you were on some powerful pain meds.  You were talking out of your head!” “I was telling the truth-about all of it.  Look, Scully, I do love you and I have for a while now.  I was just not sure how you felt until you asked me to have a baby with you.  I know how much our friendship and partnership means to the both of us.  I would never want to risk that in any way.  But I think that we only have so much time in our lives.   We have both had serious medical problems.  Maybe we should seize the day so to speak.” Scully can’t hold back the tears that fill her eyes and they spill on to her cheeks.  “Oh, Mulder.  I do love you.  You know that.  I do want us to start seeing each other.  Maybe go out on some dates that don’t include stake outs and cold pizza?” Mulder laughs, and pulls her to him, then kisses her forehead.  She shifts positions so he can kiss her, which he does gently.  He pulls back and looks in her in the eyes, he feels her running her hands through his hair.  She begins to speak when the side of the tarp flies open. “Agent Mulder, Agent Scully!”  It was Assistant Director Skinner.  “For God’s sake, Agents, put your clothes on!” “Sir, It was so hot we…” Scully explains while trying to find her clothes she had folded just minutes ago. “I don’t need an explanation.  Just do it before someone else sees.  You two have enough problems with out this running around the bureau.” Mulder gets dressed first and exits the make-shift shelter.  He grabs Skinner by the face and plants a kiss on his bald head. “Sir, you are a sight for sore eyes!” “Mulder, I may let Agent Scully kiss me but you better not ever do that again”. Mulder looks confused.  He turns to Scully who has exited the shelter behind him.  He starts to ask her what the Assistant Director meant about a kiss when she pats him on the back, a large grin across her face. “Come on Mulder.  Let’s go home.”

THE END

[ghostietheschrodingergirl]

Human: The Rescue

After an accident that kills most of her family, Emma has found herself living in a mansion with a large family and a rumored villain, Auden Mendeville. If that wasn’t hard enough for the eight year old, try having malfunctioning supernatural abilities and a voice that no one else can hear.

“Expand the search area!” A man in black uniform yelled.

A young man approached, “Sir, It’s been nearly 4 days. Don’t you think if she was in the streets, we would’ve found her?” He gave the man a knowing look.

“If you’re insisting on checking that house again, you’re gonna have to do it alone. I’m not sending any more men on your wild goose chases.” The man replied, not even looking up from the stack of reports in his hands.

“But Sergeant Brumm, I know she’s-”

“Mr. Brickett.” A stern look from the sergeant cut him off. “If you keep insisting on this and messing with my organized search efforts, I will have to suspend you. Now run along before I put you out.” Sergeant Brumm waved his hand dismissively.

“Yes sir.” Brickett turned and jogged towards the run down brick building on the corner of the street. He was greeted by a dark figure disappearing behind the corner. A white petal signified a Phantom.

“What brings you all the way out here, Phantom?” Brickett announced as he walked through the open doorway. “Don’t you have a city to defend?”

“Jay sent me.” A large figure appeared out of the shadows.

“Isn’t it past the little twerps bedtime?” Brickett snickered, crossing his arms.

“He wasn’t awake.” The young man was immediately silenced.

“So, he’s still having those nightmares?” he dropped his arms and took a few steps closer to the guest.

“Yeah.” the man walked over to a door between the kitchen and the stairs, “I’ve checked this floor, go up and try the rooms again. I’ll get the basement.”

“Roger that, chief.” Brickett saluted as he turned for the stairs.

“And Ray.”

“Hmm?”

“Don’t forget to check the floors.”

Brickett nodded and headed up the stairs. He had searched this house so many times that he basically memorized it. The first door on the left was a small room with a desk and several family portraits hung on the walls. Papers were still stacked neatly on the desk. A thick layer of dust covered everything. Ray picked up a frame that sat on the desk next to a flower vase that had long since been forgotten. Wiping the mass of dust from the glass, revealing a picture of a happy family. A young boy, maybe early teens, stood behind a younger girl with long, brown hair, pulled behind a red headband. She wore white dress with pink and red flowers, hands folded behind her back in innocence. The boy had dark black hair. He looked like Jason… A small baby was wrapped in the boy's arms; bundled in a white blanket, blue eyes staring into the camera.

Behind the children were the man and wife. The woman had black hair, pulled back into a neat bun. She wore a navy blazer and pencil skirt. A white collar stuck out from her tanned skin. Dark brown, eyes smiled at the camera. And behind her was a man. Much larger than all, he wore a lab coat over a suit and tie. Brown hair piled on his head and just touched the thick framed glasses on his face. Mischievous blue eyes stuck out. They matched the baby’s. He smiled a toothless smile.

It made Ray sick to his stomach to look at that man. James Martin. Convicted murderer, child abuser and psychopath. The sick Bastard is going behind bars for a very, very long time.

There was a high pitched sound that pulled Ray out of his thoughts. Silently, he set the frame back on the desk and pulled out his gun. He crept down the long hallway searching for the source.

He heard it again. It sounded like a hiccup. He snuck open the door on the left that was barely hanging off it’s hinges. He scanned the room for, well, anything. The room was a dull grey, torn curtains hung from the barred windows straight ahead. A white bed sat under the windows in the middle of the room. It hadn’t been touched for a while. It was still made up perfectly and didn’t match the rest of the house. The grey blanket made only helped with the blandness. Other than the fact that it was moving, everything was the same.

Wait. Moving?

“Da-hic-Dadd-y,”  Ray was shocked. He couldn’t move. The small voice was coming from under the blanket. He had checked under the bed, but never the actual bed itself. “Da…”

Ray forced himself over to the bed. Gun still in hand, he pulled back the blankets, hoping for a ploy. His heart dropped when he saw the ashen faced child that was chained to the bed she cried on. Her had was faced away from him, but he could still see the tears that glistened on her cheeks. Her chest heaved with empty breaths and her body wracked with ragged sobs.

Ray placed a comforting hand on her shoulder to calm her. She stiffened, but didn’t move away. Her head jerked and began to turn, she was trying to look at him. “Da-addy?” The heart-wrenchingly small voice almost broke the young man. He put his gun away and placed a gently hand on her cheek, guiding her gaze to meet his.

Without taking his eyes off her, Ray reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, white device and placed it in his ear. “Phantom,” he called. “Phantom get up here. I’ve got her.”

“No sweetie,” He said “No m-my name is Officer Raymond. Can you tell me your name?” he distracted her while he felt for her pulse. Finding none on her wrist, he moved to her neck.

“Daddy��-s cold…” hazy blue eyes stared up at the ceiling. They jumped around, trying to find something to focus on.

“I know sweetheart. We’re gunna get you outta here, okay?” Ray began working on breaking the cuffs. “We- We’re gunna get you outta here. We’re gunna get you war.. A-and we’re gunna get you food a-and water, and we’re gunna get you all better!” He couldn’t help the shaking in his voice. He was just so filled with rage and sadness that he couldn't help the shaking in his hands or the tears that were pricking at his eyes.

“Don’t cry… daddy…” The small, frail hand that was limp under the heavy shackle suddenly came to life, floating through the iron. Cold fingers made contact with his hot face, wiping at the tears. “It’ll be o-ok… Daddy…”

Dumbstruck, Ray stood there holding the now empty chain, staring into light lilac eyes. The light cast eerie shadows on both faces. The child was floating a few inches above the bed, hands hovering over his face, illuminating the tears.

A light blue streak bled from her nose. It rolled down the side of her cheek and around to the back of her head. It dripped a steady beat onto the bed below. The child's hand moved to feel the cool liquid flowing from her nose. She pulled back her hand and stared at it, unfazed.

She blinked up at Ray. “Don’t let me die again, daddy.”

Unconsciously, he reached out and grabbed the bloody hand. He tried to speak, but found his voice was stuck behind the lump in his throat.

“Don’t worry, Emma. Nothing is going to happen to you.”  deep voice took over on the other side of the bed.

With that her eyes slipped shut. While she was still afloat, Ray grabbed the big, grey blanket and wrapped it around her.

“How long have you been standing there?” Ray finally spoke, absently wiping at the blood on Emma’s face.

“Long enough,” Phantom replied.

There was a short silence that lasted forever. The Phantom Knight walked over to look at the child. He took in the yellowing bruise that took up the right of Emma’s neck. The slow rise and fall of her chest. He debated his options.

“So, what do we do?” Ray asked, gesturing to the girl in his arms. “Seeing as to how she’s glowing, levitating, and bleeding, well, god knows what, I’m gunna take a wild guess in saying that we can’t take her to any normal hospital.”

“And she’s an at-risk 'Amber’ child who’s dying.” Phantom finished. “Which means we can’t just take her back to the Hallow”

After thinking for a moment Phantom finally spoke. “I’ll call Parker.” he said.

“Alright.” Phantom receded from the room, climbing the fire escape to the roof.

“Come on Princess, let’s get you fixed up.” Ray held Emma tight in his arms as he ran downstairs. Jumping from the last steps, he burst through the door to the street. “Help! I need some help over here!” he ran deep through the flood of red and blue lights.

The whole ordeal caused quite a scene. A scene that attracted the attention of a certain Mr. Brumm. As he made his way through the crowd of officers and reporters, he caught a glimpse Brickett loading an armful of blankets into one of the Ambulances.

“Well I’ll be damned.”