#on second thought though - it SHOULD be Polo Assassin

[icewindandboringhorror]

i remember being really young and watching inuyasha late at night and i think there was some sort of attack or something that was referred to as a ‘miasma’ but I thought inuyasha said ‘my asthma’ and for a really long time I was like “oh yeah of course... he has asthma... he said it in an episode but it’s weird we never see him use an inhaler, i wonder why they never address inuyasha’s asthma??” like I was just waiting the whole series for his asthma to finally become relevant to the plot hgggh

[ohhoneato]

In order to speak of most anyone else, I must introduce, The Enchantress.

This is Rose Candit.

And she has been alive for millions of years.

Rose started out discriminated against, as someone from a family that openly used magic in the time period she was born into, it was only natural. She had 4 siblings, each with their own distinct power, but Rose was the most powerful.

As she grew up, she began hiding her powers to meet with a human, whom she'd fallen deeply in love with. He loved her back and they spent plenty of time together. Then one day, she accidentally used her magic in front of him. She couldn't quite remember what she'd done, but it was something small like growing a flower or picking something up.

The human grew furious that she'd kept this from him and attempted to kill her. He was unsuccessful, though at that point she would have gladly died for him.

She kept trying to speak with him, to get him to understand, to no avail. As they grew older, he married a human girl, but not before killing all of her siblings in cold blood. He hunted them down, whether for sport or revenge she never knew. But that pulled her out of her lovestruck daze. She found each of her siblings and pulled each their souls into an artifact of their own, a jewel that matched their personalities. These gems were eventually considered ancient artifacts that were frequently sought after for their power.

She traveled through the world to different places, fighting everywhere that she was needed for others. She wandered for years before she considered, perhaps she could change this, the fighting and hatred. She began growing her own resistance, not made of those who were able to sustain their age infinitely like her, but normal magic uses. Witches and warlocks as ordinary as could be. All driven from their homes with their families killed in vain.

She recruited a man named Nero Roamer, who was from a long line of assassins. He was kicked out of his family for attacking the head of the house, his mother, and wanted to make a new life for himself fighting for the good of others.

The two of them traveled for a long time, recruiting others for their cause.

Rose wasn't perfect. Her time among humans made her bitter. She began taking slaves from the humans, usually those less headstrong and willing to work for her. Perhaps they looked up to those with magic or they could be children, who could be influenced. They were considered slaves because she didn't pay them. She didn't truly kidnap any of them, most willingly came with her after she offered. The work was hard, but everyone believed in what they were doing. She pretended to be indifferent to the humans, but those who knew her knew she thought of them fondly.

Nero eventually was found by a brother, named Polo. Polo was young when he found them, at only 15, but he was already a fully train assassin. Nero loved his brother immensely. And he sacrificed himself for him. After a few years of consideration, Polo would join the resistance.

After traveling for a year or two more, Rose met another traveler. He was one hundred or so years older than her. Radence Kroy was his name and he was the most powerful warlock in the world. Although if you flicked him you would break a bone (think spongebob, glass bones and paper skin). They didn't quite get along, but Radence was rich beyond all belief and believed in her cause. He was obviously jaded and depressed from his time living, but Rose knew better than to ask. He would become her benefactor, though made it so all of his funds would go to his boyfriend and butler if she were to kill him, to be safe.

By this time, she'd adopted all of her children and she used this money to make her school, where she'd live and run the school with Polo as her vice principal, still working on recruiting those with magic for the war still raging on in the background of society.

A little extra, because I wanted to include it, but it won't be super expanded on because I need somewhere to go from here xD Also I feel the need to mention that the soulmark au thing is canon here, created by Radence who had someone kill themselves out of grief after a bad break up that was a friend of his.

Rose has many prestigious witches, warlocks, and wizards come through her school and eventually meets an assassin named Catheir. He's a directly relative of the human she fell in love with all of those years ago and at first, she completely ignores his attempts at flirting with her. They were obviously soulmates, but she just didn't want to take the chance again, especially since after Radence created his spell a second soulmark from the human appeared on her then immediately faded to grey, the color of a deceased soulmate.

Eventually they do get together and it's adorable, but I don't think I should expand anymore yet.

Editing here, I absolutely forgot to add what kind of magic she mainly uses, since that is a very important piece of information for every magic character.

Rose mainly uses earth based powers. She tends to grow rose vines wherever she goes to be intimidating, but she can grow any kind of flower and even manipulate the earth, like an earth bender. She focuses on this, but can use literally every other kind of magic, because everyone born with magic has the capacity to learn it all, it's just easier to do specific kinds of magic or even specific motions. She prefers to grow plants instead of manipulate the ground, but she can still do it with more ease than everything else.

[asifetch7]

Nameless - Chapter 1: Welcome to club ‘Downtown’.

Genre: Mafia AU, gang AU, BTS

Pairings: Yoongi x Reader, BTS x Reader, BTS x BTS

Warnings: Cursing. Gang violence. Gun violence. Kidnapping. Angst. Future fluff. Future smut. Referenced suicide attempt.

—— Summery

Marco Polo is an Italian Korean gang that traveled through Asia and eventually settled in South-Korea. It is known for its multiple locations around the world with the three main ones in Sicily, Tokyo and now Seoul. Their name is of course inspired by Marco Polo, but also the radioactive chemical Polonium.

Their members are poisonous, according to Yoongi at least. Poisonous little fuckers who always appear when you least expect it. Marco Polo and Bangtan have been at each other's throat ever since the Italian gang decided to stay in Seoul. After the last gang war ended in a truce he thought he’d seen the last of them but as Yoongi steps into club Downtown he will come to find out that that can’t be further from the truth.

—— 

previous//one//next

“I just don’t understand why I need to be present for this meeting Namjoon.” Yoongi sighed as he looked from the window to his adviser on his left. He really wasn’t looking forward to discussing a new contract with one of his dealers. “It’s necessary for them to see that you’re not just working behind the scènes Yoongi. You haven’t shown your face in quite awhile. If you keep doing that some people will start to doubt your leadership,” Namjoon calmly explained.

Jimin huffed. “Which idiots are stupid enough to doubt him?” He asked while fixing the knife in his thigh holster. “The Carters, Youngs, Lees and Polos.” Taehyung summed up from the driver's seat. Jimin turned sideways to hit him on the shoulder. “We don’t talk about the Polos. Plus, we have a truce so why would they even bother?” “Don’t play dumb, Jiminie, a truce doesn’t mean shit if the other party looks weak,” Taeyhung stated.

Yoongi closed his eyes. “Can we not talk about the Polos for one night, please?” He asked as they pulled up to club ‘Downtown’. The guys grew silent. He took that as a yes and opened his door.

Jimin groaned as he stepped out of the car. “Eugh, these heels are going to give me ingrown toenails.” He put his right hand on Yoongi’s shoulder to keep himself from falling over while he tried to adjust his shoes. “Should’ve chosen a different pair then doll face,” Yoongi teased. The look Jimin gave him was anything but pleased. “These were the only ones that go with this outfit that YOU gave me, mister. So if I want to complain about the fact that the only pair that matched is too small, than you better prepare yourself for an earful.”

Grinning fondly at the assassin’s behavior Namjoon grabbed a bag from the trunk of the car and started walking away.

The group made their way to the cashier who stood right outside the doors of the club. “Name”, he asked without looking up.

“Agust D.”

That made the head of the boy shoot up immediately. Yoongi reveled in the way only a few letters could make people surrender to him. “King D, sir, my apologies.” The boy bowed a full 90 degrees and quickly signaled for the guards to open the doors.

They walked into the establishment and were immediately welcomed by a hostess dressed in a formal uniform. “Welcome to ‘Downtown’ King D, how can I help you and your party tonight?” She asked after bowing her head.

When she looked up her eyes dragged over Jimin’s form. He could almost hear the judgemental thoughts moving around inside her head and it really made him want to roll his eyes. Sadly, he had a reputation to maintain and they were here for business, not for petty fights.

“I have someone waiting for me at my usual booth.” Yoongi’s gruff voice snapped her attention back to him. She bowed again and started to lead the way. “Follow me then, please.”

“King D, welcome!” The dealer said loudly as he stood from the couch to move to one of the stools. Yoongi looked at him and already wanted to turn back around to go home. He really wasn’t looking forward to this.

“Thank you, Jung right?” He asked as he sat himself down with Jimin glued to his site. Jaehyun stuttered as his eyes landed on Jimin. “Yea-yes, Jung Jaehyun sir, from NCT.”

Namjoon joined Yoongi’s other side and laid the bag under the table. “I heard you wanted to discuss some adjustments for your contract with us?” “Yes, I have a ton of ideas and Taeyong said if I wanted them to happen I needed to talk to you.” Yoongi hummed and nodded towards Taehyung to close the curtains.

Always best to watch out for eavesdroppers.

-

“This here is your locker and you can find your clothing on the rack over there.” The manager of ‘Downtown’ pointed towards a neatly organized set of shelves at the left side of the room. “Your shift starts in thirty minutes so you should have enough time to choose a costume and get changed.”

You thanked him for the quick tour of the place and made your way to the clothes. “Oh, Yugyeom-nim-” “You can just call me Yugyeom, Ruby.” “Yugyeom ssi, is there a theme I should follow?”

The manager glanced around the room in thought and then looked you in the eyes. “I want them to cum in their pants the second they lay their eyes on you,” he deadpanned. You laughed, shaking your head and waved him away.

He moved to open the door, “Make me proud tonight Ruby.” With that he left the room.

You sighed as you grabbed a few items and went into one of the changing rooms. The small room had mirrors on all three walls which made it easy to get a full view of your body. After struggling with the thigh high socks and screwing up your make-up three times, you finally looked at yourself. Damn, if this doesn’t do the job then I might as well go home.

You had chosen to go with an innocent, white angel look and it wasn’t even half bad. The lingerie fitted you perfectly and the heels, even though highly uncomfortable, really pushed the picture of purity you were looking for.

Looking at the clock you saw that you only had five minutes left. You grabbed a pill from your make-up bag and put it in the small pocket of your robe. With one final glance in the mirror you let your mind fall into your character and walked out of the room.

The red ruby on your neck seemed to shine as it reflected the lights from the stage. Your red lips moved into a charming smile when you spotted your target sitting in a private booth.

Let’s get this mission accomplished.

-

Resisting the urge to yawn Jimin forced himself to look around. He couldn’t see much because of the curtains but he could still make out the bar. Yes, that’s exactly what he needed to get through this dull meeting.

Alcohol.

He tapped Yoongi on the shoulder and leaned towards his ear. “Hey, I’m going to get a drink, do you want anything?” Yoongi kissed him on the cheek. “You know what I want dollface.”

Nodding, Jimin got out of the booth and walked to the bar where you were standing with Jackson.

“Ruby, I’m serious. Just one date, please?” Jackson pouted at you. Laughing softly you shook your head at him. “The answer always has been and will forever be no Jackson.”

“Pretty, pretty, pretty please?” He whined. “Why would you even want to go on a date with me? You’ve got like half of the female population after your ass,” you said as you pointed towards some girls ogling at him from the end of the bar. He looked at you with puppy eyes.

“But you’re the only one I want to actually capture it. I mean look at you,” his demeanor changed as his eyes roamed over your body from head to toe. “Who wouldn’t want you chasing their behind?”

You grabbed your tray from the counter to hit him with, only to be interrupted by a giggle from your right.

“I mean he’s kind of right. You look gorgeous.” A voice said as you turned around.

Wow.

The guy in front of you could only be described as an ethereal being. He looked like one of those Greek gods from the paintings that your teacher always wanted you to analyze. A Korean Greek god? Maybe even a goddess considering the way he was dressed.

“Thank you but I look rather bland in comparison to you.” You nodded towards his dress and he smiled brightly. “It looks really pretty on you and does amazing things for your thighs.” You emphasized. He looked down and flexed his muscle making you both giggle.

“Yes, yes, you’re both extremely hot but Rubyyyy,” Jackson continued to whine, “you still haven’t answered my question.” Rolling your eyes you turned back around. “No Jackson. There ya have it. A simple, direct no.” He began pouting again.

“How many more times are you going to ask me out?” You asked as you put the tray back on the counter. “As many times as it takes for you to say yes.” He smiled sweetly. “Eugh, I’m done with you. Serve some drinks so I can do my job.” “I thought your job was to shake what your momma gave ya and make it rain.” You glared at him but before you could do any serious damage to his body a hand got placed on the counter.

“I’d actually like to order a few drinks for table P3.” You looked at Jimin from the corner of your eye and thanked him silently with a smile. “Sure thing hotstuff, which beverages do you desire?” Scoffing at the nickname Jimin ordered a few drinks. He winked at you before he walked away, swaying to the beat of the music.

“Now THAT is an ass worth chasing Jackson.” You smirked teasingly. He watched your eyes follow Jimin to his booth. “I wouldn’t try that if I were you, no one can touch the gem of Bangtan.” Your head snapped to him and he laughed at your expression. “Come again? Bangtan is sitting there?” He nodded his head. “I think even King D is present, something about making appearances.”

This mission just got a whole lot more complicated.

“Take this to them will ya?” Jackson asked as he placed the ordered drinks on your tray. You took a few deep breaths to steady yourself before grabbing the tray and walking towards what could be your final job.

-

“... and that’s why I think either the dosage needs to become higher or the price needs to go lower.” Yoongi just catched the end of Jaehyun’s speech. Maybe he should’ve payed more attention to it but it didn’t matter anyway, the things he was asking for were just ridiculous.

“Listen, Jung, I respect you coming here and actually asking for those kind of changes in person.” The dealer’s face lit up and he saw that his chest puffed out a little in pride. “However,” Yoongi looked him in the eyes and saw Jaehyun’s posture crumble from his cold stare, “upping the dosages of my drugs? Lowering the prices? You’ve got to have some serious balls to even think of such absurd ideas.”

He was really regretting coming here and wasting a perfectly good evening on this bullshit.

So when he saw Taehyung opening the curtains he kind of hoped someone had called him in for an emergency. Sadly, that wasn’t the truth. “Boss, your drinks are here.” He signaled to let them in. A squeal was heard from beside him and he looked at Jimin with confusion written all over his face. He knew he loved alcohol but was it truly worth all that noise?

“Ruby!” He half-shouted in his excitement. You looked up at the call of your name and smiled at Jimin when you saw him making grabby hands for the Raspberry Cosmopolitan in your hand. He thanked you when you handed the sweet drink to him. “Your an actual angel, darling.” He said gratefully after taking a generous sip.

“I’ve got a Gin Negroni,” Namjoon put his hand up and you placed the drink in front of him, “and a Black Russian.” You glanced at Yoongi and saw him roam his eyes over your body. After placing the drink on the table you stood back up. You could still feel his eyes on you as you turned to walk away.

“What? No drink for me sweet cheeks?” Jaehyun asked as he pulled at the strings of your robe, making it fall open. You heard a barely contained scuff from Jimin. “I’m sorry baby but this was all that was ordered,” you said with a sugary sweet voice. He pouted at you.

“Could you at least keep me some company then? Cause I’m still quite thirsty and you look like a fine, tall glass of water.”

Oh honey, no.

You tried not to feel disgusted with yourself as you forced a giggle out of your mouth. “Well, if you insist.”

Yoongi watched as you put down your tray and sat sideways on the dealer’s lap who looked like a kid on Christmas morning. You laid your left arm around his shoulders and started tracing figures on his chest with your right hand.

“What’s your name pretty?” Jaehyun asked breathlessly as you moved around trying to find a comfortable spot in his lap, putting pressure on his groin. “They call me Ruby,” you purred in his ear, “what do you go by, hmm, daddy?” He tightened his hold on your thigh and smirked. “It’s Jung Jaehyun, baby, but you can call me anything you want in that outfit of yours.”

What about an extremely repulsive asshole?

Instead of voicing your thoughts you just giggled again and fluttered your eyelashes at him. “I think I’ll keep calling you daddy then.” You moved to straddle his lap but were interrupted by a cough.

“Jung, do you want to keep talking or are you gonna keep wasting my time?” Yoongi said, grabbing his drink and sipping it slowly. Jimin was already done with his Cosmopolitan and just started eyeing the flower design on your lingerie. Namjoon was on his phone, probably looking for other meetings or events where he needed to be present. Taehyung still stood outside the curtains, hands behind his back.

Yoongi had other ideas for where he could place them but he was still sitting on this stupid couch, talking to someone who clearly wasn’t interested in selling his ideas anymore.

God, what a fucking merry dance.

His annoyed tone seemed to grab Jaehyun’s attention though and the dealer quickly pulled your arm from his neck, shooting you an apologetic look. “I’m sorry baby but I’ve gotta do some business.” Yoongi rolled his eyes. This guy really thought he was a big deal, didn’t he?

“Really?” You asked with pouting lips. Jaehyun nodded and padded your ass to get you off his lap. You stood up and slipped your hands in your robe. “Let me give you one of my goodbye kisses then, daddy.” He grinned and pulled you back by your wrist. “I would gladly receive one of those angel.” You giggled and grabbed his face in your hands.

You started with little kisses on his throat, slipping the pill out of your left hand and right into your mouth. Then you kissed him passionately and invaded his mouth with your tongue when he groaned.

The pill on your tongue was easily delivered in the back of the target’s throat. You prolonged the kiss to keep him distracted before finally pulling away. It all happened in a matter of seconds. Jaehyun swallowed when your lips moved from his. You smiled sweetly at him and stood up from his lap, gathering the empty glasses on your tray.

Yoongi catched your eye and you saw the lust floating around behind them. You turned your back to him and walked towards the curtains, giving your target one last sultry glance. He was still watching you with rapt attention. Taehyung opened the curtains for you and you laughed softly as you stept out of their booth.

Enjoy the ride, boys.

-

“So, where were we gentleman?” Jaehyun asked as he not-so-subtly tried to rearrange his pants. “I was about to send you home with a broken finger, rib or toe. Your choice.” Yoongi said as he sipped the last of his Black Russian, not looking bothered by his statement at all.

The dealer on the other hand choked on air and dropped to his knees immediately. “I’m so sorry if I offended you sir. Please accept my deepest apologies. I was a fool to ask for such idiotic changes.” He rushed to say while bowing with his head on the ground. A laugh escaped Yoongi as he stood up, only to crouch down in front of the guy. “You see Jung, the changes aren’t really the issue here. Sure, it was still stupid to even ask but I won’t let Jimin  dismantle your bones for that.”

He looked back at the mentioned assassin and was met with a wicked smile.

“The problem is the fact that you let a woman interrupt your business deal like that. I don’t think Taeyong will be very happy with that when he finds out. You also disregarded my warning when I asked you to stop wasting my time.” He stood back up with a groan. “Instead of sending her away, like I expected you to do, you gave her a ‘goodbye kiss’. Quite a show if I may add, but that doesn’t change the fact that you did it in front of me. In front of my crew. A crew that has better things to do than watch you french an escort.”

“Hey, don’t call Ruby an escort,” Jimin complained softly from behind him. “She’s really sweet.” Yoongi turned around and gave him an unimpressed look. “You really want to argue about that right now dollface?” Jimin huffed and crossed his arms but said nothing. “Thought so.”

“Euhm, boss?” Namjoon asked, concern clear in his voice. “What?” Yoongi said as he turned back around to the dealer still on the floor. “Oh, that’s not good.”

Jaehyun lay sprawled out in a small puddle of blood and… Is that foam? Yoongi took a step closer to see where the substance was coming from. He didn’t find any marks on the body but when the dealer started choking his attention went to his mouth and that’s when he saw it.

A mixture of blood, spit and foam was slowly making its way onto the ground. “Any idea why this is happening Namjoon?” He asked while stepping back to join Jimin who was now standing near the curtains. “No, he just started bleeding from his mouth I guess.” “You guess? Are you serious?” Namjoon glared at him. “He had his head on the ground the entire time, what do you expect from me? Being able to look through his skull to see what’s happening?”

“Taehyung, get in here,” Yoongi called. The captain quickly made his way inside. His eyes looked around the room before landing on the dying man in front of him. “Planned, accident or not involved?” Was the only thing he asked as he looked at Yoongi. “Not involved so the only option is that escort Ruby. Shutdown the whole club. I don’t want anyone going in or out until we have her in our possession.”

Taehyung nodded and went back outside while conversing with someone through his earpiece.

Yoongi let out a heavy sigh. “This night just keeps on being really fucking annoying.” Jimin looked at him with sympathetic eyes. “It will be alright baby. We’ll be in bed before you know it.” “I hope you’re ready to say goodbye to your sweet Ruby.” He said. “Honestly if she did it I don’t even hold it against her,” Jimin shrugged. “That guy was just disrespectful and nasty.” He stuck his tongue out making Yoongi laugh.

“True, but I don’t like the fact that she did it so close to us. What if she plans to do something to one of us in the future? I’d rather not die while foaming from the mouth.” He grabbed Jimin’s hand and made his way out of the booth. Namjoon took the bag out from under the table and followed after them.

They all halted their steps when Taehyung’s voice made itself present in their ears.

“Got her.”

This night was far from over.

-

Exiting the booth you focused on maintaining a normal walking pace. You placed the tray with empty glasses on the counter and waved your hand at Jackson. “Hey, I’m going to reapply my makeup for a second.” He nodded at you. “Sure thing.”

After slamming the door of the dressing room behind you and leaning against it, you finally felt like you could breathe.

Okay, y/n, calm down.

You took a deep breath and started to change into your black outfit. It was still classy enough to not stand out in the club crowd but since it was completely black you could easily disappear in the dead of night.

Looking around the room you spotted an empty trashcan. You grabbed your angel outfit and threw it in there with the content of one of the many perfume bottles on the dresser. Lighting up a few matches you tossed them in one by one, watching as the fire consumed the white lace.

Bye-bye, sweet angel.

When you opened the door you were met with chaos. Turns out that little drug Lisa sold you worked faster than you thought. You quickly made your way towards the emergency exit, vanishing from sight between panicked clubgoers. With one foot outside of the door your mind already started celebrating pulling off another mission unnoticed.

Since your mind was elsewhere occupied, it didn’t give out alarm signals for the figure watching you from the shadows.

You were just a few meters away from the club when you were harshly pulled into an alley. Out of reflex your legs instantly kicked out at whoever was trying to get you off of the street. You heard a groan coming from your attacker and tried to turn around but the hold they had on you was too tight.

Suddenly you felt an enormous pain in your stomach which made you double over. “Motherfucker.” You coughed as you tried to regain balance. Your attacker didn’t give you a chance though as they punched your jaw hard, making your vision go black. The last thing you heard was a low, honeyed voice.

“Got her.”

...

When you woke up all you could see was…

Nothing.

You couldn’t see shit. Everything was dark. Black. Unlit. You tried moving your hands but were met with resistance. The same happened when you struggled to separate your feet. Wiggling your body was all you could do so you tried to move around a bit.

Out of nowhere you were swerved to the right. The sudden movement made your body hurl itself against the side of something hard.

Great, they threw me in the trunk.

So wiggling like a fish was of no use and trying to figure out where you were, was also useless since you didn’t know how long you were out for. What you did know, was that you were attacked in an alley back at Downtown, got knocked out and thrown in the trunk of a car driven by some lunatic.

Seriously, who swerves this fucking much?

As you closed your eyes again, you could only hope that your kidnappers would soon arrive at their location.

-

“Tell me why we let Joonie drive again?” Jimin asked as he fell on Yoongi for the tenth time. “Because while Tae was busy putting Ruby in the trunk and you and I were talking to Jackson, he decided to get in the driver’s seat,” Yoongi said. “Like the genius he is,” he added, sarcasm filling every word.

“Oh shut up,” Namjoon hissed, “it’s not that bad.” Taehyung laughed loudly. “You almost make me pity the poor woman. I hope for her that she’s still knocked out.”

Jimin squeezed Yoongi’s hand, making him look his way. “Do you really think she did it?” He asked seriously. “Afraid so, love. You saw the footage. I don’t know how she did it, but I think we’ll find out tonight.” Jimin nodded and started drawing patterns on his hand.

“I’m sorry, dollface. I thought this would be a calm night.” Yoongi said as he kissed Jimin’s cheek. “It’s okay, we can go back to the club another time. Let’s just say you owe me a peaceful night.” He shrugged. Yoongi smirked at him. “I don’t think any night with you would be described as peaceful.”

Jimin giggled and pulled his face towards him to place a sweet peck on his lips. It turned into a passionate kiss quickly, making both of them smile.

“I’d hate to interrupt you two, but we’ve got a woman to interrogate.” Namjoon said as he drove into the garage of the gang’s mansion.

“Let’s get this night over with boys.”

-

The second time you opened your eyes the light situation hadn’t changed. Your limbs were still tied together but this time you weren’t rolling around in the back of a car. This time you were sitting up on an uncomfortable, solid chair.

Your ears picked up a few voices speaking in Korean, voices that you recognized.

“If she doesn’t wake up in the next minute I’m emptying this bottle over her head.”

“Agust, no, what did that champagne ever do to you?”

“We’ve got enough of these in our stock, dollface, I will just grab another one for you.”

Bangtan. Your kidnappers were Bangtan.

You can work with that y/n.

You coughed and the voices immediately stopped talking.

Yoongi turned around with the champagne bottle still in his hand. The girl, Ruby, was tied to a chair in front of him. He couldn’t see her eyes because of the blindfold, but her head was aimed straight towards him.

“Did y’all disappear or something? Thought I was about to be showered with expensive champagne.”

“Do you know who you’re talking to Ruby?” He asked, trying to keep his tone cold and low.

She tilted her head. “Not really. Don’t know if you’ve noticed but my eyesight is kind of blocked at the moment.”

Jimin giggled softly and quickly covered his mouth when Yoongi glared at him. “Sorry, sorry,” he whispered with a smile.

Yoongi signaled to Taehyung to remove the blindfold. He yanked it off her head and threw it to the side before standing next to her chair. Her eyes went to him first and then focused on the couple in front of her.

He saw her eyes widen as they found Jimin’s. “Oh, hi, I remember you cutie.” She smiled at him and Jimin…

Jimin blushed. He fucking blushed from a nickname of one of their captives.

“That must make you, euhmm, King D?” She asked him.

He looked at her again. “Yes.”

She laughed, making Yoongi even more confused than he already was.

“King D. What does that stand for, King Dickface? King Dipshit? King Deficiente?” She completely cracked up at this point.

Yoongi grabbed her jaw and squeezed it tightly until she stopped laughing. “What’s about to happen to you is not very funny, Ruby, so I’d try to keep my mouth shut if I were you,” he said. Ruby yanked her head out of his grip and looked at him. “Fine, I won’t laugh but let me just say that you should really change your name.”

“I don’t think I will, seeing as it’s feared all around the world,” he stated. There was a tiny bit of pride noticeable in his voice. He worked hard to get to the point where just his name made people crumble. Yoongi often wondered if the sacrifices he made were all worth it but those thoughts would only lead him on a path of doubts he’d rather not walk. Usually he got sidetracked by alcohol or sex before he could get stuck in the vicious circle of what if’s.

“Feared by the entire world? Was that really what you wanted to be when you were a child?” She asked him with a sudden note of seriousness in her tone. He looked away as he thought about it. “If I wanted to talk about my childhood I would’ve snatched a therapist and not an escort.”

Ruby scoffed at that. “Escort? If you wanted to have sex you could’ve just asked.”

“Yeah? Like how that dead guy asked for a goodbye kiss? I don’t think he knew how literal you would take it,” Yoongi said.

He watched her patiently, waiting for a reaction that would show she was guilty and indeed killed Jung Jaehyun.

For awhile she just looked at him. Studying him as he studied her.

“He asked for a goodbye kiss and I gave him one,” she eventually said. “I don’t understand what that has to do with you kidnapping me and since it’s getting quite late I would like to know what you want from me.”

“Let’s start with your name,” Yoongi said. This could become interesting, he thought as he sat down besides Jimin on the couch opposite of the girl.

“Ruby.”

“No, I don’t believe that’s your name. Well, it’s your stage name or whatever it is called that you escorts use. I want to know your real name.”

“Ruby,” she answered again.

“It’s gonna be like that, huh?” Yoongi asked. The girl stayed still and blinked at him with uninterested eyes, clearly not anticipating his next move. He nodded his head towards Taehyung, who slowly took out his gun and pointed it at her head.  She turned her head towards Taehyung and winked at him.

“Colt Python, lovely choice.”

Taehyung stayed silent and just stared at her.

“No? Nothing? You don’t really talk much. A bit rude to ignore the person you punched in the gut but you do you, I guess.” She shrugged and turned her head back to Yoongi.

Jimin was still watching her from the couch, listening to the conversation. He saved all the information she gave away in his head. So far he didn’t have much but she had to be part of some type of gang. She knew who they were, had obvious knowledge of weapons and was definitely trained in some type of martial arts if the way Taehyung had been limping was anything to go by.

“So, King Douche, I don’t think I’m here to have a cup of tea with you and discuss this weeks latest gossip. Could you get on with it and tell me how I offended the man who is feared around the world?” She asked with her words full of sarcasm.

Yoongi decided to take another route. Just being in their presence didn’t seem to be effective but threatening one's life always did the trick.

"I could kill you right now, you know? So I'd watch that pretty mouth of yours sweetheart."

"Kay? The ability to kill me is nothing impressive and it's also not the best threat, you wanna know why, handsome?"

She fluttered her eyelashes at him and tilted her head slightly to the right, becoming the perfect picture of innocence. God, the things Yoongi could do to destroy that he thought as he scoffed loudly.

"Yes, I would love to know how this does not look like a threat to you," he said, smiling to himself as Taehyung placed the barrel of his gun against her temple.

"It's cause my neighbors could kill me if they wanted to, the cute bartender from Downtown could too, hell even I could kill myself. Believe it or not I tried to, but as you can see my attempts have been rather futile."

She stared him right in the eyes and Yoongi felt himself get lost in those green pools of every emotion but the one he expected. He saw no fear, distress, surprise or even anger. Not even disgust. No, it was hard to get an idea of what was going on behind the windows to her soul. Did she even have one? Because having a soul meant having a mind, a mind that's supposed to be able to think rationally. A mind that's supposed to be giving signals to her body that she is in danger right now.

Still, all he saw was mischief, courage, calmness, even boredom. Boredom of all things. The girl had a fucking gun to her head, was tied down to a chair with nowhere to go and she had the audacity to look bored.

She took him out of his thoughts when he started seeing her mouth move again, tongue rolling around to create syllables to words no one had ever dared to speak to him.

"Killing doesn't make you powerful because anyone can do it. Even a little kid could take a knife in their hands and push it somewhere in to your body. It's the ones that survive that knife you need to watch out for. As the brilliant Kelly Clarkson once said: 'What doesn't kill you makes you stronger'."

"I don't think you got the point though, sweetheart. All the power in this room right now belongs to me. I-"

"No, it doesn't and no, I most certainly did get the point. I know that you call the shots here but that's exactly it. After you let blondie over here shoot me, I go on my merry way to meet dear old Luci. So my mind won't be here anymore but I still hold the power over your next decision."

Taehyung scoffed when he heard the nickname and flicked his hair, this only provoked a giggle out of the girl. He was getting annoyed, no scratch that, he was annoyed and was starting to get angry. He brought his finger closer to the trigger. God, did he want her to stop talking and smiling like she wasn't about to be bleeding out on this floor.

Yoongi on the other hand only got more intrigued. The way the girl spoke freely to him was new and unfamiliar. Only his inner circle could talk to him like that and even then he usually got irritated by it. This girl right here, who still hadn't told him her fucking name, was a mystery to him and Yoongi didn't like mysteries. He wasn't here to play clues but still he sat there, on his velvet seat, trying to figure out the impeccable woman in front of him.

"Why do you think you have any power over any decision I make, huh?" He wasn't any closer to getting information from her and it started to get at him. The night had been tiring enough and his patience was running extremely thin at this point.

"Cause when I'm here, bleeding out on this floor, you're going to have to decide what to do with my body. Within the first hour you will need to think about it. Even if you don't acknowledge it with words and just a head nod to Jung Hoseok over there. It's still gonna be me you're thinking about."

As her little speech came to an end everyone gaped at her. Then she suddenly felt a gust of wind in front of her. She started breathing through her nose as soon as she felt fingers tightening around her throat.

"Tell me how you know that name," Yoongi demanded in a cold and deadly voice that usually had everyone scrambling to their knees to do everything he pleases. But not the girl in front of him, no, she looked him straight in the eye and smirked.

"Marco Polo, bitch."

[something-tofightfor]

Ryan Brenner Headcanon List

This is for my Neon Lights/Just a Place Ryan Brenner. 

Tagging: @the-blind-assassin-12 @its-my-little-dumpster-fire @benbarnestongue @lexxierave @suchatinyinfinity @obscurilicious

Enjoy! 

Tell me something we should know about him, but you’re worried no one will ask or care or want to know. This is me asking, caring, and wanting to know.

Ryan’s middle name is Abraham. He was born on March 14th, 1985. He’s right handed. He sleeps on his right side or on his stomach when he’s really comfortable, one knee bent, the other leg stretched out. He’s used to sleeping fully clothed - sitting up - but is most comfortable sleeping in a light pair of pajama pants and nothing else.

Ryan’s favorite color is olive green. His favorite ice cream is mint chocolate chip. His favorite meal is chicken and dumplings. Ryan prefers to sleep with a window open, even in the winter, because he’s used to fresh air from the trains. Ryan got his driver’s license the day he turned 16, and though he hasn’t always had insurance, he’s kept the license valid because he knew that he’d need it for potential jobs.

The only foreign country he’s ever been to is Canada, and that was just to get through to Alaska. He wants to go to Mexico and Europe, and getting a passport has always been a dream for him.

The only dollar he’d never spend is the one that was given to him as his first tip, and it’s folded into a teeny tiny square and he keeps it tucked behind a picture of his mom that he has in his wallet. 

What was middle school Ryan like? Was he in the band? Did he play trumpet? He’s got the lips for it. Did he play percussion? Was he a good student? Average student with genuine curiosity? Little too concerned with stuff at home to be a student? Did he play baseball? Football? Lacrosse? Did he wear polo shirts? Can he read music?

Middle school Ryan… this is a good one. Ryan was in band - well, he started out in choir, like the rest of the kids, because it was a part of the curriculum, and his mom couldn’t afford to buy or rent him an instrument. He could sing well, and the choir teacher - Ms. Mercer - took a special interest in him, giving him solos in performances and things like that. She caught him one day after school in the music room, sitting in front of the piano, playing random notes… and because she knew that he could sing, asked if he’d ever tried to play the piano.

When he said no, she decided that she was going to help him learn, and offered to teach him after school and during recess - with his mom’s permission, of course. She gave it, and Ryan learned to play the piano slowly but surely over the course of 6th and 7th grade, while also continuing to sing. He learned to read music during this period, too. And because he was really interested, he picked it up very quickly.

Occasionally, he’d play the guitar, too - but he didn’t pick that up until a few years later.

In school, Ryan was a smart, attentive kid. He liked being able to give the right answers to the teachers, liked to learn things, but didn’t like to read much - not because he wasn’t good at it, but because he learns better via hands on experiences. He catches on to things very quickly and retains information.

As he got older, and his home life changed (mom’s new marriage), Ryan’s focus became music instead of academics, because it allowed him to focus on something that he could create, something that would make him feel better.

He was not an athlete in school, but liked to play football with the neighborhood kids - and was always the first person to go in for the tackle, even though he was scrawny and had long legs. By the time he was 13, he’d grown into his speed and was actually very graceful.

Ryan Brenner has never once worn a polo shirt.

What specific thing is sure to be in the fridge and/or pantry when Ryan does the shopping?

Ryan’s not one to go overboard when it comes to grocery shopping, since he’s not used to being able to afford the things he truly enjoys - and is used to buying things that he can easily carry with him/will fill him up when he eats them. He’s used to things like tuna and canned chicken, crackers, protein bars, instant coffee and oatmeal, beef jerky (even though it’s pretty expensive and he only bought it occasionally)... but he’s not picky about his food.

So, now that he has a place to stay and access to a refrigerator, he’s been able to buy some of his favorite things again. He loves grilled cheese sandwiches - they remind him of being little, of the way his mom would always have one waiting for him when he got home from his half days of kindergarten. He’s a huge fan of swiss cheese, but when it comes to the perfect grilled cheese, he’ll usually buy pepper jack or provolone, since they’re super melty.

Along with cheese, another thing Ryan always picks up for the fridge is orange juice - which you’ve caught him drinking straight from the carton.

Pantry foods that Ryan always picks up? Popcorn and chunky peanut butter. Ryan loves salty snacks like pretzels.

Gimme those weird tics. The stuff you notice about him if you spend enough time with him. Does he jingle the car keys when he’s ready to go? Does he only scratch his nose with his thumb or his ring finger? Does he let his teeth click together when he’s thinking hard? I need to know.

Ryan rubs at his eyebrows a lot when he’s thinking hard - or when he’s focused on something, usually with his right hand. 

He second guesses his words a lot, because he doesn’t want to speak out of turn or sound foolish, so unless he’s with people he feels really comfortable with, he isn’t usually the one to start the conversation.

He always puts his right shoe on first, and double knots the laces before he tucks them into the tops of his boots.

Ryan double checks the locks on the doors when he leaves the house.

He chews on his nails occasionally, but never actually bites them off. He hums to himself a lot.

He doesn’t sneak up on people.

When Ryan texts, he always uses punctuation, but doesn’t always use full sentences.

Though he can focus on things intently, little things often catch his attention - hearing music from across the store, the way things are organized, the intricacies of other people’s talents (the details in your pictures, the way people create art, the ingredients in food) - and he’s not afraid to question people about these things when he’s interested. It makes him forget that he doesn’t want to interrupt, because he wants to learn about what makes other people happy.  

When did he start playing music? Why? What did he think would come from it? Was it always a dream to record or did he simply jump at the opportunity like a train he knew he wouldn’t catch a second time?

He started playing the piano in school, and started playing guitar at home. His dad has a cheap old acoustic guitar, and Ryan would (at the age of 12/13) come home from school and make sure no one was home before he’d pick it up and strum it. He didn’t know what he was doing at first, but he liked feeling the connection to the father that he could barely remember.

He wrote his first song - about his neighbor’s dog barking at night - at the age of 12. His mom caught him playing the guitar one day when she came home from work early, and at first she was surprised, but when she saw that he was treating the instrument with respect, she allowed him to play it… and he never tried to keep it secret again.

He started playing for fun, because he enjoyed the piano and singing, and wanted to see if he could learn something else, too - and it turns out that he could. After he left home and started traveling by train, he found the Washburn in a pawn shop, forked over his last bit of cash for it, and it became his best friend. Ryan taught himself to play guitar during the long, empty hours on the trains, moving between cities in the dark. He played in gas station parking lots and empty parks.

He never really thought about recording until after he was already on the road and found Cowboy and Virginia. He just liked playing. When he met Georgie, he started thinking about what it would be like to record, to have a copy of his vocals and playing. By the time he was 21,  he’d been on the road for just under 6 years and had improved his playing to the point where he was almost constantly thinking about his own music… but not out loud, because the people he played with weren’t consistent, and he never felt as if he was good enough to sing and play his own stuff without a backing band.

I wanna know something he’s passionate about. When he gets goin’ he won’t shut up. Or maybe something that makes him really angry. Like a good righteous anger, you know? 

Not being taken seriously is one of the things that Ryan is very quick to get upset about. He’s more than just the way he looks - and people usually won’t take the time to get to know him. They hear him playing, see his face, think he’s just another good looking guy that wants to be famous, and don’t try to get to know him or see past what his appearance says. It frustrates him that he’s typecast, because he tries not to judge people based on the way that they look.

That’s one of the reasons that he’s so unwilling to speak a lot when he first meets someone. He’s used to people not hearing him or not caring what he’s got to say that he figures it’s best to say what he has to and nothing more. He’s got a lot to say, though, especially if it’s a topic he cares about - like encouraging others. Ryan HATES when people try to limit people, and will talk himself blue about why they shouldn’t hold back when they want something just because someone else told them they couldn’t or shouldn’t do it. (Which is funny because he held back on writing and playing his own stuff for so long.) He thinks that people should do what makes them happy and fulfilled, and will always go out of his way to help people out when they need it most, even at the expense of his own feelings.

I wanna know his mama’s name and what he misses about her and something he learned from her that is still a part of him.

Laura Mason met Ryan’s dad James Brenner when she was twenty, got pregnant at 21, and had Ryan just before she turned 22. Unfortunately, James got into an accident at work when Ryan was four, leaving Laura and Ryan alone. Luckily, they got a small settlement, and it was enough to keep the household afloat while she raised Ryan. She met her second husband, Thomas, when Ryan was seven, and for the first few years, things were great… until they weren’t anymore, and Thomas started abusing both of them - Laura verbally, and Ryan physically. (Ryan was always very grateful that Thomas’ anger was directed at him and not Laura, and he gladly took the punches so his mom didn’t have to.)

Ryan misses his mom’s hugs, and the way she always made time to tuck him in at night, even when she was working 2nd shift and had to come home on her lunch breaks to do so - telling him a different thing that she loved about him before she turned off the lights. Unfortunately, this stopped right around the time Ryan turned 10, and Thomas thought that it was “unnecessary” for her to “coddle her kid”.

The thing that sticks with him the most is something that she told him when he started to go to school. They were on the couch, right before she met Thomas, and when he thinks about it, he can still feel her arms wrapped around him, smell her perfume. She told him “Don’t compare yourself to anyone else, Ryan. No one else is going to make the same impression on the world as you are.” Another thing she made very clear to him? Being respectful of the people around you is IMPERATIVE, even when they don’t give you the same consideration.

Does Ryan have any guilty pleasures?  What’s something he misses when he’s traveling? How does he feel about feet? What’s something he’s really picky about?

Ryan’s guilty pleasure is long, hot showers. He misses the feeling of being clean when he travels, and no matter how broke he was, two things that he always made sure to have in his pack were deodorant and a decent shampoo. Since he doesn’t like to cut his hair,  he always wants it to look as clean as possible, even when he can only spend a few minutes under the water. He knows what people think of people like him, so he wants to do what he can to ensure that he doesn’t fit the stereotype - and always tries to at least smell nice, even if his clothes are worn and his hands aren’t totally clean..

Ryan’s other guilty pleasure is ice cream. He doesn’t really like sweet stuff, but he’s a sucker for ice cream and will never turn it down, which is why he was so excited for the gelato in Vegas.

I want the story of his first meeting with cowboy. Why he hasn't tried to make his own music? his favorite city to visit and why? what is a must he carries in his pack?

The first time he met Cowboy, he actually met Virginia first. Virginia heard him playing guitar and singing, and stopped to talk to him. She asked him to play something for her, and he got a little cocky - which she laughed at. She recognized that Ryan was alone and needed some guidance or he wasn’t going to last too long out on his own, and offered to introduce him to Cowboy, her ‘good friend’ (they weren’t together yet… just traveling together). Ryan met Cowboy and they instantly clicked.

Though they didn’t stay together at all times, the majority of the next few years was spent traveling together, playing music and making connections before they went their own ways. Cowboy and Virginia introduced Ryan to more of their friends - Kenny, Georgie, a woman named Jen that Ryan always stayed with in Arizona because she reminded him of his mom - and Cowboy even mentioned the fishing gig in Alaska, sending Ryan up north for the first time. Cowboy (and Virginia) were Ryan’s closest friends for many years, and Ryan even stood in as best man when they got married by a woman they met in Louisiana. The ceremony wasn’t exactly legal, but it was enough for Ginny and Cowboy, and Ryan was honored to be asked to be there with them for the most important day of their lives.

Ryan’s always been very shy about writing and whether or not he actually possesses the talent to create his own music. No one specifically told him not to write or play his own stuff, just that he was more likely to be successful playing tried and true hits. Cover bands are much more likely to get booked and find work than original ones, so Ryan was more focused on making a living than he was about forging a path based on the things that he came up with. He’s always written stuff, but never thought that it was any good. PLUS, he didn’t have anyone super consistent to play with, which made it difficult to ever fully realize his music with anything more than his own vocals and guitar.

He loves visiting the southwest. Likes being in the desert, seeing the sand and the cliffs, loves the heat and the culture. He loves El Paso, because of the people and the vibe - and the food. Ryan LOVES Mexican food.

Along with his deodorant and shampoo, Ryan’s always got to have a notebook and a pen with him, just in case. Even though the recorder took over for the lyrical stuff, he still wrote things down quite a bit - putting pen to paper calms Ryan down. A lot of the things that he had in the pack that got stolen in Utah - letters, pictures - were stuff from home, stuff that he had sent to some of the more ‘established’ friends that he picked up as he passed through places - were really sentimental, but living like he did, it was best to only keep the essentials. His hat, though? That’s something that he got as a teenager, and it’s the only thing that he has to tie himself back to his home.

Tell me his favorite song to listen to that he would never cover because “it’s perfect how it is”

He’s got a couple. Creedance Clearwater Revival “Have You Ever Seen the Rain”, “One Headlight” by The Wallflowers (he loves the song, but thinks that Bob and Jakob Dylan can’t be touched vocally and won’t even try). He’s always very apprehensive about The Beatles and even “Hallelujah” is a song that he’s only going to pull out when he’s sure that he can nail it. Ryan strives to be authentic in everything that he plays and sings, so if he’s not feeling it, he won’t do it.

 Listening to music in headphones or filling the house with it? Does he like Reader in dresses or jeans? Which movies do we watch curled up on the couch? How does he eat his steak? Would he go back to school?

He likes to listen to music, no matter how he does it. Now that he’s not traveling anymore, he likes to lisen so that it fills the whole house - usually on the radio, or through your laptop/computer. You’ve got a smart speaker in the bedroom, so he uses that a lot. But when he got his new phone, the first thing he did was put a bunch of music on it, so when he’s relaxing (and you’re not home) or he’s out walking or in public, he’ll use headphones and get lost in the music. For Ryan, a lot of the things that people take for granted are still pretty new and exciting to him - like having a portable way to play music.

It’s been warm whenever he’s been with you, so he hasn’t really seen you in long pants often, aside from leggings when you’re lounging around the house. He likes dresses better than shorts, but isn’t going to complain much about anything you wear, because he just likes looking at you.

Ryan enjoys comedies. Though he’d treat himself to an occasional dollar movie or cheap matinee, he’s kind of behind when it comes to new releases… so he’s definitely not opposed to curling up on the couch and binging Netflix - popcorn in hand.

Ryan’s definitely a meat and potatoes guy. He likes his steak rare to mid rare, burgers mid rare. He doesn’t like to overcook things, because the taste changes dramatically. However… when he eats grilled hotdogs? He likes them to be kinda crispy on the outside for that well-grilled taste. Ryan’s determined to learn how to grill properly, especially because it means that he can cook for you.

He’d go back to school, but it’s not really on his radar right now - he just wants to focus on getting used to a more settled life without worrying about taking on a ton more responsibility, especially since he’s working a few jobs at the moment.

Should he get a dog? Is he considering having kds someday? Favorite drink? Christmas or birthday? Does he watch sports? His pet peeves? Is there any part of his body he doesn’t like to be touched?

Ryan never really thought about having pets, because of the way he lived before. Traveling didn’t allow him to take another living thing with him. And with your schedule - the fact that you’re never really sure when you’ll be leaving also makes it difficult. A cat would be easier to handle for both of you, but at this time, pets aren’t on the horizon.

Kids… are not something Ryan’s thought seriously about. He doesn’t mind them, gets along well with them, and doesn’t have any issues with them, but again, his lifestyle wasn’t really kid friendly before.

His favorite drink is coffee.

He likes Christmas better than his birthday.

He doesn’t really watch sports, because he’s never had the opportunity to sit and follow a season or a team before, but he’ll pay attention to baseball or football when he’s in bars and they have the games on.

Ryan’s biggest pet peeve is being cut off while talking. He doesn’t like people who act like they know everything. He hates when people leave lights on in rooms that they aren’t in. He doesn’t like when people waste food. He doesn’t like people that seek attention. He doesn’t like when people ignore others - not letting them voice an opinion, not taking them seriously, etc. He hates when people go out of their way to make others feel guilty.

The only place that Ryan doesn’t really like to be touched is his feet - and there’s no reason behind it other than that he knows that he’s almost constantly wearing shoes (or was when he was traveling) and doesn’t want to subject people to that, especially if it’s been a while since his last shower.

 What is his morning routine? Zodiac sign? A story of his first kiss? Any allergies? Favorite Avenger?

I talked about his morning routine in JaP 5. He gets up, stretches, and has his coffee, this is the same thing that he did on the trains, but now he’s gotten to know (and love) the Keurig so much that he doesn’t remember what it’s like to not have one.

Since his birthday is March 14, he’s a Pisces.

His first kiss was when he was 15 with a girl named Erin that was a year older than him and lived four houses down the street. Her friend thought Ryan was cute and dared her to kiss him thinking that she wouldn’t do it - but Ryan was VERY into girls at that time, and thought Erin was super cute so he had no problem kissing her back.

He does not have any allergies that he is aware of.

Ryan’s favorite Avenger is Spiderman, because he’s just a regular kid that finds out that he can do good for the people that he cares about.

He’s not huge on comic books, though, and was much more into Saturday morning cartoons as a kid. He loved the Ninja Turtles when he was a kid, and also really liked Inspector Gadget.

Ryan’s Tattoos

Ryan’s got a lot of ink, and will probably end up with more. For starters, here are the two that we *know* he’s got: the bird on his arm and the lines and dots on his fingers.

The bird tattoo on his arm (I believe it’s a hummingbird based on the wings and the glimpses we see of it throughout the movie) is for his mom. It reminds him to be open to and accepting of change, to pursue his dreams and to remember that small, simple ideas can become great things in time. ALSO. The hummingbird, to Ryan is a constant reminder that his mom was there - and she loved him - and that he’s got to do what he needs to do in order to create his own happiness. He got it as soon as he turned 18 and it was his first tattoo.

The lines and dots on his fingers were done by a teenage Inuit girl in Alaska while Ryan was up there working on the fishing boat. She was learning to tattoo, and wanted to practice, and even though looking back, it probably wasn’t a good idea to get hand tattoos while in such a cold environment, he got them between trips, when the boat was docked for a little over a week for repairs and to unload. The girl that he got them from was very shy and unsure of her skills, and in an attempt to raise her confidence level, Ryan volunteered to be her test subject. They were the second tattoo that he got.

The third one is the tattoo on his ribcage - it’s the constellation Lynx (see attached image) - but also included below and to the right of the center of the constellation is NGC-2419, which is a deep sky object referred to as “The Intergalactic Wanderer”, and is one of the objects in the Milky Way that is furthest from the center of the galaxy - and is 275,000 light years away from our solar system. It’s lonely, and it’s separated from the rest of the galaxy, but it’s still a part of everything, and it’s kind of how Ryan views himself vs. the rest of the world - but it’s visible in areas that don’t have a lot of light pollution, and Ryan saw it often when he was in Alaska, on the boat… and has even been able to find it sometimes using telescopes or binoculars while on the trains or in the desert.

He’s got a tattoo on the back of his shoulder, too. It’s a geometric design, roughly 6-7 inches in size, and is a mess of lines and dots and circles. The story behind this one is actually a lot of fun - and Ryan won’t hesitate to talk about it, even though it features a woman, it’s not what you might think.

When he was 28, Ryan was staying in Chicago with Georgie and some other friends, and ended up going out with a large group. Someone in the group wanted to get a tattoo, but no one wanted to go to the shop with him. Ryan went, thinking it would be a good way to pass the time, since it was snowing pretty heavily outside. So he went to the shop, and the girl doing the tattoo for his buddy Sean couldn’t keep her eyes off of Ryan the whole time, which led to a conversation about his tattoos. After explaining to her that he had a few, but hadn’t had the money to get any new ones for a few years, she offered to give him a tattoo - in exchange for a date. He agreed, and they went out (twice), had a good time and she designed the tattoo for him and did it in the shop after they were closed one night. He looked her up the next time he was in Chicago, but she didn’t work at the tattoo place anymore, and he didn’t have any other way of finding her.

The other tattoo is the one on his wrist of the Bellagio fountain coordinates, and getting it allowed him to have a lasting, meaningful connection with you, even though he never thought he was going to see you again. The way you felt about your parents and having that date on your body is the way that he felt about you, even then, and it wasn’t enough - but it was going to have to be.

 What’s something he would tell you if he had the right words?

As I said before, Ryan doesn’t think that he’s very good with words, so instead of telling you things, he tries to show you. But:

He’d tell you that he never wants you to compromise your own dreams for his. That he wants you to do what makes you happy - that if it doesn’t involve him, he gets it, but that he wants to involve you in every part of his life. He’d tell you that he feels like you’re a missing piece for him, that he was looking for you - and what you represent - for longer than after Vegas, it was before, too. The wandering and the learning and the life that he led before you was necessary, and he wouldn’t change much of anything (though he would have liked to go home before his mom passed to say goodbye), because it meant that he was more than prepared to make the decision to stop. Ryan would do anything to convince you that even though he might still go occasionally, he’d never leave you willingly.

 What’s something he’s always wished he could do?

Ryan wishes that he could paint or draw. He’s happy with playing guitar and piano, and he can admit that he has a decent voice, but he wishes that he was able to visually create things, too. That was one of the things that he and the tattoo artist talked about while she was inking his shoulder; she freehanded the design onto the transfer sheet, and Ryan was really impressed.

Another thing that Ryan wishes that he could do? Cook. He’s never had the opportunity to seriously learn before (aside from short-order stuff in the diners that he’s worked in and simple recipes) … but now that he’s finally got a ‘home’, maybe this will change.

[mrdanielbond]

What happened? [James Bond x Reader]

[Main Characters; James Bond X Reader]

Plot; Waking up to what would have been a disastrous evening, if you could remember, you and James are trying to pick up the pieces of last night and find out what exactly happened when you went for a ‘couple’ of drinks...

[Y/N - Your Name]

[Word Count - 3000+ ]

[Warnings; Maybe a few curse words Oh and terrible writing.]

[A/N; I didn’t consider it to really be worthy of warnings, so whoops if it is? Anyway, hope you enjoy this ridiculous one-shot! I didn’t intend on making something like this, but here we are. Also there may be a few typos - whoops again.]

[Instagram; @Daniels.Craig]

What was that smell? Was that - was that James’ perfume? The wafting smell of juniper berries, bergamot and a hint of vanilla around you - in fact it wasn't just wafting around you, it was too close to simply ignore. This was seriously odd. It was then the sharp stinging pain that was your hangover had hit as a dart would strike its board. One after the other, pounding and shooting from one end to the other - god this was painful, even for you to handle. But at this moment in time you were consuming the comfort that was your bed as your head found its way soaking up the cosy and pleasant feeling of being rested against a bare chest as your fingers curled up on it. Wait...Chest? You froze instantly. That couldn’t have been a chest and your bed being warmer than it usually was, it couldn’t have been because there was someone else in it, right? God, this better not be happening. You thought, squeezing your eyes shut tighter. You tried to find a way to believe that was merely a thought, until you had realised you were soaked up in a warm embrace, one lengthy arm resting around your waist. Slowly, you opened your eyes, praying that you weren’t in the predicament that you thought you were in. Except...this was a lot worse than you thought. You found yourself in bed with the defined figure you wanted to avoid. There he was. James, laying against his chest as though this was normal. That was it.

A sudden burst of energy ran inside you, even if you were tired and hungover. You shot up out of the bed and dressed up in a lengthy denim shirt, looking down to find a ring on the floor. Whose ring is that? Isn’t that an engagement ring? Before you could have that answered, just as you were in the middle of buttoning up your shirt, you heard Bond yawning and groaning. Uh oh. He’s awake. James didn’t know whether to smirk proudly at the fact that things must’ve progressed the night before or become concerned at what must’ve happened the night before for the both of you to be here, considering you were hell bent on not taking things further with Bond at all - other than being friends. He chose to just smirk simply and pulled himself so his back rest against the headboard.

“I knew you were full of surprises but this…?” He continued to smirk, looking towards your figure. Your eyes widened as your eyebrows frowned in irritation. You knew exactly where he was looking. You turned around and glared at him with your arms folded, “Don’t look at me like this is my doing. You’re the one who invited me in here - I think?” He curiously asked himself, squinting, his head hurt too, mildly but he didn’t let that show.

“What happened last night?” You snapped.

Bond simply looked up at the ceiling, as though he was thinking, but really couldn’t remember much of last night...or being in here. “I honestly don’t know. All I remember is that you were quite passionate, I didn’t know you had so much fire in you, Y/N.” He winked.

You picked up his trousers from the floor and flung them at him so they perfectly hit his face. “Shut up!” You then couldn’t help but laugh at the fact James was stunned by the shot and had jumped slightly. “Now if you can’t remember and I can’t remember what happened, we need to go and find out for ourselves because this? It’s disastrous!” You heard a text alert emerge on your phone and quickly checked it, then sighed in embarrassment and confusion to see this;

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

Hope you’ve had an amazing night, Y/N.

I seriously didn’t appreciate the 500 voicemails and now I know not to invite you around my house for dinner, simply by the fact that you’ve threatened my cats!

- Q.

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

“Disastrous is such a strong word, Y/N.” He chuckled as he pulled on his trousers. He then threw on his navy polo shirt and followed you into your living room.

You two did bicker slightly before you stepped inside and found the catastrophe that was bottles scattered everywhere, along with cards and glasses. You facepalmed at the fact that your apartment was upside down, last night really must’ve been a disaster. “You know what? Just sit down, I’ll go and get some paracetamol and make us some tea. It should stop this stupid hangover.” Bond nodded, still chuffed with himself that he managed to see more of you on this day than he had ever seen since - ever. You had a stunning figure, that’s what he thought and in particular, wearing only your denim shirt he found you far more attractive than he initially joked about. Just as you entered the kitchen, you froze to another worrying sight. A man sitting on the kitchen floor, tied up completely on both hands and feet, looking down. But it was the moment he saw your feet his eyes bulged uncontrollably as he groaned tugging on the rope. “Bond!” You shouted, stunned.

That was not good. The way you referred to him as ‘Bond’ meant only trouble. “What have I done now?” He sighed and rolled his eyes to join you then looked at the angry tied up man curiously. “Woah. He was here since last night?”

“You think I would hide some random man inside my apartment like this?!” You snapped once again, giving him a tough shove. “What was that for? You did tell me you were full of surprises!”

“What the hell is this?!”

Bond lifted a finger in the air, humorously saying, “Wait a minute! I think I recognise him.” This was all a joke to him, yet to you it wasn’t at all. You were more than just annoyed. “Take the tape off him, maybe he’ll tell us what happened last night.” You sighed and approached him then snatched the tape from his mouth as he screamed in pain.

“ARGH!” He squirmed and panted heavily. “Who are you?” You fired with the question.

“What is it to you? You brought me here from bar and tie me up for no reason! I AM A HOSTAGE!” The man had a russian accent, one all too familiar for Bond. That was the second James’ eyes lit in amazement, “I remember him. He’s the assassin’s son. Dimitri. I was given orders to get to Oleg before the assassination of the Ecuadorian ambassador was killed by him and put a finish to the organisation he worked for. We had no traces of finding him so instead I was voluntarily told that Dimitri, his reckless son would’ve t old us where he was.”

“Alright. Well that investigation currently is a problem for another day.” You instructed but while you were trying to talk to the ‘hostage’ in your house, he continuously complained, whined and mumbled in panic before you. The only way to get his attention? You gave him a tough, stinging slap to the face that made him see stars, leaving a burning red mark on his cheek. “Listen to me!I do not give a flying fuck if your dad is a legendary assassin, has killed many people in his lifetime or owns the biggest bloody russian mafia in the world!” You grabbed his shirt, gripping onto it with both of your hands and pulled him close as Bond watched to his amusement. “You better tell me what the hell happened last night and why you are here or else that slap is only a taste of what you’ll get!”

“Okay! Okay!” He flinched, tears suddenly emerging from his eyes in fright and pain. He could see the anger in your eyes and looked down, “Please, get me out of this kitchen and I’ll tell you what happened!” He pleaded.

By then, Dimitri was dragged to the front room and dropped on your couch carelessly by you. “Do not move or else!” Your threatening presence really did have the prodigal son on edge. He was quick to move back and breathing rapidly in fright he answered, “You have my hands and feet tied together! I cannot move either way!”

You headed to the kitchen where Bond stood at the door frame, watching the hostage looking around the room, frightened. All Bond could do was smile as you searched the cabinets for paracetamol. He moved closer to you, rest one hand against the counter casually, now you were not even inches far away from him as he said in a soft, deep tone, “If only I was sober enough to remember that fiery passion you just displayed there, in -”

“I swear to god…” You mumbled annoyed. “James, go in there and watch Dimitri or do something useful otherwise I’m going to have to get you to leave if you can't take this seriously! Maybe it’ll be easier for me to find out what happened last night for myself.”

He moved his other hand over to the packet of tablets inside your hand and took them quickly, then sipped on a glass of water you handed him, still making jokes about the night before. It didn’t help you at all but - well maybe a few of them seemed to be quite funny. “For now, I am holding you responsible for last night. You’re the one who invited me out and kept buying us drinks!”

“Oh really? I don’t remember how this is my fault when you accepted my offer, Y/N.” He chuckled, before walking with you back into the front room. Dimitri still sat there and it was seen he hadn’t attempted to escape at all. “Let’s see if our friend can clarify who’s fault this was in the first place.” Bond whispered in your ear before you two both sat in front of your hostage awkwardly. “So. Here’s the deal. You tell us EVERYTHING you know about what happened last night, then we’ll set you free and you will never speak a word of it again. If you do, I’ll know it and I’ll cut whatever it is you have down there that is making you so ‘cock’y and extravagant in the eyes of others.” There was nothing more intimidating than the sight of a woman folding her arms with a seriously angry look on her face.

“Just the information of last night? Maybe he can tell us about his father, you know we can kill two birds in one stone.” Although Bond made a fair point, you gave him a piercing glare, “That is a problem for another day.” You responded, turning back to the hostage.

Bond liked this side to you. He just couldn’t help but become amused by the fact that one minute you laughed at his jokes, the next you really wanted to focus on trying to find out what happened the night before. He just couldn’t tell which side he was going to get out of you first. You both then looked at Dimitri, awaiting an answer. “Alright! I’ll tell you! I came in late that night and you two were already in the bar drinking. I don’t know - you both seemed quite drunk and that was when your boyfriend here, must have said something because the next thing I know, you came around saying that you were working for the British Government and that if I didn’t follow you, I was going to be in prison for a long time! So - you dragged me to sit with you and your boyfriend, it was really uncomfortable I must add! I do not like having my shirt pulled and dragged!”

***

Last Night;

You had ended the call with Q, who seemed slightly disturbed with the conversation you brought up, he knew you were drunk but left it there. “I know him! I know him! James! James! Look!”

“What? Ohh…Oleg’s son!” He smiled, once you turned his head to the direction of Dimitri. “Let’s get him!” You said.

“Y/N. Let’s not do that.” The tone in your voices were dreadful, it was clear you were both drunk. At that point, you were good at pretending to be sober as you pulled Dimitri aside.

***

You were beginning to remember how things had gotten worse from that point and blacked out immediately. Bond looked at you with a very delighted smile as you felt your cheeks going warm in complete embarrassment. “He’s not my boyfriend by the way!” You tried to cover the awkward look on your face but that still didn’t work. “Oh I’m sorry! It is just the way you two were in the bar - you convinced me you two were really together! You were even engaged!”

“Engaged? What do you mean?” Bond now questioned.

“You really don’t remember how the both of you handcuffed us to each other and dragged me halfway across London to the jewelry store to buy a ring? Your friend, James is it? Yes he said we had to look for something important and you forced me to come with you so we can find an engagement ring! You two were both completely drunk! You made me buy a very expensive ring, two thousand pounds! You made me pay two thousand pounds and you proposed to your friend outside!”

“I don’t remember that…” Bond inquired…

***

Last Night;

“Y/N! I want you to- I want you to marry me! Let’s do it!” Bond said, staggering on one knee as he revealed the ring to you.

“Oh my god! Yes! James! Yes!” You quickly got him to his feet and kissed him passionately as he struggled to put the ring on your finger. “Let’s celebrate this back at my place! Drinks all around!” You said enthusiastically, dragging the boys with you, admiring your new ring.

***

“Oh my god...Did that seriously happen?” You sighed, covering your face. This couldn’t get any worse and now Bond? Bond found this to be a terrible situation! He didn’t realise he proposed! This was madness!

“Oh yes! And when you took me back here, we played cards but you got angry that you lost so you tied me up and dragged me to your kitchen, interrogating me about my dad then left me there! You said you’d come back but you left me there, alone, on the floor!” He whined. “So I fell asleep.” His expression was back to normal, it seemed as though nothing had happened to him anyway.

“Shit...you mean to tell me you saw none of what happened afterwards?” You asked.

“I mean I saw something but with your reaction to the kiss, then I don’t think you’d want to hear what I saw afterwards and quite frankly I do not want to remember.” Dimitri sighed, looking down, now with a distressed look on his face.

You ran your hand through your hair, when you glanced at Bond and now you were glad to see that he was slightly concerned with the ring incident. “Just tell me what happened.” You pleaded.

“I saw you throwing off James’ shirt and you couldn’t keep your hands off each other. It was like a car crash, I couldn’t take my eyes off it - literally. Stuff broken, you were on one end of the wall to another, I saw you jumping - and he carried you off, you were both practically just - it was wild in there. I had to go to sleep but you two were making noises and it seriously didn’t help me at all! All night! And to think - I’d expect the floor to be my problem but the noises were worse!”

***

Last Night;

“Are you sure this is a good idea? With you know, our friend watching?”

“Why would it matter, Mr Bond?” You said laughing and jumped up, wrapping your legs around him. “You’re right! You have a bedroom - so it doesn’t matter!” He said drunkenly as he carried you to the room, his lips constantly crashing against yours with the utmost passion and uncontrollable lust within the both of you.

***

With that, you remembered what happened afterwards and froze awkwardly. Bond squeezed his lips now smiling, helplessly he remembered to. What a delightful night. As Dimitri continued, “By the way, I finally remember your name is James and your name is Y/N! In the most disturbing way! I think it’s safe to say that for a couple of friends going on a night out, your night in made you seem like you were genuinely going at it like a newly married couple! It was gross! You really had her there!”

“Alright this is getting too embarrassing.” You were definitely flustered now, running your fingers through your hair, trying to hide from Bond, who was proud of himself not to forget. “I no longer want to know what happened last night.” You sighed, getting up to grab the knife. “I think I want to hear more.” Bond leaned forward from the couch, looking over at Dimitri amused. “Fuck sake, James! No you will not hear any more!” You returned with the knife and quickly cut the rope off, then pulled Dimitri up onto his feet. “You can leave my apartment and never speak of this again. By the way, thanks for spending your father’s money on a ring! I’m sure he will be quite pleased that two grand has vanished in the middle of the night.”

Before Dimitri could protest anything, you pushed him out and slammed the door shut. At that point, you rest your head against the door, sighing deeply. Bond rose to his feet and snaked his arm around your waist, you looked completely embarrassed.

“I guess it didn’t turn out to bad in the end. There’s no hiding the fact that you loved last night.”

You moved your hands up and cupped James’ cheeks, now caught in his arms as you smiled at him. Your body against his, as you leaned in close, your lips now hovering over his, you began to smirk. “I think it’s safe to say, I am never going out for drinks with you again James.” You laughed, moving out of his grasp, leaving him stunned. “You know you are the one who dragged me here. Even Dimitri said it - I guess you enjoyed my company after all.”

“Shut it Bond.” He heard you from the distance and chuckled lightly to himself.

[mind-reader1]

Queen of Hearts (Ch.13)

Drake x MC (Emma Barnes)

TRR AU: What would happen if Emma loved Drake but had to marry Liam?

Catch up here

Warnings: Some cursing 

Note: Thanks for the love everyone! Please Enjoy!  If you’d like to be added to the tag list let me know! Got some good drama in this chapter, and maybe something else  ( ͡º ͜ʖ ͡º)

Word Count: 2187

Summary: Drake and Liam exchange some harsh words, can they come to an understanding? Olivia offers some unsolicited advice, and Kiara is back and all over Drake. 

Chapter 13: Elastic Heart - Sia

And another one bites the dust But why can I not conquer love? And I might've got to be with one Why not fight this war without weapons? And I want it and I wanted it bad But there were so many red flags Now another one bites the dust And let's be clear, I trust no one

You did not break me I'm still fighting for peace

Well I've got thick skin and an elastic heart But your blade it might be too sharp I'm like a rubber band until you pull too hard But I may snap when I move close But you won't see me fall apart 'Cause I've got an elastic heart I've got an elastic heart Yeah, I've got an elastic heart

Drake stepped in front of Liam and he frowned at his friend.

“Drake. Please move. I need to speak to you and Lady Emma.” Liam stepped to the side and so did Drake.

“No. We need to talk Liam. Let her have a break tonight.” Liam continued to scowl but let everyone else walk ahead into the manor.

“I've been giving her a break this entire trip.” Drake shook his head in disbelief.

“You really haven't Liam. You've been on her case about every little thing and you shouldn't be!”

“Really? I can't believe you two! Sneaking off today in public, to fuck?! Could you imagine the consequences if someone else had heard you two rather than us! I have gone over this with Lady Emma, but nothing seems to get through. Don't think I don't know about you sneaking into her room every night! What is it going to take? Or are you both determined to make this fail so you can get past your jealousy!” Drake was seeing red, he couldn't believe his best friend was saying this to him.

I gave her the ring, I followed her after your engagement photos. It was my idea to sneak off today. All these things you're getting mad at her for were my idea so fucking lay off Liam! It seems like she's been doing everything on this tour. She recruited Madeleine and her family when you were nowhere to be found. The polo game was her idea, today she rallied the people at the press conference and asked the kids to play. I don't know what's gotten into you lately, but I've had enough.” Liam sighed and ran a hand through his hair starting to cry. Drake was so caught off guard he didn't know what to do.

“I'm sorry, Drake. Ever since the ball it's been one thing after another. I have to stay calm for everyone else, it gets bottled up and I just explode on those I care about. I've been seeing a therapist to help me, but I'm still working through it.” Liam dragged his hand down his face, the tears having stopped. Drake had never seen his best friend like this. Sure, in college he had been in a bad place after an assassination attempt, but he was like a ticking time bomb, you never knew what was going to set him off now.

“I don't like this charade any more than you do, watching you masquerade around for the cameras with the woman I love is torture. The only reason I'm still here, that we didn't run off is because we believe in you Liam, we're here to support you. We were all at the homecoming ball; I got shot Liam! I know it seems like we don't care about making this work, but I have nightmares. Every night I see Emma get shot and I can't save her, I wake up paralyzed, then I see her, and I know it's not real. It's the only way I can get any kind of sleep.” Both of them finally put it out there in the open, they used to talk about things all the time, now they just couldn't. Liam had no one to talk to, his best friend and the woman he loved were together, can't exactly talk to them about Emma. Hana and Maxwell were good friends to him, but they were Emma's best friends, he couldn't talk to them either.

“Maybe this will be beneficial for you then.” Liam held a small white card out to him with a name and phone number on it, a therapist. Again, Emma's words echoed in his head, Drake hated the idea of spilling his guts to a stranger, but maybe it was time to consider it. He took the card without a word, a newfound tense silence hanging between them.

“We used to talk all the time, Liam, I know that this is weird. You should try to find someone you can talk to if it's not me. I'm sorry, I really am. You'll always be my best friend though.” Drake clapped him on the shoulder once and walked away without looking back.

Drake's words weighed heavily on Liam, they had talked all the time, but ever since that night in New York there had been a distance between them...well more like a person. He couldn't blame Emma though, it wasn't her fault that they had both fallen in love with her, and it wasn't like she had a choice falling in love with Drake. Nevertheless, it made him impossible to talk to. He found himself aimlessly wandering through the grounds outside the manor.

“Liam, what are you doing out here so late?” He turned to find Olivia strolling towards him.

“Lady Olivia... trouble sleeping is all. What brings you out here?” she looked away, it was the first time Liam had ever seen her so unsure.

“I overheard some of your argument with Drake…” Liam sighed, nothing seemed to go as planned anymore. Emma had mentioned that they should tell Olivia, there was no hiding it now.

“I suppose I should explain.” Liam led Olivia to a nearby bench. He turned to face her and looked down, fumbling with his hands.

“It's all a lie isn't it?” Liam nodded and didn't meet her gaze.

“You have to understand Olivia, I love her, I thought she loved me. I may be the one who gets to 'be with’ her in public, but I'm not the one who gets to hold her when she's scared, sneak out of parties with.”

“This arrangement is ridiculous Liam!” Liam ran a hand over his face and explained to her, why he had to do it, why it had to be Emma.

“Regardless Liam, your people need you to start acting like a king and not some lovesick fool pining over his best friend’s girl. This isn't some stupid movie, this is real life.” Liam's lips twitched into a small smile, Olivia could always be counted on for tough love. She surprised him by reaching out and grabbing his hands, squeezing.

“Anyone would be lucky to have you Liam, and what you're doing could be an amazing thing if you pull yourself together.”

Drake shuffled towards Emma's room where he thought she would be waiting for him. He knocked softly, but got no answer, he checked the hall before quickly opening the door and slipping inside. He walked over to the bed and saw she was already fast asleep, still in her clothes like she had been waiting up for him. He brushed a stray hair out of her face and kissed her forehead gently. She mumbled something incoherent and lifted her head, squinting.

“Drake?” He smiled and bent down so he was eye level with her.

“I didn't mean to wake you, go back to bed.”

“Stay with me.” She mumbled laying her head back down already. Drake wasn't going to argue with her. He changed into his pajamas and slipped into bed beside her, she didn't even seem to notice.

Early the next morning Drake was up before Emma. He tiptoed to the bathroom and was grateful he had done so, as he heard her bedroom door swinging open just seconds later.

“Madeleine!” He could hear Emma's surprised voice.

“Why aren't you up? The train leaves in an hour.”

“We just got here yesterday, we're already leaving?”

“Yes, everything's calmed down. We're going to Kiara's duchy. Have you been practicing your French?” Drake rolled his eyes, listening to her.

“Absolutely, in all my free time I learned a new language.” He could hear the sarcasm dripping out of her voice and held back a snicker.

“I suspected as much. I printed you out a sheet with important words on it. Look it over on the train.” he heard the door slam again.

“Drake?” Emma whispered. He emerged from the bathroom and she let out a sigh of relief.

“You really need to start locking your door Barnes.” She raised an eyebrow at him and crossed her arms.

“Oh yeah? How do you plan on getting in every night then?”

“You could lock the door after I sneak in.” Emma playfully rolled her eyes.

“I guess you'll find out tonight Walker. Now get out of here, I've got a train to catch in an hour!” Within minutes of boarding the train she was in the boutique with Madeleine and Maxwell. Instead of a ridiculously thick binder about the family, Madeleine handed Emma a stack note cards. Emma just gave Madeleine a look, they both knew she wasn't going to read them. She resolved to giving them a quick breakdown. Hakim, Kiara's father was a well-known Cordonian diplomat and a Duke, apparently, he was important in Cordonia. Her mother, Joelle, is a famous artist. Her older brother remained a mystery as he was never really seen outside of the duchy. Madeleine outdid herself with the dress, it was a halter with black sequins on the top half and a black mesh with large black flowers for the knees down. She added an owl arm band as an embellishment, and nod to their house crest. It was stunning, as always. While visiting they would all be attending an international art and food festival, the goal was to be enthusiastic about the events in the hopes of gaining the family's support. That was all they had time for as the train began to slow. Emma stepped out of the motorcade and Drake wandered over, his eyes lazily roaming up and down her body.

“That dress is...I mean… You look beautiful Barnes.” Emma smiled faintly as Drake stumbled over his words.

“You cleaned up?” Emma's question came out harsher than she intended. Kiara was a tense subject between them since she was still pining after Drake. He cautiously slipped his hand in hers and squeezed, letting go before anyone could see them. He wore his nice blue suit and dark green shirt underneath it, a small patch on the shoulder from where he had been shot the night of the homecoming ball.

“You look good Drake.”  

“It's less…international than I expected.” Drake mused. He was right. There were no country flags, no signs in different languages, no borrowed concepts from other cultures.

“Just wait.” Olivia said, as Kiara came down the steps, a young man in tow.

“King Liam, Lady Emma, I am so glad you're visiting our home.” they both nodded respectfully as Liam said something in French.

“Drake! You look... I…that suit looks very nice on you.” It had already started. Emma who had grabbed Liam's arms for appearances, dug her nails into his skin as she grit her teeth and smiled. Liam carefully placed his hand over hers trying to pry her fingers off inconspicuously.

“Thanks.” Drake said flatly, avoiding Kiara's gaze. It wasn't difficult to pick up on the tension, but Madeleine, Kiara and the young man weren't sure why it was there.

“We heard you were injured at the homecoming ball. How are you now? Are you doing okay?”

“Oui, it was a terrifying night. I am healed after spending some time here at home.” Her smile faltered, she was still reeling from the attack like the others.

“Shall I introduce myself or were you planning on getting to that?” The young man beside her stepped up.

“Of course. This is my brother Ezekiel. These are my friends King Liam and Lady Emma, Lady Olivia, Lady Hana, Lord Maxwell and Drake.” Her eyes lingered on Drake a bit too long, it would be a long stop on the tour.

“I'm so glad to finally meet you all, Kiki has told me so many stories.”

“Oh? What did she have to say?” Emma asked out of curiosity.

“She mentioned King Liam's generosity, Lady Emma's resilience. She also said there would be a scary one, a pretty one who's good at everything, a party animal and a really sexy one named Drake.” Emma had to remind herself to stay neutral, force a smile even, everyone was waiting for the explosion as they snuck glances between Emma and Drake. Emma turned to sneak her own glance at Drake, who was bright red and looking anywhere but Emma or Kiara.

“Zeke! Well I think that's enough greetings. Come, let's get you inside.” Kiara cleared her throat and kept her face down until the color had mostly disappeared from her cheeks. Just as they began to make their way inside, Penelope came up with her poodles. Kiara and Penelope hugged as Zeke fawned over her poodles. Liam pulled Emma aside just before they entered the doors, she was worried this would be a lecture about keeping her cool around Kiara and Drake, but it wasn't. Constantine was getting worse and was supposed to be at the festival, but couldn't due to his illness, it was clearly bothering Liam.

“I'm sorry Liam.” Emma squeezed his arm and he gave her a small smile.

“I need all the help I can get redirecting questions.”

“We'll figure it out Liam, don't worry.”

Tag List: @notoriouscs @leelee10898@princesstopgun @choicesyouplayandmore@sleepwalkingelite @roonarific@indigo39 @skyila@speedyoperarascalparty @andy-loves-corgis@furiousherringoperatortoad@blackwidow2721 @drakewalkerfics@findingdrake @sue9659 @smritysriv@tmarie82 @larryssunflower

[tilltheendwilliwrite]

Balance on the Head of a Pin

Chapter Thirty-Six

Previous Chapter

Pairing: Loki Odinson x OFC  |  Word Count: 7301 Warnings: Swearing, smexy, angst, violence

Lauren stretched her arms up over her head as she walked into the kitchen and smiled back at Loki when he made an unintelligible noise. “Somethin’ wrong, peaches?”

“You know very well your shirt rides up when you do that, darling. Stop being coquettish,” he grumbled, pouting when she slipped out of reach of his grasping hands.

“None of that now. You know they’ll all be down here beggin’ for breakfast within the next hour. It’s your own fault, puttin’ me in this mess. You and Sadie,” she huffed. “Now not only am I cookin’ for the bottomless pits of the masses, but I’ve got to put a basket up for auction, too.” Already fretting, she yanked open the door to the fridge.

“Lauren,” Loki sighed and slipped up behind her to place his hands on her hips. “If you dislike it so much, why don’t we simply give Sadie and Marcus whatever monetary equivalent will satisfy them excusing you from this event?”

“Bite your tongue!” she huffed. “I already said I’d do it, and whether or not I hate it is beside the point. Participatin’ and showin’ my support for their foundation is. I can’t just back out.” Even if she did despise the idea of standing on a stage again. She preferred to be the assistant, the one who took the notes, answered the calls, and arranged events. Behind the scenes was a perfect place to be.

“My heart,” Loki murmured and pressed a kiss to the nape of her neck. “You do not have to do anything that makes you this anxious. Had I known it would upset you so, I would have rejected the idea wholeheartedly last night.”

She sighed and closed the fridge to turn and face him. “It’s not all the picnic. I’m nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rockin’ chairs over the kids and these people and everythin’ with Samuel.” Lauren dropped her forehead to his polo shirt covered chest.

He was dressed as immaculately as always, the deep blue of his shirt a complement to his eyes, while she had refused to let him dress her just yet, preferring to tug on a pair of cutoffs and a tank top in sunshine yellow. She’d brought the clothes, she may as well wear them, and as she would be cooking on what was already announcing itself as a scorcher of a day, Lauren had no desire to be overdressed next to a hot stove. Even her signature ponytail had been exchanged for a messy loop to keep her hair off her neck.

“Elskan min,” he crooned, bringing her closer to his body by tightening his arms. “I told you. Everything is under control. The call which needed to be made has been. Soon the others will be caught up, and then this will be over. As for breakfast…” he flicked out his wrist, and the kitchen island was covered in enough food to stuff an elephant.

Plates of pancakes were piled high along with massive bowls of whip cream, mixed berries, and sliced peaches. The bowl with the strawberries sat separate, an omaĝe to Pepper’s allergy that turned Lauren’s heart over at Loki’s thoughtfulness. There were servers of bacon, eggs, and a platter of muffins still steaming as if she’d just taken them out of the oven.

“Loki!” Lauren gasped, “I think that’s cheatin’.” She couldn’t help but smile at his playful way around things.

“They will never know the difference. Now, about this basket…” He flicked his fingers a second time and had one appear at the end of the counter. “There. Fried chicken, the salad thing with the potatoes your Gran made, that delicious Hummingbird Cake, and a bottle of Asgard’s finest wine, along with fruits and cheeses of course.”

“Of course,” she snickered. “Have you left me anythin’ to do this mornin’?”

“You can make the coffee. Yours is always far superior to anything the others make.”

Lauren chuckled and tried to escape his hold only to find herself backed into the cold metal of the stainless steel refrigerator. She gasped in surprise and gave a breathy moan when Loki’s tongue slipped into her mouth.

His hand found its way beneath her top to cup and mould her satin encased breast. Even through the thicker padding of her bra he found her nipple and rubbed his thumb back and forth across it. “You can make it in a moment,” he said, grinding his pelvis into hers. “After I have my fill of you.”

“Insatiable,” she teased and wrapped her arms around his neck. He’d already had her when the sun had risen, rolling her beneath him to make slow, sweet love, and then again when they’d showered together, holding her up against the wall, taking her hard and fast. “I’m not havin’ sex with you in the kitchen, Loki.”

“That is what you think,” he growled and jerked her off the floor, forcing her to wrap her legs around his waist.

“That is what I think. I’ll do a lot of things with you, peaches, but fuckin’ in the open where any old soul can walk in on us? That’s a big ol’ no.” Sure he could hide them with magic, but she wasn’t taking the chance he’d get distracted.

“Fine,” he huffed and carried her toward the butler’s pantry where he plopped her butt down on the counter. “Better, wife?”

“Much, but I’m still not havin’ sex with you in the pantry.”

He growled from his position, his forehead now pressed to her chest in frustration. “You are impossible, woman.” Loki huffed before relaxing against her to look up. “Just what would constitute an acceptable place for me to seduce you, my heart if I cannot convince you to let me have my way with you in the kitchen?”

“I do have a new found appreciation for tack rooms. Also, offices hold a special place in my heart. Hidden gardens are nice.” She grinned when his hands flexed on her bottom.

“Temptress. The moment I have you alone and behind a locked door…”

He let the pseudo-threat hang and Lauren shivered, anticipation skimming up her spine. “Such promises,” she crooned and leaned in to kiss him. His bottom lip was a tasty pout she just had to sink her teeth into.

He gave a content sigh and slipped his hands beneath the hem of her shirt, but only to rest them on the skin of her lower back.

Lauren linked her fingers together and fell into the sweet, sultry kiss. He tasted ridiculously good, still that peppermint patty flavour, but beneath it now she recognized the ice and snow, the crisp bite of frost, and the thing which made him who he was. She could taste the zing and tingle of magic which flowed beneath the surface in his very blood.

She would never, could never, grow tired of having his marvellous taste to look forward to with each kiss. Even the smallest of pecks still left a hint of who he was on her lips. Add in the way he smelled like everything she loved about winter and Lauren was hooked for life.

“What is that devious little smirk for?” Loki asked.

“I was just thinkin’ how much I love the way you smell and taste. You’re like all the best parts of winter wrapped up together.” Lauren brushed her nose along his cheek and carded her fingers through his hair.

“And you are like a sultry jungle, pet. Warm and lush and laced with lilies.” He buried his nose in her neck where he dragged it along the length to close his teeth gently on her shoulder next to the strap of her top. His fingers dipped beneath the waist of her shorts to knead the swell of her ass cheeks, slowly rocking her forward and into the hard length wedged between them.

She knew what he was doing, and though she’d protested, Lauren revelled in his attention. Even with all that had happened in the last few days, it felt surreal and gave her a thrill to know he wanted her so badly. She felt powerful, strong, and loved in a way she’d always longed for.

He’d done so much for her self-esteem. He made her feel beautiful. He made he feel graceful and seductive. No, she wasn’t unaware of the face in the mirror. Yes, she knew most people thought her pretty, but it had been so hard to believe what others said after so many, many years of being pounded with a negative image of herself, her body, and her brain.

For the first time ever, Lauren finally felt free.

“Loki,” she whimpered as tears burned her eyes.

“My heart,” he whispered, kissing her cheek and holding her gently. “It’s alright, darling. I understand.” One of his hands left the back of her shirt to lift and press against the stone in the center of her torque. “You are so special, and beautiful, and amazing. It is time you felt it. It is time you found yourself.”

“Without you… I don’t know if I ever would have,” she sighed, letting their foreheads rest together.

“Perhaps that is why the Norns have brought us together. You make me whole, my love. It is only right I should do the same for you. We are meant to be.” He let his hand lay against her heart, an action Lauren mirrored. “My life beats here. I could not long live without you at my side.”

“Good thing you won’t have to then, hm?” she murmured, feeling so overfull of emotion she wanted to laugh and cry and love and just wallow in the feel of him. She wanted to fall into him and live beneath his skin. To wrap herself around his heart and hold it tight to her own so nothing and no one could ever injure it again, and in turn, find the protection, the love, and the understanding she’d longed for all her life.

Unable to physically do so, Lauren simply let her arms rest on his shoulders, her wrists crossed and hands dangling loosely as she wiggled impossibly closer. She turned her head to lay on her arm and just… held him. Chest to breast, belly to belly, heart to heart. “I never thought I could love someone the way I love you.”

“You two are ridiculously sappy.”

Lauren startled and opened her eyes to see Bucky leaning in the doorway. “If y’all weren’t spyin’ like a super sneaky assassin, you wouldn’t have to see it.” She stuck her tongue out at him. “You could have said somethin’, Loki.”

“As we were not in a compromising position, and I personally like this one quite a lot, I wasn’t about to ruin the moment because of Barnes’ sneaky feet.”

Bucky’s eyes widened before his face twisted. “No. No funny business in places where people eat.”

Loki grinned wickedly. “Of course not.”

The super soldier’s eyes widened further and darted around before returning his gaze to them. “You know what? I don’t want to know.”

“Wasn’t gonna tell you anyway,” Lauren snickered as Loki stepped back and helped her slide to the ground.

Bucky took in her appearance and his eyes crinkled when he smiled. “Looking good, doll face. You don’t usually dress so casual.”

A blush burned through Lauren’s cheeks while she played with the hem of her shirt. “Well, it’s already swelterin’, and what with you all demandin’ breakfast it was this or overheat.” She twisted the toes of her bare foot against the cold tile floor in an action which mirrored Sara’s from a few days ago.

“Ho, man. That smells amazing!” Steve’s voice rang out through the kitchen.

Bucky stepped out of the doorway, and Lauren linked her fingers through Loki’s, reached for the tin of coffee on a lower shelf, and smiled when Loki leaned over and kissed the back of her shoulder.

“As we do not want people to see your lovely adornment, my sweet, you may not want to stretch too high,” he murmured against her skin.

The hand with the can of coffee went right to her stomach, and Lauren eeped in surprise. “I forgot.”

“I don’t know how you could. Putting them back where they belong was incredibly memorable,” he chuckled.

The blush already present got even hotter. “Shush, you,” she huffed, but it was half-hearted at best. After all, he wasn’t wrong.

Her devious God of Mischief had pulled her beneath the shower spray and led her serpents back to their home around her belly button… with his mouth. He’d used his tongue, and they’d followed, sliding over her skin with the tiniest brush of sleek scales. Loki had put them back, then put his tongue to better use.

Just thinking about it made Lauren feel far too warm.

Loki brushed his hand down her spine, and it was icy. “You appear flushed, darling.”

She rolled her eyes and left the pantry to make the coffee. “Mornin’, Steve.”

“Lauren. Loki.” He grinned sheepishly as he jerked his hand away from the bowl of whipped cream.

Lauren chuckled. “Y’all can get started. I’m sure the others will be down soon enough. Eat while it’s hot. And, Steve?”

“Yeah, doll?” he said absently as he began to pile things on a plate.

“Happy birthday.”

Blue eyes darted up, and a red flush coloured his cheeks. “Um, thanks, Lauren.”

“See?” Bucky chuckled. “No one forgets your birthday.”

“The irony of being Captain America and being born on the same day this country celebrates its independence is both amusing and startling. Fate has a hand in all our lives it seems,” Loki said, handing Lauren a coffee filter. “Felicitations on your natal day, Captain.”

“Thanks,” Steve smiled and nodded.

“What is that smell?” Pepper breathed as she walked into the kitchen on Tony’s arm. “Oh, wow, Lauren! This is too much.”

A floaty peach wrap dress accentuated Pepper’s figure while Tony looked no different than the others in jeans and t-shirts. Seeing her dressed as if Pepper was heading to a ladies breakfast had Lauren suddenly feeling a little shabby, a little too underdressed, and she tugged on her shorts self consciously.

Loki’s hand captured hers, and he looked at her, his eyes so knowing before they slowly warmed with appreciation when he let his gaze drift down her body to her painted toes and back up.

It snapped Lauren instantly out of her head, and she smiled brightly at Pepper. “Considerin’ how much some of them eat? I don’t think so. Besides, I had help.” She gave Loki a wink. “Cookin’s a lot more fun when someone can do all the dishes with magic.”

“Does that mean you’ll do this again?” Bucky asked around a mouthful of pancakes.

“Don’t talk with your mouth full, James,” Lauren scolded.

“Sorry.” He swallowed. “It’s just so damn good.”

“Seconded,” Steve mumbled, plowing through his own stack of pancakes.

“Coffee,” was all Tony said as he leaned against the counter and put on a pair of dark glasses.

Lauren tried not to smirk and bit her lip as she turned back to the coffee maker. “Did you indulge a little last night, boss?”

“Every time I finished a drink someone handed me a new one,” he grumbled. “I know you’re a lightweight. How the hell are you so chipper?”

“She’s of Asgard. It will take much more than a few glasses of Midgardian wine to make Lauren give that sweet giggle she makes when she is tipsy,” Loki informed them, his arm wrapped around her waist and made her shiver with the coolness radiating off him.

“I wager a horn of mead would do the trick,” Thor laughed wandering into the kitchen with Natasha.

Lauren glanced at the redhead, their gazes connected, and Nat smirked before casting an assessing eye toward Loki.

“Oh, my stars,” Lauren whispered and wrenched her face around, knowing it had turned a burning red.

“Mm, she is back to normal,” Loki whispered in Lauren’s ear. “And it appears they enjoyed themselves as much as we did.”

“Shut up, Laufeyson,” Lauren hissed and kicked him in the shin, trying not to die of embarrassment when Loki snickered.

“It’s Odinson, darling,” he teased and kissed her cheek.

“Do somethin’ useful and tell them about our visitor, peaches,” Lauren grumbled.

The atmosphere in the room changed so suddenly, Lauren felt it in the rise of the hair on the back of her neck.  

“Excuse me?” Steve laid down his fork.

Loki waved a dismissive hand. “It was nothing I could not handle on my own. In fact, it shall work splendidly toward my plan for the ones who dared to come after Sara. Mario was quite helpful… once he stopped resisting.” The smile on Loki’s face was wicked.

“You’re gonna give ‘em a heart attack, elskan min. Just tell them what happened,” Lauren huffed, having gotten the full story earlier.

“You ruin all my fun,” he pouted but got on with it. “His name was Mario Gallo, one of the men from earlier, and was sent by Valentino to watch the house and inform on any changes to our circumstances. Apparently, they knew a handful of Avengers were in residence, myself and Thor, thanks to the ignorant man who had been hired last minute by the setup crew.”

“The one you threatened to skin, brother?” Thor asked.

“You threatened to skin someone?” Lauren gasped.

“Yes, but he was that man who made you uncomfortable while dealing with that horrid white-haired snot of a woman, darling.” He squeezed her waist where his hand still rested.

She nearly snorted at his description of Quinn. “Oh. Alright then.” Lauren made to reach for the mugs above her, only to have them appear on the countertop. “Thanks, hun.”

He hummed and continued. “While that man was not part of last night’s crew, he is part of Valentino’s operation. He knew the layout of the house and where the children would be housed during the party and relayed this back to Valentino. Apparently, they have been planning to use Sara or Benny, or both if they could take both, as collateral until Avirett returned the funds he’d stolen.”

A hardening of Loki’s jaw had Lauren reaching out and brushing her hand up and down his abdomen before returning to pouring the coffee. She didn’t notice how Bucky, Steve, Thor and Pepper all smiled teasingly at the act of affection, nor how Nat smirked at Thor, or how Tony’s grin grew smug, for they were all back to their stoic faces by the time she turned around to begin passing out coffee cups. “Eat for heaven’s sake! I didn’t slave over no stove for it all to run cold. Y’all can chew and listen,” she huffed placing a coffee in Tony’s hand and offering the other to Pepper.

“You’re a godsend,” Tony muttered, inhaling over his cup.

“Designed by the Norns,” Loki smirked and chuckled when Lauren patted his cheek. “Knowing Thor and I were here only made them more determined to succeed in removing the children out from under our noses. The plan has been in place for some time. Jimmy Johnson, the one helping with the setup, has been renting a farm outside town, making it appear as if he was new to Greenville, and asking about work. Hence the reason he was here without proper vetting. Bianci, too, has been to the house under the pretense of purchasing one of the Annandale’s horses.”

The thought of it gave Lauren the willies. A crime lord in the house, meeting her father, seeing the children.

Loki’s hand caressed her arm as she took more coffee to the island. “Avirett has made a very serious enemy, and so, apparently, have we.”

“What’s that mean?” Bucky asked.

“Valentino has had a run in with both Natasha and Barton. It appears you foiled an assassination he’d been sent to carry out. He quite thoroughly hates you. While the Captain and Barnes had a hand in destroying a rather important shipment of narcotics Bianci was counting on. So, when Valentino realized not just two but six Avengers were suddenly in-house and showed interest and affection with the children, well…” Loki shrugged.

“It’s now become a challenge. A way to stick it to us all,” Natasha murmured.

Lauren looked at her, and her eyes were a hard, sharp green full of anger.

“I’m feeling particularly inclined to kick a little ass. What did you do with this… Gallo?” Nat asked, biting a strawberry off the end of her fork with a snap of teeth.

“I gave him to Hill. He is out of the way, and I have been in contact with Valentino as Gallo to inform him there has been no change. The Avengers remained overnight.”

“So, the question is, do we stay and make it a challenge? Or pretend to leave and let them think it’s going to be easy to take the kids,” Steve asked.

“Neither,” Loki smiled his signature grin. “There is a third option I think we shall all enjoy.”

***

“You’re not staying.”

Lauren paused before she reached the doorway, having slipped out of the kitchen after Loki revealed his plan to go check on the children only to find Pepper and Tony arguing outside the powder room door.

“Tony.”

“Don’t start,” he huffed.

“It’s not like there will be any danger. Not after you take care of Valentino and his men. Then we can spend the day at the fair. We never get to do things like this. It will be fun.” Pepper stepped into his chest and placed her hand lightly against his cheek. “We can eat cotton candy. Ride the Ferris wheel…”

“We are not riding the Ferris wheel! Who knows what kind of third-rate hack last checked its mechanics.” His arms slipped around her waist.

“They’ll likely have corn dogs,” Pepper tempted.

Lauren had to bring her hand to her mouth to contain her giggle when Tony’s eyes lit up.

“Ya think?”

“And mini donuts. You know you love mini donuts.” Pepper smiled and stroked her fingers along his beard. “You can even try your hand at winning me a teddy bear.”

“Maybe you should win me one,” he teased.

Her brow arched. “You know I could. I bet I could win one faster than you could.”

“You’re on!” Tony smirked and drew Pepper in for a tender kiss.

Lauren slipped away before either noticed her, a smile playing on her lips with Pepper’s sleek manipulation. It didn’t surprise her at all, Tony’s protective nature. Though Lauren hadn’t been around when Pepper had been kidnapped and experimented on by Aldrich Killian, she had seen the files and knew in general what had happened.

Tony went out of his way to make sure Pepper was never again put in a position which could see her injured because of him, but this time, Lauren too thought he was being a little ridiculous when he’d tried to make Pepper leave. There was no point.

Mario Gallo had revealed to Loki, Valentino and his men were staying at the farm this Jimmy had rented, what turned out to be the old Taggart place. It had once been a rundown house and a handful of outbuildings, but Kipling Scott, a former high school buddy of Marcus, had ended up buying it and turning it into a rental investment.

Lauren remembered Kipling from school but had little dealings with him, and her memories of him were vague at best. She’d only ever seen him if she’d been out with Marcus and Sadie, or in passing in the halls.

Still, after the dust settled with this forthcoming encounter, she figured she should probably give him a call and let him know the Avengers would compensate him for whatever damages had occurred. She was not so naive as to think there would not be damages. Two gods, two super soldiers, an assassin, and a man in an iron suit were not going to tiptoe their way around like it was a china shop. They would be the damn bull and plow their way through it.

But, going in hard and fast was the only way to be sure all who were involved were rounded up without tipping off the Bianci’s. Hill and Fury were set to go, the SHIELD op intricate and multifaceted. It could all come tumbling down far too quickly if one of the bad guys caught wind of what they were doing.

Loki was running point, to everyone’s surprise, and his plan was both devious and effective. Sure he could waltz in and take them all out himself, but Mario had unwillingly informed him that Valentino had called in reinforcements. They had planned to cause a disturbance at the fair, something resulting in mass panic and injuries, pulling the team away and causing complete chaos. Then, in the confusion, they would have taken the children and whoever had been with them.

Lauren shuddered for when Mario had been speaking about it, they had mentioned her. The sweet little blonde, he’d said. The one they’d nearly caught. The one who’d escaped out from under Valentino’s nose.

By now they would know who she was. They would know her name and that the children were her niece and nephew.

Loki had remained absolutely calm throughout the whole explanation, but Lauren knew better. His hand had twitched toward his waist, and she could only imagine what he’d done. She was of no illusion that he wouldn’t have reacted… poorly to that revelation. By now she knew him and knew exactly what he was capable of when angry.

She gave her head a shake, preferring not to think about it. He would always do whatever he felt was needed to protect her. As they all would. This time was no different.

For this reason she, and now Pepper, would be staying at the house where it was safe while the team went to Kipling’s property. As Mario had not been back, he couldn’t tell them what the intended target at the fairgrounds was, nor whether Valentino’s backup had arrived, were on route, or were set up elsewhere. Hence Tony’s upcoming role.

He, with the help of Loki’s magic, would be playing Mario and walking into the lion’s den. When Steve had protested because Tony would be going in sans suit, Loki had only thrown him a look of exasperation and irritation. For one, Tony would not be in danger as it was simple enough to weave a protective shield into the magic he was using to disguise Tony as Gallo, and two, Tony was the only other person besides himself who could speak fluent Italian should he be required to. Yes, Loki could do it, but he was better situated on the outside, capable of moving locations should they need to do so quickly.

Steve had closed his mouth with an arched brow and assessing nod, seeming to see Loki from a new perspective.

It made Lauren happy. They were all seeing Loki in a new light, a different light. No longer the backup, they were allowing him to put his exceptional mind to work, and he was excelling at it.

Once Tony had gotten the lowdown on what the plan was, they would move in and take out Valentino and his cronies. If by chance, there was a second team elsewhere, Thor and Loki would deal with them. Between the God of Thunder and the God of Mischief, there would be little chance of anyone escaping. Once everyone was rounded up, Hill had transport on standby waiting to collect the criminals and take them off the team’s hands.

Yes, it made her heart trip a little. Every time the Avengers were called up for a mission she worried, but she didn’t let it show. This was their job, and they were very good at it. Still, she had more invested this time, both in the children they were working to protect, and the man who had stepped into the leadership role of the team for the very first time.

Lauren blew out a heavy breath when the sound of high, childish giggles resounded behind the closed door she approached and pasted on a smile which became real as soon as she pushed open the door. Sara and Benny were sitting on the floor in their jammies with Usun between them. The puppy rolled on his back, all four feet in the air, wriggling happily as they rubbed his belly.

“You’re such a good boy,” Sara cooed causing Usun’s tongue to loll happily from his mouth.

“He sure is,” Lauren said, walking into the room to settle to her knees on the floor.

“Aunt Lu!” Benny jumped up and threw his arms around her neck before plopping his bum down on her knee. “You’re takin’ us to the fair, right?”

She nodded. “I am. We’re gonna go as soon as the team gets back.”

“Where they goin’?” he asked, blinking up at her with big, innocent blue eyes.

Sara’s face paled, and she buried it in Usun’s fur when the pup crawled up on her and licked her face.

“They have to go deal with some bad people, but after that, there will be nothin’ more to worry about.” Lauren ran her hand down Sara’s hair. “Nothin’ at all,” she promised when Sara looked up in tentative hope. “Let’s get y’all dressed and fed, and maybe Miss Potts would like a tour of the grounds.”

“Why are you so stupid?”

The hiss of hatred had Usun growling and Lauren stiffening in both surprise and anger.

“I beg your pardon?” Lauren snapped, turning to see Marabeth standing in the doorway.

She looked ready to take on the world in what Lauren knew was one of her power suits. A deep blue, the pants and jacket were so crisp you never would have guessed it was hot and humid already.

“You should be beggin’ my pardon after what you’ve done.” She stormed into the room and jerked Benny from Lauren’s lap by the arm. “The both of you best be gettin’ off that filthy floor right this instant! Get up, Sara Marie and stop handlin’ that mongrel. It’s goin’ straight to the pound the moment y’all leave. I can’t believe you’d be stupid enough to think I’d let you keep that mangy curr!”

“But, mama!” Sara cried, squeezing Usun all the tighter as big tears rolled down her face.

“Don’t you go blubberin’, Sara Marie or so help me I’ll give you somethin’ to cry about!” Marabeth shouted, and Benny squealed in pain when she twisted his arm.

“Enough!” Lauren shouted lurching to her feet to tear Marabeth’s hand away from her son. “Leave them be, Marabeth! They’re just babies!”

“They’re my brats, and I’ll do as I please!” she screamed.

Lauren was prepared this time when the open palm came at her face and deflected the blow while using the momentum to spin her sister back toward the door and push her out of the room. “I warned you I wouldn’t allow you to hit me again, Marabeth, and I won’t let you hurt your kids because you’re mad at Samuel!”

Marabeth stumbled into the hall. “What do you know about it?” she hissed, face hard with narrowed eyes.  

“I know he missed the party. I know you left in a hurry. I know you’re madder than a wet cat! If y’all are havin’ problems take it up with him, but you leave the kids outta it!”

“Or what, boo hoo?  You’ll run off and tell daddy on me?” she simpered and took a threatening step forward.

A thunderous, deep growl came from behind Lauren, somewhere around thigh height and she smiled, cold, sharp, and deadly at her sister. It was Loki’s smile, but Lauren used it with glee. “No, Marabeth. I won’t need to.” Without looking, she set her hand on the brindled coat of the fully grown dyrehund. “Usun will not be going anywhere. He was a gift from Thor. Try and remove him at your peril. Come at the kids like that again at your peril. You won’t like the consequences.” She stroked her hand down his coat before the hound stretched his body out on the rug and glared at Lauren’s sister.

“You’ll regret this, Lauren Guillemin!”

“I don’t think so, Marabeth Augustine.” Lauren lifted her chin and stood her ground. Both kids cowered behind her, afraid of their own mother. It sickened her. “You should go. Deal with whatever has you dressed so fancy at this time of day. I’ll take the kids into town.”

“They’re coming with me,” she growled.

“No. They are not.” Lauren glared her down. “You’ve clearly got important business. I ain’t got a problem lookin’ after them for the day.”

“I have a problem with it!” Marabeth snapped.

“Marabeth.” Their father’s voice resonated down the hall. “Lauren always takes them. Let them go.”

“But, daddy!” Marabeth wailed.

“They’ll be bored and bothersome taggin’ along with whatever it is you got goin’ on. They hardly get to see Lauren. Let them go.”

Thunderous brows and a pinched face glared at her before Marabeth stormed away. Her father stepped into the doorway seconds later, and Lauren sagged in relief.

“Thank you,” she whispered before dropping down to hug both the children tightly to her. Both had silently started to cry, and Sara burst fully into tears against Lauren’s shoulder. “Hush now, sugar cube. It’s okay. Your mama’s having a tough day is all.”

Lauren looked imploringly at her father, now standing in the room. This couldn’t keep happening.

He cast a confused glance at Usun. “Last time I saw him he was a might bit… smaller.”

“Usun’s magic, pawpaw,” Benny said, holding his arm with the other. “He protects us.”

The dog, for he was no longer a puppy, wagged his tail happily against the floor with a hearty thumping that saw dust mites floating up and through the sunbeam streaming in the children’s open window.

“I see that,” Hoyt nodded slowly, his hands tucked in his pockets. “You hurt your arm, buddy?”

“No,” he pouted. “Mama did.”

Lauren’s heart broke at the resigned way he said it. As if this wasn’t the first time Marabeth had done so. She knew it wasn’t, that her sister had been getting rougher with them for a while now, but to hear it come from the mouth of a six-year-old who’d barely begun his life, was painful. “Oh, baby,” she whispered and cupped his little face.

“Mr. Loki could fix it,” Sara said, knuckling the tears from her eyes. “He fixed mine when mama…” She trailed off, her eyes growing wide and scared, darting up to where Hoyt stood watching. “Um…”

Lauren watched her father’s heart break as pain rippled across his face. Hoyt took the last few steps and knelt down beside Sara where he scooped her up into his arms and held on tight. “You don’t worry about that none. I know Loki fixed your arm, sweet peach. From now on, I want you both to know if you’re scared, or your mama hurts you, you come to me, okay?” He brushed Sara’s hair back and stroked her cheek.

“Really?” she whispered.

“Really.” He tapped her nose. “That’s what pawpaws are for. That and sneakin’ treats when meemaw ain’t lookin’.” He winked at her and smiled.

Sara threw her arms around his neck and hugged him tightly. “Thank you, pawpaw.”

“Aww, I love you, sweet peach.” He kissed the top of her head and squeezed his eyes closed.

Lauren had seen the moisture present, the tears aching to fall, and reached out to squeeze his forearm. “Thanks, daddy.”

“We ain’t havin’ no more of this in this house. I promise, Lauren. I won’t stand for it.”

“That’s good.” Lauren smiled at him even as she wished he’d come to this conclusion sooner and turned her focus to Benny who still cradled his arm. “Let’s see it, hun.”

The boy held it out, and Lauren flinched. Black and purple bruises had formed in the shape of Marabeth’s fingers. “It hurts, Aunt Lu.”

His chin wobbled, and big, silent tears dripped down his cheeks. “Oh, baby.” Lauren cuddled him close and called out, “Loki!”

He appeared in the doorway. “Darling?”

She watched him take in the room in a single glance. His face instantly hardened when it landed on Benny’s arm.

“Why young Ben, you seem to have gotten injured. How painful it looks. May I?” He didn’t wait for Benny’s agreement, though the boy gave it with a rapid nod of his head, simply dropped to a knee at Lauren’s side. “What ghastly bruising. Might I inquire just who wrenched your arm to the point of nearly breaking the bones?”

Loki’s eyes were cold and hard when he glared at Hoyt as if to say now do you see? Her father nodded once sharply, and Lauren touched Loki’s shoulder. “It got handled, peaches.”

“It should not need to be handled,” he growled, continuing to glare at her father as he wrapped his fingers around Benny’s arm.

“Ooh, that’s cold!” Benny giggled as green and gold light gleamed from beneath Loki’s fingers.

Hoyt quietly cleared his throat. “Y’all will never guess who I saw at the party last night.”

“Who?” Sara chirped, her fear and sadness gone.

Lauren wondered if it was Loki’s arrival, or just that she now felt safe again thanks to having three adults around who she knew would stand up for her and protect her. Benny crawled onto Loki’s lap the instant her husband sat down, and Usun snuck his nose beneath her arm, prompting Lauren to wrap her arm around his neck and lean against his much bigger body. When he snuck a kiss to her chin with a flick of his tongue, she smiled, scratched his ear and murmured, “You’re such a good boy.” She didn’t notice the way he looked at her, or the look Loki gave them.

“I saw Angie last night,” Hoyt continued. “And she’s agreed to come back and look after y’all.”

“Really?” Benny squealed excitedly.

“She sure did.” Hoyt grinned.

“That’s great, daddy,” Lauren said. “She’s… okay with it?”

Hoyt nodded. “I assured her that wouldn’t happen again and that she’s bein’ hired on by me, not Marabeth. She’s gonna start tomorrow.”

“Yay!” Both kids yelled excitedly and leapt up to jump around.

“Oh, my. What a ruckus. What are y’all up to in- good gracious! When did he get so big?” Magnolia shied away from Lauren and Usun.

“He grew up, mama. Dogs and most people have a tendency to do that,” Lauren snapped, getting to her feet. “Kids, y’all get dressed then head down to the kitchen. The others are just finishin’ up breakfast and hopefully will have left you somethin’ to eat. I’m gonna go change, and then we’ll see if Miss Potts wants that tour.”

“Okay, Aunt Lu!” They called out as Lauren swept past her gaping mother and out into the hall. She only made it halfway back to her room before anger and hatred and disgust overwhelmed her, and she stopped to press a hand to the wall and the other to her mouth, praying she wouldn’t be violently ill.

“Just breathe, my love,” Loki whispered, turning her around to gather her close.

Lauren threw her arms around his neck and buried her face in his shoulder. “What is wrong’ with her? What sick, twisted thing snapped in her head to make her hurt her own babies? God! She’s even worse than mama. Mama may have hurt me, but she never hit me. What the hell is wrong’ with her?”

“I’m afraid things will only go from bad to worse when what her husband has been doing comes to light. Is there a way to take them from her? Can we get them away from her before then? Can it be done here, darling?” Loki asked urgently.

“I don’t know. Yes, children in abusive homes can be removed, but Marabeth is well respected. It would be tough to prove, and she’s so good at twistin’ things, I just… I don’t know. And if I tried and failed, she could take the kids away altogether. I might never see them again.” She didn’t want to cry, not again, and rubbed her nose beneath his jaw to breathe him in. It was beginning to feel like she’d spent half her time here bawling her eyes out or wrapped around Loki. “I don’t know what to do anymore. At least daddy’s gettin’ involved. Between him and Usun, I feel a little better about leavin’, but… she scares me, Loki. Marabeth scares me.”

“I know, my heart. Before we go, I will give the children a gift. If their need is great, they can use it to call for me directly. It will not matter where in the nine realms I am. I will hear and know they need me, and I will come.”

Shocked, Lauren pulled back to look at him. “You’d do that for them?”

“Lauren.” He released her but only to cup her face. His eyes were washed in green magic. “I would do it for you. You love them with everything you are. If I could take them from her and give them to you, I would do it, but your Midgardian laws are foreign to me. The others assure me this cannot be done so I will do what I must do to see they are safe.”

He had done so much for her already. Adding one more thing, one more step seemed like asking too much, even if it was for the children she loved so dearly. “You… you shouldn’t… not just for me…”

He smiled. “No, my darling. Not just for you but for me as well, for as they are the children of your heart, so have they become mine. If something were to harm them, what pain and sorrow you would feel, I would also feel. They are brave little darlings. No child should live in fear of pain or violence inflicted on them by their parents. I won’t stand for it. If giving them a way to contact me gives them peace of mind as well as you, what harm is there in it?”

Lauren wrapped her fingers around his wrists. “You’re too good, Loki. Too sweet and kind and genuine.”

“Only for you,” he whispered and brought her in for a tender kiss.

The slow brush of lips, the quiet understanding, and complete depth of his love was her undoing, and Lauren let the tears fall.

Loki swept her off her feet, wrapped them in magic, and sat with her before the empty fireplace on the makeshift throne in her room. “Do not fear, my love. They will be safe. Safe from the monsters who hunt them, and safe from the ones who live under the same roof. I swear it!”

His fist came down on the arm of the divan making her jolt, but Lauren only curled further into him. She needed to sink into his love and his comforting embrace for a few minutes before she locked it all up and spent the day with the children away from the drama which was about to unfold for Marabeth and her husband.

She didn’t notice the blood which dripped from Loki’s fingers onto the arm of the divan, nor the hard, sharp, calculating glare he levelled at the fireplace.

Next Chapter

[flamboyantly-incompetent]

Neuron, Ch.6

Bucky x Named (Mutant) Reader

Warnings: violence, some torture, some language, mostly though just a lot of angst and me attempting to write a fight scene... I think that’s it

Masterlist

Word count: 4637, it’s about to get real

Note: If you don’t care about this and the “Keep Reading” thing for some reason doesn’t happen, I apologize.  Not gonna lie, this is the chapter I’ve been wanting to write since I started and I am excited.  Gifs are still not mine.  Bucky Barnes is life, he is the grease-ball light of my life.

“Strucker has Bucky.”

Your eyes snapped open, a sharp throb in your chest.  Fully awake, you were aware that your arm had gone numb from resting your head on it, but you could clearly hear Tony’s conversation with Steve.

“Slow down, what happened?” You stayed as still as you could, feigning sleep.  Lucky for you, you’d fallen asleep facing the side of the jet.

Steve’s voice was shaky, “The train was a trap.  We were already on the connection to Florence when Wanda spotted her across the station. They separated us, and I lost him. Just like last time.”

“What’s the plan, Cap?”

“Strucker’s headed for Genoa, coastal city.  But we need to regroup before going after them.  We’re on the way back to the jet now.”

“Okay,” Tony continued quietly, “What should I tell Denna?”

Steve sighed, “Nothing, yet; she’ll want to go after him.”  Damn straight.  “Wait until we get back.”

Your blood boiled. Strucker had Bucky.  Hydra had Bucky.  Again.  And it was your fault.  You’d told Steve to take him along.  You’d encouraged him to go.  And they wouldn’t even be after him if it wasn’t for protecting him.  You didn’t even go with him.  And Steve.  What the hell?  Nothing?  Oh, you were going to have some words.  Right after you cleaned up your mess and got Bucky the hell away from those nutjobs. You didn’t want to know what they planned on doing to him.  You didn’t want to think about it.  But you’d heard the stories.

You had to get him out of there.

The comm clicked off and you heard Tony swear, “Fuck,” before opening the hatch and storming out. You waited a heartbeat before you jumped up, rubbing some feeling back into your limb.  Genoa.  That’s where Strucker was going, and that’s where you were going.

Still sitting where Tony had put him, the General’s smug smile caught your attention.  Hot and humid anger rose in you.

“What’s in Genoa?” you asked him through gritted teeth.

He smiled viciously back at you.  “We’ve only reclaimed what was ours.  You can’t save him now.”

You backhanded him, hard. “Tell me.”

“Or what, you gonna hit me again, little girl?”  His handcuffs slipped off and before you knew it, he had you on the floor.  “I’m so scared.”

“You should be.” Rolling your eyes, the neurons flew from your fingertips effortlessly.  He sat back down with some effort, jaw clenched.  You did not want to hear him speak.  “You are out of your depth, General.”  You snatched the mangled bobby him out of his hand before snapping the handcuffs back on. The look of absolute hatred in his eyes fueled your own, and you let a menacing grin overtake your expression.

You continued, “Maybe Strucker deigned to keep you in the dark; let me illuminate the subject. First off, I have more power than you, learn to accept it.  Second, I will save my friend.  And third, you are going to help me.  Questions?”

You cut off the flow of neurons you sent to his mouth.  He opened it tentatively and said, “Why would I help you, you freak?”  Your grin widened dangerously.

“Because you’re scared. And you don’t want to find out what I’ll do if you don’t.”

He eyed you suspiciously, as if you were either a deadly spider or a piece of fuzz, and he was waiting for you to move.  You hoped he wouldn’t call your bluff; you didn’t want to hurt him.  You wanted to find Bucky.  “Genoa is Strucker’s operational base.  I’ve never been, but there’s a headquarters there, outside the city of course.”

The grin slipped off your face and you relaxed.  High school theater had, apparently, been somewhat useful after all.

Okay, okay.  A base in Genoa.  You could get to Genoa; Strucker had taken a train, so could you. Probably.  As long as they took Discover.  The only problem, what were you going to do when you got to Genoa? This base wasn’t going to be on the map. And even if you managed to find it, you couldn’t just waltz in and demand they release Bucky and promise not to follow you home.

You chewed your thumbnail. Of course, there was a way you could do just that.  But it meant allowing Hydra to capture you and hoping they made the mistake of putting their two newest prisoners in the same room.  You considered a moment, then shrugged.  It was the only plan you had, and the minutes were ticking away.

Rolling your shoulders back in preparation you strode out of the jet.  You’d seen a bus stop sign in the airport, hopefully the walk there wouldn’t be too long, you estimated thirty minutes.

“Denna.”  Tony stood behind you, guilt written all over his face.

“Mr. Stark, we both know you can’t stop me, please don’t try.”

“You’re a civilian, I can’t let you go alone.”  

You shook your head, “We might spook them, and they could kill him before we even got close.”

He sighed, heavy. “You’re right.  Take this, at least.”  He held the same watch you’d borrowed earlier out to you.  “I modified it to be a bit more combat ready.  Take it.”

“That’s impossible, you’ve had it for what, three hours?”

He scoffed and pressed it into your palm, “Ye of little faith.

“I’ll try not to need it.”

“Yeah, but you should definitely play with it.  It’s pretty sweet.”

“Thank you. Seriously, if you ever need a babysitter, or a house sitter, or a witness, whatever.  Thank you.”  Before you turned from him, you regained your composure and said, “I’ll comm in as soon as I’m clear.”  He nodded in agreement and you took off jogging down the road.  

You weren’t sure, but you thought you heard him say, “Go get him.”

When Bucky regained consciousness, he found himself strapped into an all too familiar chair, shirtless, Tiffany Strucker watching him closely.  She had a glass of wine in her hand.  Oh, brother.  The room he was caged in had a high, glass ceiling, like a fish bowl.  The sun was high, looked to be midmorning.  He must’ve been out for a few hours.  Or a few days.  There really was no way of knowing.  Closer to Strucker, there was a rolling cart, presumably holding some sort of torture implements.  That didn’t bother him nearly as much as the bonds.  He could take pain.  He couldn’t take being restrained.  His pulse accelerated with every other beat.

“Glad to see you’re still with us, Sergeant.  You had me going for a minute.”

Bucky refused to respond, testing his bonds.  They were too strong for even him.  Tiffany set her glass on the cart and tapped her nose thoughtfully, then selected what looked to be a cattle prod.  Fabulous.

She smiled at him, teeth bright.  “I can’t have you dying before the main event.  That’s no fun for anyone.”  She circled him like a shark, drifting sensually with a sharp malevolence. “Sergeant, there’s no need for this cold shoulder business.”  Bucky’s jaw clenched involuntarily.  Was that supposed to be funny?  Abruptly she stopped, hovering over his left side.  “Say something, Sergeant Barnes.”

“What do you want?”

She tsked, running the prod dangerously close to his abdomen, coming around into his field of vision.  “Is that all you people can think you people can think to ask?”

“How is Hydra still operational?”

Instantly annoyed, she jabbed the prod into his side with each word, “When are you going to learn?” Bucky couldn’t hold in his cry as the last, vicious shock rolled through him.  Finally, Tiffany pulled the prod away and pushed her hair back.  “Our name is Hydra.  It’s a mythological Grecian beast.  Really, it’s quite simple.  Cut off one head, two more take its place.  You have to strike at the heart.  And you and your Avengers haven’t come close.”

She sauntered back to the cart for her wine and took a dainty sip, pleased by the burn marks the prod had left on Bucky’s heaving body.

“Sergeant Barnes, I knew that Steve was always the smart one.  You know, he was the brains, you were the brawn.  But, now he’s the brains and the brawn.  So, what does that make you?”

Bucky snickered, feigning confidence past the sweat swiftly encapsulating him, “You’ve never met Steve, have you?  The smart one, ha!”

Tiffany shot him a condescending smirk and continued, “Another one.  I’m sure somewhere in your thick head you’ve got a good question.”

“What do you want with me?”

“That’s it!” she exclaimed, bouncing on her feet.  “I knew you had it in you.”  She sighed, running a manicured hand down his cheek.  “Don’t worry.  The fun won’t really start until your little friend gets here.  Then, though, she’s going to help me undo what that Wakandan girl did to our favorite assassin.”  Bucky’s blood ran cold as that old sensation gripped him once again. He’d almost forgotten its name.  Fear.

“You can’t… it doesn’t… she…” Finally, he zeroed in on one thought, “You will never catch her.”

“I won’t have to. She’ll come.  For you.”

“What makes you so sure?”

“A woman knows.”

A tall, lanky man in a polo cracked the door open.  “Excuse me, ma’am?”

“Yes, Jason?”

“Denna Reese has just boarded for a direct connection to Genoa.”

“Thank you, Jason.” Smiling brightly, she turned her attention back to Bucky.  “It won’t be long now.”

By the time your train reached the Genoa station it was early afternoon.  The sun shone brilliantly, high in a clear sky.  A dull conglomeration of city sounds met your ears, and, truth be told, it was far more familiar, and you took it in more comfortably than the mechanical clamor of the train.  In the station, you’d picked up a tourism pamphlet; you skimmed it, figuring the most efficient course of action was to stay as visible as possible.

You visited church after piazza after monument, and one very grand aquarium to no avail.  Out of ideas and full of frustration, you sat yourself on a curb and bit aggressively into some kind of cheesy bread.  It was almost evening and you were no closer to finding Bucky than hours ago.  Thinking about him made your gut cave in on itself.  Goddammit.  Just yesterday, they led an armed assault on an airport, and now they couldn’t be bothered to grab you in the street?  Something was wrong.  Maybe you were too visible.

Okay, okay.  If they thought it was a trap, that would complicate things.  What would put them off guard if it had been a trap?

You said softly into your collar, “They aren’t biting, calling it a day.  Will contact tomorrow.”  When you stood, you brushed your hands off on your jeans, sighing in defeat.  You’d passed a small hotel on the way over and you didn’t have a better plan.

“It appears they’ve given up.  She’s just checked into a motel about twenty minutes from here.”

Tiffany Strucker held her expression, one of pleased contempt.  Everything was going to plan.  Sergeant Barnes was teetering on the edge of a slippery slope into panic, and when Denna Reese was finally in her clutches she’d be poised to push him over. Even then, she could see him fight it, taking deep, ragged breaths, eyes squeezed shut.

“Perfect.  Wait a half hour, then send a team to collect our friend. If she fights,” she studied Bucky’s pained expression more closely, “Remind her of what we have.”

They’d put a burlap sack over your head just before shoving you into one of their trademark vans. You concealed your relief only barely, thinking instead about the tasks ahead.  Once you got to the base, you had to get Strucker and Bucky in the same room, then you’d incapacitate as many as possible.  Then you’d comm Tony.  And Steve. That would be an awkward conversation. But, if it meant getting Bucky back, it would be worth it.

The drive was longer than you’d expected, though you didn’t know whether that was by necessity or design because of the sack.  It smelled of stale air and peanuts.  It could certainly be worse.

Eventually, a sturdy hand pulled you from the van, led you some several yards, sat you in a cold metal chair, and removed the sack.  Eyes adjusting to the brightness, you blinked around.  You appeared to be in an office; a large black desk in front of you, and to your left a wide window overlooked the coast.

In no more than five minutes, a door opened behind you.

“Denna Reese.  Good to see you again.”  Tiffany Strucker strode into your line of sight and sat gracefully behind the desk.  She smiled warmly at you.

“I wish I could say the same.”

“Let me give you the tour.” She offered you a hand up, which you took cautiously.  Then she led you down a maze of hallways, shoes clacking on the tile.

After a moment, she asked, “Do you remember in Sokovia a few years ago?”

“You mean Ultron. Bits and pieces, sure.”

“Ultron, yes.  But before Ultron, Hydra was involved with something far more lucrative than destruction.  My father oversaw the experiments there.  They aimed to create an army of mutants.”

Shocked, you cut in, “An army of mutants?”  The corridor she led you down appeared to be a series of holding cells. Eyes watched you from some of the small windows as you passed; you kept your senses alert for any sign of Bucky.

“Yes.  Have you never wondered how Wanda Maximoff obtained her gifts? After the Maximoffs defected and my father was captured, Hydra fell into disarray.  While my father’s work proved incredibly effective, creating a mutant remains expensive.”

“Haven’t you ever seen a Bond film?” you asked, restless, “Gloating is number one on the villain mistake list.”

With exaggerated incredulity, Strucker replied, “Gloating?  Denna, I’m trying to recruit you!”  She didn’t hesitate to give you further explanation.  “Creating mutants is very expensive but employing them is fairly cost effective.  In exchange for their specific services, we supply housing, payment, dental even.  In this very facility, we have over two dozen employees with biological mutations. With this new vein of power, we can reunite Hydra once and for all.  Better, stronger.  And Denna, with you at the helm, we would be unstoppable.”  Eventually, she stopped in front of another enormous window that overlooked a picturesque countryside and leaned on its banister.

“You want me to lead your army?”

Strucker nodded thoughtfully, “I understand you have misgivings, but hopefully we can come to an agreement.”

“I wouldn’t hold your breath.”  A distant wail echoed down the corridor, knocking the wind from you.  “Where is he?”

“The director will be here tomorrow.  He’ll want to see you both well rested.  Jason!”

“Yes ma’am?” said Jason, presumably, appearing from an adjacent hall.

She smiled cryptically, “Show Miss Reese to her room.  She’ll need to be bright eyed and bushy tailed for morning.”  Without a backwards glance, she strutted off down the hallway.

Jason gestured down the hall in the other direction.  “Miss Reese, if you would.”  You walked back towards the holding cells in silence for a spell.  He opened one of the doors, and before herding you inside he said to you quietly, “They’re really quite harmless.”  Before you had the chance to protest, three sets of dark eyes glared at you from the cell.  The door closed behind you.

In front of you was a tall, burly man, to your left a taller, burlier woman, and on your right was an incredibly thin boy.  All had the same unruly earth-brown hair and olive toned skin.  They did not look happy.  You tried to make yourself as small as possible, pressing your back into the wall in apprehension.  

The boy drifted close to you, eyes curious.  “We are not going to hurt you.”

“Sharkbait,” snapped the woman, “Don’t get too close.  You don’t know where that’s been.”

He stepped back but continued his appraisal.  “Interesting choice of words.  She came from Milan.  Before that,” he inhaled deeply, “Somewhere American.”

“How-how do you know that?”

He smiled, disarming you instantly, “I can smell it on you.”  Realization struck you.  Mutants. Hydra’s mutants.

“So this is how Strucker treats her ‘employees’?  Someone alert the better business bureau.”  The woman continued to glower, but the boy’s face grew confused.  “You are not with Hydra?”

“Aren’t you?”

The woman cut in again, “No. I told you not to get close.”

“Wait, wait.  If you aren’t with them, why are you here?”

The man broke his silence, laughing bitterly.  “We are here because we aren’t with them.  Why are you here?”

You smiled in spite of yourself.  “Because I am not with them.”

He held his hand out to you and you shook it happily.  “I am Diego, this is my sister, Perla, and that’s our baby brother, Siro.  Everybody calls him Sharkbait.”

“So I gathered.  I’m Denna.”  The woman’s ears seemed to perk up with interest.  “So, if Sharkbait can smell where I’ve been, are the two of you mutants as well?”

“Ever seen a frog’s hand?” Diego gestured to his sister.  “Suction cup fingers, double lidded eyes.  She chirps like a frog, too.”

“I do not!  I have told you a million times, male frogs chirp. I do not.”

He surrendered, hands in the air.  “Yeah, yeah, you said.  I’m immune to mostly everything.  Diseases, poisons.”

Another cry of pain met your ears from somewhere further into the facility.

“Yeesh,” exclaimed Perla, “What are they doing to this guy?  He’s been doing that since ten this morning!”  

Dear God.  “I have to get out of here.”

“You and everyone else, kid.”  You ignored her as he cried out again, and any hope you had that it wasn’t Bucky drained out of you like the blood from your face.  The instinct to use your ability came as a heady seduction; it took all you had not to find the nearest guard and force him to release you.  Without a map, though, it was big enough that you’d never find him.  And then you both were as good as dead.

“Do you know where they’re keeping him?” you asked desperately.

Something in your voice struck a chord with Perla, who replied, “No.  They told us about you, and your mutation.  You could walk right out of here.  Is this man why you haven’t?”

Breathless, you whispered, “Yes.”  Diego put an arm around Sharkbait.  Apparently, he didn’t like the sounds either.

“Try to get some rest. You will be glad for it in the morning.” You slid down the wall to the floor, burying your head in your knees to conceal the despairing tears that refused to yield, beginning the longest night of your life.

Bucky’s cries persisted for hours, each one chipping away at your sanity.  God, you wanted to touch him, really touch him, just once.  Just to tell him that tomorrow would be better. That tomorrow you would get him away from that monster, away from this place.  But you couldn’t.  And that made you almost as angry as his pain did.

Eventually, the horrid sounds fizzled out for the night, though it took you a few more hours to fall into something resembling sleep.

When dawn broke, Jason came to fetch you.  The sound of his voice made you sick with rage, the desire to subdue him stronger than it’d ever been.  You resisted the urge as you followed him down the halls, by imagining ripping Strucker’s throat out with your canines.

Tiffany Strucker was very pleased.  Not ten minutes after dawn Jason stepped onto the balcony with Denna Reese.  You looked simply furious.  The balcony overlooked the atrium, at the center of which was Sergeant Barnes, a little burned, bloodied and bruised, but breathing steadily. When you finally locked eyes on him sitting below you, she knew everything was going to plan.  The expression drizzling down your face was plain as day – the guilt of inaction, the indignation for a wronged person, the relief for a live friend.  Oh, and the sound you made, halfway between a yelp and a groan.  Agony.  Well, on with the plan.

“Denna, how kind of you to join us.  I trust you slept well.”  Your jaw tightened, and she was willing to bet you’d drawn blood from how tightly your fists were clenched.

The lust for justice hit you in an almost overwhelming blast.  You were so close to success, all you had to do was wait for the director, and it would be over.  Hydra would be finished, you hoped.  Bucky’s gaze locked onto yours, his eyes unreadable, but you still wanted to drown yourself in them.

Strucker sauntered across the floor to stand next to the device Bucky was strapped into.  “I hope you don’t mind, the director will want a demonstration and I need to make sure the subject is compliant.”

She pressed something to Bucky’s temple and his whole body tensed, teeth gritted.  Your own knees weak, you leaned on the railing.  Bucky spasmed, then again.  You glanced at the time frantically.  How much longer could he take this?  How much longer could you take this?  Bucky’s control faltered, and he let loose a scream, answering both questions.  It was now or never.

Your voice broke as you shrieked, “Stop!”  Strucker pulled the thing away from Bucky, and a smidge of composure returned to you as his body relaxed, chest heaving.  Jason pulled your arms together behind your back to restrain you.

“Or what?”  You gave Bucky a pointed look before you tapped your watch once.  Twice more.

“What the…?” said Jason, loosening his grip in confusion.  The suit that encapsulated you was pure white now, how Tony had found the time you couldn’t imagine.  It was very intuitive though.

With a flick of your wrist you shot a neuron that merged with the suit’s own pulse of energy; it hit Jason, hard.  Before Strucker had time to retaliate, you leaped from the balcony, landing in front of Bucky.  The feet of the suit absorbed the shock impressively well, they seemed almost spring reinforced.

You planted a kick on Strucker’s midsection with the ball of your right foot and she flew back with a yelp. Definitely spring reinforced.  The bonds holding Bucky down proved less than a challenge for your strengths combined and soon he was freed at last.

The first thing he said to you was, “Why do you have a cape?”  Surprised, you looked down at yourself.  You did in fact have a cape the same brilliant white as the rest of the suit.  Stark.

“What was that?” a faraway voice asked.

The suit whirred as the helmet retracted.  Shrugging, you looked at Bucky and said, “Up for some action?”  He cracked the knuckles on his right hand in response.

Tiffany Strucker groaned and rose from the ground.  “Guards!” she yelled weakly.

A door in front and two to your right opened as Hydra operatives spilled in, guns trained on you and Bucky.  Time to find our what Model 20 C could really do.

Your neuron and the suits power combined knocked out whoever the blast connected with, taking three of them out easily as independent neurons flew to the rest.

“That is not fair, I was so ready to hit someone,” complained Bucky as the remaining guards dropped their weapons and knelt on the ground.  You sent a knockout pulse to each.

You heard a flurry of footsteps getting closer.  Grinning, you replied, “I don’t think that’ll be a problem.”

Several angry-looking people entered the room next.  Mutants. Two came at you, one with big glowing eyes and sharp teeth, another with rough orange skin.

“Cream-cicle or needle-face?” Bucky asked you.  How was it that even after enduring several hours of torture he managed to make you laugh?

“I don’t know, needle-face looks mean.  Sure you can handle him?”

He laughed, an absolute symphony.  He fought off several mutants one way or another, you fought off several less but eventually you remembered something important.  You looked around for Strucker, hoping you hadn’t missed your chance. She wasn’t where she’d fallen, you spotted her running along the side by the window and hit her with a pulse.

Suddenly, the room shook as Bucky threw the mutant he fought into the wall; the impact was forceful enough to shatter the enormous window.  Lost in the heat of a fight, Bucky didn’t notice a huge crossbeam start to come free.  It was directly over him.

You didn’t think.  You fired the neurons, making him leap out of the way.

“Hey!” he barked in surprise.  The beam came crashing down and you lost focus, cutting off the stream.  The sudden impact and absence of information to his muscles sent Bucky teetering out the open window.

“Bucky!” you screamed, arms stretching out instinctively. The cape detached itself from your shoulders and flew out after him.  Shocked, you lurched to the edge to see the cape wrap itself around Bucky just before he hit the ground.  You stood paralyzed.  Then he wriggled his way free.  You jumped.

You realized you definitely overestimated the shock absorbing capabilities of the suit just before you landed, doing your best to tuck and roll.  Bucky lay a few feet from you, you threw yourself onto him.  He huffed.

“Sorry,” you said, releasing him.  “I’m sorry. The cross-beam was going to fall on you and I, I didn’t think there was time, and I, I’m sorry.”  He pulled you back into him, shushing you.

He rubbed your back firmly, murmuring, “Breathe, Denna, breathe.”

You clung to his torso for dear life.  Then you remembered the burns.  You pulled away again and apologized again.  He responded with a sweet smile.

“You just saved my ass at least three times.  I can take it.”  You shook your head, smiling in spite of yourself, and got off the ground.  Bucky took the hand you offered, and you helped him to his feet.

“So, what happened to Jimmy?”

You blushed, “Everybody else calls you Bucky.  I hope that’s okay.”

“You can still call me whatever you want, Doll.”  If there was ever a time for a “blushing intensifies” meme, that was it.  He was totally serious, gorgeous oceanic eyes boring into you with intensity that could melt metal.  He flinched.  “Was that weird?”

You patted his arm in a healthy, platonic manner.  “No.” Then, changing the subject, “I don’t know how long those maniacs will be out.”  Bucky nodded, surveying the area.  You’d landed on the beach, coastline stretching out for miles on both sides.  You switched the suit’s comm on.

“Tony?  Steve?  Ground control to Major Tom?”

“Denna!” Tony’s voice crackled through the speaker.  “What’s happening?  You’ve been offline for almost twenty-four hours.”

“We got him, we’re in the-“

“Reese!” Steve exclaimed, cutting you off, “What the hell were you thinking?  Where are you?”

Exasperated and tired, you replied, “I’m at a mostly neutralized Hydra facility that won’t be neutralized for long.  I’ll fill you in when you get here.”  

“We are not done-“ You transmitted your coordinates and switched the comm off.  He could yell at you later, preferable when you were prepared to yell back.

Bucky began walking back to the building, saying, “There were some other prisoners in there, we should,” his step faltered, and he blinked groggily.  Oh no.

“Nope.  You’re sitting down, right now,” you said, hooking his arm over your shoulders.  You squinted up at the sun, already burning bright, not liking the thought of sunburn on the fresh electrical burns that Trespassed on Bucky’s chest and side.  “Preferably out of the sun.”

[convenientalias]

Hiya :) I'd love to read Jingim + bleeding through the bandages or Mei Lin + traumatic touch aversion! (That sounds a bit enthusiastic... I'm not a sadist, really!)

I don’t think I’ve ever written a Jingim fic and that’s honestly kind of sad so I had to do it. This is a fic I wrote in a notebook in a hotel room! It’s kind of rough.

Cross-posted to AO3 here. Thanks for the prompt!

(Written for @badthingshappenbingo)

Itwasn’t often the Khan’s three “sons” came together into a single room (withoutthe presence of Kublai himself, at least). Jingim, for one, was not entirelyfriendly with Byamba and Amhad still. Lately he was making more of an effort toget along, but he couldn’t put himself on their level entirely—not on the levelof an adopted son or a bastard, not when he was Kublai’s heir and still had somuch to prove.  Besides, the three werealways too busy to sit around chatting. Nevertheless, in recent times, with allthe trouble that had been going around, they were working to put aside theirdifferences and present a unified front. For this reason they did occasionallymeet to discuss current events. And tonight was one of those rare occasions.Ahmad said they had something to discuss.

Ofcourse, whether this could be called a “room” was another question. They hadagreed to meet in the stables at night and go riding together, so they couldtalk where there were no listening ears, privacy always being dubious inKhanbalig. Jingim had, frustratingly, arrived early and therefore first. Ahmadhad made the meeting sound urgent, but neither he nor Byamba were here yet. Ithad already been a long several minutes, and Jingim was getting impatient.

Hehad spent the time currying his horse. Usually a servant did it for him—he hadno time for menial labor and trifling matters. But it was relaxing, and hishorse seemed to appreciate it. As he brushed, he gently patted its neck.Probably, he thought to himself, this would be the best company he’d gettonight. Inevitably he and his brothers would end up arguing. He would be ableto hold his own, but he did not look forward to it.

Thesound of the creaky stable door opening had him turning around, an accusationof tardiness already on his lips. It died in the first syllable when he saw whoit was, not Byamba or Ahmad, but a stranger. A man in dark clothing with clothover his face. Jingim didn’t recognize the man but he did recognize theuniform.

“Hashs—”

Aknife came hurtling his direction, on course to skewer his throat. He dodged,and the assassin was on him. He blocked another knife strike but caught a kneeto the sternum. The man was quick. Jingim dodged another blow and tried tocatch his breath. Getting some distance between himself and his attacker, hedrew his sword. He hadn’t expected trouble tonight, but he carried it with himeverywhere. These days, you never knew.

Heheld it steadily in front of him. “Who sent you?”

Ofcourse the assassin didn’t answer. He tucked the knife away silently and drewout, instead, a length of cloth.

Jingimnarrowed his eyes. It felt off. But enough hesitation. He lunged forward. Thesword nearly pierced the assassin’s chest, but at the last second, the clothtwisted and tangled around it and the sword flew out of Jingim’s grasp and downto the floor. Before he could step away the assassin stabbed him in the gut, asharp slice that sank deep before Jingim jumped back.

Hepressed down on the wound, hard. The assassin sheathed his knife and regardedhim coolly.

“Youmad bastard,” Jingim gasped. “You think you’re untouchable?”

Theassassin cocked his head.

“Ihave seen your kind die. I have seen them scream and beg. You are not as strongas you think.”

Hecast around with one hand for the hilt of his sword, now buried in cloth andstraw, while holding his guts in with the other. The assassin touched a hand tohis chest—a brief, maybe wry, salute—and walked out. Jingim heard the dooragain creak closed.

Soeither he hadn’t been sent to kill Jingim but merely to wound him or he thoughtJingim was as good as dead already and didn’t like to kick a dog who wasalready down. The latter was more likely. The straw below Jingim was alreadypuddling with blood. Jingim cursed and ripped some cloth off the bottom of hisrobe, which he wrapped around the wound, around his waist. And he tried tothink of what to do next.

Thestables were not very near his room. They were near Byamba’s, but Byamba andAhmad were the only ones who knew Jingim would be here tonight, and for somereason they still weren’t here, even though it was long past time. He had tooperate under the assumption that this treachery had been planned by one ofthem, distasteful as the thought was.

Whichleft Jingim making a decision he bitterly resented—instead of going to the roomof someone he at least wanted to trust for aid, he headed to the livingquarters of someone he was fairly certain he couldn’t, but who at least was tooinept to plot something of this kind.

TheLatin. Marco Polo.

Hispride would be hurt, but his body was in a worse state, and it was more importantto his survival. The stab wound was still leaking despite his makeshiftbandages. Funnily enough the robe was already red, but the blood was making itdarken. He pressed down as he walked. His hands were sticky, and along with theecho of his footsteps, he could hear a tell-tale dripping, regular and almostpatient. Every step was jarring.

Step,drip, step, drip, step, drip. Drip drip drip.

Hepressed harder.

Whenhe reached Polo’s door, he spared a hand to knock. Hard. Still, a torturousmoment passed before Polo answered. Their eyes met before Polo’s eyes droppeddown to Jingim’s torso. He gaped.

“Thereare more Hashshashin in our city,” Jingim said. He pushed in past Polo, who wasstill frozen in the doorway. “I need cloth and you should alert the guard.Probably a doctor as well.”

“PrinceJingim…”

“Now,Latin,” Jingim said. “You wouldn’t want me dying on your doorstep. My fathermight be fond of you but that’s not something he would overlook.”

Hesank down on Polo’s narrow bed, listening to him scramble. After what seemedlike forever the cloth arrived. Polo hovered as Jingim wrapped it on top of theold bandage, now already soaked and doing a poor job of staunching the wound.Jingim glared at him.

“Isaid to fetch the guard.”

“Yousaid to keep you from dying,” Polo said. “Please, my prince, let me help.”

“Adoctor would be more useful. Now, go.”

Byambaand Ahmad had good excuses for their absence. The same excuse, actually. Bothclaimed to have received a letter in Jingim’s handwriting, stamped with atleast a good facsimile of his seal, telling them the time of the meeting hadchanged to an hour later. The letters had been pushed under their doors—nomessenger could be identified. Ahmad could produce sucha letter. Byamba said hehad burned his for the sake of secrecy, and could produce only edges ofparchment from the ash of his lamp.

ThisJingim knew from the doctor, who brought both medicines and news. His motherhad brought updates as well. They were the only visitors he had received sofar. Both Byamba and Ahmad had requested an audience, and he had refused themboth. He would not refuse them forever, but until he could face them, hispossible murderers, without so much as flinching, he did not want to see theirfaces. He would not show them weakness.

Kublaihad not visited, nor had he sent any messages. Rumor had it he was angry. Ragewas good—concern, in person, might have been better, but Jingim knew betterthan to expect that. Besides, in person Kublai might well expressdisappointment that Jingim hadn’t been able to fend the assassin off, andJingim was already disappointed enough in himself.

SoJingim kept visitors away. Except for one. He summoned Marco Polo.

“Myfather says your investigation into the matter of the assassins turned upnothing, even after the voyage I sent you on. That you could come to noconclusion.”

Polobowed. “That is correct, my prince.”

He’dgotten into the habit of calling Jingim that. Jingim didn’t much like the habit—itwas familiar, and it gave the impression of loyalty that Polo probably didn’thave. It made Jingim want to trust him when he knew he couldn’t. Even thesewords could well be lies—Polo would lie if Kublai asked him to. That was only right,to obey the Khan, but it would have been nice if someone would give Jingim thetruth, a straightforward answer, for once in his life.

Hesighed. “Well, here is another lead for you. I expect you will follow itthoroughly.”

“Yes,my prince.” Polo bowed again. At least he was respectful. “I hope you are doingbetter.”

“I’mnot doing any worse. That would be difficult.” Jingim snorted. “The doctor saidit was good he got to me when he did. You may yet earn my trust.” At least insmall things, and efficiency. “Impress me.”

Onefinal bow. “I’ll do my best.”

Withthat, Polo was dismissed, and Jingim sighed. There. It was out of his hands—Kublaiwanted him to stay out of it, so he would, even if it was his own assassinationas well as Kublai’s. He knew the value of patience. Soon he would be back incourt, and he would have a scar but would pretend that the attempt had donenothing to shake him. Maybe it would fool Byamba and Ahmad or whoever elsemight have tried to kill him. Probably it wouldn’t be enough to scare theculprit off. But there was nothing else Jingim could do. For now he would haveto rest.

[airadam]

Episode 135 : Airflow.

"How it took you thirty years just to sound aiiight?"

- Rustee Juxx

2020 continues...feels like all you can say! I didn't get chance to include any Malik B (RIP) last month, but have fixed it this time with a couple of his best verses, alongside other late greats like Sean P and Aaliyah, plus remembering some truly classic albums. Light on the new releases this time, we dig back into the crates...

Twitter : @airadam13

Twitch : @airadam13

Playlist/Notes

JoJo Pellegrino ft. Ghostface Killah and Raekwon : 3 Kings

Coming out of the gate strong on this single, with Ghostface owning the Yountie Tha Noize-produced track in the first few bars! That said, everyone does an excellent job on the mic, including Pellegrino, an MC from the same general area of Staten Island as many of the Wu-Tang - Ghost and Rae included. No pause for a hook, just lyrics on lyrics on lyrics. 

[Alchemist] Twin & Alchemist : Different Worlds (Instrumental)

Ah, the early days of Alchemist! One of the most respected in the game, and one who has been associated with two highly significant crews from opposite sides of the country - the Soul Assassins from LA, and the Mobb Deep family in NYC. This is some of his fairly early work with the latter, a 12" from 2001; this beat is dope, but "Big T.W.I.N.S" on the flip is even better!

The Roots ft. Dice Raw, M.A.R.S, and Co-Op : Clones

One time for Malik B! This is a classic single from The Roots' "Illadelph Halflife" album, packed with quotables from all the MCs, and backed by a stripped-down but ferocious beat. The verses are separated by a chilled-out jazz sample, right before the drums, piano, and bars come crashing right back in. Greatness.

Exile ft. Co$$ : Pay The Co$$

I always rated the cutting up of the Malik B line from the final verse of "Clones" for the chorus here, and this is the perfect position to play it. Cashus King (AKA Co$$) is an MC out of Leimert Park in LA, and this track on the 2006 "Dirty Science" producer project looks like one of his first appearances, if not the very first. I'd have to imagine this isn't an easy beat to work with, as the Exile-produced rhythm lurches and twitches, with a somewhat cursory relationship with the beats in each bar. You've got to be good to make this work, on either side of the mixing desk!

Chuck D as Mistachuck ft. Jahi : freedBLACK

Chuck D was comparatively old as an MC when he first hit the scene, and showed how that was nothing but an advantage as he could take a different perspective to the late-teenagers on the mic elsewhere. That has continued throughout his career, where he brings his experience to bear on every verse - including here, on the "Celebration Of Ignorance" album. There's actually a piece at the start of the track I missed off as it wouldn't have mixed well, but that should be encouragement to buy the whole thing! C-Doc and ID cook up a beat rugged enough for the Hard Rhymer and Jahi, his compatriot in PE2.0.

Nine : Any Emcee

This gravel-voiced MC from The Bronx was first heard on Funkmaster Flex's "Six Million Ways To Die" as Nine Double M before tweaking his name, and eventually putting out a solid debut album of his own. "Nine Livez" is definitely worth a listen, if very much of its time, and this was the second single. Tony Stoute is on production - a forgotten name, who to be fair really did his work within the span of 1995. This is quality work though, putting some boom into a classic soul sample and then topping it off with the Rakim sample for the hook.

Brand Nubian : Allah U Akbar

Actually really proud of how much I nailed the mix into this one 😂 The call is very slightly off the nearest beat, but in the context of the production as a whole it totally works. This was a great track to open the second Brand Nubian album, "In God We Trust". Before it was released, a lot of people thought Brand Nu were done after the departure of Grand Puba Maxwell, but those doubts were swiftly dispelled. Sadat (formerly Derek) X and Lord Jamar were more than capable of carrying the load on the mic, and together with DJ Sincere, the production too.

[Kev Brown] MindsOne & Kev Brown : Nightstalkers (Instrumental)

Anyone who's been doing their homework should be able to recognise that Kev Brown bassline style! Great MPC work as usual out of Landover, Maryland from Brown's production on the collaborative "Pillars" LP.

Raekwon : Spot Rusherz

The monumental "Only Built 4 Cuban Linx..." was released twenty-five years ago this month, and with it being one of my top two Hip-Hop LPs of all time, I couldn't let it pass without including a track. This one is buried late in the album, but would be the best song on any number of lesser releases! It's one of the few Raekwon-only tracks on the LP, and he goes into storytelling mode, with a highly-detailed account of a robbery of a rival dealer. RZA's beat is one of the many, many killers on that album, which might be his best end-to-end body of work ever.

The Roots : 100% Dundee

Needed a little more Malik B, so dipped into what is definitely my favourite Roots LP, "Things Fall Apart". Malik and Thought are locked in friendly mic competition on this cut, on one of the last tracks they'd work jointly on for some time. The beat is heavy on the low end with beatboxer Rahzel doing drums and bass at the same time, and sparkles at the high thanks to the added keyboard contributions of Scott Storch on an early appearance.

Phat Kat : Don't Nobody Care About Us

Detroit all day for this selection from "Carte Blanche". Phat Kat is rawness on the mic, which we were lucky enough to witness when he visited Manchester, and J Dilla backs him with a beat that bangs in a way that the original sample could never have dreamed of! DJ Dez rounds things out with the cuts on the outro.

Black Rob ft. Lil' Kim & G-Dep : Espacio

An anthem for our time, recorded twenty years ago for the "Life Story" album, the first from Black Rob. He was one of the more rugged personalities on Bad Boy Records at that time, which you can probably pick up from the rawness of his opening verse. Personally, Li'l Kim's verse is my favourite, and the beat by Joe Hooker and Mario Winans underscores her well. Also, possibly the only music video involving stunting on mopeds.

Marco Polo : RIP KALIBMA GOD

(sic) - I'm wondering if it should have been "kalimba", but I just work with the track title in front of me! The Toronto native working out of NYC gets much respect in the production world, and his selection for one of the Fat Beats "Baker's Dozen" projects, from which this is drawn, speaks volumes.

Sean Price ft. Cousin Reeks and Rustee Juxx : One Question

An ignorant classic for sure, and a mixtape cut that might have passed you by if you aren't a diehard Sean P fan. A standout on "Master P", where each MC takes a verse to talk smack and increase the crime rate over DJ Babu's production, playing off the vocal sample. Absolutely loaded with disrespectful quotables, at least one of which has to make you laugh!

Aaliyah : Hot Like Fire

It's nineteen years this month (already?) since Aaliyah passed away. This track so good, I was sure I'd played it before on the podcast - but no, so you get to enjoy it this month! This is from the "One In A Million" album, her second, where the combination of Timbaland's adventurous beats, Missy Elliott's writing, and Aaliyah's ability to work with both formed a winning combination. A slow burner with lots of bump.

Clipse ft. Pharrell : I'm Good

"Hell Hath No Fury" is still the best Clipse album in my opinion, but "Til The Casket Drops" was a solid release too. This was the lead single, and The Neptunes give the track a triumphant feel, appropriate for its summer release. 

Massive Attack : Safe From Harm

An old classic from the very first Massive Attack album, "Blue Lines". Masterful sampling (no, I'm not revealing all the samples, just in case) by the crew to concoct a solid groove, and Shara Nelson with the iconic lead vocal. This was the perfect track to open their now-legendary debut with.

The Cool Kids : As We Breeze (Instrumental)

Nothing much to say here - just a dope beat from this Chicago duo, taken from the "Gone Fishing" instrumentals!

The X-Ecutioners ft. Halex The Armageddon : Poetry In Motion

A track very much of its era, when turntablism was picking up traction behind legendary crews like the X-Ecutioners and ISP, and spoken word was having a moment in the sun! The "X-Pressions" LP was not the end-to-end scratchfest that we might have expected, but a varied collection showcasing many different aspects of turntablism, production, and vocals from guest artists. The late great Roc Raida is on production, while poet Halex (who has many versions of her name on different credits) orates on the subject of Hip-Hop as a culture. Certainly no dancefloor track, but a podcast where you listen closely is just the place for it.

Please remember to support the artists you like! The purpose of putting the podcast out and providing the full tracklist is to try and give some light, so do use the songs on each episode as a starting point to search out more material. If you have Spotify in your country it's a great way to explore, but otherwise there's always Youtube and the like. Seeing your favourite artists live is the best way to put money in their pockets, and buy the vinyl/CDs/downloads of the stuff you like the most!

Check out this episode!

[thisdaynews]

Joe Biden’s Race Against Time

New Post has been published on https://thebiafrastar.com/joe-bidens-race-against-time/

Joe Biden’s Race Against Time

URBANDALE, Iowa—One scorching, airless early evening in the middle of August, on the outskirts of Des Moines here at a place called Living History Farms, Joe Biden stood in front of an old yellow barn and talked to a couple hundred people about the past.

“I think that, uh, the behavior of this administration has awakened, uh, a whole new generation to get engaged in ways that they may not have gotten before,” Biden said, referring to President Donald Trump and the current tumult. “Just like in my generation, when I got out of school that, uh, when Bobby Kennedy and Dr. King had been assassinated in the ‘70s, uh, late seven—when I got engaged, um, you know, up to that time, remember the, none of you women will know this, but a couple men may remember, that was a time in the early, late ‘60s, and the early ‘60s and ‘60s, where it was drop out and go to Haight-Ashbury, don’t get engaged, don’t trust anybody over 30. I mean, for real. What happened to them, by the, by the early ‘70s, the late ‘60s, there was a whole generation that said, ‘Enough.’ The war in Vietnam was under way, and it was—a lot of you served in that war—and, uh, we were fighting like the devil to make sure that there was something dealing with cleaning up the environment, which was only beginning. We were in a position where the women’s movement was just beginning to move. We should have, by now, long before, passed the ERA amendment, but that was another issue …”

Story Continued Below

Sticky-squeezed into plastic chairs, the torpid crowd used handed-out campaign paraphernalia to fan their sweaty faces. But at this mention of the equal rights amendment, somebody started to clap, and others followed suit, and the smattering of applause felt like an act of mercy—giving the characteristically discursive Biden a chance to reset and everybody else the opportunity to take a breath and maybe not think too hard about the fact that the former vice president had bungled by a decade the dates of two of the most jarring and consequential killings in modern American history.

After Biden finished talking, he spent the better part of an hour mingling with the many who wanted to stick around for selfies. Clad in brown loafers, trim tan slacks and a snug navy-blue polo shirt that accentuated the lean musculature of his tan upper arms, he worked the rope line with vigor and veteran aplomb, shaking hands, kissing cheeks and smiling to flash his teeth that are an even brighter shade than his wispy white hair.

A young staffer with a clipboard asked a man within my earshot if he wanted to sign up to commit to caucus for Biden.

“Already filled it out,” the man responded. “I think I did that in ’87.” Thefirsttime Biden ran for president—32 years ago.

This event, like every Biden event, couldn’t help but highlight one of the defining realities of his 2020 candidacy: Next month, he turns 77 years old. His age is the subtext, and increasingly the text, too, of not only his bid but the Democratic Party’s primary as a whole. Even as fading poll numbers loosen his status as the favorite and the mounting impeachment fervor over Ukraine threatens to exact a collateral toll, Biden’s age remains an overarching issue.

It’s an issue because of the simple math: Only three presidents have served in their 70s—Trump, Ronald Reagan and Dwight Eisenhower—and no president ever hasfinisheda term at the age Biden wouldbeginhis. It’s an issue because of things Biden has said and done—suggesting, for instance, he thought he was in Vermont when he actually was in New Hampshire, dropping that wince-worthy phrase that his “time is up” in the first debate and oddly invoking a record player in the last debate. His lifelong habit of flubs, gaffes and often garbled speaking now can seem less like “Joe being Joe” and more like an ominous indicator of a creeping loss of mental acuity.

It’s an issue because Biden himself has tried in sometimes awkward ways to keep it from being one, inviting a heckler to run with him during a parade and challenging a reporter to a wrestling match. And it’s an issue because opponents, from Trump (“Sleepy Joe”) to those in his own party trying to knock him off, have made it an issue—from Eric Swalwell saying it was time to “pass the torch” to Tim Ryan saying he’s “declining” to Julian Castro (dubiously) accusing him of “forgetting” things to Cory Booker dishing out readymade Republican attack ad fodder by bluntly declaring on CNN that “there’s a lot of people who are concerned about Joe Biden’s ability to carry the ball all the way across the end line without fumbling” and “there are definitely moments where you listen to Joe Biden and you just wonder.” Even the famously gracious Jimmy Carter, who just turned 95, delivered a candid if unhelpful assessment last month when he said he didn’t believe he could have handled “the duties that I experienced when I was president” if he had been 80.

This isn’t just about Biden’s age—it’s about ours, and the tension between a vast cohort of Baby Boomers who have trained themselves to believe they’re only as old as they feel and a couple of impatient generations lined up behind them, wondering when they’re going to get a chance to take over. And yet it’s about far more than simply a number next to a name. Our sense of who is old in this primary has become entwined with our appetite for bold and new ideas. All three of the top-polling Democrats, after all, are in their 70s, but it’s Biden, the centrist who advocates for a return to a pre-Trump time, who is getting dinged the most for his advanced age—not Elizabeth Warren, who wants “big, structural change” and turned 70 in June. Up until this week when he had to have two heart stents implanted, neither was Bernie Sanders, who continues to call for his “revolution” and is in fact the oldest of the lot.

But there is an entire cohort of Biden supporters for whom his age—actual and perceived—is the very thing that recommends him. After the tumult of the Trump years, these voters crave the experience and order and stability Biden promises. For them, Biden is the beneficiary of shifting social and cultural notions that make it harder to pinpoint what it actually means to beold. Federal law protects workers from age discrimination starting at 40. People can join AARP at 50. They’re usually eligible for Medicare at 65 and Social Security at 66. Scientifically, though, a half-dozen aging experts I talked to for this story told me, there’s such vast variability in how people age that it’s ill-advised and even irresponsible to try to draw conclusions about an individual based on a date of birth. “There are people at 80 who perform better than 20-year-olds,” said Christopher Van Dyck of Yale University, “even on these cognitive speed, memory-type tasks.” Furthermore, beyond decades of a healthy diet and sufficient exercise, a significant, intangible, practically mysterious part of the nature of anybody’s aging, said Tracy Chippendale of New York University, is just … luck. Genes. Joe Biden’s father died at 86. His mother died at 92.People, said Denise Park of the University of Texas at Dallas, have to make a determination “based on the behavior that they observe.”

That’s essentially what Biden’s repeatedly asked voters to do.

“Watch me,” he said in June. “Just watch me.”

Over the last six weeks, in three of the most important states in the primary process, I watched him—in South Carolina, in New Hampshire, and here in first-to-caucus Iowa.

In Prole, in an oversized lakeside gazebo, I watched him talk about the 1951 Chevy he drove in high school as he sweat through his shirt. “I think we want to have him in the shade, guys,” said an aide to the cluster of reporters who had gathered around him to ask questions. “I don’t want him standing in the sun again,” said another. Biden was asked if he had thought about pledging to just one term to allay the concerns about his age. “No,” he said.

In Newton, blessedly inside at a renovated brick building that used to be a Maytag plant, I watched him tell a crowd about how he “got elected as a 29-year-old kid” and how he’s “met every single major foreign leader that has existed over the last 35 years.” Attendees I talked to, many of whom had white or gray hair themselves, professed to be impressed. “For a guy that’s as old as he is,” Tom Spidle, 64, teeing up what came out as a backhanded compliment, told me, “he looks incredible.” Chuck Walraven, 66, of Oskaloosa agreed. “To stand up there and talk as much as he did?” he said. “I mean, he’s not gonna fall over dead any more than you are, you know what I’m saying? I mean, you could die tomorrow—right now—talking to me! He could live to be a hundred.” Bruce Hoffmeier is the same age as Biden. He wore hearing aids and leaned on a cane. “He’s not too old,” Hoffmeier said on his way out. “He looks good.”

And at Living History Farms, I watched Biden keep working that rope line before turning to catch up with the man I’d overheard tell the young staffer that he’d committed to caucus better than three decades back.

Tom Rial of Des Moines was enrolled at the University of Northern Iowa, where he was the president of the student group for Biden. He supported him as well when he ran for the second time in 2007. He’s supporting him again now.

“He’s just got stature,” Rial, 52, told me. “Stature, maturity and experience.”

“The good sides of age,” I offered.

“He’s been around,” Rial granted.

We started freaking out about the age of our presidents because of something that happened exactly 100 years ago this week.

On October 2, 1919, Woodrow Wilson collapsed in a bathroom at the White House, felled by a stroke that paralyzed his left side and rendered him incapacitated for the last nearly year and a half of his term. He was, the White House head usher would recall, “helpless.” Wilson, 63 when he was stricken, didn’t hold a cabinet meeting for more than seven months. His aides and his wife banded to do the work of the administration while attempting, too, to obscure the extent of his infirmity. But senators and staff who visited him saw “an emaciated old man” and “a very old man” who “acted like one.” It was, in the assessment of one of Wilson’s biographers, “the worst crisis of presidential disability in American history.”

Wilson was on the mind of Vice President Richard Nixon more than 30 years later, when President Eisenhower had a heart attack in September of 1955. Eisenhower recovered, enough to run for and win re-election the following fall, standing in open cars, waving to clamoring crowds, convincing the public that “suggestions that he was near death’s door were visibly untrue.” His ailing health in his second term, though, helped stoke the rise of John F. Kennedy, still the youngest president ever elected.

But the age-related episode the historians and operatives I talked to for this story brought up first unspooled over the course of two weeks in October of 1984.

Reagan, the oldest president ever elected until Trump, in the first of the two general election debates against Democratic nominee Walter Mondale that year appeared alarmingly ill-equipped and scatterbrained. He looked, according to Peter Goldman and Tony Fuller ofNewsweekin their book about the campaign, “to be searching his mind and coming up empty.” He looked “damaged.” He “lookedold,” they wrote. Reagan was 73, and even the typically friendlyWall Street Journalpublished a front-page article asking if that was too old, quoting a professor of medicine who said Reagan was shifting from “young-old” to “old-old.” A pro-Reagan psychologist added, “I’d be concerned to put him into a corporate presidency. I’d be all the more concerned to put him into the U.S. presidency.” All three networks did stories on it as well, airing an especially discomfiting portion of his performance: “The system is still where it was in regard to the uh, the uh, the uh, the uh …”

In the second debate, though, Reagan the ex-actor uncorked what even Mondale would acknowledge as “one of the great lines in the history of presidential debates.” Asked by one of the moderators about his age and his ability “to function,” Reagan responded, “I will not make age an issue of this campaign. I am not going to exploit for political purposes my opponent’s youth and inexperience.” The audience laughed.Mondalelaughed. But he knew he was done.

“The joke,” Mondale wrote in his memoir, “completely disarmed people’s doubts about his age and his capacities and allowed them to think, ‘He’s okay.’ They wanted Reagan to be okay and now they could believe it.”

“People didn’t want him to fail,” University of Texas at Austin presidential historian H.W. Brands told me in an email. “His ability to joke about the issue told them it couldn’t be too serious.”

“Everybody laughed,” said longtime Democratic strategist Joe Trippi, who led Mondale’s efforts in Iowa that cycle, “and regardless of what the facts were about whether age was impacting him or not, it was over—that question was gone.”

Age matters. Because health matters. “Eventually, something like what happened to Woodrow Wilson is going to happen to us again,” Nixon biographer John Aloysius Farrell said in an interview. “I’ve seen almost everything—an assassination, two impeachments—in all my years as a watcher of politics. But I’ve never seen a president die of natural causes in office—and, you know, we’re due.” But voters don’t think like actuaries. Especially not right now. Democrats just want to beat Trump, and polls still say they think Biden’s the best bet.

Also, the challenge for Mondale in the scenario in ’84 looks in retrospect like a version of what Biden’s opponents are dealing with now: He had to try to diminish Reagan while simultaneously showing something along the lines of deference. The late Pat Caddell, the madcap mastermind who that year was an adviser to Mondale, understood how delicate a task it was and how hard it would be. Mondale, he reasoned in a strategy memo, had to “convince voters that Reagan has ‘lost it’ and that he ought to be retired. … In short, we want to have the American electorate emulate the British electorate in 1945 when they turned on Winston Churchill.” Still, the hit had to be deft. He all but likened it to putting a family elder in a nursing home—“sort of embracing a grandfather,” Caddell wrote, “and gently pushing him aside.”

Mondale couldn’t do it, and none of the younger 2020 candidates have managed it yet with Biden, either.

Last month in New Hampshire, in Laconia, on the top floor of “the oldest unaltered brick textile mill in the U.S.,” according to the adjacent historical marker, I watched Biden tell people the salary for a senator back when he was first elected was $42,000 a year, briefly mix up Reagan with Nixon, and refer to Charlottesville as Charlotte before correcting himself two and a half minutes later.

“I found the vice president inspiring,” David Huot told me outside. Almost eight months older than Biden, he’s still a state representative. “Why the hell should I sayhe’s old?” Huot said. “I’mold.”

More often than not, though, I didn’t even have to ask about age.

After Huot, for instance, I met Dr. Paul Sapir, 91, and his wife, Sylvia, 76, Rhode Island residents with a nearby summer home, and asked them open-endedly what they thought of Biden’s performance.

“I was very impressed,” she said. “You know, I’ve been very worried about him in terms of his gaffes, but he seemed to know facts and figures, and they seemed to come to him easily.” Her husband, a retired psychiatrist, joined in. “It was quite reassuring about him and his intactness and his coherence,” he said. “He seems pretty intact.”

Intact.Sapir sounded like an archeologist describing a papyrus scroll.

That evening, in nippy New Castle over on the Atlantic coast, a man stood at the rear of the crowd in an oceanfront park and poked fun with a held-high sign welcoming Biden back to Vermont. In the question-and-answer session after his talk, Biden called a 24-year-old woman who asked about climate change “kiddo.” She said she found it “patronizing.”

The next morning, at the state Democratic Party convention at the sports arena in downtown Manchester, Biden was the first of all the presidential candidates to take the stage. The crowd was still sparse. He stifled coughs. By far the most memorable part of his speech was when he called Donald Trump “Donald Hump.”

People snickered.

Biden adlibbed. “Freudian slip,” he said.

The malaprop made for a droplet of entertainment. But the more meaningful development of the day, it seemed, happened not out in the open hall but rather in the bowels of the venue, in a stuffy, fluorescent-lit room, in which the roster of Oval Office aspirants could come talk to the assembled throng of reporters. Biden opted not to show up. Virtually everybody else did, though, and what unfolded in his absence was a collective crescendo of talk about the age issue—a preview of sorts of what would come the following week during and after the Houston debate. Ryan, 46, pointed to “a lack of clarity” in the way Biden speaks. Buttigieg, 37, said Democrats traditionally win the presidency with new, fresh faces, not “established and Washington-tenured figures.” Booker, 50, managed to turn a question about climate change into a chance to call attention to his relative youth. “I’ve seen military reports about what’s going to happen in the next 25 years—when, as another one of my colleagues says, I will still be younger than the president of the United States.” And Castro, days before he would unleash toward Biden his “forgetting” fusillade, was explicit. “I believe that we need a new generation of leadership,” he said, citing party presidential antecedents Kennedy, Carter, Clinton and Obama. “I believe people are looking for that again.”

Biden, however, remains the candidate to beat—in spite of the softening of his standing in some polls.

Older political hands think they know why.

“It’s perfectly all right to call for a new generation of leadership,” longtime Democratic strategist Bob Shrum told me. But he warned of “the danger of trying to go after Biden.”

“There is,” former top Obama strategist David Axelrod emailed, “a lot of affection and respect among Democrats for Biden. He is popular. Gratuitous attacks on him are not well received. And in an environment in which defeating Trump is the urgent concern of many Democrats, Biden seems like the safest, least risky choice.”

It’s why Joe Trippi looks at the 2020 primary to this point and finds himself thinking back to the 2010 California gubernatorial campaign. Jerry Brown was pitted against Meg Whitman. Trippi worked for Brown. Whitman was 54 and was coming off a decade of having been the CEO of eBay. Brown, on the other hand, had been around for just about forever, and had done just about everything—governor already before, mayor of Oakland, attorney general, three times a presidential candidate. He was 72. But the political terrain in the state coming out of eight years with Governor Arnold Schwarzenegger and in the wake of the Great Recession was jangled. Trippi was “blown away” by what he learned from voters in focus groups.

“We would give them this really stellar bio of Meg Whitman, and they all went, ‘No way.’ And you’re like, ‘What?’ And it was like, ‘No way—we tried somebody from outside government who didn’t know what the hell they were doing. … It was just too chaotic. We don’t want anybody new. We don’t want anybody from outside. Just somebody who knows how to turn the lights on in Sacramento. … Can’t you just give me an old shoe? I just want an old shoe.’”

In the case of that race, Trippi explained, they won by looking not forward so much as back.

Maybe that’s what’s at work right now.

“With age comes experience,” he said, “and with a chaotic president, the experience may count more than the age.”

It may. But that’s the exception to the rule. Usually it’s the other way around.

In 1972, for example, Cale Boggs was a two-term U.S. senator from Delaware. He was 63. Reporters in their coverage of the campaign described his “thinning hair” and said he sometimes got “tongue-tied.”

His challenger, meanwhile, a one-term county councilman, was 29. Reporters called Joe Biden “boyishly slim” and noted that he often talked about “how the old guard has bungled things.”

Biden ran newspaper ads yoking the incumbent to imagery evocative of bygone days. “Cale Boggs’ generation dreamed of conquering polio,” one said. “In 1950 Cale Boggs hoped to make Americans safe from Stalin,” a second said. Another mentioned “the 1948 poll tax.” The ads emphasized the need for “new thinking” and “new solutions.”

Boggs was “a helluva nice guy” but “was just not a fighter,” Biden said. He wondered if he had “lost that twinkle in his eyes.”

The steely sketching of this contrast was “pretty much the essence” of the Biden campaign’s strategy, according to one of his best friends and most important advisers. “His basic theory was Senator Boggs was beloved, but these were changing times,” he said. The pitch pretty much boiled down to this: “If Senator Boggs and I could just go down to the football stadium at the University of Delaware and people saw the two of us, they’d pick me.”

They did.

Now, though, at the opposite end of the cycle of his political life, Biden’s presidential candidacy is unavoidably an implicit argument against the very sort of youthful energy and not-gonna-wait rebellion that put him in a position of power in the first place.

I was thinking about Delaware and 1972 a few weeks ago as I pulled in to park in a pecan orchard on the banks of the Little Pee Dee River in rural South Carolina. The first thing I saw on the door of a car was a big placard of a magnet bearing a rendering of the face of Pete Buttigieg. “We can’t look for greatness,” it said, “in the past.”

Up the road a short way, outside the Galivants Ferry general store, vendors in trucks and tents hawked sweet tea, pimento cheese sliders and six-buck chicken bog. A bluegrass band was picking on the porch not far from the lectern made to look like a stump. Sticking out in the growing crowd was a ruddy man wearing flip-flops and a “MAKE AMERICA GROOVE AGAIN” hat and carrying a sign saying he was a “REPUBLICAN FOR PETE.”

“Mayor Pete’s a selfless servant,” John Dabrowski told me. He’s 37, lives on Pawleys Island and works in sales at a brewery in Myrtle Beach. He’s not happy with Trump, whom he called “a bully.” After his wife, Peta, got turned on to Buttigieg by drinking wine and watching YouTube videos, Dabrowski, too, identified the alternative he was looking for. He thinks Buttigieg is the person who can beat the president. “We can’t put somebody that’s gonna ostracize Republicans that are moderates like me, fiscal conservatives but also super liberal in other, you know, social aspects.”

But what about Biden?

“No,” he said.

“He’s old guard. I believe in term limits, and Joe’s not gonna do it for me. I mean, we don’t need somebody that’s been doing it for all these years. I want somebody that’s gonna be around for the policies that they’re gonna write, OK? Mayor Pete, if we put in some type of green policy or some type of coal policy, he’s going to see the repercussions because he’s going to be around for it. Biden’s not gonna be around for 30 years to see the effects of his policies—and that matters to me. Doesn’t that carry more weight? I want somebody to belivingwith their policy.”

Dabrowski’s friend chimed in. Buttigieg “willbe president,” said Ree Lawson, 54, a high school debate and public speaking teacher in Waccamaw. “It might not be this time.” But next time? Or the time after that? And afterthat? “We could go through four more cycles. He could run andstillbe a young man.”

On the docket for the evening at the Galivants Ferry Stump—where Democrats running for office have spoken since shortly after the Civil War—were four presidential candidates. First was Amy Klobuchar, and last was Bill de Blasio, who was a few days from dropping out—but in between was one heck of a Biden v. Boggs-like contrast.

Buttigieg, who was five years old when Biden first ran for president, bounded to his spot behind the stump, dressed in his uniform of dark slacks and a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up.

“This is a time to unify the American people. This is a time for ideas that are bold enough to get the job done and capable of bringing us together. And if you think about it, that’s how Democrats win, from John F. Kennedy to Jimmy Carter to Bill Clinton to Barack Obama. We win when we offer leadership from a new generation, with new ideas,” he said.

“Are you ready to break from the past?”

The cheer that went up from the people suggested that they were.

Then, though, led to the stump by a stomping, gyrating, instrument-waggling troupe from Florence, the energetic marching band from that city’s Wilson High, Biden was ready to respond. He spoke for his allotted 20 minutes, a faster, localized version of his standard spiel, citing another senator he once worked with (the recently deceased Fritz Hollings of South Carolina), stressing “honesty,” “dignity” and “decency,” and extolling Obama not as one of the series of fresh-faced Democrats who won the White House but as the president he served.

“Folks,” he said, “I’m just gonna say it. I don’t think we thank Barack Obama enough for the job he did as president!”

The audience roared. Biden built to a crescendo of his own. Grabbing hold of a past that never fails to invigorate him, he clenched his fist. He raised his voice. “Why in God’s name don’t we pick our heads up and remember who—this is the United States of America!”

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