#series: eleanor's kitchen

[lizzybeth1986]

Eleanor's Kitchen

Books: The Royal Romance/Heir, Rules of Engagement

Pairing: Queen Eleanor & Prince Leo + Liam (mother-sons/siblings), Leo x Damien (mentioned in RoE) (romantic), Liam & Jason (OC) (platonic).

Rating: PG

Summary: Liam notices Leo's friendship with Damien, their gardener's eldest son, becoming stronger.

Series: Eleanor's Kitchen

Note: Damien (not Nazario from PM!) has been mentioned in this scene in Rules of Engagement, Book 2. I played fast and loose with the timelines for this backstory, and have given Damien a younger brother who was Liam's age.

This chapter takes place almost a year following Ch 3. Liam is now 8 years old, Leo is 14.

Word Count: 3, 718 words

Tagging @kingliamappreciationweek for KLAW Day 4: Childhood, @aprilchallenge for the prompt "just want to be with you", @choicesholidays for National Sibling Appreciation Day (April 10th) and @choicesficwriterscreations for FoTW.

Chapter 4: Garídes Saganáki

(Photo from this recipe)

Liam greets the salt air that briefly kisses his face, and the sand that pools around his toes at the beach, with a sense of homecoming. This beach has felt as much like his home as the palace he was born in, suffused with memories of sandcastles and uniquely-shaped seashells and the rush of excitement that came every time a wave crashed against the shore.

And most of all, it feels like home for the moments long past. For the rare times both he and Leo did things together, back when Leo actually liked taking him along for things. When his talk was actually more talk and less eyerolling and "oh you're too young to understand". The love is still there, and so is the need to protect each other (especially against Father's acid remarks, usually aimed at Leo) - just...the companionship isn't, any longer.

The sad, sinking feeling that used to emerge from realizing that is, thankfully, rare now - Liam much prefers the company of his own friends - but when he was four and hanging on to his big brother's every word, it had stung.

"Every big brother does that," his newest friend, Jason, shrugged. Jason is the palace gardner Giorgos Vasilakis' youngest son, accompanying his father since last year on visits to the Queen to discuss the plans surrounding her dream project: the palace hedge maze, that was to echo the one in Château de Villandry in France. Jason's older brother Damien had always been the one at Kýrios Vasilakis' side before that, but of late Liam has begun to associate his presence more with his own elder brother.

Jason is lonely. Unlike Liam, who has managed to bring together his own motley band of merry playmates, Jason has only the one older brother and has never gotten the chance to venture beyond the palace and his father's cottage. Liam has experienced only a fraction of that kind of loneliness and it had felt like hell. He and Jason may not know each other well, but he'll be damned if he let the other boy he has no one. And so he brings Jason along to meet all his friends.

Both Liam's and Jason's older brothers accompany the group of exhilarated children to the beach, but slip away in another direction before the group can notice. Liam notes the direction Leo and Damien are headed - their heads leaning towards each other as they walk - but says nothing. More friends, Liam reminds himself of his purpose here, first make sure we give Jason more friends.

Liam isn't disappointed. Before long, Jason's name has been shortened to Jase, his shorts and shirt have been drenched from jumping over the crashing waves with Maxwell, and he's snacking happily over pine nuts with Drake and Olivia. He even enjoys collecting seashells with Tariq, even if he did find him a little odd at first.

"I can understand not wanting to get your shoes wet but why would he want to keep them 30 feet away from the sea??"

Liam giggles a little. "They're not just shoes! They're...uh... Salvatore Ferra-somethings!" he says, already forgetting the Italian names that slip so easily from Tariq's tongue when he's talking about a shoe brand. Liam would too, if his father spoke his ears off about shoes as much as Tariq's did.

"If you say so," Jason replies doubtfully. What a funny bunch of people these nobles and royals are, he must be thinking, "but what if they get stolen?"

"Then Tariq will sniff and say he hopes they were stolen by someone who truly understands the value and beauty of Italian shoes."

Just before they leave, the children build a sandcastle. Liam and Jason deem themselves the architects of the main structure, Drake and Olivia choose to build a fortress. Maxwell ropes in a skeptical Tariq to help him construct a fantastic "Tower of Fun and Parties" right next to the castle itself. They are almost done when Jason stands up, declares the castle incomplete without a good garden, and pokes dots into the sand to form imaginary flowers.

For a moment all they can hear is the shriek of the gulls and the buffeting crash of the waves. They are all silent, and smiling, and very, very proud of themselves.

This structure is the biggest sandcastle the children have ever built themselves thus far, and by the time Leo and Damien return (hair damp, skin glistening, breathing hard as if they'd jumped down the steep cliffs of the Forgotten Falls and climbed back up, hands very close but not really touching) they are all convinced it is the biggest castle they ever will conceive of building. Even if it is one built in sand, soon to be a victim to the crashing waves.

--

Liam puts on his baking gloves, balancing himself on the balls of his feet as he waits to take his freshly-baked bread out of the oven. It's a moment he likes to gear himself up for - there's just something, some magic, about that first, comforting, soul-filling whiff. He'd experienced that feeling the first time he actually watched Chef Anais bake, and he's felt it ever since.

His version of Greek village-style bread is perfect today - the crust a lovely brown with little cracks and ridges to show off how crisp its outside is, and he is certain the inside will be soft and a light shade of yellow from the semolina he added to it. The aroma is good enough to make his mother stop in the middle of her own cooking just to breathe it in.

Her face covered in a fine sheen of sweat today from the heat in the kitchen, her hair bunched into a wrap and her hands waving away steam and smoke from her face. Liam can't quite tell whether it is excitement he sees on her face or exhaustion. But from the corner of his eye as he carries the bread to the table to rest, he can tell it is more of the former.

There are two pots boiling away at once on the stove: one a creamy, garlicy, peppery fish broth; the other a beautifully silky tomato-based sauce that he knows from experience will become even silkier and creamier when Mum adds a sinfully liberal amount of feta chesse to it.

He almost reaches out for it with a spoon when his mother stops him.

"Ah-ah-ah!" Mum says, playfully wagging her finger, "Not yours, thisavré mou. This is for your brother and his friend only. That's why I'm making something with your favourite Stone Bass fish as well. For you and your friend."

Liam frowns. "But I've had shrimp saganaki before. You know I like it too. Why couldn't you just make a bigger batch?"

Mum lets out a sigh suffused with embarrassed laughter. Her hand inadvertently motions itself towards a bottle of alcohol on the table titled Ouzo. "This one is... different. Not for children."

Liam pouts in petulance. Of late reminders that he is still a child and his brother isn't have begun to annoy him. There is something so mythical about teenagehood, Liam is beginning to realise, something he wants to know more about but is too out of his reach to even begin to understand.

Don't be so eager to let go of your childhood, pet, then you'll spend the rest of your life wanting it back, Mum would often tell him. All that phrase does now is make him even more impatient.

The smell of ripened crushed tomatoes, mixing in with the garlic, onions, and chilis, makes for a heady combination. He secretly thanks Uncle Franci for sending them yet another carton of San Marzanos - Mum said he'd written in his last letter that his wife, Aunt Pari, would be making a trip down to her home province of Bethulia soon for the Navroze festival, and was hoping Mum would come celebrate it with her this year.

There is another aroma in the sauce Liam has never smelled before, and has a hard time identifying - it's slightly pungent and makes his eyes water a little. It must be from the bottle of Ouzo.

Mum tosses the feta into the small, two-handled heavy-bottomed frying pan at will - she has never really been one for measurements - and quickly places the pan beneath the broiler to melt the cheese. Liam watches in fascination as her hands crumble extra feta; there is no rubric for how much, she just stops when she feels like it. Just throw! she will tell him anytime he asks her for a measuring cup. Cooking for Mum has always been just a play of hands; trust your hands and give them their time with the ingredients - and the results may not always be consistent but over time they will be forever delicious.

Liam has timed his baking closely enough that by the time both his and Leo's dishes are ready, his bread will have rested long enough, and is ready to serve as a side.

They find Leo talking to Jason's brother at one of the more intimate drawing rooms of the palace, their heads so close they're almost touching. Both their hands are jammed into their pockets, as if they'd hurriedly put them there from whatever their original position was. Their eyes dart everywhere and both seem to turn a little pink. A curl from Damien's dark hair rests carelessnessly on his forehead, and Liam catches his brother looking at it at least twice.

Jason skips to Liam's side. "Where is everyone else?" he whispers.

"Drake and his sister have gone to Texas to stay with their aunt, Olivia's with one of the Elders in Lythikos, Maxwell and Tariq are back home. It's just me, I'm afraid." Liam shuffles his feet in uncharacteristic awkwardness. He knows that a lot of the things he likes to talk about can either bore or confuse his own friends.

"Good enough for me," Jason says, grinning. "Her Majesty says she's got us fish stew."

"Bianco. And shrimp saganaki for Leo and Damien." Liam lowers his voice in a conspiratorial whisper. "Don't tell your dad - Mum made those herself. Father built her her own kitchen two and a half years ago. Not many besides some of the kitchen staff know."

Jason's eyes widen at the bowl that's just arrived, and then brightens. Imagine that, being treated to the cooking of an actual queen!

Mum had wisely decided to seat the pairs of brothers in different areas, confident that they would be bored stiff if they were made to eat together. It's a lot better this way, Liam thinks, as Jason talks animatedly of the new toys his dad got him with the increase in his salary from last month onwards. Leo and Damien would perhaps find their chats rather silly, and a lot of the things they say fly like seagulls over Liam and Jason's heads.

The Bianco is as good as Liam and Jason had hoped: the sauce smooth and creamy, the fish mildly sweet and with flesh so soft it crumbles a little on the tongue. Liam can't help but puff his chest in pride as he and Jason use the bread he made to sop up the rest of the sauce, the heat from the pepper and garlic and the delightful tang from the lemon warming them all down to their toes. Jason tells Liam to tell Her Majesty to forgive his lack of manners but he is this close to licking his plate.

Normally, Liam would be ecstatic about getting to eat a Stone Bass, especially here where the catch is always today's, wild and fresh and soul-stirringly tasty..."not that garbage you get from the fish farms" as Grandmother used to say.

But his thoughts keep crawling back to the meal his and Jason's older brothers got. The dish that has been so familiar to him all these years, yet seems so alien now. All because of an added mysterious... thing that seems all the more exciting because he isn't allowed to touch it.

Liam goes and sneaks a look at where their brothers sit, enjoying their shrimp. Leo looks over to his friend's plate, notices his bread is over, breaks his own loaf apart and offers it to Damien, looking straight into his eyes as he dips it into his sauce and eats it. Damien's fingers lightly brush his as he takes the bread.

"You know who made that bread?" Leo's voice for some reason sounds different, warmer and deeper and a little more serious. Liam turns pink with forgotten filial pleasure at the note of pride in his words. "Liam. My baby brother."

Damien grins. "There's sauce near your lip."

Leo makes a great show of pretending not to know where. "Where?"

Damien looks left and right - and satisfied that they cannot be seen (Liam heaves a sigh of relief as he emerges from behind a corner Leo and Damien cannot clearly see) takes his napkin and dabs softly at the corner of his mouth. The two boys suddenly cannot look each other in the eye, and their smiles hold secrets that make Liam feel like an intruder on this little moment, for perhaps no reason. Damien's only cleaning Leo's face.

But when he returns and tells Jason what he saw, the other boy stays silent for a few minutes.

"Babás almost saw Prince Leo at our home once," Jason says quietly, "Mamá had to hide him in a cupboard."

"But why?" Liam asks back, puzzled, "I thought Kýrios Vasilakis liked him. Ever since he started attending his lessons regularly and actually -"

"I know. I thought so too. I'm not sure why Leo and Damien and Mamá look so scared these days. No one ever tells me." Jason finishes with a nonchalant shrug that belies his petulant frustration at not being told things he cannot fully understand.

Liam sighs, all thoughts of their brothers forgotten. "No one thinks I'm old enough to understand anything either."

As Liam watches Jason's older brother reluctantly take leave of his own, their gazes lingering more than their touches ever could...and realises how childishly enthusiastic their own goodbyes are, Liam goes to bed wondering what Leo's shrimp saganaki tastes like. Is it pungent? Is it sweet? Does it leave a bitter aftertaste?

That night, Liam lies in bed in his silk unicorn-and-rainbow pajamas, burningly aware of how like a child he looks in it. How unlike his older brother - in his leather jackets and carelessly tousled hair. He begins counting the months before his mother can properly deem him "of age", and falls asleep before he can even reach his pre-teen years.

--

Days later, Leo takes a walk around the Wishing Well with his mother.

It's amazing how much things have changed in the years Eleanor has been married to Constantine, and therefore into the Royal Family. His little son had only been four then, and he'd hidden behind his father the first few times she tried to come near. Constantine and his mother had fumed over this in the beginning, wanting to help ease him into trusting her but neither having a whole lot of patience - so it had been up to her to reassure him that they would only set his relationship with her at his pace.

And it had paid off. Little Leo had once seen the "new mother" outside, trying to stargaze, and sat beside her in silence, listening for half an hour as she pointed out constellations. She'd known he loved stargazing and knew he needed a companion of sorts The first ever times they talked were all about stars...until five months later when he lost interest and Eleanor found out whatever it was that captured his fancy next.

Still, because that night was the night they tentatively began to consider themselves mother and son, she often brings back memories of it by calling him astéri mou.

"Your tutors have been very pleased with you this year," Eleanor says, suppressing a little smile, "they've been seeing how hard you've been working at your studies lately." There's a mischievous glow in her eyes. "Any more efforts and you'll soon be surpassing Liam, they say."

Leo snorts. He knows, no matter how hard he tries, that he can never reach his kid brother's level in either interest or acumen for politics. That is a quality unique to just him and he's more than happy to let him bask in it, but ever since Damien....

A quick, intense memory of him flashes. Dark curls, full lips, skin smooth beneath Leo's fingertips. It had amazed him how they'd been playmates one minute, pretending to be pirates and running around the palace gardens, and he'd never in all that time noticed that kind of gut-capturing beauty. His voice deep and passionate at the Forgotten Falls two weeks ago, as Damien whispered into his hair, "Let me hold you for a bit. We don't have to talk...we don't have to do anything. I just want to be with you."

He knows becoming a good King will be a hundred times harder for him than it was for his father, than (he is beginning to realize) it could be for his brother. He had made his peace with that at some point this year. But being around Damien...knowing that in his future position a relationship like theirs could be both legally permitted and morally viewed as sheer irresponsibility (and this is in only the kindest of parallel universes) and still knowing it is a relationship he cannot ever conceive of giving up...

If he could just prove himself capable in every other area of his life, just please his father and bring pride to his mother in other ways, maybe both his father and Damien's may just not force what they could have together, to die.

Mamá sighs. "Leo...astèri mou. You don't understand. I am already proud of you."

Oh no. Had he just said the words aloud?

He responds to her answer with another question. "How did you find out about us, Mamá?"

She shakes her head. "Kyría Vasilikou." Damien's mother, who hid Leo in a cupboard that one time Kyríe Vasilikos almost caught them. She had been extraordinarily kind and very contrite - sending Leo with a box of melomakarona and begging him never to come to this house again for fear of what Damien's father may do to him next.

He remembers Mamá's words from that evening.

"Damien's father - and his father before him - are extraordinarily dedicated to the King. It was His father that ensured their family would be set for many, many years to come...and his gratitude towards them can make him blind to what could make his own son happy."

The mother who had birthed him, the one he had often called Mummy, is at best a faded memory now. He called Eleanor Mamá almost a year after she'd married his father, because he finally felt ready and because it suited her. That evening, he understood his Mamá's underlying message.

I will always support you. But until we can figure out a way, you must be careful.

And so he will be. Both Damien and he will try their darnedest not to be too obvious about their love for each other...and Leo will continue to work harder on his lessons.

Smiling, Mamá changes the subject. "Liam's very upset we won't let him have shrimp saganaki."

Leo bursts out laughing. "He's had it so many times already!"

She shrugs. "Oh no, not that way. He's demanding the "Leo and Damien special". Ouzo and all. I suspect the baby of our family wants to be seen as a baby no more."

He rolls his eyes. "He's going to be really disappointed. It's not going to be that different from regular saganaki. Just makes it taste a little bit more like anise."

If that isn't a fitting symbol of what adolescence feels like when you come out of your big impractical dreams of what adolescence might be, Eleanor doesn't know what is. It is a lesson they all learned the hard way, only to see their children struggle with it too. They can only sit back, knowing that nothing they can say will change the kids' minds.

Leo at age 14 is already bored of his teenage years and raising his eyes towards the glamour of adulthood. Liam at age 8 has a far too rosy picture of adolescence, and envies his brother for being the whole-body-manifestation of everything he now wants but knows he needs to wait to have.

And while Eleanor will be forever grateful Liam has inherited her vast capacity for patience and not his father's, she is also aware that that patience is beginning to wear thin.

Leo may be too focused on his feelings for Damien to see it, but a time will come when the brother he has always considered a kid will grow before his eyes, and he will be too surprised by the change to understand, or know how to communicate. She can only hope they'll find their little ways, as they once did before.

Sighing, she passes her eldest a coin, and takes a second in her own hand.

"Ready to make a wish?"

Leo nods. Eleanor smiles. She knows already what he's going to ask.

Eleanor tosses hers into the well, watching as it makes its rapid descent down.

Whatever else changes, just make sure these two never forget how much they need each other.

Eleanor returns to the palace with her son, smiling. Between the Wishing Well and the official gardens, there are bits and pieces of a plan taking shape, a plan for a garden maze. Around it, she can see her youngest playing tag with his friends: one of whom is the youngest of their gardener, a little boy Liam seems to have taken under his wing.

Leo and his mother stop by to watch the children. Both sigh, and both realize it's for the same reason.

Liam will be thrust into his adolescent years before he even knows it. But at least they both can enjoy this sight of him enjoying his childhood completely, wholeheartedly, for what it is. If only for today.

--

Recipes:

Shrimp Saganaki

Corfoit Bianco

Horiatiko Psomi

A/N2: For Sibling Day I really wanted to do a fic that explored the dynamics of a sibling pair with a significant age gap. There is some amount of awe at older people - esp older kids- at their age, as well as a little envy and a desire to become them.

Meanings:

Kyríos/Kyría: Greek for Mr and Mrs usually.

Thisavré mou - my treasure

Ouzo - Ouzo is an anise-flavored liquor produced from grape must (the remnants of wine-making). It can only be made in Greece and Cyprus

Feta cheese - A brined, white cheese with a soft and creamy texture, often made from sheep's milk.

Navroze - Festival for Parsi New Year, often celebrated with Iranians around the world as well as other Zoroastrian communities.

Babás/Mamá - Greek for Dad and Mum.

Astéri mou - my star

[sublimeinal-messages]

Any five x oc fanfic recs? I just read your entire series in 2 days and I crave more

OMG hi sorry I didn't see your ask until now! Personally, I found myself frustrated with a lot of Five fics out there because they were very romance-focused and didn't give the rest of the family the care that was needed, but the fic Definitely Maybe I Will Live To Love by my friend Seeing_Blue (@i-dropped-the-chief !) who not only made me realize Oh! there are actually good oc fanfics that can exist, and also involve a well-written Five. And I consumed the entire series of fics that exist that they wrote, as well as the AU spinoff fic.... and then all of their other works outside the Umbrella Academy fandom. Seeing-Blue is just a fantastic writer all around and I cannot hype up their works more, go check them out!!

[eadanga]

Royal Love Part 21

Summary: Now 18 Eleanor heads to her first year of college and falls for a handsome musician. Can she keep her royal secret be with her true love?

A/N: This series is for @kingliam2019 one of my 500 followers giveaway winners

Eleanor came back from the party and laid on her bed she cried into her pillow I can’t believe this. A knock came at the door “Elle you left the party in tears what happened can I come in?”

“Yeah sure”

She opens the door and sits down beside her “Did you tell him about?”

“Yeah I did”

“What happened?”

“He said he needs to think about it you know what that means”

“It means give him time”

“Forget it it��s over you should have seen his face”

“No you can’t think like that”

Eleanor sighs “Can I get a moment please?”

Marissa nods “You know where to find me” She leaves the room

Eleanor clutches her pillow as she feels an ache in her chest taking a deep breath she dials her dad

“Hi my princess what’s?”

“Dad I…” She takes a deep breath “I told Cole everything”

Liam pauses before he answers “How did he take it?”

“Said he needed to think about it but the look he had on his face I don’t know dad it…may be over”

Liam pauses again then speaks “I’m flying over”

“Dad you don’t”

“Please I need to be there for you it breaks my heart to know you’re in pain and I’m not there to help you”

Eleanor gives a small smile “Ok dad”

“I’ll be over tomorrow princess”

****

Eleanor awakens the next day to smell of pancakes, eggs and bacon What is she walks out her room and sees her dad and Marissa in the kitchen

“Wow the king can make some food? Don’t you have servants for that though?”

Liam chuckles as he sets the kettle to boil “I may be king but I’m a regular guy like everyone else”

“That is true”

“Dad how’d you get in here?”

“I’m a master a disguise”

Marissa giggles “He means I helped him”

Liam chuckles “She did indeed”

Eleanor giggles then goes to hug Liam “I’m glad you’re here”

Liam tightens his arms around her “Me too now hurry and eat and get dressed”

“Why? Where are we going?”

“You’ll see” He hands her a plate “Eat up I’ll be waiting by the car”

Eleanor smiles as she digs into her breakfast then heads to get dressed She heads out and sees Liam waving next to a black tinted car. He holds the door open for her “Shall we?”

Eleanor grins then heads to the car and they drive in a comfortable silence before Eleanor breaks it “Where are we going dad?”

“To a very special place” The car stops and Eleanor looks in confusion

“Dad what is this place?”

“It’s where I met your mother”

“You met mom here?”

Liam nods “Yup your uncle Drake took me out for a little party because it was the social season and soon I was to pick a bride I wasn’t having fun cause all I could think about was how I had to be engage to someone by the end of year someone I wasn’t gonna love I was dreading heading back home”

“What happened?”

“We stopped by this bar and I went to take a call but when I came back I saw the most beautiful woman”

Eleanor grins “Mom?”

“Oh yes even in her waitress uniform her beauty outshined everything”

Eleanor giggles “Then what happened?”

“You’re about to find out” He takes her hand and guides her down the street to a club “This is where she took us next so we could have some fun and we talked then she something spontaneous for me” He takes her hand and guides her to a bridge

Eleanor grins “Is that the Statue of Liberty?”

Liam nods “She called in a favor and had a boat ride around it and speaking of here comes our boat now”

Eleanor grins “Dad you didn’t have to do all this”

“That smile on your face is worth it my princess now let’s board” They head on the boat and get close to the statue “And this is where I asked her to marry me imagine my joy when she said yes”

“You’re love story is so sweet”

“It is and so will yours”

Eleanor sighs “But what if he rejects me?”

“Then that’s his loss forget doesn’t mean anything is wrong with you”

Eleanor smiles “I know I just starting to fall for him and I can’t help”

Liam places a hand on her shoulder “I know you can’t just turn off your feelings but like I told you before if he truly loves you he’ll accept you as you are”

“Like how you fell for mom?”

“I know she had a difficult time during the social season but I didn’t care where she came from I love her all the same”

Eleanor grins “Thanks dad you’re the best”

“Anytime my princess now shall we get some lunch?”

“Did you make it?”

“I was thinking we can go to a restaurant”

Eleanor grins “No I want you to make it”

Liam chuckles “Ok let’s head to the store and decide what to make”

Tags: @choicesgodfanatic @indiacater @the-soot-sprite @princess-geek @iaminlovewithtrr @gkittylove99 @twinkleallnight @kingliam2019

[thewidowsghost]

Happy Holidays (Kate Bishop x Romanoff!Reader) - Chapter 18

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

"Well, there's uh . . ." Kate begins from the back of the cab, "one more thing we should worry about."

"Yeah? What's that?" Clint asks.

"Um . . . Do you remember the girl from last night, the one in the mask?" Kate asks.

"Uh huh," Clint says, looking across (Y/n) and at Kate.

"Um, we spoke to her," Kate goes on, and she and (Y/n) exchange a look. "She said she's Natasha's sister."

"Yelena?" Clint mutters.

"Yeah," Kate says.

"I – okay," Clint says, looking forward in the cab and looking out the front window.

The car stops and all three exit the car.

"Okay," Clint says again.

"You all right?" (Y/n) asks, focusing on where Clint is holding his shoulder.

"Yeah," he replies.

. . .

Kate's phone buzzes on the kitchen table, where the four are eating the breakfast Grills the Firefighter had prepared, Bolt's head resting affectionately on the young archer's knee.

"Kate," (Y/n) looks over at her companion. "What's wrong?"

"Kate Bishop, I found out who hired me," Kate reads off her phone. "E-eleanor Bishop. Thought you deserved to know."

Kate's breathing stutters, and (Y/n) places a hand on Kate's thigh. Kate, honey, you gotta breathe," (Y/n) murmurs.

"Look at this," Kate tosses her phone on the table and slides it towards Clint. "Who's that with my mom?"

"Well," Clint glances uncomfortably at Kate, "that's the guy I've been worried about this whole time. Kingpin."

Kate grabs the phone and taps on the screen. "In the spirit of the holidays, I'm gonna give you a minute to think about what you're starting right now," Wilson Fisk / Kingpin's voice comes from the phone.

"I don't need a minute," Eleanor Bishop replies.

"Who sent this?" Clint asks, and (Y/n) shakes her hand on Kate's thigh gently, pulling Kate out of her thoughts.

"Yelena," Kate replies, almost in a daze. "Apparently my mom is the one who hired her to kill you."

"Oh wow," Clint breathes.

"It doesn't make any sense," Kate says, bringing her unoccupied hand to her head. "My mom doesn't even, she doesn't even jaywalk. And now she's working with the mob? She killed Armand?" she whispers in disbelief. "My God," Kate stands up, throwing (Y/n)'s hand off her thigh in her anxiousness to get up from the table, "I need to talk to her."

"Kate, wait," (Y/n) gets up, stepping over to Kate and resting a hand gently on her arm. "You gotta calm down, okay?"

"Let's talk this out," Clint agrees.

Kate, who had already dialed her mother's number, listens to the answering machine, "This is Eleanor. I can't answer the phone right now . . ."

"She didn't answer," Kate starts pacing the kitchen, trying the number again.

"(Y/n)'s right. Just take a breath, okay?" Clint advises. "But your mom needs our help."

Kate's breathing stutters in her chest again, and she meets (Y/n)'s gaze, who had followed her pacing with her eyes and stepped forward. "Kate," she cups the girl's face in effort to keep the archer from beginning to pace the floor again, "that video, it's not good. The Kingpin will not take this lightly. He is going to react," Kate looks deep into (Y/n)'s eyes, and nods, her face still cupped in (Y/n)'s hands, "and he's gonna do it in a big way."

"(Y/n)," Kate pulls away, and (Y/n)'s arms drop uselessly to her side, "this is my mess to clean up. You," she glances at Clint, "both of you, should go home. You should be with your family. You can still make it in time for Christmas –"

"Kate, you're my partner," Clint interrupts her. Kate pulls her gaze from (Y/n)'s to look at Clint.

"And I'm not going to leave you behind," (Y/n) says fiercely, taking a step forward. "We're not going anywhere until this is finished."

Kate breathes out, and a sob escapes her lips.

(Y/n)'s expression softens and she wraps Kate in a hug.

"I'm not leaving you," (Y/n) murmurs, drawing patterns on Kate's back with her fingers. "You hear me?"

Another sob leaves Kate's mouth and she buries her face into (Y/n)'s neck.

. . .

"Kate," Clint says, and the young archer turns to him, "I'm really sorry how this has all turned out for you."

Kate looks out the window as the subway zips along underground.

"Well," Kate looks at Clint. "Can't think about it right now. We've gotta focus on tonight."

Clint exhales. "You're right," he says simply. "We need a ton of gear. Like a whole batch of way-too-dangerous trick arrows."

Kate's eyes widen with a child-like excitement. "You can make more?"

The Avenger shakes his head with amusement.

. . .

Bolt and Lucky push through the door to Kate's aunt's apartment, sniffing the couch and then jumping up. They curl up together on the couch, Bolt's head resting on Lucky's back.

"Hey, Kate," Clint calls from the workroom, welding some parts to an arrow shaft, "you seen that pepper spray?"

"Yeah, I've got it here," she enters the workroom, a can of pepper spray in hand.

"All right," Clint mutters.

. . .

"So, this, uh, this holiday party tonight," Clint says, (Y/n) in the other room changing her clothes, "is it a fancy thing?"

"Yeah. Formal," Kate replies.

"You know, you don't have to do this," Clint says. "(Y/n) and I can handle it ourselves. It's part of the job. It's always inconvenient. It's," he pauses, "lonely. You will get hurt. Heroes have to make some tough decisions. So, if you're gonna do this . . . I just wanna know you're ready."

"When I was younger, aliens invaded," Kate replies. "And I was alone. And I was terrified. But then I saw you, fighting aliens with a string and a stick. I saw you jump from that building even though you can't fly, even though you don't have superpowers. And I thought, 'If he could do that, then I didn't have to be scared.' You showed me that being a hero isn't just for people who can fly or shoot lasers out of their hands, it's for anyone. Anyone who's brave enough to do what's right, no matter the cost." Clint exhales, sharply. "I'm ready," Kate promises.

"Natasha is going to love you," Clint says, smiling slightly.

"I'd hope so," (Y/n) jokes, walking into the workroom clad in a plum purple suit, with a white buttoned shirt and a lighter, lavender colored tie.

Kate stares at (Y/n), her eyes wide. "You look -" Kate falters. "I mean -"

Clint chuckles, patting (Y/n) affectionately on the shoulder before exiting the room, leaving the two young women alone.

"You -" Kate tries again, her mouth hanging open.

(Y/n), amused, reaches over and closes Kate's mouth with her hand.

"Great," Kate finishes, tilting her head so that (Y/n)'s hand now cups her cheek.

"Smooth, Bishop," (Y/n) teases, but she allows her thumb to brush across a cut on Kate's cheek.

"Willyoubemygirlfriend?" Kate says.

"Excuse me?" (Y/n) looks bewildered.

"Will you be my girlfriend?" Kate says slower.

(Y/n) pauses, her gaze twinkling mischievously. "I think that can be arranged."

"Aww, screw you, Romanoff," Kate says, smacking (Y/n)'s arm gently.

"You'd want to do that, huh?" (Y/n) replies,and Kate's cheeks flush.

"S-s-shut up!" Kate splutters and (Y/n) laughs.

. . .

(Y/n), Kate, and Clint walk towards the entrance of the massive building to join Eleanor Bishop's Christmas Gala.

Clint separates from the two young women, leaving the two girlfriends to themselves to scout around.

"No sign of my mom yet," Kate says to (Y/n), pretending to fix (Y/n)'s collar.

"Okay, tell me what you do see," (Y/n) replies. "What are our assets, what are our threats?"

"Mmm," Kate hums, scanning the scene before her. "Threats? That guy. That's Gary. He fired me from one of the only jobs I ever had."

(Y/n) glances over her shoulder at the man, and she snorts – recognizing him. "Don't know if you could call that a job, sweetheart."

Kate flushes, but continues, "Assets? Well, we have those all over the party." She gestures around to some of the LARPers from the park.

"Chip. So good to see you," Kate looks around at the sound of Jack's voice.

"Wow, Jack's out of jail already. Nothing phases that guy," Kate voices.

"So Jack, wielding a sword, just out of jail for allegedly murdering somebody with one," Clint comments quietly into the COMMs.

"Maybe it's his way of proving he really is innocent?" (Y/n) says, hiding it behind a sip of vodka.

"Weird flex, but okay," Clint says, and (Y/n) almost chokes on her alcohol. "You see her yet?"

"I haven't seen her yet," Kate replies from (Y/n)'s side.

. . .

"Found her," (Y/n) catches sight of Eleanor as she walks through the main door. "Wait," (Y/n) laces her arm with Kate's as her girlfriend tries to move.

"Kate, (Y/n), hi . . ." Eleanor moves over.

"Mom, come with us," Kate says, and (Y/n) unlaces her arm with Kate's.

"Farther," (Y/n) says, glancing over her shoulder at the window. "Good."

Kate leads the way through the party, to a concealed room with no windows.

"What're you two doing?" Eleanor asks her daughter.

"We're saving your life," Kate replies.

"Your business partner wants you dead," (Y/n) adds.

"What're you talking about?" Eleanor splutters.

Kate scoffs. She pulls her phone out of the pocket of her suit jacket. ". . . which is why I'm a little confused where you're headed with this." Kate plays the video.

"How could you do this?" Kate asks softly.

"I handed Armand like you asked," the video continues.

"All these years," Kate hisses.

"You don't understand," Eleanor says, looking at (Y/n) and her furrowed brown.

"Then explain," (Y/n) replies.

"When your father died, I was blindsided," Eleanor turns back to her daughter. "He owed that monster money."

"There you are!" Jack enters the room. "Sorry to interrupt, darling –" (Y/n) slides her hand into her pocket, closing it around the handle of her switchblade, "but I really need to have a word with you . . ."

"Jack, not now," Eleanor says, taking a step away from her fiance. She turns back to her daughter. "Sweetheart, Kate, don't worry, I have everything under control."

Suddenly, (Y/n) hears the sound of gunshots.

"What the hell was that?" Kate asks.

"Shots fired. We're workin' on gettin' these people outta here," Clint says in to the COMMs.

"Kate, take her and go," (Y/n) says.

"Fuck no," Kate says. "Mom and Jack, stay here."

"Kate, do not go out there, it's too dangerous," Eleanor orders her daughter.

"You're the reason it's dangerous out there, Mom," Kate says. "Just stay put and stay out of this."

"Damn, babe," (Y/n) mutters following Kate out of the room. "That was hot."

"Not the time," Kate says, though her cheeks darken.

"Oh, God. Clint, who's shooting?" Kate asks.

"I have no idea," Clint replies. "I'm gonna head downstairs, draw the fire away."

"Going position two, guys. Missy, Kenney, cut the lights," Grills says.

The lights go off, the only source of light coming from the battery powered Christmas lights.

"Oh shit," Kate sees Yelena run after Clint.

Kate runs after Yelena, (Y/n) close behind. "So, I know you're chummy with my mom, I just didn't think you'd make the cut for the Christmas party."

(Y/n) snorts.

"Kate Bishop. Random person. I'm not here to ruin anything. I'm just going to kill Barton, have some appetizers, and then I'll go."

"I hope you enjoy the bruschetta, 'cause it looks like you already lost him," Kate says.

"He's in the elevator," Yelena deadpans.

"Yeah, what, out of sixty-five floors, you think you're just gonna magically guess which one he's on?" Kate asks.

"Twelfth floor," Yelena replies, looking over to see the opposite elevator's floor number displayed in bright red.

"Damn it," Kate mutters.

"Enjoy the party," Yelena says, and the elevator doors in front of her open. Yelena and Kate try to enter the elevator at the same time. "No, no, Kate, stay."

Yelena steps into the elevator, and as the doors slide shut, both (Y/n) and Kate slide into the elevator next to Yelena.

"Ahh," Yelena complains.

The doors slide shut.

Kate looks over at the button panel. She reaches out to press one of the buttons, but Yelena smacks her hand away. "No," Yelena deadpans.

(Y/n) behind the two, holding back a laugh.

Kate reaches over again to press the buttons, and Yelena grabs the back of her dress, spinning her around, and shoving her back in her space.

Kate frowns and (Y/n) swallows back a laugh. The raven haired girl tries once again, and Yelena judo-flips Kate onto the floor.

Kate stands up and does the first thing she can think of – smacking Yelena in the face.

"Fuck," (Y/n) breathes, her eyes wide.

"What was that?" Yelena asks, looking bewildered.

"I don't know," Kate swallows thickly. She looks over at (Y/n). "I –"

"No! No. No, no, no!" Yelena protests. She grabs Kate's sleeve, pulling off the dress, revealing Kate in a purple archer's suit with black and silver accents. "Did you plan that?" Yelena asks, looking over at (Y/n), who'd dawned her own suit, a lot like her mother's white suit, but purple, with pink and gray trim.

"Yes," Kate says. Yelena stares at her. "No, no, I . . ." she turns around and presses all of the elevator buttons.

"Oh, no, no no!" Yelena says. "Come on, that is so annoying. Suka," she mutters in Russian, untying her green trench coat and revealing her own suit. She forces the coat into Kate's hands, and steps out of the elevator on the next floor.

Kate and (Y/n) look at each other for a moment, before Kate throws the coat to the floor and the two charge after Yelena.

Yelena rolls over a table, dodging one of Kate's punches and (Y/n) tackles her, forcing the former assassin to her feet.

The two trained Widows trade blows, but Yelena dodges one of (Y/n)'s and slams the pad of her palm into (Y/n)'s nose.

Yelena runs towards the door frame where she finds Kate standing in the way.

"What're we doin'?" Kate asks. "I mean, it's Christmas Eve. Let's grab a drink, huh?"

"Authentic Russian vodka, on me?" (Y/n) offers, shaking her head to clear it.

"Okay, yeah, sure," Yelena replies.

"Cool," Kate sighs, forcing a smile.

"After I kill Barton," Yelena adds.

"No, no that's not what . . ." Kate complains. "Come on. You don't need to . . ."

Yelena kicks Kate in the stomach to push her through the door frame, and the archer cries out in pain.

She grabs Kate by the arm, and smushes her face against the glass walls.

"Kate, (Y/n), where are you?" Clint asks.

"Yep, give us a minute."

"Everyone here at 107.6 Lite FM," a radio hums to life as Yelena body throws (Y/n) into a desk.

Kate grabs a rope with balls on the top and throws it at Yelena's hand, knocking her red Widow's baton from her hand and shattering the window.

"Oww!" Yelena complains, shaking her hand. "That really hurts!"

"Yeah, yeah, well, so did the kick to the ribs," Kate replies, breathless.

"And the body throw into the desk," (Y/n) deadpans.

"Oh, yeah, that was a good one," Yelena says cheerfully. "That was good form. But you did the really cool trading blows thing," she looks at (Y/n). "And you did the really good throw."

"Yeah? Thank you," Kate says. "Thank you."

"Yeah," Yelena replies.

Then the slight grin slides off Kate's face. "Stop making me like you," she whines.

"I'm sorry. I can't help it. That was really fun," Yelena comments and a laugh escapes (Y/n)'s lips. "But bye." She shoots a grapple at the floor and jumps out the window.

Kate and (Y/n) stick their heads out the window to watch as (Y/n)'s aunt runs down the side of the building.

"Clint!" Kate yells, warning the man.

"Was that you?" the old archer asks, watching the flash of shadow pass across his window.

"It's Yelena! Watch out!" Kate says, and as she says so, Yelena passes the window where Clint is standing, shooting at him with her handgun.

"Careful," (Y/n) warns her girlfriend. As she grabs a rope and wraps it around Yelena's grapple rope.

"It's supposed to be scary, it's supposed to be scary. Okay," Kate murmurs to herself before she jumps down the side of the building, screaming all the way down. She lands on a knee, Yelena having disappeared into the crowd.

"Holy shit, Kate, you okay?" (Y/n) asks quickly, readying her own rope to join her girlfriend at the bottom of the building.

"Fine!" Kate replies, breathless. "But the Tracksuits are here."

(Y/n) descends the building, slower – but safer – than Kate had.

"Gotcha, babe," (Y/n) replies from beside her girlfriend once she'd safely reached the ground.

"Look, it's Kate Bishop," one of the Tracksuits comments.

"And the Widow's brat," another adds.

"Offensive," (Y/n) mutters.

The Tracksuits attack the young women, and they attack right back, Kate firing arrows to help (Y/n) as she attacks with her Widow's batons.

Kate, deciding she'd used enough arrows for the moment, turns and grabs one of the Tracksuits by the wrist, forcing his handgun to point towards the ground.

"I know it's not the best moment right now," Tomas says, facing the purple dressed archer, "but I want to thank you, you know. For your advice, how I should speak to my girlfriend." Kate glances at (Y/n), who was whalloping Tracksuits in the back of the heads with her batons, sending them sprawling, dazed, onto the ground.

"Did it work?" Kate asks Tomas, still putting pressure on his wrist.

"It worked, bro," Tomas replies, "we went to Maroon 5 instead."

"Valid, honestly," (Y/n) comments.

"That's so great," Kate says, swallowing back a laugh at (Y/n)'s words. "So, what's with the gun?"

"I'm sorry, but . . . I wanted to thank you," Tomas says. She kicks him in the private area, and he collapses to the ground.

"Harsh," (Y/n) comments, sending two more Tracksuits to the ground. "And hot."

"Hehe, got you now, bro," a Tracksuit points a handgun at Kate.

Before she can do anything, Jack kicks the man out of the way, sending the man's handgun flying out his hand with a quick flick of his sword.

"Jack!" Kate exclaims.

"Hello, dears," Jack says. "I'm glad you two are doing well."

"That's actually so sweet," (Y/n) says, punching a Tracksuit in the face, sending him stumbling back, clutching at his now broken nose.

"Behind you!" Kate warns as another Tracksuit advances on her mother's fiance. He turns calmly, and slices at him with his sword.

"Jack. Jack, I am, I am so sorry my mom got you put in jail. Are you okay?" Kate asks.

"Never been better," Jack answers, smiling slightly. He defeats about four more Tracksuits calmly. "But I'm afraid I've lost track of your mother."

"Yeah. You and us both," Kate replies.

. . .

"Clint!" Kate says, she, Jack, and (Y/n) still battling the hordes of Tracksuits. "Where are you?

"Right here!" Clint replies.

"Where's here, Clint?" Kate rolls her eyes.

"In the tree," the Avenger replies.

"What tree?" (Y/n) asks, not bothering to look up at the massive Christmas tree she and her companions were fighting under.

"THE tree!" Clint replies.

Kate turns to look up at the massive tree. "What're you doing up there?" she asks, amused.

"I'm just hanging out, what do you think?" Clint asks.

. . .

"Clint, I need you to hang on tight," Kate orders, keeping an eye on (Y/n) and Jack battling Tracksuits back to back below her.

"Yeah, you think?" Clint asks.

"No time for sarcasm," (Y/n) comments.

"You know, dear," Jack says to (Y/n) over his shoulder. "I like you for my Kate. Should've told you that before."

"That's really sweet," (Y/n) says, whacking a Tracksuit in the head, and another in the groin. "You're a good stepdad."

"Wait, what do you mean?" Clint asks.

"I'm gonna get you out of that tree," Kate replies.

"No, no, don't do anything. Kate? Kate!" Clint yells into the COMMs.

"Yo, Uncle Clint, you're gonna blow our eardrums if you keep yelling into the COMMs," (Y/n) says and Kate laughs.

The purple archer fires two arrows, and the massive tree falls, spilling the Avenger into the ice rink below.

"Nice, Kat," (Y/n) comments as she and Kate join Clint in the ice rink.

"Oh my god, you wore it!" Kate looks delighted as Clint removes his dress shirt to reveal the suit Kate had designed for him.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Clint grumbles, but he smiles at the delighted look on the younger archer's face.

"Oh, my god, it looks so good. I told you," Kate starts to fangirl.

"Yeah," Clint replies. "Okay. Listen to me. We need to get off this ice, okay? The only way off this ice is up those stairs."

"Great," Kate deadpans. "There's only about a thousand of them, and three of us."

"Here, take these," Clint grabs a handful of special arrows and puts them into Kate's quiver.

"No way," Kate exclaims. "Is it time?"

"It's time," Clint tells his protege. "All right," he knocks an arrow. "Let's give 'em hell."

"Yo, what's going on here," a figure in blue and red spandex drops out of the sky, webbing up a few of the Tracksuits.

"A battle before Christmas," (Y/n) replies, turning to the Spider-Man. "Yo man, good to see you again."

"Back at you, Widow," Spider-Man replies.

The four heroes charge at the Tracksuits, Kate and Clint, and (Y/n) and the Spider-Man.

"It's so cool that there's another archer Avenger," Spider-Man comments as he and (Y/n) knock about two dozen Tracksuits.

"Proves anyone can be a hero," (Y/n) replies. "Ain't that right, Spidey."

Spider-Man chuckles, and (Y/n) estimates he's probably about eighteen, just from the sound of his voice.

After a few short minutes, all the remaining tracksuits lie on the ground, either with webbing, arrow, or bruising wounds.

"Kate, your mom just walked out of a side door," Grills says.

"Copy," Clint replies.

"I have to go find her," Kate says.

"I'm coming," (Y/n) demands, and from the look on her face, Kate knows there is no point in trying to argue. (Y/n) turns to Spider-Man, "See you 'round, dude." They fist bump, and Spider-Man uses two of his webs and slingshots himself through the New York skyline.

"What's with you and spider-themed people?" Kate voices, turning to Clint, who simply shrugs. "Let's go," Kate turns to her girlfriend. She sighs heavily.

. . .

A figure tackles Clint, and he sprawls on the ice, Yelena Belova standing over him.

"Before I kill you," Yelena towers over the injured archer, "I need to ask you one question."

"It's nice to finally meet you, Yelena," Clint says, opening his eyes and facing Natasha's sister for the first time.

"I need to know what happened," she says, looking down at the archer, who'd gotten to his knees.

"Look, Yelena," Clint mutters, "if I told you what really happened, you'd never believe me. But what you need to know is that Natasha sacrificed herself. She saved the world. I-" his voice cracks. "I'm sorry."

"You're lying," Yelena replies.

"What?" Clint asks in disbelief.

"You're pathetic. You're so pathetic," Yelena steps forward. "She wouldn't sacrifice herself for you. You murdered my sister."

"That's right," Clint murmurs. "It wasn't just for me. She wanted to bring back her friends, her family, you. Keep her kid safe."

Yelena narrows her eyes. "Kid?"

"You met her," Clint rasps. "Earlier tonight. Purple suit, pink and black accents. Green eyes like hers."

"Shut up!" Yelena's voice rips from her throat. "You pathetic" punch "little" another punch "liar!" she kicks Clint in the ribs, and he skids backwards on the ice.

. . .

The door is ripped off Eleanor Bishop's car, and she shrieks.

The massive figure of Wilson Fisk leans over the woman in the car. "Don't leave, Eleanor," he rasps. "Come here, let's talk."

"Get away from my mom," Kate screams.

Fisk moves away from the car, to watch Kate, her bow pointed at his chest, and (Y/n) beside her, leveling her handgun at Fisk's face. "What are you going to do with those?"

Kate lets her arrow fly, and it sinks into his chest, but he simply just removes the arrow calmly.

"What?" Kate splutters. She shoots a grapple arrow, but Fisk simply grabs it, pulls Kate to him, and pouches her square in the ribs.

Fury burns in (Y/n)'s emerald green eyes. And she runs at Fisk, wielding both of her Widow's batons.

He strikes her in the face, and she flies backwards into the brick wall, collapsing onto the ground next to her injured girlfriend.

Fisk moves towards the two injured warriors, but a car careens into Fisk, sending him into the toy store.

Fisk turns towards the car, Eleanor Bishop at the wheel, but both Kate and (Y/n) get to their feet, sliding over the hood.

"Where you goin', big guy?" Kate rasps.

She attacks first, but Fisk grabs her bow, spinning her around, and sinking his massive fist into her stomach. Pain washes through Kate, but she fires an arrow behind (Y/n), and a web of electric webs spread across it, keeping the mob-boss from attacking her mother.

(Y/n) attacks, but Fisk grabs her by the neck. "You're in over your head!" he roars, slamming (Y/n) Romanoff into the ground.

She writhes, pain radiating through her entire back and into her arms and legs.

Fisk towers over (Y/n), and panic ripples through Kate, she staggers to her feet and charges at Fisk again, but he grabs her by her quiver, throwing her into one of the cement walls of the toy store. He grabs a handful of arrows and raises them over Kate's chest.

A pained sob escapes (Y/n)'s mouth as she gets uneasily to her feet.

. . .

"You should have fought harder!" Yelena snarls, striking Clint across the face.

She discards her baton, pulling out her handgun. A soft whistle escapes from Clint's mouth – Natasha and Yelena's whistle.

A pained gasp escapes from Yelena's throat as she lowers her handgun. "How do you know that?" Yelena asks.

"Your secret whistle with Nat," Clint gets to his knees again. "She talked about you all the time, Yelena."

"She did?" Yelena whispers, broken. "What did she say?"

Before Clint can answer, a familiar voice replies. "That I loved you more than life itself," Natasha emerges from the stairs. "Sorry I'm late, I couldn't catch an earlier flight."

A sob escapes Yelena's throat, she runs for her sister, tackling her in a desperate hug, and grasping at the back of Natasha's jacket.

. . .

(Y/n) staggers towards Fisk and Kate, pain radiating all throughout her body.

"Please, not her," (Y/n) rasps, putting herself between Kate and Fisk.

"Kill the little Widow," Fisk says thoughtfully. "Sounds good to me."

And he strikes.

Word Count: 4583 words

A cliffhanger hehe

[choicesficwriterscreations]

November Creator of the Month: Lizzybeth1986

Each month CFWC highlights one of our talented fanfic writers, and this month’s writer of the month is @lizzybeth1986 We hope you will enjoy learning more about them and their work below! The writer is selected at random. More info can be found on the navigation page.

Quick Links:

Tumblr Blog: Blog Masterlist

How do you want to be known on Tumblr?

Lizzy, absolutely 😁

*Center art by @sazanes

More below...

When did you start playing Choices? What was the first book you played?

I started playing mid 2017, I think. I played the flagship books (TF, TCaTF, MW), and def preferred TF at the time.

When and why did you join Choices fandom?

I joined the Tumblr fandom in 2017, around the time of the TRR finale. Mostly because the Liam hate at the time was intense and I wanted to write metas about why Liam was, in fact, not “a dick who betrayed the MC” 😂

I did have a Tumblr account before that (made it in 2015 to follow Bollywood film posts), but never actually used it.

How did you pick your blog name?

I was lazy af so it was my middle name plus my birth year haha

Pull up the first post in your archive, and tell us about it! 

I started out with a couple reblogs, but my first actual post was about the romance points mechanism in TRR1. There was a point in the middle of the book where one nice word to Drake would give you an automatic romance point, and I was like, “Huh??? Either treat him like shit or risk him catching feels for me? Is that how it is???”. Thankfully, that stopped after two chapters. After that, I did an essay series analyzing Liam’s actions in the finale called “The Crown, The King and The Flame.” Romance Points Post The Crown and the Flame

How long have you been writing fanfiction?

Almost 6 years now! I started doing Liam fics around the beginning of TRR2.

What is your favorite Choices book, and what is your favorite Choices book to write about?

I’m the most invested in TRR and PM, but between the two I’d probably say PM is my fave book overall. But yeah, my favourite book to write about would be TRR, because Liam, Hana and Kiara are such fantastic characters to write about! (Hayden and Sloane, too, but I’m still in the process of getting comfortable writing them).

Share the first fanfic you wrote with us. Do you still like it, or would you change it if you were writing it today?

It was Keychains, my two part fic series featuring my MC and Liam. It was set around the time the MC was waiting in the airport in TRR2, just before Maxwell and Bertrand intervene. It had a follow up with Liam’s PoV too.

I really like it. It included some really good hc’s I made at the time, like Esther buying an apple keychain to represent Cordonia at the same time, and Liam calling her his wife in Greek and Esther not realizing what the phrase meant. I thought the pathos and slight humour was quite well-done. I can’t think of much I would want to change in the story.

Keychains 1 Keychains 2

What is your favorite fic that you’ve written?

As a series – Eleanor’s Kitchen! It’s ongoing, and it’s a joy to write. I love exploring food from a cultural lens, and since Cordonia was a fictional country, I could explore a variety of ethnicities and food cultures. Liam had a literal diamond scene that explored gastrodiplomacy, and I wanted to explore his childhood and Eleanor’s friendships too.

Individually – I would say my Kiara fic “An Ear to the Ground”. Kiara is a delightful character and exploring the social season through her eyes was a real journey! I also love “The Stars (Are Out Tonight)” which explores the early days of the Sloane & Hayden friendship. I used asterisms and constellations to symbolize moments in their friendship.

Eleanor's Kitchen An Ear to the Ground The Stars (Are Out Tonight)

Do you have a fic that you didn’t expect to be well received, but it was? What about one you expected to be but found could use a little more love?

Cordonian Waltz was definitely a surprise in terms of reception!! It was written in the style of headcanons I was seeing at the time, and I wrote it in second person. It became my most widely-read fanfic very fast, and every once in a while it would experience a major surge in readership. I enjoyed writing it and thought it was a lovely, romantic piece, but I really wasn’t expecting it to finally have 250+ reblogs out of it, and people coming and telling me this was the fic that got them into Liam x MC in the first place. I find that deeply gratifying 😍

There’s a lot of fics that I feel need more engagement and appreciation, but I can understand that those characters also don’t exactly get much of an audience. My entire PM set comes under this category; they typically get low readership. I think my Hana and Kiara fics too could do with more of an audience.

@twinkleallnight once told me that when she reads my stuff, she usually takes a long time just to ruminate on the story, and I like to believe that often, that’s why the engagement isn’t always immediate. Which I like too!! I like that some of my stuff can make people stop and think, and I like to believe that over time, the work will have its own impact.

Cordonian Waltz PM Set

If you could write only angst, fluff, or smut for the rest of your writing life, which would it be and why?

Probably fluff but with a lot of observation and sometimes somber reflections. I’m not that great with angst…and I’ve never actually tried smut? But maybe one day 😄

Do you ever recognize yourself in any of your MCs or in your writing?

Yes! Some of my MCs are v different from me but I always incorporate something from my life experiences in them. Like Esther taking photos of the sunset or Basil not being science oriented but still having an interest in space.

Character wise I find I put a lot of myself into a lot of the characters I write. Notably, Liam, Hana, Kiara, certain Haydens and Sloane. Liam’s love for learning, different aspects of Hana and Kiara’s experiences as queer women, Sloane’s experiences as a neurodivergent woman, and especially my Scholar!Hayden’s (Iris) observations. I tend to incorporate a lot of my feelings and experiences more into certain canonical characters than in MCs.

What element of writing do you struggle with most?

Dialogue, I think. Especially when it’s a character I don’t relate to that much. But also sometimes when it’s a character I love but am only starting to write because then I really overthink it!

Do you have any neglected work you really want to finish?

Hmm…probably neglected wouldn’t be the word I’d use…I just take a very long time to kickstart them 😂

But yeah, definitely my Petals and Thornes series? That’s the fic series I’m doing for Hana x Kiara, that is supposed to explore TRR2 and 3 from their PoV (with significant changes). So far I’ve only been able to do some one-shots and hcs in that universe, but I do want to start the actual series soon!

I have some essay series’ I’d love to work on too! My Hana essay series which has two essays left, The Hayden Young Project, and a possible series on the alternative Lis of TRR!

Petals and Thornes Hana Lee: A Study in Erasure

If someone you know in real life (who isn’t involved in fandoms) asked to read your work, would you let them? If yes, what would you recommend they read first?

Hmm. A few people have asked me, actually, and while I’m not fully opposed to showing them I’ll probably take some time before I do show my work. I’ll probably overthink how much will be understandable to a reader who doesn’t have the context of the source, and what they may not understand.

What to show them first? I’m not sure! Maybe the smaller ones first, like Cordonian Waltz. Or my RCD fic Snowstorms, because it doesn’t have more than 2-3 canon characters featuring and I do talk a little about being a closeted queer teen figuring out their sexuality through cinema, which is an overall relatable experience to some! Snowstorms

Are there any writers (published authors and/or fanfic writers) who influenced your writing?

In my early years I used to emulate Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni’s style. Much of her work that I read as a teen was pretty flowery, sometimes bordering on purple prose, and I really loved that style and tried to go that way. But now I think a variety of writers from different genres inform my writing. In terms of published authors, Jhumpa Lahiri, Helen Hoang, and non-fiction ones like Rukmini Pande, Ruby Hammad and Mikki Kendall.

In Choices fic, @callmetippytumbles for sure – a lot of the questions she was tackling with her MC in her Home series served as inspiration for some of the ideas I’ve been having in mind for Petals and Thornes. @thefirstcourtesan is a great writing buddy to have, too, and she has a knack for saying a lot in very few words! There’s also my amazing group of friends (shoutout to @cassiopeiacorvus, @thecapturedafrique, @mand-delemonde, and @beyonceswigs, as well as @twinkleallnight , @dcbbw @mariemarieohcontrary , @choicesfrog, @grapecaseschoices and @ohsnapitzlovehacker…the discussions are so good and leave some much to think about afterward 💖💖). All these discussions ALWAYS fuel my ideas and make me think out of the box.

I’ve also recently started writing polyamorous characters and relationships, and @angelasscribbles stories and resources have been such a great help in navigating that!

Home

@angelasscribbles Poly Resources

Which one of your stories would you most like to see as a movie/series?

Haha! I’ve not even started the proper series yet but I think Petals and Thornes? But besides that maybe Eleanor’s Kitchen may work as a series idk 😄

Do you write original fiction?

I do try! I’ve done a few short stories but before I started fanfic, I did a lot of spoken word poetry and that was fun.

What other hobbies do you have?

Reading, watching video essays, spending months on hyperfixations 😂 and a little cooking. My kid’s gotten into craft recently and has succeeded in taking me down that rabbit hole too haha.

I used to be into making fruit wines but have gotten inconsistent with that over the years.

What’s your favorite emoji?

Because I have a huuuge thing for nerds – this one: 🤓

BONUS – tell us anything you’d like (if you want to).

A story my mum often tells about how I got into writing, began with some good old-fashioned sibling rivalry. Apparently as a child I was notorious for writing things on the walls of our house. One day my older brother got a hardbound royal-blue covered notebook to write in, with gold lettering on the cover…and I got instantly jealous that I didn’t get one (I was 6 or 7 and already fond of telling stories). When I complained my mum made me a deal – she would get me the same notebook…IF I stopped writing on the walls and began writing in that instead 😂 It worked. My mother is a smart woman.

I love spoilers!! I will read the end of a novel I’m reading and then go back and read the rest. Sometimes I even read books all the way backwards lol.

I love romance, and my favorite tropes include second-chance romance and mutual pining while believing the other person will never love you back! Because, at heart, I’m a dramatic bitch.

[love-little-lotte]

A Look Into My New Guilty Pleasure: Poldark (2015 Series)

My biggest weakness is period dramas — especially period dramas with a talented cast, sweeping romance, terrific scenes (preferably set in some kind of country/provincial side), and lots and lots and lots of just sitting around and talking.

That's probably why Poldark has captured my heart. As a big fan of Outlander, it's no surprise that I fell in love with this show. Outlander and Poldark have so many similarities that I may make a lengthy post about it, but for today, let me just rant about my new guilty pleasure. I'm so obsessed with this show that I actually finished watching the entire five seasons in one week!

Poldark is based on Winston Graham's novels and adapted by Debbie Horsfield. I was so excited to start this show, with a male protagonist originally written by a man, created and written for a series by a woman. I haven't read Graham's novels (I'm going to one of these days, I swear!), so I'm not sure how well Debbie's adaption worked. I've read many Reddit threads, though, and some fans of the novel are not that impressed with how she omitted and added details to the show (will get back to this once I've read the books or at least the seven ones that were used in the show). The show has also been adapted in the 70s, so this was not the first time Graham's novels were seen onscreen!

Despite not having read the books, I fell in love with the story, the characters, and the cast! The show follows Ross Poldark returning to Cornwall after fighting in the American War in the 1780s. He looks forward to marrying his childhood sweetheart Elizabeth but, believing him to be dead, is now engaged to his cousin Francis. He then tries to resurrect his family's mining business and hires a young girl Demelza to be his kitchen maid (whom he eventually marries) while also crossing paths with the villain George Warleggan, a corrupted banker who stops at nothing to ruin Ross's prospects and personal life. As the show progresses, we also meet other characters, including Prudie and Jud, Ross's servants, Verity, Ross's cousin and Francis's sister; Ross's friend Dr. Dwight Enys and his love interest Caroline Penvenen; Sam and Drake Carne, Demelza's brothers, and Morwenna Chynoweth, Drake's love interest.

Yes, this show has a large ensemble cast, and trust me, there always comes a point when you hate or love them. Especially our protagonist Ross Poldark. Ross... is an interesting character. He's terribly, terribly flawed and many times times, I'm so infuriated with him to the point that I want him to suffer. I swear, you cannot go through this series without screaming at Ross. (When that moment came up in Season 2, I swear I had my middle finger ready every time Ross showed up on my screen from then on.)

But my favorite character in the show is Demelza, Ross's wife who started as his kitchen maid. She's the heart of the show, the voice of reason, and even though she makes questionable decisions along the way, you can't help but get on her side no matter what. She's the perfect fiery yet gentle match to Ross's stubbornness. He treats her like shit many times in this show, which makes me angry to no end, but they eventually grow to be understanding, loving partners.

And it also helps that Aidan Turner and Eleanor Tomlinson have one of the best romantic chemistries I've ever seen. They're terrific actors as well and they bring the characters to life so effortlessly. They just seem like they have the best time shooting this show. I kind of want to rewatch Loving Vincent now just because they're in that movie, even just in supporting roles.

Poldark is a roller coaster, with so many ups and downs (mostly downs, to be honest, please give Demelza a break!) My favorite season has got to be Season 1. Season 1 had the best Ross and I loved the early stages of his relationship with Demelza. It also has my favorite episode: Season 1, Episode 8. That episode broke me so much, thanks to Aidan and Eleanor's perfect performances. It's the only time I ever cried watching this show. I usually cry in period dramas (I've cried countless times in Outlander and Downton Abbey), but for some reason, I only cried once in Poldark. Most of the time, I'm annoyed and infuriated (hahaha but I still love it!)

The romance in Poldark is also quite unique, something I haven't seen before. Ross and Demelza emotionally hurt each other many times in this show, and they don't have the best communication. It's not an ideal marriage, but that's what makes it so raw and real. It hurts when Ross sleeps with his first love Elizabeth or when Demelza falls for the much-sensitive Hugh Armitage, but these are challenges people face all the time, and it's interesting to view it in characters and circumstances through 18th-century lenses. Plus, it can be very tiring to see perfect couples onscreen all the time. So watching Ross and Demelza's relationship thrive, suffer, and reconcile is very refreshing to me.

Nevertheless, Ross and Demelza are still able to work together. Seasons 2 and 3 showcase the worst moments of their marriage, from infidelities to insecurity, but the love between them still perseveres and they learn to forgive. In the end, they realize that they belong together.

And despite the unconventional marriage, Poldark is not a stranger to grand romantic gestures. Two of my favorite Ross and Demelza moments occur in Season 2:

A real funny, old-married-couple type of bicker in The Beach Scene:

And of course, showing all intimacy in The Stocking Scene:

(Let's just not talk about what happened 2 episodes after this!)

The romance in Poldark not only ends with Ross and Demelza. We also got two really good couples in the series: Dwight and Caroline and Drake and Morwenna.

And these love stories don't just happen! They're fleshed-out characters with proper backgrounds and their own problems, especially Drake and Morwenna's relationship. Morwenna is one of my favorite characters, and she doesn't deserve all the shit thrown at her. The last season of Poldark is not the best (bordering on bad, actually, especially the last two episodes), but watching Drake and Morwenna get their happy ending is worth it.

Finishing all five seasons is bittersweet. I enjoyed most of the story and fell in love with different characters. I kind of regret watching everything in one week haha. But what can I say? As soon as I finish each episode, I'm so tempted to start another episode. I think the last time I stayed up until 5 AM the next morning to watch TV shows was Yellowjackets. Poldark's just too good to binge! It's one of my favorite TV shows now. Maybe I'll watch Sanditon next...

I want to write more about Poldark soon, maybe a comparison with Outlander or maybe just a post about each character. I realized I hadn't talked much about Elizabeth, Francis, and George in this post; I was too preoccupied with the love story aspects and Ross and Demelza. We'll see!

[maximumwobblerbanditdonut]

Had you played TV cliché bingo while watching The Couple Next Door, I do believe sparks would have been flying from your dabber. I’m almost in awe that so many were crammed in before the first ad break alone. Barely seven minutes in, Becka (Jessica De Gouw) and Danny (Sam Heughan) were pulling each other’s clothes off and having sex at their living room window, curtains open, in a way that no married couple whose small child has just left the room ever do. Except in TV La-La land.

It was a bonus, though, for Alan the Pervert (Hugh Dennis), who has a telescope trained on their house and dark circles under his eyes that suggest he does a lot of squinting while hunched over his computer (and I don’t mean at Wordle).

I suppose at least this drama owns its clichés. What am I saying? It revels in them. It opened with the classic taster of horror to come, Eleanor Tomlinson as Evie running in what we shall call TV’s “sexy terrified” way. That is, frightened but looking hot, hot, hot in a short silk nightie as she ran barefoot through a forest. We then flipped back in time to Evie and Pete (Alfred Enoch) happily arriving at their new suburban idyll to start their family, which was a sort of sunny Wisteria Lane and not at all like the Leeds I remember from when I lived there.

It told us everything was too smug to be true by having laughing children playing with water guns, lawns being mowed, cars being washed. Uh-oh. We know that can’t last. And it didn’t. Evie miscarried her baby (conceived with a donor because Pete has “puny sperm”) by minute 16. I have a terrible feeling that the koi carp in the garden are some sort of “swimmers” metaphor.

Sometimes the dialogue was so stilted, I wondered if it was a spoof. “You guys will get through this,” Danny said to Pete, who should really have responded by asking if he was a chatbot. It soon transpired that Danny and Becka were swingers (it’s based on a Dutch series called, yes, The Swingers) and they promptly had “that couple we met in Marbella” round for some wife swapping as Pete watched from his window. Has anyone in this street ever considered closing a blind? And, actually, aren’t they “the couple opposite”, not “next door”?

There’s a dull subplot about Danny being a dodgy copper, which ties in to a dull investigation that local journalist Pete wants to look into, but his editor wants him to cover the opening of a new city library. A new library? Pull the other one. The UK has closed about 800 of them in the past decade.

At least Evie cheered up when she got Danny’s powerful beast between her legs. Oh, I mean his motorbike, though it’s obvious it won’t be long before the other beast comes into play. I feared we might get to the end of the episode without it committing the top TV cliché on the bingo card, namely spontaneous sex on a kitchen worktop. But, no. Evie and Pete gave us a full house by doing exactly that — and during a storm for added cheesiness.

These couples are as wooden as Dutch clogs, but I am enjoying Dennis’s greasy performance as the disgusting stalker who pretends to like yoga so he can be near Becka. I must warn you that later in the series it’s traumatic to see the man who played the nice dad in Outnumbered masturbating. I must also warn you that episode two contains some of the worst cringey couple dancing you are likely to witness in your lifetime. I think the moral of this silly but entertainingly corny tale is going to be: “Don’t shag the neighbours.”

thetimes.co.uk

Carol Midgley joined The Times in 1996 and is a former Feature Writer of the Year winner. Find her column in Times 2 each Wednesday and her TV reviews on Mondays, Tuesdays, Thursdays and Fridays.

————————————————————————

Indeed I saw all the reviews after the streaming view, including all episodes. The Times’ review concretes many things about The Couple Next Door 💁‍♀️

[crazyunsexycool]

My little love

Chapter 4

pairing: Bucky Barnes x enhanced!reader

word count: 4.1k

Warnings: mentions of gunshot wounds, blood, shrapnel embedded in someone’s side, Bucky and Angel having quality daddy/daughter time, nightmares, child crying, Steve being cute

A/N: It’s here!!!! There is not a lot of reader in this chapter I wanted to focus more on Bucky and Angel. What name does Bucky choose??? I went back and forth a lot with the name because I honestly don’t think Bucky would choose a more modern name but I think it’s a good choice. Tell me what you think! Also I was very excited for you to see Bucky being a first time dad….

Series masterlist

Ch. 3

“Why are you so loud?” You asked from the entryway to the living room. Hands on your hips and a scowl on your face as you glared at one of the two super soldiers that didn’t know what whispering meant. 

“We are talking names.” 

“Talking or yelling?” 

“I made coffee.” Bucky says as he stands in front of you, trying to change the subject. “Do you want some?” 

You were about to respond when giggles interrupted you. The sweet little giggles of none other than Angel. Leaning to the side to look behind Bucky you find Steve sitting on the floor, holding her hands as she stands in front of him. She was trying to find her balance but anytime Steve let go of her hands she’d fall down. She laughed again when her bottom hit the soft area rug in your living room. 

“Well now you’re just being silly.” Steve told her as he picked the giggling toddler up and had her stand looking in your direction. “Who’s that sweetheart?”

Her eyes lit up when she saw you and she immediately stretched her arms out so that you would pick her up.

“Good morning cutie, how are you doing today?” 

“I’m great, how are you?” Steve responded as you picked Angel up. You rolled your eyes before kissing her temple. Angel lays her head on your shoulder. 

“I’m not dealing with you until I’ve had my coffee, Rogers.” 

“Wow, you really are a grump in the mornings. Anyways, let me make breakfast now that you’re up.” 

You narrow your eyes at him and Bucky does the same from behind you. Steve gives you an awkward smile as he walks past. Both you and Bucky follow him to the kitchen.

“You rarely make me any food. What’s going on?” 

“Yeah punk, What’s up with you?” 

“I tried to keep you out as long as I could but I need you for a mission Y/N. Two days tops.” He says after turning to look at you. 

You frown slightly before looking between Bucky and Angel, your hold tightening slightly on the latter. 

“I’ll go.” Bucky offers.

“Sorry Buck but we need her abilities.”

“It’s ok, It’s my job.” You say as you turn to him and smile. “Who else is going?”

“Nat, Sam and Clint.” 

“Good, you can both watch this sweet girl.” You say you pull back and look at her. Your voice gets higher when you talk to her. “Are you going to have so much fun with Steve and daddy?”

Bucky stiffened slightly at being called dad.  You look up at him slightly embarrassed.

“I’m sorry I didn’t mean-“

“No it’s ok, I’ll get used to it.” He says in a small voice.

“She can call you something else.” 

“No it’s ok really. She can call me dad if she wants to.” 

“And what do we call her? You said you were talking about names.”

Steve turns back around and starts pulling ingredients out of the fridge and cabinets. 

“Well let’s see,” Bucky says as he pulls a small notebook out of his sweatpants pocket. “I have Beatrice, Eleanor, Josephine, Lydia, Frances and Vivian. What do you think?” 

“You know you only have to pick one, maybe two.”

“You don’t like any of them?”

You gave him an awkward smile as you moved to set Angel down in her booster seat.  

“Well, she is your daughter so you get to choose. They’re lovely names, she just doesn’t look like those names.” 

“What is that supposed to mean?” Steve asked from the stove.

“It means you look like a Steve, Bucky looks like a Bucky and I look like a Y/N. The name has to fit her.”

Bucky hummed and then frowned slightly. He never thought a name could be so complicated.

“Is there a name you like?” 

“Not any of those.” You mutter under your breath. 

“I heard that.” 

“Oops.” You said with a smile. 

“Agent Y/LN, your presence is being requested in conference room 302.” Friday announced. 

“Is it urgent Friday?” 

“Yes, your mission has been moved up, you’re needed in order to start the briefing.” 

“Please let them know I’ll be down in 10 minutes.” 

“Yes ma’am.” 

You kiss Angel’s forehead and head to your room to change out of your pajamas. 

“Ok , hopefully I’ll see you before I leave. Sorry I can’t have breakfast Steve.” 

“I’ll make you some when you get back from the mission.” He smiles at you. 

“I’ll hold you to it.” You head toward the living room with Bucky following close behind. 

“If you have to leave right after please be careful.” 

“I will,” you kiss his cheek. “If you need help with Angel, Jenna and Ivy in the medical wing can help.” You say before you head out. 

The jet was ready to go. The team of four had packed up everything they would need for the two day trip and set it by the ramp of said jet. While Clint and Sam did some preflight checks Nat stood by you as you said goodbye to sweet Baby Barnes as she clung to you unaware that she wouldn’t see you for at least two days. Her little fingers played with the straps of your Kevlar vest and she pursed her lips as she concentrated with the task at hand. Bucky and Steve walked your way as you and Nat discussed something about the mission. 

“Did you pick a name yet?” Is the first question you asked once Bucky stood in front of you.

“No,” he shook his head slightly as he looked at the small notebook in his hand. “This is a big deal, I can’t name her something stupid.” 

“Samantha is a good name.” Sam calls out as he picks up your bags.

“Again, I said nothing stupid.” 

“Wow, you talk like that in front of your daughter? You’re lucky she’ll learn her manners from Y/N.” 

Nat and you chuckled at the banter but Steve pinched the bridge of his nose already exasperated with the back and forth. 

“Come on You’re not even close to picking a name yet? What if I leave and never come back?” You meant it as a joke but the mood shifted quickly.

 Steve took Angel from you after you placed a quick kiss on her forehead. Nat said her own quick goodbye before getting on the jet leaving you alone with Bucky. His expression was unreadable as he looked toward his daughter. 

“Don’t say things like that.” 

“It was just a joke, Buck.” 

“Well it wasn’t funny.” He finally looked at you, finding you looking away. “I’m sorry I just- the thought of losing you is unbearable. Besides, I need you.” 

Your eyes snapped up meeting his. 

“And so does Joann.” You grimace at the name. “Yeah, I didn't think so either.” He scratches the name off the list with a pen. “I’ll have a name by the time you get back ok?” 

“Ok, take care of yourself while I’m gone.” You say as you wrap your arms around his waist. 

“What about Angel?” 

“If you take care of her the way you take care of me I know she’ll be fine. Just don’t forget her-“

“Pink bear, I know. And I already spoke with Jenna and Ivy although I’m gonna do as much as I can on my own.” Bucky finishes your sentence as he wraps an arm around your shoulder. He places a kiss in your hair. “Please be careful.”

“I will. See you in two days.”  

You walk up the ramp with a final wave to the three of them. Clint hits the button to close the jet as you begin to hear Angel cry. Clint stands besides you as you look through one of the windows at Steve trying to calm her down. 

“Trust me kid, it doesn’t get easier.” He pats your back before turning to the cockpit. 

“It’s ok sweetheart, mama will be back soon.” Steve cooed softly as if his words were meant for her ears only. It didn’t work though and Angel held her arms out and made grabby hands in hopes that you would appear before her and take her into your arms, where she was safe. When that didn’t work she turned to Bucky. 

”Don’t cry,” Bucky tells her as he takes her from Steve. “I’m scared too. But you know what? We’re going to be just fine.” 

He heads back into the living section of the compound and up to your apartment where you left everything set up for him. Steve followed closely behind making silly faces at the crying child in hopes of calming her down. The only thing that worked was actually being back in your apartment. It was familiar to her and she was safe. It didn’t take long for her to start yawning and rubbing her eyes, a clear sign it was time for her nap. Steve was gone and it was up to Bucky to get the tired toddler down for said nap. He walked to the room you’d chosen for her and pulled out his phone to play some music in hope it would help Angel fall asleep.

 A slow song from the 40s fills the room and Bucky hums along as he sways from side to side. Angel slowly but surely rested her head against his shoulder. 

“What about Loretta?” He peaks down at the child in his arms but she’s still fighting sleep. “No, not that one. Hhmm, Norma? Nah, I don’t like that one.” Bucky continued to list names and sway around the room until Angel finally fell asleep. He laid her down in the crib and covered her with the pink blanket before heading back out into the living room. 

He plopped down on your couch and as he looked around the room, Bucky couldn’t help but think of what it would be like if you and him were in a relationship. He practically lived in your apartment anyway and now so did his daughter. Up until this point you had stepped up to help care for her. It’s something you didn’t need to do and yet all the conversations he’d had with Steve about you having feelings for him came back. Bucky didn’t doubt that you would offer help to anyone, especially a child that needed it but he couldn’t deny that the way you took care of his daughter was different. It was as if she was your own and that warmed his heart, because Angel trusted you more than anyone. 

So with thoughts of you and his daughter Bucky relaxed into the couch and soon enough he fell asleep too.

Bucky sat up panting and disoriented. He hadn’t had a nightmare yet he could hear crying. It was the most bloodcurdling scream he’d ever heard. He looked around to realize he was in your apartment and at the sight of a doll on your couch he remembered he had put his daughter down for a nap. It was her cries that woke him up and he ran toward her room thinking someone was hurting her. He was somewhat correct. She was being hurt but only by her nightmares. She laid in the crib tossing and turning and crying bloody murder. Bucky panicked, unsure of what to do. He kept muttering to himself what would you do in this situation, if it were you here instead of him. Then he thought back to all the times he’d shown up to your place after a nightmare. He was always comforted by your touch, maybe he could provide the same for her.

Bucky bent over the railing of the crib and as gently as he could he grabbed Angel and laid her against his chest. His heart stopped when he watched her flinch at his touch but he knew it was just because of the nightmare. 

“You’re ok, doll. I’m right here. I’ll keep you safe.” He cooed softly as he walked out to the living room again. 

Her eyes didn’t open but her cries died down a bit. Still a small whimper here and there, a little tremble of her chin and lower lip kept him on edge. 

“C’mon doll you gotta wake up for me.” He used his left hand to wipe away the tears, hoping the cool metal would maybe soothe the crying toddler. Bucky kept his eyes on her face the entire time. He studied every movement and twitch until Angel’s eyes started to flutter and finally she looked at him. She hides her face in his chest and Bucky can feel the fresh tears being soaked up by his shirt. As long as she’s awake Bucky doesn’t mind one bit. He just holds her close while he rubs soothing circles on her back and finally allows himself to calm his own heart, it’s a miracle it didn’t pop out of his chest. 

When Bucky finally moves her away from his chest to get a good look at her his heart drops. She’s almost frozen in place. Angel’s gaze is unfocused and it’s as if she’s reliving something traumatic. His little girl starts to cry again and it would be several hours before he gets her to calm down.

Fresh air and sunshine. Bucky had decided that his daughter hadn’t had enough of it. So once he managed to feed her and change her diaper, with the help of Jenna, he decided to go on a walk. It was supposed to be simple. Take the stroller and sit Angel down. Except he couldn’t get the stupid stroller opened, he didn’t even know that was a thing. So he stood by Steve’s office with a closed stroller, a toddler and a bag with some extras in it, in hopes that his best friend could help him out. 

Steve couldn’t. 

It wasn’t until another agent walked by with some documents meant for Steve that they learned how to unfold the damned thing. He quickly showed them how to open and close the stroller before walking back the way he came. 

With Angel strapped in, Bucky moved through the halls of the compound until he was finally outside. Bucky could see Angel’s head move from side to side as she took in everything around her. It was nothing special but he was sure she had never been outside in her short life. So trees and flowers and grass seemed like the most amazing things in the eyes of the three year old. Bucky pushed the stroller around for a while until he found a nice shady tree to sit under. He pulled out a blanket he had brought with him and laid it out before unbuckling his daughter and setting her down. 

“Ok doll, C’mere.” After he settled down he opened the backpack he had packed and pulled out a book. He sat her down in his lap and flipped the book open and he began to read out loud. 

You had left little post-it notes here and there to help Bucky. A list of favorite snacks on the fridge, her nap times and favorite toys in her room. In the bathroom mirror there was a post-it of what temperature the water should be and what products he should use when it was bath time. Anytime he found one he reminded himself to do something special as a thank you when you got back. 

After giving his daughter a bath Bucky had grabbed her towel and wrapped her up before heading to her room. He opened the drawer you had mentioned that was full of pajamas and grabbed the first onesie and pajama pants he found. 

“Ok doll, let’s get you nice and dry and ready for bed.” Bucky said as he laid his sweet Angel down, dried her properly and put on a diaper.

 He reached over and grabbed the onesie and unfolded it, laughing once he realized what it said. A big you can do it dad sat in the middle in bold black letters while arrows labeled arms, head, legs and snap  surrounded it. Once he was done dressing her he took his phone out and managed to get a picture of her smiling to show you later. He had done that a lot during the day, taking pictures of her. Bucky justified it by saying they were for your benefit. Surely you’d miss her and would want to know what she was up to for two days. 

This routine would happen for not two days but four. And everyday Bucky got more anxious at the fact that you weren’t back yet. 

Everyone had been on high alert at the end of the second day of your mission. There should have been communication that the mission had been completed and you were on your way back. Instead they were met with radio silence. Tony tried to locate all four phones but nothing. The jet couldn’t be located either. 

It wasn’t until the early morning of the fifth day when a commotion at the gated entrance of the compound that the rest of the team knew something went horribly wrong. Tony, Bruce, Wanda, Vision, Steve and Bucky, along with medical staff were all waiting once the ambulance was allowed in. Clint hopped out of the driver's side and rushed to the back to open the doors. It wasn’t a surprise to see him battered and bruised. The medical team rushed after him and took over whatever was happening. Bucky’s heart all but stopped once he saw Clint, Sam and Nat walk around the ambulance and towards the rest of the group. They all looked bad but they could walk. 

“Nat?” Bucky called out her name but she refused to look up at him. She felt guilty, he was sure of that. “Nat, what’s going-“ the words died on his tongue as the stretcher was finally pulled out. 

You were unconscious as they wheeled you by. There was blood not only on your uniform but on the stretcher, it was too much blood. Bucky could see the gunshot wounds and the cuts and scrapes before noticing the piece of shrapnel sticking out from your side. He didn’t realize he had started following you until he stopped in his tracks and turned to look at the other three. He was furious, why were you the only one on the verge of death while the three of them seemed completely fine by comparison. Steve stepped between Bucky and the rest of the team that had gone on the mission. It was clear to see that Bucky was ready to rip their heads off.

“Walk it off, and go get your daughter.” 

“But-“

“No buts, we don’t know what happened and they need to be checked out too. Once I talk to them I’ll let you know, now go.” Steve was stern and unmoving even Bucky tried to look around him. With a huff Bucky turned back in the direction of the building and disappeared inside. 

“Steve, it all happened so fast.” Sam offered but Steve put his hand up. 

“Go get checked out and cleaned up, we'll talk later.” 

Sam’s shoulders sag as he started walking away. It was obvious that whatever happened was difficult for everyone and the last thing they needed was to get yelled at. Steve and the others knew it would be a long day and they decided to keep them company or wait to hear news about you. 

Bucky sat in the waiting room with Angel in his lap for hours. He wouldn’t move until he knew you were at least ok. That you would live to see another day but the doctors were taking forever. The rest of the team had been in and out waiting to hear anything but Bucky’s mood kept them at bay. After a while Steve finally showed up and silently took the toddler from Bucky. 

“So what happened?” 

“It was a setup from the beginning. The minute they got into enemy airspace the jet was under attack.” 

“Why didn’t they call for backup or turn around and come back?” 

“They were being attacked from all sides, signals were jammed. The jet was lost, the only reason any of them are still alive was because Y/N managed to slow down the descent of the plane.” Steve said as he bounced Angel on his leg. 

Bucky stood and began pacing. All he wanted was for you to be ok and then to find the assholes that did this. 

“There’s more,” Steve said, causing Bucky to stop and turn to him, he waited silently for the rest. “It seems like hydra planned this hoping to capture whoever had been sent on the mission with the intention of trading them.” 

“Trading them? For what?” 

Steve didn’t say anything, instead his hold tightened a little around the toddler on his lap and his eyes shifted from Bucky to Angel. The sound of whirling plates could be heard in the otherwise quiet room as Bucky clenched his fist. 

“Over my dead body.” Bucky said through gritted teeth. 

“Apparently over Y/N’s too.” Steve sighed. “Listen, from what Sam, Nat and Clint said there was nothing they could do. They fought as hard as they could and they even had to steal a plane to get back. It was Y/N that saved them and in the process she got hurt. But she’s here now and in the cradle, I’m sure she’ll be fine.” 

“I hope so.” 

A few minutes later Dr. Cho appears in the waiting room with news that you’re out of the cradle. Dr. Cho had said that you would be fine, after being in the cradle for that long you were sure to recover in no time but she wasn’t going to clear you for missions for a while. 

 She leads Bucky and Steve to your room and gives them some privacy. Bucky holds his daughter in one hand and opens the door slowly with the other. He was surprised to see you alert although it seemed you were moving slowly. Most likely due to the pain medication they had given you. Before anyone was able to say anything, Angel’s gaze fell on you. Bucky could tell something was wrong immediately due to how her body tensed and shortly after she began to cry. It was an intense, deafening type of cry that left them rooted in place. Steve quickly grabbed her and muttered that he’d stay outside to calm her down. You frowned, concerned at what could have happened.

“What’s wrong?”

“She’ll be ok.” Bucky said as he moved to sit next to you. “It’s the second time I’ve heard her cry like that though.” 

“You should go check on her, I’ll be fine.” 

“Are you sure?” 

“Of course.” 

“Ok.” He got up and kissed your forehead before walking back out. Even in the state you were in whatever was going on with Angel had you worried. You tried to fight off the need to sleep but whatever you had been given was stronger.

It must have been very late when you did finally wake up but you weren’t surprised to find Bucky sitting in the chair beside you. A book in his hand as he patiently waited for you.

“Buck.” You called out with a slightly gravelly voice. 

“Hey, how are you feeling?”

“Like shit.” You huffed out as you tried to sit up. Bucky moved to help you get more comfortable in the bed. “How’s Angel?” 

“She’s better now. I’m not sure what’s going on but Bruce said he’d run some tests.”

“Ok, good.” You frown slightly at the thought of her being hurt in some way or her being afraid of you.

“I have pictures of what we did these last few days. Wanna see them?” He asked in the hopes of distracting you for a while.

You nodded as Bucky pulled out his phone. The frown disappears from your face instantly as you scroll through the pictures. Bucky had taken pictures of her outside sitting on a blanket, multiple pictures of her sleeping soundly or with food all over her face. There were videos of her just giggling as she stood on her own and videos of her with Steve while he danced and sang along with Disney movies. It warmed your heart to see her so content and safe in the arms of her father. 

“Told you you’d do a good job.” 

“I know, but she missed you too. She kept pointing at your room almost silently asking for me to go get you.” 

“Sweet baby, I hope she’ll let me hold her once I’m out.”

“I’m sure she will.” He smiles at you.

“So…”

“So what?” He gave you a confused look.

“What is her name? Please tell me you picked something.” 

He smiles again and nods. “I did.”

“Ok and what is it?” You ask excitedly and he smiles.

“Charlotte Elise Barnes.” 

Ch. 5

permanent taglist: @kunaikunari @rebekahdawkins @cjand10 @nalny5  @sturchling @angywritesstuff @seitmai @writing-for-marvel @goldylions @darkhairedmenrule @little--baby--bear @almosttoopizza @littleseasiren @teambarnes72

series tag list: @buckystevelove @vicmc624 @just-someone11

[springdandelixn]

Against the Tide  - Part I

Summary: Your life takes an unexpected turn as the leader of the biker gang that took over your town sets his eyes on you.

Warnings: unwanted touching, power imbalance, abusive undertones, more to be added as the series progresses.

Characters: Dark!Biker!James Conrad x F!Reader, Michael from Legion and Billy Lee from Bad Times at the El Royale (biker au)

A/N: I have taken a dive into newer territory and it’s such a thrilling experience. It’s a first I’m writing for James Conrad so please be gentle. I do dedicate this piece to one of my babies, @michelleleewise​ 💙 Belated Happy Birthday, dear. Also a belated happy birthday to @coldnique​!!

As always, your feedback is highly appreciated and reblogs would be amazing. And of course, I hope you guys enjoy! 💙

Against the Tide Masterlist

You turn your head to face the back of the bar when you hear the commotion coming from the kitchen, the din of Melody’s angry voice mixing in with the clack of the pool balls from the other side of the bar and the music playing from the speakers. Luis, the new hire, must have messed up another customer’s order, probably burning the burger patties like he did last night. 

You feel your phone buzz from your back pocket and pull off the simple black apron tied around your waist. Turning off your alarm, you peek from the kitchen window and tap your hand against the metal surface, a chuckle leaving your lips as you see Melody’s fuming face. 

“What?!” She snarls and you only roll your eyes playfully at her rage.

“I’m taking my break.” You tell her, holding out your hand after. “Cigs.” 

She pulls a pack from the back of her pocket and slaps it on your hand, giving her a playful wave with your fingers before looking at Luis and laughing at the way he frowns when Melody goes back to scolding him. 

The summer night breeze is a welcome sensation when you step out of the bar and walk over to the side of the building where the cars and motorcycles of the patrons are parked. Tapping the pack against your palm you take the nicotine stick that slides free and tuck it between your lips. 

Shaking the lighter, you flick your thumb against the small metal gear, watching the flame come to life and lighting the tip of the cigarette. You take a long drag, watching the embers eat at the roll of tobacco before huffing the smoke up into the air. A small sigh leaves your lips as you can’t help but contemplate what your life has become while watching the smoke form clouds around the full moon that shines in contrast to the dark sky. 

All your life you’ve only been in Westmoor, never once venturing away from the small town, even if it’s just to visit the next one over. You once had plans of leaving the place you call home when you were a teenager, to abandon the miserable and abusive life you’ve come to know since you were born—your alcoholic father seeing you as a burden and your mother too afraid to fight back once he cracks his hand against your cheek. 

You were free once your mother died from illness, running away from home and finding solace at Ol’ Sammy’s place. The old man treated you like you were his own, his wife, Eleanor, showering you with the love and affection you’ve never known. They’d even ward off your deadbeat father when he would storm up to their porch, demanding money you owed him for raising you. 

You felt like you had a family in their presence but even so, your desire to leave just drew stronger. For there was truly nothing but hardship in this town. Yet no matter how hard you tried, saving every penny you can from years of working at Nick’s, leaving just seemed impossible. 

Especially now with the gang of bikers that have seemingly taken over just about a year ago. Coming into town and claiming it as their own, with every resident scared for their lives as they shamelessly flaunt their power. They made it their job to make their presence known, terrorizing businesses and taking money for protection that isn’t needed. For no one comes to Westmoor to cause havoc, the only visitors being passersby and hunters during the fall. 

The roar of a motorcycle pulls you from your thoughts and you stand rigid against the wall when you see the gang parking their bikes in front of you. You feel a chill run up your spine at their sudden appearance. It’s Wednesday and you know they’re not supposed to be here, Nick telling everyone at the bar when they’re scheduled to collect.

“Hey there, sugar,” Billy calls as soon as their engines die, the burly man getting off his bike and casually striding over to where you stand. 

You do your best to keep your guard up, you know better than to face them alone. Rolling your eyes at Billy’s greeting, you drop your cigarette to the ground and stomp your foot on it to kill the embers before walking away. But a yelp of surprise leaves your lips when your pulled back, the air punching out of your lungs when your back hits the wall, eyes growing wide as Billy presses his hand against the concrete surface, trapping you. 

“Leaving so soon?” He teases, the hair sitting over his lip moving in waves as he juts out his lips. “We just got here.” 

“I’m done my break.” You say in annoyance, pressing your fists against his chest, trying to push him away. “Melody will be furious if I’m late.”

“I’m sure she wouldn’t mind you taking a couple more minutes if she knew you were with me.” His breath already reeks of alcohol, making your stomach turn as he leans closer to your face.

“That’s enough, Billy.” 

Your spine tingles in fear when you hear James’ voice, Billy giving you another smirk, turning your head away when his fingers rub against your cheek when he pulls away from the wall.

Out of all the bikers, James is the one people fear the most. His calm demeanor is nothing but a front to his hidden rage. You’ve witnessed first hand when Richard, one of the bar patrons, beat him in a game of pool, the man never coming back to Nick’s after he was bedridden for almost a month. 

He’s stopped drinking, his wife, Ingrid, said when you went over to their place to drop off a pie Eleanor made. But the brace around his neck and the bruises you saw decorating his face when Ingrid opened the door a little too wide said otherwise.

“You got a light?” James asks as he stands in front of you. You reach into your pocket and hold out the lighter, keeping your expression stoic when he cups your hand with both his, flicking the flame to life before lighting his nicotine stick. 

You pull your hand back when he finishes, tucking the lighter back in your pocket and standing still as he takes a drag and huffs out the smoke, his blue eyes never leaving you. 

“What are you doing out here all alone, dove?” He asks, his gaze lingering down your body before he meets your eyes again. 

“I was on break.” You respond in a monotone voice. “Was just about to head back.”

“Is Nick in?”

“He called out. Said his wife is sick.” 

“Is that so?” He chuckles, taking another puff of the cigarette, cringing when he blows the smoke at your chest. “I guess we came here for nothing, boys. Unless you can make it worth my while?” He asks and you quickly slip away when he leans in closer, your heart pounding hard against your chest when he grabs you all of a sudden. “And who gave you permission to leave?” You shiver at his tone, hushed yet menacing.

“I have to go back to work.” You reason, wincing as he tightens his hold on your wrist when you try to pull away. “You guys come in and have a drink, so your trip isn’t wasted.” You say in a rush, your voice shaking as you speak. “On the house, as much as you want. I’m sure Nick won’t mind.” 

“C’mon, boss.” Billy interjects, his voice sounding like an excited little kid about to get a ice cream from the shop. “I also want to challenge Mikey to a game of pool.” 

A grunt echoes at the side and you see James’ right hand man, Michael, standing and watching you impassively at the side. His tattoo-covered arms are crossed over his chest, his finger leisurely rubbing the base of the gun that hangs on his holster as if waiting for the opportunity to use it.

“Very well.” James groans and drops the half finished cigarette on the ground, releasing your hand all the same. “But you’ll be the one to serve us. No one else. Understood?” He demands. 

You nod and quickly scurry away from him, your annoyance instantly flaring when Billy slaps his hand against your ass when you pass him. 

The stuffy atmosphere is a welcome distraction as you walk back into the building. Melody stands behind the bar, the anger from earlier replaced with a smile. But as soon as she sees you, her lips slant and you know that she knows something isn’t right. 

“What’s wrong?” She asks.

“Conrad and his minions are here.” You quickly tell Melody as you make your way at the back of the bar, the smile on her face quickly fading at your announcement. 

“What are they doing here?” She whispers, turning her back when the boys enter the bar, helping you grab their drinks from the fridge. 

“They’re looking for Nick.”

“Did you tell them he isn’t here?” 

“I did but they won’t leave me alone.” You bite back, popping the caps of the bottles before setting them atop a round tray. “I told them they can have drinks, on the house.”

“What?! Are you stupid? Nick will be—”

“He’ll be happy that we kept them happy. You know how Conrad is.” You hiss, taking the tray. “And the last thing we need is for him to burn down the bar.”

“Fine.” She says in defeat. “I’ll try to call Nick, maybe he can make them go away.” 

You don’t say anything. You already know as well as she and the whole town of Westmoor that it’s impossible to get rid of James and his men. 

[scifrey]

Videos to Watch if You Enjoyed "Cling Fast"

How Much Booze Did Medieval People Really Drink? - Dr. Eleanor Janega teaches us how to booze it up, White Horse-style.

Could You Make a Living in Medieval London? - Another great Eleanor Janega video about occupations, scandals, and the every day lives of every day folks in Medieval cities.

What Was Life Really Like For A Medieval Peasant? - the last of the Eleanor Janega videos about what kind of life Hob Gadling would have lived before he met his Stranger.

A Tudor Feast - domestic historians and archeologists Ruth Goodman, Alex Langlands, Peter "Fonz" Ginn and Hugh Beamish - under the supervision of Marc Meltonville of Hampton Court Palace's Tudor kitchens - prepare and serve a tudor banquet at Haddon Hall in Derbyshire. Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four

Who Do You Think You Are: Danny Dyer Learns Tudor Etiquette - A segment from the Ancestry.com series following actor Danny Dyer as he explores his royal roots.

Who Would Be King of England Today According to Henry VIII's Will? - chartmaker Matt Baker takes us through the royal family tree from Henry the Eighth to the present day, if his edict that the next monarch in the event that his three children (Mary, Edward, and Elizabeth) produced no heirs, then the crown should next fall to the children of his youngest sister. And not, as actually happened, go to James of Scotland.

Royal Myths: Elizabeth I and the Spanish Armada - Dr. Lucy Worsley talks us through the propaganda and fibs that have sprung up around Good Queen Bess, and whether or not she really did declare that she had the stomach of a king.

Dancing Cheek to Cheek: The Devil's Work - Another great series by Dr. Lucy Worsley, chief curator of Royal Historic Palaces, but this time she's joined by Strictly Come Dancing's Len Goodman. They trace the history of dance in Britain, and this episode features some rowdy Medieval and Elizabethan numbers.

Turn Back Time: Tudor Monastery Farm - This series sees Ruth, Alex, and Peter return to the Elizabethan age, this time spending a year on a farm worked by peasants and serfs in service to the church.

The Tudors' Bizarre 12 Days Of Christmas Ritual - The Tudor Monastery Farm Christmas special.

Hardwick Hall: A window onto the Elizabethan world - Sheffield Hallam University gives a great look at Hardwick Hall (more glass than wall), the estate home of the wealthiest woman in Britain at the time, and the kind of place Hob would have aspired to build.

Tudor Food & Etiquette Explained in 14 Minutes - Quick and dirty explanation of where your napkin goes and who the 'chairman of the board' was.

Tudor Houses Explained in 10 Minutes - Not particularly engagingly presented, but a video chock full of visual examples of different kinds of Tudor houses and buildings.

Modern History: The Knight - Jason Kingsley introduces us to the concept behind Modern History and in particular their first series, “The Knight”. Jason has been fascinated by history his whole life, in particular the medieval period and the life of knights. (This is the first video of a playlist).

Royal Armouries - Elizabethan Swordsmanship - a demonstration by weaponsmasters at the Royal Armouries Museum in Leeds. (I recommend turning on closed captioning for this one, as the sound was recorded live with no mics.)

Getting Dressed - Tudor Royal Household - a nice, even-paced and well produced video showing what it was like to get dressed in queen Katherine Parr's household.

Dressing Up a Tudor Man - my personal heroes at Prior Attire show us what the blokes were wearing at the time. Keep in mind that this is 40 years too early for Hob and Dream's disastrous Shakespeare-ruined feast. (I recommend turning on closed captioning for this one, as the sound was recorded live with no mics.)

And just for the fun of it:

Medieval Pickup Lines from the folks behind (I believe?) Whores of Yore, and Top Tudor Historian Rates Famous Movie Scenes, wherein Dr Nicola Tallis, British historian and author of three books on the Tudors, rates scenes from five blockbuster movies set in the Tudor period. (I love how scandalized she gets.)

If you want more, I really recommend anything at all featuring Doctors Lucy Worsley, Eleanor Janega, and Ruth Goodman (search their names on YouTube and you'll find a wealth of clips, full episodes, and even playlists.)

[angelasscribbles]

Friendship

Series: None, this is a one-shot and you can find those here.

Fandom: The Royal Romance

Pairing: Constantine x Eleanor, Jackson x Bianca, but really it's about the beginning of Liam and Drake's friendship.

Rating: G

Warnings for this chapter: None

Word Count: 1,894

A/N: I had written the first couple of paragraphs over a year ago then put it away with no real idea where it was going. Then @kingliamappreciationweek happened and I decided to dust this off and finish it for childhood/family and friendships/relationships. I'm late, but here it is.

My other stuff: Master List.

Liam was a serious child. Even as a toddler, people would remark about his solemn expression. It wasn’t that he never smiled, he did. It wasn’t that he wasn’t happy, he was. There had just always been an aura of thoughtfulness surrounding him. The portrait his mother had commissioned of him for his second birthday showed a somber child. He sat in an elaborate Baroque throne chair with dark red crushed velvet upholstery and a gold leaf finish. He was dressed in a toddler suit with short pants, showing his legs, still chubby with baby fat, his ebony hair brushed back from his face as he gazed solemnly out at the photographer.

Despite that, he was a friendly child who learned by the age of four that being charming got him whatever he wanted from the nannies and the kitchen staff.

A heartfelt, “Please?” netted him cookies, cakes, candies, and plenty of baklava. No one could withstand the cuteness of the little prince. Especially his mother.

His first smiles, at three months old, were for Eleanor. As he grew into a toddler and preschooler, she remained his favorite person, that somber expression turning into a wide faced grin at the sound of her voice or the sight of her face.

She read to him, she played with him, she took him on walks in the garden. She was the antidote to his father’s seriousness.

By the age of six, Liam had learned that his father’s affections were less frequent and harder earned. The bulk of Constantine’s attention went to Liam’s older brother, because Leo was going to be king, and Liam was not. He was only the spare.

Liam never resented Leo for it. He loved him. Leo was his second favorite person in the world, after Eleanor. He started toddling along behind him as soon as he could walk. Leo was older, cooler, and knew all the best games.

Leo was also a frequent rule breaker, while Liam was not. On this particular day, Leo and Olivia had decided to sneak away from the nannies and play in the woods behind the palace.

Leo had read to him until he bored of it. Pushing the stack of books away he exclaimed, “I can’t stand being inside for another moment! Let’s go out to play!”

“Finally!” Olivia cast the copy of Little Women she’d been reading to the side as she jumped up from the oversized beanbag in the corner of the library.

“I want to come too!” Liam scrambled quickly to his feet. He had learned the hard way that if he didn’t keep up with the older kids, he’d be left behind.

 “Sure,” Leo shrugged, “but you have to be quiet until we get past the hedge maze.”

“Past the hedge maze?” Liam asked in alarm, “We aren’t supposed to go past the hedge maze! Father said-“

“Father doesn’t have to know, does he?”

“Maybe you should stay here, Liam,” Olivia said sagely, “I don’t want you to get in trouble.”

Liam thought for a moment, taking in Leo’s amusement and Olivia’s smug sureness that he would stay behind. He drew in a deep breath and squared his shoulders, “No. I’ll go!”

“Are you sure, Li?” Leo asked with a laugh, “Last time you got caught breaking the rules, you cried.”

Liam flushed with embarrassment. Father had been so angry. He didn’t like to make anyone angry, “I didn’t mean to break the vase.”

“Hey,” the amusement disappeared from Leo’s face, replaced with sympathy, “It’s okay! It wasn’t even your fault, I’m the one that talked you into playing football in the great room!”

“It’s okay, Liam,” Olivia placed a hand on his shoulder as she leaned down, “but I heard there’s fresh baklava in the kitchen. You should go get some!”

“Yeah…okay….” He agreed half-heartedly.

He picked up an illustrated copy of Where the Wild Things Are with a sigh as he watched Leo and Olivia sneak giggling down the hallway toward the garden doors.

Thirty minutes later he was perched on a stool at one of the marble counters in the place kitchen, shoving baklava into his mouth as he turned the pages of his book when he heard unfamiliar voices.

He turned away from his book in interest as the head of the King’s Guard entered the room with a man and a woman Liam had never seen before. Trailing behind the adults were two children.

Liam’s eyes widened as he took in the new arrivals. A little girl with dark curls and wide eyes took in everything around her in wonder. A boy that looked to be about the same age as himself kept his gaze trained on the floor indifferently, a shock of chestnut hair falling into his eyes; hands stuffed into his pockets.

Liam twisted back and forth on the stool in excitement, nearly tumbling out of it as he did.

“Careful there young master!” The pastry chef caught him before he could fall.

“Sorry!” Liam exclaimed as he twisted out of her grasp, his head spinning to keep track of the children, “Who are they? I want to go say hi! Can I?”

“Certainly!” She laughed as she released him and watched as he sprinted across the travertine tile.

The group had moved into the formal dining room when Liam caught up with them, skidding around a corner and colliding directly with the head of the King’s Guard. “Ooof! Sorry!”

“It’s alright,” Captain Sullivan helped him to his feet, “What’s the big hurry?”

“I wanted to meet the kids!” Liam ducked his head, suddenly a little shy, “Who are they? What are they doing here?”

“Okay, okay, slow down!” The captain laughed, “I’ll introduce you! Your Highness, this is the newest member of the guard, Jackson Walker, his wife Bianca and their children, Drake and Savannah. Everyone, this is Prince Liam.”

Liam sucked in a breath of surprise; he knew that some members of the guard lived at the palace. He felt like he was about to explode with excitement. Please let them live here, he prayed furiously. Out loud he said, “I’m very pleased to meet you.”

“And we’re very pleased to meet you,” Jackson shook his hand.

The girl shoved her way in front of her parents, a look of awe on her face, “Are you an honest to God, real life prince?”

“I am.” Liam grinned at her.

“It’s nice to meet you Liam,” Bianca told him before pushing the boy forward, “Isn’t it Drake? Can you say hi to the prince?”

Drake shuffled forward awkwardly, lifted his eyes to Liam’s face for a moment then dropped them as he mumbled, “Hi.”

“Can they come play with me?” Liam directed the question to the adults, lacing the fingers of both hands through each other as he pleaded, “Pleeeeease?”

“Oh, yes!” Savannah squealed, clapping her hands as she jumped up and down, adding her pleas to his, “Can we please?”

“I think that would be okay,” Jackson replied, “What you think, son? Would you like to go play with Liam?”

The sullen faced little boy lifted his copper and gold flecked eyes again and found Liam’s face. Drake’s determination to hate everything about this new place faltered a little as saw the genuine excitement bubbling over in the other child. “I guess that would be okay. What do you want to do?”

“Yes!” Liam jumped up into the air with joy, “We can play whatever you want! Hide and seek, or tag in the gardens, we have board games, video games, we could ride bicycles if we get the nannies to supervise us or we could play sword fighting-“

“You have swords?” Drake’s eyes widened with interest.

“Wooden ones but-“

“Can I dad?” Drake turned to Jackson hopefully.

“Yes, go on. We’ll come find you later.” Jackson squeezed Bianca’s hand as they watched their children scurry down the hall with the prince. Relief flooded his wife’s features, mirroring his own. Drake had been the child they had been most worried about adjusting to the move, but he seemed to be warming to the place already.

“What’s it like being a prince and living in a palace?” Savannah asked as she hurried to keep up with the older boys.

“Boring,” came the instant reply.

“Really?” Savannah sounded disappointed.

Drake laughed and Liam’s smile broadened at the sound as he elaborated, “The other kids in the palace are all older than me and no one ever wants to play.”

He was lonely.

“Drake comes up with all the best games,” Savannah told him.

“Is that right?”

“That’s right,” Drake agreed, “Where is this playroom you’re taking us to?”

“Fifth door on the left,” Liam pointed down a long hallway.

“Race you,” Drake grinned at him, “Winner gets to pick his sword first!”

“Okay-“ Liam started to agree but Drake was already sprinting down the hall. It only took a second for Liam to realize what was happening and tear off after him.

The three children tumbled through the playroom door panting and shrieking with laughter.

Drake collapsed onto the floor in purposeful exaggeration as he gasped, “I’m dying….but I won!”

“You cheated you mean!” Liam laughed as he dropped onto the ground next to him.

“It wasn’t cheating,” Drake corrected him, “It’s called gaining a tactical advantage!”

Liam was used to other children being awkward around him, letting him win games or actively trying to avoid playing with him, because of his status. The young prince was absolutely delighted by this new playmate’s utter lack of concern about his title.

Drake had been convinced that the princes would be stuffy, stuck up and boorish. He was thrilled to be proven wrong. He hadn’t wanted to move, yet again. He hadn’t wanted to give up his friends, yet again. His father had promised that this duty station was more permanent. He had been determined not to get attached to anything or anyone, but as they staged epic battles with the wooden swords, of which Liam had let him claim the best one, he found the heaviness that had sat in his chest since his parent’s had announced this move starting to loosen.

The boys quickly became inseparable.

In the weeks and months that followed, Liam became less somber, at least around Drake. He was still a serious, thoughtful child, but he had a quicker smile as Drake drew out his playful side. Drake became less guarded, at least around Liam. He was still a slow to warm up child, but he turned outward a little more as Liam gained his trust.

“Drake seems to be adjusting well,” Eleanor remarked as a maid set the tea service in front of her.

“He is!” Bianca agreed happily, “It’s been four months and he seems completely back to normal! I think it’s because of Liam, honestly.”

Eleanor nodded with a smile on her lips as she blew on her tea to cool it, “Liam is so happy to have a playmate of his own. He’s a different child now. I think this friendship is good for both of them.”

The two women turned to watch as the boys raced through the gardens, shouts and laughter filtering through the late morning air. It was a beautiful day, the children were happy and for the moment, all was well in Cordonia.

[lizzybeth1986]

So while I'm still working on my Day 3 entry for KLAW (I'm just going to call it "The Bread Fic" for now), I thought I'd introduce 2 OCs that I've created specifically for this fic.

It's a mini fic in the "Eleanor's Kitchen" series, that follows Liam and his mum and their friends through many culinary adventures!!

The mini-fic (which I'm still writing haha) will focus on Liam's bond with the two head palace chefs, Chef Anais Martí and Pastry Chef Hitoshi Luno. I hope to get that fic out soon but in the meantime, here are some HCs!!

Chef Anais Martí

(FC: Concha Buika)

• Head Chef of the Royal Palace of Cordonia

• Runs her kitchen like a well-oiled machine

• I mean seriously, kings and queens may come and go in the throne room, but the Palace Kitchens are her kingdom and she will never let you forget that!! Especially if you're royalty!

• She hails from Emeric, a county in the Foundries that houses a substantial Catalan-Spanish population who migrated there in the 1700s. It is said that the Foundaries overall are the one place in Cordonia that have mastered molecular gastronomy, but Emeric has chefs that do both that and some rustic homestyle cooking too.

• Anais is very good at molecular gastronomy. She just won't do it.

• A lot of her signature dishes have an Afro-Catalan influence.

• She worked as a line cook in one of the Capitol's premier restaurants when she was very young, and worked her way up. Word of her incredible chef skills and versatility made her a favourite choice to head the palace kitchens when the former Head Chef had to retire. Prince Constantine was in his late teens then.

• She has very few memories of Queen Agnes, Leo's mother, because she seemed uncomfortable with anyone in the palace in the brief time she was there. Queen Eleanor and Queen Regina are perfect contrasts to that in different ways - Eleanor was very involved and would chat often with Anais - in fact the suggestion for a private kitchen came from Anais because honestly - she could see the passion in Eleanor for cooking and released she needed her own space. Queen Regina she values because she gets involved the way you would expect a queen to be involved, and also trusts Anais' judgement.

• Undoubtedly she has the softest soft spot for Prince Liam, since the moment he stole a slice of wedding cake to give to his brother during a punishment.

Pastry Chef Hitoshi Luno

• Compared to Anais, Hitoshi is a more recent addition to the Palace Kitchens.

• He hails from the Fire Tribes. They have a strong connection to different cultures - Japanese, Romani and at a later stage, Ethiopian. The first and the last also have connections to volcanoes which helped them assimilate into the Fire Tribes better.

• An ancestor of his IS Anton Luno.

• And like this ancestor - he is dumbfounded by the greasiness of some of the food from the Capitol, but has to admit it is addictive.

• His Japanese origins do show a lot in his baking!

• No one crazier for red bean paste in Cordonia than Hitoshi Luno! Surprisingly, his preparations have gotten Constantine to love it and to demand delicacies made from it every day.

• The Fire Tribes were well known for their hunting and cooking with game meat. But there is a section of people who have developed cuisines and culinary knowledge from the people who have migrated there in the latter centuries. Ethiopian honey wine, for instance, took a while to gain any popularity in the province because the inhabitants deemed it too sweet, but they grew to love it. Hitoshi's mother brews some every Christmas.

• When he found out about Lady Hana's love for tea - and knowing she was just (symbolically) disowned from her home - he sent across a sumptuous green tea and honey ice cream "with compliments from the chef". He knows via secondhand information that the teas she has tried are mostly Chinese, but she did like some of the matcha themed stuff the kitchen put out!

• Anais mothered him literally from the minute they were introduced, and it has stayed that way ever since. Hitoshi has caught himself complaining "Maaa! Not in front of the staff!!" several times.

[kingliamappreciationweek]

THE THROWBACK MASTERLIST - KLAW 2023

This year, we got a lot of entries for our Throwback Day! So much so, that we decided to eliminate the clutter in the masterlist by putting these awesome pieces in a separate list! Here are some of our old gems for all you Liam stans to enjoy! The full KLAW masterlist will be out after 29th April when the buffer week ends, so until then enjoy these gems as well as the newer pieces from our talented stans!! 😁😁

Here are the entries in alphabetical order of author:

ART (+ HEADCANON )

Liam's First Child by @topsyturvy-dream

Liam and Riley by @twinkleallnight

FANFICTION

@angelasscribbles:

King Breaker

Betrayal

Mistakes

Mother in Law Hell

The Dark Prince from Dark Elf

Chapter 8: Liam from the collaborative series Mardi Gras Mayhem

@ao719

Breaking Point (Series)

@bebepac

A Love Story - As Told By Liam and Riley

@cassiopeiacorvus

A Lesson In Sources

@lizzybeth1986

Eleanor's Kitchen (Series)

That Old Grape Juice (Series)

@sfb123

Sapere Aude (Series)

@sincerelyella

All In My Head - Part 1

Aching For You: Memories

Everything Has Changed - New Deep (Ch 1)

Come On Drake, Take Off Your Shirt and Tell Us!

Adorn You

@twinkleallnight

Once Upon A Time: Liam and Savannah

@txemrn

A Collection of Liam Fics

MOODBOARDS

@lorirwritesfanfic

King Liam

Pasta Carbonara

If you'd like to send in more pieces for Throwback, let us know! We will add them to this list.

Happy King Liam Appreciation Week, everyone!!

If you have accidentally missed your entry in this list, we sincerely apologize. Do let us know and we will add the link too 💙

KLAW 2023 - Part 1

KLAW 2023 - Part 2

[observeowl]

Her Assistant | Chapter 4 - Jack the Ripper

Summary: After losing her family, Natasha Romanoff builds her company from the ground up. During the rise of her company, she decided she needed an assistant, one that works in her office and her house. That's when she saw your resume. After working five years for her, how was it like working for her? Or more importantly, how things progress?

Series Masterlist

Your POVAfter having the scare by Miss Romanoff, we moved on to the living room where we planned our moves for the day.

I went through what I've gathered last night, collecting alibis from possible suspects, doctors, nurses, professors and police. We were eliminating suspects one by one based on their location and status when the door burst opened suddenly. I whipped my head around to see Mr Stark with two other women behind him.

"Hey Romanoff, you're done with your breakfast already?" He looked around. "I was hoping to steal some."

"What are you doing here Tony?" Miss Romanoff sighed and rubbed her temples.

"I'm just here to introduce to you, my new assistant." He plopped on the couch before extending his arm toward a woman with blue eyes and blonde hair that reached past her shoulders. "Sharon Carter and her understudy, Eleanor Crowder." He pointed to another woman who has chartreuse phosphorescent eyes and red hair that reached her waist. She seemed ominous but Tony has weird taste in women anyway.

"Nice to meet you Miss Romanoff, I've heard all the amazing things from Mr Stark." Miss Carter spoke first. Miss Romanoff didn't even respond and went back looking at her papers.

"Coffee or tea?" I asked the guest. It would be rude of me to leave them hanging even if Miss Romanoff was ignoring them. It was my job as the assistant of the house to make sure I attend to the guest when the master is not free.

"They can handle themselves, Y/N." Mr Stark said, waving me off. He nodded towards his two assistants and they went off to what I hope is the kitchen. I looked for Bucky and pleaded with him with my eyes to go follow them. I don't wish for the house to be in a mess when it's only the second day.

He understood my meaning and went after the ladies with a nod.

"Any luck with the case, Nat?" Mr Stark asked after taking a bite of the biscuit that was placed in the middle of the table.

"Don't call me that." She spat.

"Okay okay. I just heard that SHIELD came to visit you recently?" Miss Romanoff, lifted her gaze from the papers for a split second to glance at Tony before dropping them again.

"People have been missing mysteriously." Mr Stark started. "But who are they again?" He asked, confused. Mr Stark always acted as if he knew something but dropped the act halfway.

"Seriously, why are you here?" She sets the paper down, frustrated that she couldn't have her peaceful morning.

"I just thought I'll let you know that another club was hosting a party and perhaps they may have a clue somewhere." He shrugged his shoulders unamused at Miss Romanoff's outburst of emotions. I'm guessing that comes with years of friendship.

He stood up before calling both of his assistants to leave.

"Bring this to my study." Miss Romanoff said while shaking her head. Bucky came over while I was stacking the papers, telling me that the kitchen was in a slight mess. He tried to stop them as best he could but they were very impulsive.

I nodded telling him that I would tend to it later and he left for his security room. He's in charge of security, sometimes patrolling around the area acting as if he was exercising.

Taking Mr Stark information, we devised a plan to lure out the murderer. Miss Romanoff was going by herself and in the frontline this time. After spending the first half of the day picking the correct outfit for seduction, we were ready to leave.

Natasha POVI woke up in a blindfold but I could hear tons of people talking around me. Through the darkness, I could feel that my arms were tied behind my back as well as my ankles. It was as if I was in a cage, I couldn't move but I tried to ground myself with what I could infer from my senses.

This kind of situation was not foreign to me. I shifted around trying to figure out how much space I have when I heard a lady talk. "Well, it looks like our final guest has woken up." There was a round of applause from the audience like I was on a stage. Her voice was familiar but I couldn't pinpoint who, it was at the tip of my tongue but I couldn't say who.

"Ladies and gentlemen, please quieten down. This is the moment you all have been anticipating. Please look at it carefully. You could choose to keep her in the cage, play with her as you wish, use her in a ceremony or sell her part according to what the customer prefers." She began presenting and why do I have a feeling that it was me? Where could I be that they are doing this?

"This is a hard item to get! Her eyes are bright and beautiful in the colour of the forest. The starting bid is one million dollars!"

This is an underground auction! Everyone here is a piece of garbage, literal trash, not worthy of being called a human. What are they doing here, wasting their time like this?

"Y/L/N." I called out in my normal voice. And all of a sudden, the lights went out and a loud crash was heard. People screaming, groaning and grunting can be heard. Bones snapping and bodies dropping to the ground were not spared either.

"You can't just call me into a group of people, Miss Romanoff." I heard her complain as she removed the blindfold from my eyes.

"As long as I have the contract, you will come no matter what, am I right?"

"Well... of course, I will follow you wherever you go, until the very end." She said as she removed the restraints around my wrist and ankles before helping stand up.

"Only you cannot lie to me and must obey my every order." I repeated what were the key points stated in the contract.

"Yes, master." I looked around at the aftermath and it was not surprising to see them dead on the floor. Some may say that the method is a bit drastic, but I use whatever method I need in order to get things done. Even if some of them may be morally wrong.

I thought I heard someone familiar but there was no one that I recognised. "Are you looking for someone?" Y/N said as if reading my mind.

"I thought I heard someone earlier..."

"Perhaps you were talking about me?" A voice came out of nowhere and I just managed to turn around when she slammed me on the piano. Y/N was about to reach out to me but got stopped by another man who landed a punch on her jaw.

"This bitch." She started fighting the guy and I turned my attention towards the lady in front of me.

"Eleanor Crowder. I should have known."

"I never thought you could see through my disguise." Eleanor said while she had a hand on my neck.

"You were of course in our list of initial suspects. But... your alibi was flawless, turns out you had help. Furthermore, you were Tony's assistant. I thought he would have done better with his background checks." I explained while still noticing that Y/N was still having a tough time trying to settle her accomplice. This group must have been special, Y/N hardly ever has a hard time fighting anyone, ending fights swiftly almost every time.

Her grip tightened around my neck and it was getting harder to get oxygen to my lungs. "Miss Romanoff!" Y/N made her way closer to me trying to get Eleanor off me but she was stopped by him.

"Not so fast! I won't let you go so easily." He grabbed her by the arm and swung her back to face him.

"This is our fight. Let's not involve them." She said with an evil smile and pushed even harder.

"Miss Romanoff!" Y/N screamed while trying to get the guy off him. "Natasha!" She finally snapped the head of the guy and rushed towards me.

"Whoops." She said letting go of my neck and I took a deep breath as Y/N stood in front of me. "I guess it's time for me to take my leave. See you next time!" She gave us a wave before using the grappling hook and swinging out of here, not caring about the guy she was with.

"Why did you not shoot?" Y/N turned around and looked at me angrily, something she has never done before. Her clothes were in a mess which was unlike her tidy self. "You have a gun hidden with you. Even at my urging, you did not fire your gun. Why was that?" She raised her voice. We were around the same height but her piercing blue eyes sent shivers down my spine, but I was never going to admit that.

"Because it's your job." 

I looked at her before stepping aside, making my way across all the bodies on the ground, trying to check if the guy has any identifiers on him. "It is because the contract between you and I is, 'Until my objective is achieved, you will become my power. Protect me to the end so that I am not killed.' Was it not?" I asked while searching through his pockets, not sparing Y/N a glance.

Y/N did not say anything but I heard chairs falling to the ground and I turned to look at the cause of it. She was on the ground unconscious and I immediately went to check on her. I didn't know what was the cause of it until I felt my hands were damp. I looked at them and they were stained with red. Her dark clothes were concealing her blood and I didn't notice that her face was pale when she was speaking to me.

"Y/L/N! Wake up! Y/N!" I tried waking her up but it was of no use. I took off her blazer and pressed on her wound as hard as I could to stop the blood flow while calling Bucky to come over. "Hey hey, you can't sleep." But she was still unresponsive.

Soon, Bucky came over and he carried her into the car and drove us back to the apartment. We have all sorts of medical equipment there, so we hardly ever go to the hospital. Bucky laid Y/N on the bed and took off her clothes so he could have better access to her wound. "It's alright, I can take it from here. You go clean up the situation." I told Bucky to leave and took the cotton bud from him.

I noticed that there was another wound near her waist as I was suturing her up. It looked like a gunshot wound that was not too long ago and was not yet fully healed and now she has a knife wound. Is she collecting them or something? Why are there so many scars on her body? I honestly don't know how I did not notice that he was holding a knife earlier.

Once I was done, I gave her a blood bag to replenish the blood she had lost and allowed her to rest. It was honestly lucky that nothing bad happened to her or I'll have to find someone else. I don't think I'll be able to find someone as good as her.

I stayed for a while longer until I realised that I was looking at her face. What was I doing? I shot up from my seat and went to my office. After getting a notification that Bucky had cleaned everything that was necessary and was making his way back, I started making the necessary arrangements for a certain someone's visit later.

Bucky managed to come back before the guest and I told him the necessary details that he needed to know in case he questioned him.

The doorbell rang and panic instantly took place in Bucky's eyes. He was never the one to invite guests in, even more so one as important as this. "Just go and open the door and show him in." He broke out of his trance and nodded before fumbling his way to the door.

"Good afternoon, Mr Fury." He said as he opened the door. He nodded before looking Bucky up and down.

"Bucky." I said before he realised what he was doing and stepped aside for him to enter.

"Come on in." He opened the door wider for Fury to enter and now I could finally see him in his usual black trench coat that he seems to have multiple of.

"Romanoff." He said as she sat at the head of the house seat. I went to sit on the one nearest to him since he has a higher rank than me.

"Nice to see you, Fury."

"You knew I was going to come." I tilted my head in amusement. After working under him for a long time, I knew he was going to ask about the progress.

"Sorry for the delay." Y/N's voice came out of nowhere and I saw her walking out from the kitchen with a tray in her hands. How long has she been up? She still had time to make coffee? "Still take your coffee the same way I hope, Mr Fury." As she placed down the coffee set on the table.

"I hardly ever say this, but I can't seem to find your coffee anywhere else."

"Thank you for your compliment. I had a great teacher." She said as she placed the coffee in front of me as well. I stared at her before grabbing her wrist and dragging her into my office.

"What are you doing?!" I whisper shouted. "You're supposed to be resting. You're injured."

"I am fine now, Miss Romanoff." I could see that as she has clearly changed out of the shirt I placed her in. I wanted her to rest because it was my fault for not noticing that she was injured and she had to danger herself by protecting me just because I was too stubborn to lift my fingers to pull the trigger. Things could have ended much better if I had just shot Eleanor.

But my mind was too stuck on the contract, thinking she would do everything for me.

"Fine. You can have the rest of the day off then. Don't come back until night. This is an order." I said quickly and waved her off so she couldn't retaliate.

"Yes, Miss Romanoff." Her voice became a lot softer and somehow it made my heart clench to see her so hurt. She went back to her room and I saw her in a different set of clothes before walking out the front door.

"Sorry, we can continue now." I said after sitting back next to Fury.

"So, what have you gathered? I heard that you settled this already."

"Words sure travel fast around here." I joked until I saw Fury's serious face. I cleared my throat before starting what we have learnt and how we figured out who was the culprit. I skipped the details regarding my 'capture' but replaced it with just us mingling around until we narrowed it down to one.

"Eleanor had an accomplice who has an entirely different status and has managed to slip through our check when we were combing through the possible list of suspects. I found this in his pocket." I placed the name card on the table and Fury picked it up after looking at me.

"Hydra?" He read the top of the name card.

"I believe that's what they call themselves. And the fact that they are carrying their name cards around indicates that they are likely going around spreading their names and people may be hiring them to kill people."

"You're SHIELD's watch dog for a reason, Romanoff. I expected you to do better than this. You need to be eyes and hands for the country so this group of people don't roam around freely." Fury instructed. He never accepts things less than perfect so I was already expecting this.

"I'll tell Stark about his performance. Even though he may not be on the field, he still needs to up his game since he has our sensitive information." He finished up his coffee before standing up and walking towards the door.

Bucky rushed to get to the door first and opened it for him. They had a silent exchange with their eyes before Fury continued with his way. Bucky let out a huge sigh once he drove out of the driveway and I chuckled at him for being so scared.

He may be all tough and scary during the war, but he couldn't stand on his own feet against the one-eyed man.

[thewidowsghost]

Happy Holidays (Kate Bishop x Romanoff!Reader) - Chapter 17

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Warning(s): Google Translate, unedited

(Y/n) secures her arm around Kate's waist as they make their way back towards Kate's aunt's apartment to pick up Bolt - Kate had brought up rescuing the dog first.

Silent tears were streaming down the archer's face and (Y/n)'s heart aches. "H-how are you okay with this?" Kate stammers, choking back a sob.

(Y/n) glances over at her friend. "It wouldn't be the first time someone in my life left me."

Kate meets (Y/n)'s brilliant green gaze before she looks down again. "Right. I'm sorry."

(Y/n) stops, turning towards Kate and cupping the pale archer's cheek with her palm. "You," she strokes a bruise lightly with her thumb, "have nothing to be sorry for."

Kate closes her eyes, leaning forward and resting her forehead lightly against (Y/n)'s.

. . .

(Y/n) leads both Kate - and Bolt, Kate gripping onto the dog's harness - into Eleanor Bishop's apartment, and Kate stumbles as pain strikes her left knee.

(Y/n) lets out a grunt, catching Kate's waist with an arm and hauling the archer into somewhat of a standing position.

"Kate," a voice comes from the kitchen, and Eleanor appears, staring at the sight in front of her staircase - her daughter, clad in a purple and black suit, gashes framing her face, and a deep cut above her eye; Bolt, who was half supporting the archer, his harness still being gripped tightly in Kate's hand; and (Y/n), daughter of the mysterious Black Widow, supporting her daughter with an arm, her nose bent crookedly, dried blood staining the bottom half of her face, and her hair - where it was shaved - was visibly a dark, blood red.

Kate turns to face her mother, and Eleanor sees the full extent of her daughter's injuries. "Oh my god," she gasps, stepping closer to the trio. "Are you okay? And why are you wearing your archery suit?"

"I'm okay," Kate chokes out.

"Does this have anything to do with Clint Barton?" Eleanor asks, her gaze flicking over to (Y/n), who was still supporting her daughter with an arm.

"Mom, no. Clint protected me," Kate replies, holding back her second wave of tears. "And you'll be glad to know he then told me to come home and stay away from him." Kate's breathing stutters in her chest, and she sniffles.

Eleanor reaches forward, and brushes Kate's bangs out of the way to see the extent of the gash above her eyebrow; the archer lets out a noise of slight discomfort.

Kate's eyes flicker closed. "Listen to me," Eleanor cups her daughter's face in her hands, and Kate's eyes flicker back open. "You're the only thing that matters to me. Are you sure you're okay?" The tears finally escape and Kate takes a step forward into her mother's embrace."Oh. Come here. Come here."

(Y/n)'s gaze softens, and her heart clenches. I wish Mom was here, she thinks.

A sob escapes Kate's lips and tears drip onto her mother's cardigan.

. . .

(Y/n) sits on the bathroom counter, facing the mirror. Her hands shake slightly as she tries to thread the needle and finally, she gives up, dropping the thread and needle back onto the counter.

She lifts her hands, studying them as they begin to tremble violently.

"Do you need help?" a voice asks, and (Y/n) turns, surprise flickering on her face for a moment as she looks at the speaker.

"Sure," (Y/n) rasps in reply.

Bolt lifts his head, looking quizzically between Eleanor Bishop and (Y/n).

"It's okay, boy," (Y/n) replies. "Go find Kate, okay, bud?"

The dog tilts his head, but trots out of the bathroom.

Eleanor takes a few steps forward, grabbing the needle and thread off the counter, and (Y/n) turns to face her girlfriend(?)'s mother.

"Thank you for helping Kate get home," Eleanor begins, easily threading the needle and beginning to sew the gash along (Y/n)'s bicep.

"Of course," (Y/n) replies, clenching her teeth together - she didn't believe in pain medicine. Her mother never used it, so she wouldn't either.

"Can I ask you a question?" Eleanor asks and (Y/n) looks down, meeting her gaze.

"Hmm," (Y/n) hums in reply.

"Does Clint think Kate's a superhero?" the concerned mother asks.

(Y/n) considers the question for a moment. "No," she finally decides. "And I don't think she thinks she's one either." The expression that settles on (Y/n)'s face has Eleanor noting that (Y/n) though the opposite.

A comfortable silence settles in the bathroom as Eleanor finishes stitching up the gash.

"Now," Eleanor pats (Y/n)'s shoulder gently. "Go find Kate."

. . .

(Y/n) enters Kate's room, and her expression softens seeing Kate and Bolt cuddling on the archer's bed.

"God," Kate murmurs to the dog, not realizing yet that (Y/n) was standing in the doorway of her childhood room, "I really thought I could be one of them."

"Don't beat yourself up, hon," (Y/n) tells the archer, and Kate turns to face (Y/n). "Let's go get your things from your apartment," (Y/n) tells the archer, and Kate nods, moving over to allow her hand to slip into (Y/n)'s.

. . .

The two young women, still hand in hand, enter Kate's apartment above the pizza parlor. Water trickles from the ceiling where the sprinklers had turned on, and Kate grimaces at the wreckage done to her apartment.

(Y/n) makes her way to the table, allowing Kate's hand to leave hers as the archer steps towards the broken windows.

Then, (Y/n) hears a sound. She grabs the nearest thing - a bottle of hot sauce - and chucks it, not unlike a throwing knife, spinning top over bottom.

"Kate Bishop," a voice behind the two young women says, and the figure catches the bottle of hot sauce. "Hi!" the voice is cheery, not like she hadn't broken into Kate's burnt-down apartment. "I made macaroni if you want some," the blonde haired woman says, waving a pot of boxed pasta.

"I'm sorry. What?" Kate asks, stunned at both (Y/n) and the blonde haired woman's quick reflexes.

"Well, I was starving, and you took forever," The woman replies, and her gaze flickers over to (Y/n). "And you brought an unexpected guest." The woman approaches the table, and (Y/n) meets the woman's gaze steadily.

"What do you want?" Kate asks the woman.

"Relax, Kate Bishop. I just want to talk, okay?" the woman sets the pot of macaroni on the table, as well as the bottle of hot sauce. "Are you really not hungry?" she asks, meeting Kate's wide-eyed stare. That fight was so long. It's really tasty. Really tasty," The woman moves back over towards the tiny kitchen.

"I know what boxed mac and cheese tastes like," Kate says, biting the inside of her cheek. "I know it's . . . it's delicious."

"Forks. Forks," the woman groans, searching the drawers. "No." She turns, holding one metal fork. "You have one fork?"

"I'm one person," Kate replies.

"That's so weird," the woman replies, grabbing two plastic forks still in their plastic wrapping. "Kate, this is not cutlery. This is not cutlery." The woman scolds the archer, crossing the room back towards the table, and a snort of laughter escapes (Y/n)'s lips.

"I am not gonna have dinner with you, after you tried to kill me and then broke into my house," Kate replies and the blonde's mouth drops open into a dramatic 'o' shape.

"I did not try to kill you," the blonde replies, her voice squeaking slightly at the beginning of the statement. A, I put you on a wire to remove an obstacle. And B, I did not break anything. I am way too talented than that."

"English isn't your first language," (Y/n) notes at the woman's slip-up. She remembers something about her mother's stumbling over words when they'd first escaped to America with Clint.

The woman considers (Y/n) with new curiosity. "Yes," she replies simply, and then she turns back to Kate. "You're so hostile. You should be more like your girlfriend here. I am not going to hurt you. I promise." She rolls up her sleeves.

"She's not –" Kate starts.

"We're not –" (Y/n) says at the same time.

The woman simply grins, shrugging amusedly. "I don't have any weapons on me," she says, and when Kate's eyes flicker down to the gadgets on the blonde's wrists. "Okay, that is a lie. I don't currently have any weapons in my hands." Then she shrugs, "That is a lie also." "Come on, take a fork. Eat. Eat." She gestures to Kate's burnt dining table. "Please, my daddy says it's good for you." When neither woman moves, the blonde continues, "You're probably thinking, 'What? This is crazy. I'm going to have dinner with the enemy? And she made some really good smelling macaroni.' But in all honesty, if I'd wanted to kill you —"

"You would have already," Kate finishes.

"As soon as you walked in the door," the blonde says cheerfully.

"How fun," (Y/n) mutters, but then she rests a hand on Kate's arm, and in sync, the two younger women sit down at the table.

The blonde woman begins digging into the pot of macaroni, and Kate is trying very hard not to look up at the woman.

(Y/n) rests a hand on Kate's thigh before she leans forward, resting an elbow on the table, something about this woman seems familiar to her, but she can't tell.

"Can I put hot sauce on it?" The blonde asks, gesturing to her pot.

"Hmm," Kate hums, pulling her face into a frown that (Y/n) finds really cute.

"Ah, I love hot sauce," the woman says, screwing open the bottle (Y/n) had chucked at her.

"So, what do you want?" Kate asks.

"Well, it's my first time in New York," the woman says, doing a little dance after another bite of macaroni. (Y/n) almost laughed – a disturbed look had made its way onto Kate's face as she watched the blonde woman eat her boxed macaroni out of her pot, with her hot-sauce. "It's a business trip, so time is limited. But I want to see some things. I want to see, uh, the Empire State Building. The new and improved Statue of Liberty, and the Rockefeller Center."

(Y/n) has a vague memory of hearing about three Spider-people fighting a bunch of villains on top of the Empire State building a couple of months ago. She also remembers something about fighting Thanos with Spider-Man. She shakes herself out of her thoughts when Kate speaks up.

"Very funny," Kate chuckles nervously.

"What," the blonde woman furrows her eyebrows, "it's not good?" she asks innocently.

(Y/n) grins into the shoulder of her jacket – hiding it as a cough – as Kate tries to come up with a response, "Oh. No, they're – they're great. Yeah, you . . . I mean, you've gotta see the tree."

The blonde woman lets out a gasp. "Mmmm," she throws her hands up. "Exactly. See? I love American Christmases. The tree, the presents, the super-powered reindeer, Rudolph."

"Mmm-hmm," Kate looks down at (Y/n)'s hand on her thigh. "Rudolph. Heh."

"He is so weird," the blonde woman chuckles. "Have you ever eaten reindeer?"

(Y/n) chokes on her own saliva, coughing harshly.

Kate looks between (Y/n) and the blonde woman. "Cannot say I've had the pleasure. No. It's . . ." she laughs nervously again.

"No, it is not a pleasure," the woman chuckles. "No, it's, um, it's really tough. It's chewy." The disgustedly confused look had returned to Kate's face, as she continues. "Mm, you have to braise it for a really long time. But, hey, Kate Bishop, you grew up here, right? You must have some recommendations for me."

"Yeah . . . Um . . ." Kate laughs again nervously. "Yeah I – I have. Let's see. The High Line. High Line is great. Um . . . There's a Christmas market in Union Square. Um . . . I'm not quite sure those are the right fit for the blood-thirsty vigilante type."

The blonde woman laughs. "Blood-thirsty vigilante." She laughs again, "Sometimes you're funny, Kate Bishop."

"Do you say my whole name to point out that you know it?" Kate interrupts.

"Yes," the woman replies. "I know a lot about you. Mother, Eleanor. Lives on Park and 41st. Father, Derek, deceased. Very sad." (Y/n) glances over at Kate, watching her expression carefully. "And you recently walked into traffic to save a dog, which I'll admit is pretty cool, and you got a few points from me on that. Um . . . University GPA 3.8. Senior, double major, and –"

"Right, okay. We get it," Kate says.

God, she's smart, and hot, (Y/n) thinks.

"Thank you," Kate adds.

The blonde woman then turns to address (Y/n). "See, I don't know much about you," she says.

"What can I say?" (Y/n) leans forward, meeting the woman's gaze calmly. "I'm a mystery. So, she leans back in her chair. "Are you in New York to talk to Clint?" she questions. "Is that why you're here?"

"No, no, no, no," she replies. "I'm here to kill him."

"Excuse me?" (Y/n) asks, reaching down towards a dagger strapped to her thigh.

"I have a question for you," the blonde woman begins. "What is it? Why do you risk your life for him, Clint Barton? How has everybody forgiven him for his past?"

"He saved the world," Kate replies.

"No. My sister saved the world," the woman replies. And now (Y/n) knew who the woman was. "Natasha Romanoff, she saved the world." (Y/n) and Kate exchange a quick glance. "Stop pretending like you're not surprised. It does not look cool."

"You're really Natasha's sister?" (Y/n) asks, using her mother's full first name.

"Yes," Yelena Belova replies.

"Wow. I did not see that coming," Kate says. "Thank God, I didn't kill you up there."

Yelena laughs, "You kill me? Again, oh, Kate Bishop, you are so funny. That's hilarious. That one is the funniest."

"Natasha and Clint were friends," Kate says. "Why are you after him?"

"You are so fond of him," Yelena says, studying Kate closer now. "It tells me you don't really know who he is."

"He came out here to protect me," Kate replies.

"No," Yelena says. "He came out to protect his reputation. Do you know how many people he killed?" Kate shifts slightly in her seat. "The trail of blood that follows him, it could rap around the entire world."

"Okay. Wow. That was very Russian," Kate says, and (Y/n) makes a huffing sound, as though she was trying to suppress her laughter.

"Hmm," Yelena replies.

"He's still an Avenger," Kate goes on.

"What does that word even mean? Huh?" Yelena asks. "That it holds so much power. You call him a hero no matter what he does?"

"It means that when you choose to spend your life trying to help people, there are going to be things that you lose," Kate replies.

Okay, maybe not the best wording, (Y/n) thinks.

"When you face the kind of threats he has," Kate goes on, "there's going to be collateral damage."

And it got worse, (Y/n) grimaces.

"My sister is gone because of him," Yelena's voice rises slightly.

"What? No. No, that is . . . No," Kate doesn't seem to know how to reply.

"She's gone," Yelena continues. "Is she collateral damage?"

Not anymore, (Y/n) wants to reply.

"No, look, there is no way that is true," Kate says. "He would not let that happen."

"How long have you known Clint Barton?" Yelena asks.

"Bout a week," Kate replies smally.

"But I've known him my whole life," (Y/n) finally speaks up. "And Nat wasn't the only one to go over the cliff that night."

"It will not be difficult to complete this assignment," Yelena says, studying (Y/n) with new interest.

"Wait a minute, somebody hired you to kill him?" Kate asks. Yelena leans backwards in her chair, not able to meet Kate or (Y/n)'s gazes for a moment. "All I'll say is that if there is someone out there that is telling you Clint is a bad guy, then maybe you should ask yourself what kind of person hired you. He is not perfect. Nobody's perfect. But he is good." Yelena looks like she feels sorry for Kate.

"However he convinced you about who he is or how many people think or call him a hero, truth is, it doesn't matter. We are defined by what we do. Not by nice words. Like it or not, there is no escaping this. So . . ." she glances around at the burned down apartment. "Where is he?"

"We don't know," Kate replies honestly.

Yelena nods. "Okay," she sighs. "Thank you for the girls' night, truly." Kate makes a scoffing noise as Yelena stands up from the table. Kate and (Y/n) watch as Yelena makes her way over to the broken window. "Oh. And, Kate Bishop, do not get in my way again." She shoots a grappling hook at the ceiling and steps out, allowing herself to be repelled down the side of the building.

. . .

"We're going to need you to come in and answer some questions," someone says, and Kate and (Y/n) exchange a worried glance as they step through the elevator, both holding some of Kate's things.

"I promise you, this is all a big misunderstanding," Jack says, glancing back at the officers who were putting his hands in cuffs. "I've never worked a day in my life."

"We have some tax records that will beg to differ," one of the officers replies.

"I'm telling you, the only Sloan I've ever known was this woman I dated in Palm Beach, and she was an absolute nightmare," (Y/n) watches Jack's face closely, as Kate moves to envelop her mother in a hug.

"I looked into it, honey, and you were right," Eleanor says.

"I don't blame you for calling the police, darling," Jack replies, having heard Eleanor's comment. "I would have done exactly the same thing. I've obviously been framed. I'll clear all this up and be back in a jiffy for your Christmas party, you'll see."

. . .

Kate lets out a grunt of pain as she sits up in her childhood bed.

Once she finally shakes the sleep from her eyes, she sees (Y/n) sitting at her childhood desk, having a conversation in Russian with someone on the phone – Kate guesses it was Natasha.

(Y/n)'s expression softens when she sees Kate. She tucks her phone between her shoulder and ear, and opens her arms.

Kate obliged, moving to sit in (Y/n)'s lap, burning her face into (Y/n)'s other shoulder. (Y/n)'s fingers draw shapes against Kate's back.

"Ona tvoya sestra, Mama," (Y/n) says, and she pauses, waiitn for her mother's reply, "Ona sobirayetsya ubit' Clint. Ona dumayet, chto eto yego vina, chto ty umer."

Kate gets up after a moment, and starts placing voicemails on Clint's phone.

(Y/n) ends the call with her mother, and watches, looking amused, as Kate spins around in another chair.

. . .

Kate quickly notches an arrow, and shoots the sword out of Maya's hand. She draws another, setting her jaw.

"Nice shot, babe," the nickname slips out of (Y/n)'s mouth. And Kate tries not to grin.

When Maya looks around for Clint, he's gone.

Maya turns and jumps onto her motorcycle and speeds away, and Kate allows the tension in her bow to lessen.

She and (Y/n) head off the rooftop.

"I bet you're wondering how we found you," Kate says.

"You tracked my phone again, didn't you?" Clint guesses.

"Uh, yeah," Kate says.

"So this rescue mission, you got an escape plan?" Clint asks.

"Hey," a man waiting in a car calls to Kate, "are you Tabitha?"

"Yes," Kate replies to both the man and Clint.

"All right," the driver says. "Hop on in."

Word Count: 3348 words

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Dumping links like Galileo dumped the orange

Today (May 20) at 3:15PM, I’ll be at the GAITHERSBURG Book Festival with my novel Red Team Blues; then on Monday (May 22), I’m keynoting Public Knowledge’s Emerging Tech conference in DC.

On Tuesday (May 23), I’ll be in TORONTO for a book launch that’s part of WEPFest, a benefit for the West End Phoenix, onstage with Dave Bidini (The Rheostatics), Ron Diebert (Citizen Lab) and the whistleblower Dr Nancy Olivieri.

Welcome to my Saturday linkdump, the third in an occasional series that may or may not be restricted to Saturdays, but which will ever be a celebration of olde-timey linkblogging of the sort practiced by our blogfathers, blogmothers, and assorted other blogparents:

https://pluralistic.net/tag/linkdump/

Any fule kno that Saturday is Caturday, and today’s woke felinism comes courtesy of Dr Eleanor Janega, the earthiest of all the Medivelist Bloggers, author of the superb Once and Future Sex, all about dirty dirty medieval people and their filthy filthy habits:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/01/17/ren-faire/#going-medieval

One of Janega’s winningest formulas is “Find a dopey thing about medieval people racing around social media and then set the ignorant straight in a world-beating, extremely well-informed rant.”

See, for example, “I assure you, medieval people bathed”:

https://going-medieval.com/2019/08/02/i-assure-you-medieval-people-bathed/

This week, Janega addresses herself to the burning question, “Did 14th C religious leaders label cats evil, precipitating a mass European cull of poor moggies?”

The answer, you will not be surprised to learn, is: “No.”

https://going-medieval.com/2023/05/16/on-cats/

Rather, medieval people — including those in the 14th century — just adored cats. That goes double for the religious leaders, as is evidenced by all the cats monks drew in the margins of religious manuscripts. Janega also reproduces painstakingly inked manuscripts crisscrossed by pawprints left by a cat that did the medieval version of walking back and forth over your keyboard while you’re trying to enter your password.

There’s also a manuscript with a large blotch that is labeled by a monk who identifies it as a piss-stain left behind by a cat (presumably a cat that wanted to go out and was tired of the monk not taking the walking-back-and-forth-over-the-manuscript hint).

In case there’s any doubt about how monks felt about cats, there’s a freaking adorable manuscript margin-doodle of cat in a little monk’s outfit. There’s doodles of cats with nuns, illustrations of cats hanging out with 14th century monks, and of course, drawings of working cats keeping down the rats in the barns and kitchens of the day.

As if that wasn’t enough, Janega closes with this banger: 14th century didn’t kill all their cats in a witch panic, because “witch panics are not a feature of medieval society”:

Indeed, medieval people didn’t really believe in the concept at all. Even in the fifteenth century when the Malleus Maleficarum, or Hammer of Witches, a witch-hunting guide was written it had to justify its very existence because no one believed that ol’ Heinrich Kramer was right about witches existing.

When people think that the Middle Ages is a place full of superstitious backwards religious fanatics it allows them to think they can just ignore over a thousand years of history because all you are going to see is disease and cat murder. This then allows stupid ideas like this to perpetuate and exacerbates the problem further. Suddenly the only people paying attention to medieval history are weirdo trad people who can bend the truth to suit their own aims, and baby, we cannot have that.

Happy caturday all, and especially to Dr Janega, may her quill never blunt.

Caturday — even a caturday about people being Very Wrong About Cats — is a reminder that the internet is often great, and not a cesspit of awful. Here is one way in which that is true: Mohit Bhoite builds tiny, perfect electronic sculptures that are both gorgeous little artworks and supremely functional exemplars of the hardware hacker’s noble art:

https://www.bhoite.com/sculptures/

Oh. My. God. These are so great. The tiny temperature monitor with the 7-seg digital display:

https://www.bhoite.com/sculptures/tiny-temp-monitor/

This stunning 7-seg counter:

https://www.bhoite.com/sculptures/seven-segment-counter/

This 555 Demux, with its delicate tracery of chassis and pins:

https://www.bhoite.com/sculptures/555-bcd-demux/

Each one a delightful morsel, made seemingly for the artist’s own pleasure and self-expression. I’m slightly disappointed that these aren’t for sale (because I want all of them), but even happier that these pure works of art, unsullied by commerce.

An important note about Bhoite’s sculptures is that they’re built on open source hardware, notably kits from Adafruit, often based on Arduinos and other open designs. This openness leads to “generativity,” the ability of follow-on creators and inventors to make new things based on existing things.

Generativity is the heart of the early explosive growth of the internet. From “view source” teaching millions of us to make the web to the LAMP stack (Linux, Apache, Mysql and python/perl) forming the substrate for billions of projects, the generative internet was — and is — the creative internet.

Despite a decade of energetic commons-enclosing, some of the staunchest bastions of openness and generativity continue to thrive, like Wikipedia, an encyclopedia that isn’t just “free as in beer,” it’s also “free as in speech” — free to mix and remix as you choose.

Here’s a whole passel of delightful Wikipedia-generated search tools, the Search Gizmos, a whole suite of special-purpose search tools that mine Wikipedia for informational goodies:

https://searchgizmos.com/

They’re the creation of Tara Calishain, and there are so many of them that’s it’s hard to choose just one to highlight, but I’m enormously fond of “Gossip Machine”:

A powerful tool that uses Wikipedia page views to surface potential “news days” in a given year for any topic with a Wikipedia page. By analyzing daily page views and flagging dates with significantly higher-than-average views, Gossip Machine provides you with pre-filled Google News and Google Web search links, taking you straight to valuable and insightful information about your chosen topic.

One of the bitter ironies of companies like Open AI is the co-opting of generativity for “Generative AI,” a set of products that could not be more unlike the generative projects of Bhoite or Calishain.

This kind of language game is a hallmark of every scam (not for nothing: Open AI isn’t open, and its product is neither artificial nor is it intelligent). As debates over “Generative AI” (which neither “generative,” nor “artificial,” etc, etc) rage, it’s worth revisiting how earlier debates about automation, creativity and appropriation played out.

This week in Clot Magazine, Estela Oliva interviews electronic music pioneers Jennifer Walshe and Jon “Wobbly” Leidecker (Negativland):

https://clotmag.com/interviews/jennifer-walshe-jon-leidecker-on-collaboration

The whole interview is great, but it really starts to smoke when Leidecker describes “Morover” a Negativland project built on samples of billionaires’ own fevered rants about AI:

With Negativland, we sample those CEO quotes directly — with Jennifer, those quotes also wind up in her notebooks, which she uses live as a source — it turns out CEO & EA musings make for an excellent libretto. Our deliverable is the ecosystem itself! Image diversity is more useful than photorealism! Sometimes the original sample is unbeatable, such as when Sam Altman’s voice falters when he says he feels terrible that AI is the reason his Rationalist friends have decided not to have kids. He thinks in the future, so many jobs will be lost to AI that our economy will be forced to come up with new solutions.

Later, Leidecker digs into the meat of the debate:

Electronic music has been dealing with issues of generative music and cybernetics since the 1940s, with Louis and Bebe Barron working out the creative potential of these new tools, making self-playing instruments capable of observing their own behaviour. I take the core questions faced by creative electronic musicians to involve issues of automation. What can be automated that points one in unheard musical directions?

Can networks involve more people, as opposed to replacing them? What new roles open up for humans once the old decisions are being handled? Electronic music has over 70 years’ worth of deeply moral and very creative responses to the issue of automation, and these patent-chasing corporations aren’t likely to bring up any of that work during their product demos. They need you to believe they invented this. But there’s a long and helpful history, and there’s still time to learn it.

These are the interesting discussions we could be having about these tools, if we could stop letting mediocre billionaire live rent-free in our heads as they hold flashlights under their chins and intone “Aaaaaaaay Eyeeeeeeee” in their spookiest voices. These guys are pumping their upcoming dump, and all the biggest disaster-stories are part of the scam: “AI will become sentient” and “AI will do your job as well as you” are both statements whose primary purpose is to increase the value of the stock in companies making “AI” technology (neither “artificial” nor you get the idea).

I mean, sure, our bosses will fire our asses and replace us with shell-scripts, but they don’t need working AI to do that — no more than they needed working voice response systems to replace human operators. They just enshittify their products and services, and do it under cover of chasing amazing new technology, and reap the stock gains bequeathed by keyword-drunk investors.

But the endless repetition of this vision of Fully Automated Austerity Pronatalist Space Neofeudalism gives people absolute brain-worms. The entire passive-income/rise-and-grind subculture has been convinced that they can use AI (neither etc etc) to make a fortune by…uh…generating plausible paragraphs.

Only problem: there’s no market for plausible paragraphs. The closest anyone comes is the tiny, low-dollar market for short science fiction and fantasy, which is pretty much the last bastion of paid short fiction markets. Now, these are amazing publications, and they do wonderful work, but they pay $0.01 to $0.25/word, and — more importantly — are edited by humans who sift through 1,000+ manuscripts per month looking for brilliant work to publish.

These editors are handily capable of distinguishing between extruded verbal slurry and actual short fiction, but the brain-worm bros are convinced that if they hammer these editors hard enough with enough algorithm-wrought word-salad, eventually, they’ll sell a “story” (netting a princely sum in the tens of dollars!).

This is objectively very stupid, but it’s also very terrible, because the human editors doing this labor of love are drowning in aishit. The most vocal among these LLM-blighted publishers is Neil Clarke, editor of the great Clarkesworld, who is waging a one-man war on spammy LLM submissions. His latest dispatch from the front lines (ominously titled “It continues…”) would be hacky sf, if it wasn’t real:

The one thing that is presently missing from the equation is integration with any of the existing AI detection tools. Despite their grand claims, we’ve found them to be stunningly unreliable, primitive, significantly overpriced, and easily outwitted by even the most basic of approaches.

http://neil-clarke.com/it-continues/

This is not the future we dreamt of. It’s been stolen from us by the brain-worms. Writing in Business Insider, the great Nathan Proctor describes how automation lets companies bring about the “death of ownership”:

https://www.businessinsider.com/companies-software-legal-tricks-subscriptions-customers-money-pay-death-ownership-2023-5

When your device won’t accept the ink you chose, or run the software you prefer, or let you repair it at the depot of your choosing (or even on your own kitchen table), do you really own it?

This is the theme of much of my work, of course, including my novella “Unauthorized Bread,” which performs the science-fictional trick of building a world around a single technical conceit to magnify and clarify the underlying issues:

https://arstechnica.com/gaming/2020/01/unauthorized-bread-a-near-future-tale-of-refugees-and-sinister-iot-appliances/

Proctor leads PIRG’s Right to Repair campaign, and he’s a comrade. He’s got these companies’ numbers and he’s a tireless fighter:

I believe in truth in advertising. If you’re going to sell somebody something, sell it to them. If you are going to lease something to somebody, lease it to them. If you tether their future purchases to a secret “agreement” that you baked into the technology that they don’t know about, that is deceptive. Not to mention, tinkering and fixing are American traditions. The ethos of “if it’s broke, then fix it” has other benefits, too. Repair teaches critical skills, it saves consumers money, it helps cut waste and product obsolescence. Tinkering and fixing also leads to product innovations that can benefit everyone.

Preach on, brother!

For ever tech bro who took cyberpunk dystopia as a suggestion, there are a dozen more who took it as a warning. Technologists like Micah Lee are on the front lines with Proctor and others. Lee was my colleague at EFF when Snowden contacted him privately, identifying himself as a would-be whistleblower who was trying to securely deliver a trove of US government leaks to some journalists who were struggling with the technology.

Now Lee is at the Freedom of the Press Foundation and The Intercept, and he’s working on a book: “Hacks, Leaks and Revelations,” is a practical manual for whistleblowers, reporters and investigators. Subtitled “The Art of Analyzing Hacked and Leaked Data,” it’s out in November:

https://nostarch.com/hacks-leaks-and-revelations

Meanwhile, Lee has put swathes of the book online for early perusal:

https://staging.hacksandleaks.com/introduction.html

This book isn’t a mere manifesto — it’s a manual, and it contains exercises for the reader to help them build a secure process for communicating and publishing in a way that protects sources.

Micah’s work is a reminder that the internet is made of people. Take the people away, all you’ve got is algorithms spamming each other (this is the plot of my short story, “When Sysadmins Ruled the Earth”):

https://pluralistic.net/2020/03/14/masque-of-the-red-death/#eschatology-watch

People matter. Everything people make — corporations, cities, workplaces, networks — only matter to the extent that they help people. Here’s a useful rule of thumb: when you’re trying to figure out whether a cause deserves your support, ask yourself, “Does this help people? Does it help more people than the alternative? Does it help people who need help?”

Asking that question made me a union man. That’s why I’ve been walking the WGA picket-lines in my neighborhood on my home-days while touring. It’s also why I cheered the dancers at LA’s Star Garden Topless Dive Bar when they became the first topless dancers in America to win recognition for their union:

https://apnews.com/article/strippers-union-los-angeles-star-garden-4069df93b149076dc2e23a0bff16438b

The Star Garden workers are organized under the Actors’ Equity Association, the same union I wrote a check to when I paid Wil Wheaton to record the audiobook of Red Team Blues (Wil’s a union man, too:)

https://www.tvinsider.com/1093201/jeopardy-wil-wheaton-ken-jennings-writers-strike/

There’s been a lot of “ha ha the strippers unionized ha ha” nonsense in response to this news, but fuck that. Sex work is work. These are workers. They work in a field that is physically demanding, potentially dangerous, and rife with exploitative practices. Damned right they need a union. Go, sisters, go!

People who think they understand ironic laughter because they made a snotty remark about a stripper’s union are absolute amateurs. To see how it’s done, check out The Onion, a publication that is consistently pretty funny, but also reliably screamingly, viciously, incredibly funny, especially about the things that hurt the most.

The canonical example of this, of course, is The Onion’s first issue after the 9/11 attacks, headlined “HOLY FUCKING SHIT” and containing such articles as “Not Knowing What Else To Do, Woman Bakes American-Flag Cake��:

https://www.wired.com/2001/09/onions-bitter-tears-of-irony/

The Onion continues to be America’s leading ha-ha-only-serious forum, serving, somehow, as both escape valve and flame-fanner for the nation’s bitterest ailments. For years, they’ve run their “‘No Way To Prevent This,’ Says Only Nation Where This Regularly Happens” headline after every major mass shooting:

https://www.theonion.com/no-way-to-prevent-this-says-only-nation-where-this-r-1819576527

But as America continues to record multiple, daily, mass shootings, The Onion’s writers needed something else. Yesterday, they ran “Americans Describe What It’s Like Surviving A Mass Shooting,” and oh shit is it a doozy:

https://www.theonion.com/surviving-a-mass-shooting-americans-describe-what-it-s-1850438794

“It makes you really appreciate how free we are as a country when you’re hiding under a desk with bullets flying over your head.”

“Those 15 minutes standing a safe distance away from the school while the suspect finished shooting were the most harrowing of my life.” (picture of a cop)

“There’s nothing like a brush with death to remind you that all your previously held beliefs are correct and should not be questioned.” (Rep. Steve Scalise (R-LA))

“My boss let me use one of my three unpaid sick days to get sewed up.”

“Only two of my three kids came home from school, but Texas has no property taxes, so it’s a wash.”

I mean.

Shit.

The new Gilded American Age is already looking a little tarnished. The unholy alliance between the infinite greed of the capital classes and the sadistic indifference of the terrified, authoritarian, musket-fucking Bible-bashers has us racing for the precipice.

It’s wild to see the parties fiddle while the Shining City on the Hill burns. I think we all expect it of the Republicans, but watching the Democrats fail working people and continue to climb into bed with the ultra-wealthy and their priorities is demoralizing, especially for those of us hoping for more from the party of the New Deal.

There’s been a lot of ink spilled on the Trump transformation of the GOP, but Dems’ transformation from a party representing labor to a party representing McKinsey consultants is less well understood.

A new book, Left Behind: The Democrats’ Failed Attempt to Solve Inequality, by Lily Geismer, tells that story:

https://www.publicaffairsbooks.com/titles/lily-geismer/left-behind/9781541757004/

Left Behind gets a fascinating review by Ruby Ray Daily in Public Books, where it is contrasted with Partisans: The Conservative Revolutionaries Who Remade American Politics in the 1990s by Nicole Hemmer:

https://www.publicbooks.org/what-the-1990s-did-to-america/

Both books grapple with way that the end of the Cold War and the Reagan era transformed both major US parties. In Hemmer’s telling, Reagan wasn’t the “dawn of the free-market conservative,” but rather, the “late summer” of that brand of conservativism. Without “anticommunism” to animate it, the Reagan Right coalition thrashed in a void, eventually gelling into today’s “nativism, racial resentment, and media hysteria.”

Meanwhile, the Dems under Clinton turned their backs on state-backed programs and towards market-based initiatives, making today’s “lopsided, unfair economic gains” inevitable. The Atari Democrats of the Clinton years were — in the words of one bitter union organizer — “crypto-Republicans.”

Clinton isn’t the Democrats’ Eisenhower (“accommodating his party to, and sanding the radical edges off, a new consensus”). He’s the Democrats’ Reagan, “shaping and even leading this new market-oriented consensus.”

For Geismer, Clinton wasn’t simply jettisoning the New Deal — rather, he was embracing its technocratic, expertise-worshiping aspect. It was this tendency that produced Clinton’s ghastly “welfare reform” and other attacks on working people. It’s a stark reminder that ideology without a moral center sows the seeds of its own ruin.

Meanwhile, we live today in the Atari Democrats’ world, where wealthy professionals play a high-speed game of musical chairs for the few remaining opportunities to survive the coming polycrisis with intact shelter, food and comfort. One way this plays out is in the surreal, vicious fights over college admissions.

It’s only been a minute since the Varsity Blues scandal erupted: wealthy parents (including some celebrities) bribed college officials to pretend that nepobabies and failsons were elite athletes, letting them ooze into top college slots reserved for sports prodigies (slots that often represent the only chance for poor teens of color to enter these universities):

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Varsity_Blues_scandal

The scandal touched a nerve, perhaps because it punctured the already-fragile bubble of pretense that top colleges were full of the smartest kids in America — rather than, say, the kids whose parents attended those institutions (“legacies”), or made giant donations, or were coached and polished by tutors and consultants.

Well, there’s never just one ant. Varsity Blues wasn’t the only way for rich, status-obsessed parents to buy their kids’ way into college. The latest rot exposed is a doozy of a scam: parents pay academics to pretend to collaborate with high-schoolers so they can put their names on papers published in peer-reviewed journals:

https://www.propublica.org/article/college-high-school-research-peer-review-publications

The story was broken last week by Dan Golden for Propublica and The Chronicle of Higher Education, in a long-read that details all the variations on this scam. For example, sometimes the kid does actually do some original research, but the “journal” is a fake outlet run by the “service” that connects academics and kids.

Bottom line is it works: college admissions officers are deluged with applications and don’t have time to look up the “peer reviewed” publications claimed by applicants. Faculty don’t have the time or inclination to do it either. The stakes are incredibly high, the costs are very high, and the institutions that do the evaluations are weak afterthoughts.

I wonder if we won’t just eventually give up and admit that a degree from a Big Ten or an Ivy is just a thing you buy, like a Picasso or a blood diamond. We could just turn it into a half million dollar blue tick and have done with it.

Anyway.

Hate to end this linkdump on a down-note, but there you have it. Next time I do one of these, I’ll try to remember to hold back one of the upbeat links for a palate cleanser.

Catch me on tour with Red Team Blues in Toronto, DC, Gaithersburg, Oxford, Hay, Manchester, Nottingham, London, and Berlin!

If you’d like an essay-formatted version of this thread to read or share, here’s a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/05/20/the-missing-links/#plunderphonics

[Image ID: A pot of chunky chicken and vegetable stew.]