#so we may have to improv and write another quick part six

[greyeyedmonster-18]

Wait doesn't it has to be four times Sirius Black fucked James Potter and one time he didn't, instead of five 🤓

But anyway this was a fest!! I loved every bit of this au! How you wrote them was just SO GOOD as you were an experienced prongsfoot writer but seeing you're not is even more impressive! Thank you so much for sharing this with us. I already miss waiting for a new chapter. *silently hoping the prongsfoot fascniation remains with you and won't leave your amazing brain*

wait omg youre so right. it definitely should be four times. im so embarrassed hahahahah (or maybe this means i write another chapter real quick)

THANK YOU for reading along and having fun in this little universe with me. Idk if theres prongsfoot for me in the future but never say never. But i fear as long as @arliedraws keeps making art and putting ideas into the world, the prongsfoot spirit will strike again!!!

[author-morgan]

Title: Picnics and Flowers Pairing: m!Eivor x fem!Reader Rating: T Summary: With the help of your little sister and her band of rogues, Eivor and you finally have to face the feelings you’ve kept from one another. Plot idea by @angstygunslinger. just took me six months to write it.

A FRUSTRATED SIGH escapes your lips as your little sister dashes off with the piece of parchment you were using for a letter —now half-written. Rising from one of the tables in the longhouse, you start after her. “Helga!” You shout, catching her disappearing toward the granary. “Come back here!” You round the corner of the longhouse in haste, colliding with a wall of warm muscle, the both of you falling at the sudden impact. A warm and familiar laugh fills your ears from beneath you. “Eivor!” You gasp, eyes wide in shock —he was not due back to Ravensthorpe for some time. He smiles at the flush of color creeping up to your cheeks. “Sorry, I was–”

“Chasing after Helga,” he finishes, laughing again, “as always.” Much had changed since leaving Norway, but Helga’s antics for mischief had not —you swear she must be one of Loki’s spawns with how often you have to chase after her and keep her from getting into serious trouble. You roll off Eivor, and he’s quick to rise, offering his hand —calloused from battle— to help you up. 

Eivor smiles as he brushes the dirt from your shoulders and the smudge on your cheek. “It is good to see you,” he notes, the amusement gone from his voice. Of all the people in Ravensthorpe, he always finds himself missing you the most. Your gaze flicks away from Eivor, unable to meet his clear blue eyes and the soft smile hiding behind his golden beard without making a fool of yourself. “But weren’t you chasing after your sister?” Eyes widening, you dart off after Helga again. Eivor shakes his head, laughing to himself as he conducts his rounds.

EIVOR CALLS FOR a feast to celebrate the Raven Clan’s new allies in the north and his return to the Ravensthorpe. For now, he has no intention of leaving —at least not until the time comes to secure another alliance with the lords of England or Sigurd summons him away. It is a good feeling, knowing you will see Eivor more often —like the days before you fled Norway. You watch as he makes rounds, speaking to Gunnar and Wallace, among others who call this growing settlement home. He may not wear the title of Jarl, but Eivor is a good leader with the love and respect of his people. 

Helga stumbles to where you sit, hiccupping with every other step and trying her best to hide the cup of mead behind her back. Part of you wants to laugh; you’d gotten into similar trouble as a young girl —Eivor and Sigurd your accomplices— but Helga is all you have in this world, and despite calling you sister, you’re the only mother she’s really known, too. “You are too young to be sipping on Tekla’s mead,” you tell her, giving her a cup of watered ale instead. She opens her mouth to protest, but you shake your head. “I won’t hear anymore on it, Helga.”

Pouting, she clambers onto the bench next to you, reaching for the last remaining piece of a berry tart at the table. If she can’t have any more mead and fun, then she’ll eat enough sweets to make you stay up all night to hear her complaints. Helga follows your gaze as she bites into the sweet raspberry tart Tarben made. You’re watching Eivor as he speaks to Mayda and Bertham —young lovers in a predicament with disapproving parents. Helga can’t say she’s surprised to find you staring at him. You seem to do that a lot. With the glances you and Eivor have exchanged all evening from across the longhouse, and after snatching a half-written poem from your desk a few days ago, she decides it’s time for her greatest plan yet. “Do you like Eivor?” She asks —words slurring together. 

“Of course,” you answer, unsure why she would even ask a question like that. Helga knows how close you and Eivor are and how he oft comes in the late hours of the night seeking counsel, especially if he and Sigurd were at odds over something. “He’s one of my dearest friends.” Nigh every story worth telling from your childhood features Eivor. 

Your little sister rolls her eyes with an exaggerated sigh. “No” —she shakes her head, whole body squirming on the bench— “not like that. Like how,” she pauses, trying to find the right way to describe it, “Gudmund and Gudrun like each other?” 

Skimming the hall, you find the two shipwrights —having sent Eira to bed, Gudrun sits on Gudmund’s knee, sharing laughs and exchanging quick kisses. You ignore the way your stomach and heart seize at the thought of having something like that with Eivor and decide not to respond to Helga’s drunken question, but she thinks silence is just as good as a yes or no. You narrow your eyes, seeing her struggling to keep hers open after drinking all that mead and stuffing her belly with meat, bread, and sweets. “Isn’t it past your bedtime?” The question perks Helga up. Across the table, Hytham hides his laughter behind a cup of ale. 

“We are celebrating,” Eivor notes, throwing an arm around your shoulder as he sits next to you with a tankard of mead in hand —he winks at Helga.

IN THE WEEK following the feast, Helga tells the other children in Ravensthorpe to meet her behind the stables. Sylvi, Knud, and Eira all appear after their morning chores are done, looking to Helga for what their next adventure entails. Last time, they put a cowpie in Osbert’s slipper and spent the rest of the day hiding and running from the collector as he chased them about the settlement with his hammer and chisel, threatening to carve off their noses while they slept. The empty threats made for an amusing afternoon. 

But this time, Helga’s plan is not nearly as nefarious. No, she likes to think she’ll be doing you a favor since you seem oblivious to the obvious. “He’s always staring at her,” Sylvi says, peeking over the stable fence to see Eivor watching you pick raspberries to help Valka with her elixirs and salves. “You know, they both smile more around each other too,” Eira whispers. All of Ravensthorpe seemed brighter when you and Eivor reunite. 

“I have a plan,” Helga announces to her cohort of merry troublemakers, motioning the three of them closer.

HELGA FINDS EIVOR fishing off the docks, a woven basket next to his feet almost filled with eels and trout —a successful morning, which means he’ll be done by the time you finish with the stew and her plan can come to fruition. “Eivor!” Helga shouts, skipping onto the wharf and stopping next to him, peering down into the murky water of the river Nene. “Will you come to our picnic?”

He regards Helga and the sweet smile on her round face —she’s up to something. “I think I can make time,” Eivor tells her, what few duties he had could wait until the evening hours. Besides, whatever your sister is plotting will undoubtedly be far more entertaining than writing correspondences to the Raven Clan’s allies.

“Can we pick flowers first?” Helga asks —she made sure to find a patch of wildflowers nearby where your favorite wildflowers in England grew. With you tending to a pot of stew in your shared cabin, she knew this plan would work out just dandy. Eivor agrees, pulling in the last of his catch for the day —a good size bullhead. Taking the basket of fish and eels to Merton, Eivor follows Helga as she leads him to the eastern part of the settlement, where there’s a dense patch of wildflowers growing atop a small knoll, knowing she’s up to something but saying nothing of it. He’s always found Helga’s antics to be amusing, but not quite as amusing as your exasperation after catching her getting into mischief.

“Those are–” Helga starts, looking at the handful of purple vetch and cornflowers “–your sister’s favorite,” Eivor finishes with a smile. He kneels, offering one of the flowers to Helga, tucking the stalk of vetch behind her ear. “Can you keep a secret?” Eivor asks, already knowing she couldn’t —the quickest way for Ravensthorpe, and even Fornburg, to learn of something was to tell Helga and tell her it was a secret too. Leaning closer, he whispers at her ear, smiling as her eyes and smile widen. Eivor rises, looking down at your sister with a glint of mischief in his eyes too. “Where should I meet you and your friends, Helga?” He asks.“

“Under the tree near the waterfall by Valka’s,” she answers, scurrying back to find her friends and tell them the good news.

SIGHING, YOU SIT down a small pot of stew under the tree where Helga said to come —only your sister and her friends are nowhere in sight. You pinch the bridge of your nose, not believing you’d fallen victim to another one of her ploys. You’d been up since the crack of dawn to make a pot of pork and leek stew to pair with a loaf of Tarben’s brown bread and apple preserves. Hands on your hips, you glance around, searching for Helga and her friends up in the tree, or hiding in the bushes, but it’s just you, birdsong, and the soothing calm of the waterfall.

The low croak of a raven perching on a branch above startles you —Sýnin. The raven looks down at you, croaking again, but this time it sounds as though he’s laughing at your folly. You scowl at Sýnin, jumping when you feel someone tap on your shoulder. Turning, you find Eivor standing behind you, holding a bouquet of wildflowers with an oddly bashful look about him as he rubs the scar on his neck. “Eivor?” You ask, heart racing and stomach-churning with butterflies —you hadn’t expected to see him so early in the day, especially in your current state. Eivor doesn’t care if your hair isn’t plaited or the apron you wear has a few stains. To him, you’re just as beautiful now as you are dolled up for feasts.

Remembering the flowers, he pushes them forward. Smiling, you take the bouquet. Vetches and cornflowers are among your favorite, but Eivor already knows that. You inhale the peppery sweet scent of both flowers —smile widening and mood improving after being caught up in another of Helga’s games. “Be a pity to let this go to waste,” Eivor remarks, gesturing to the pot of stew.

In agreement with that, you and Eivor sit beneath the great tree. You ladle out two bowls of stew while Eivor slices into the loaf of brown bread. “I think we’ve both been deceived,” you mutter, still glancing around the pool and bushes —expecting to see Helga hiding somewhere.

Eivor laughs, knowing it to be the truth. Helga had orchestrated the perfect moment —the perfect opportunity— for him to confront and confess the feelings he’d kept locked away for years now. Eivor decided quite some time ago he’d prefer to love you in secret to protect the precious friendship you shared, then speak of his heart’s desires and risk everything. He sets aside his bowl, shifting. “I don’t mind if it means time with you,” he smiles, reaching for one of your hands. It’s instinct to curl your fingers around his —thumb running over his scarred knuckles. Eivor whispers your name, leaning toward you.

He kisses you —without warning or permission— lips brushing against yours, only just. A chance for you to pull back, but you don’t. Smiling, you press your lips against his, chasing away any doubt he could have harbored of if his sentiments are returned. You lift a hand to his scarred cheek, loosely combing through his golden beard. There’s a pause, where you both draw back, just barely, letting out shaky breaths. Eivor slips his hand from yours, cradling the back of your head as he takes another kiss, this one firmer —confident— taking the breath from your lungs yet calming the racing of your heart. “Eivor,” you breathe upon parting, still cupping his cheek. His smile is wide, and his eyes clearer than you have ever seen before. He leans back in, kissing the corner of your lips and then your cheek, knowing these kisses are just the first of many more.

Glancing over his shoulder, Eivor sees Helga and her accomplices peeking out from behind Valka’s hut. “You can all come out now,” he calls, laughing. Your sister and her friends come forward, unable to hide their victorious grins. You wish to scold Helga for the deception, but you cannot find it within yourself to be upset with her, especially not when Eivor takes your hand, kissing your knuckles before he begins ladling out stew into the remaining bowls for the children with a smile. No, this time, you may even have to thank her for her antics, for she had just brought you together with the man you love.

[taglist:  @angstygunslinger @vanillabeanlattes @withered-poppies @ananriel @itseivwhore @maximalblaze @dynamicorbit @theelvenvalkyrie @xxdearlybeloved @elizabethroestone @elluvians @letsloveimagines @finick94 @wallsarecrumbling @kitkitvm @thedragonqueenfan @callmemythicalminx @edelaen ] if you’d like to be added to my Eivor taglist, just let me know!

[17wishbones]

Here is Chapter VII: War’s End (Part 2). I low-key cried writing this because, wow, I really do love this Flame Hashira so so so so so so much. I got a bit distracted reading other fanfiction and all that but here comes the second part. Now, this has spoilers from the manga/movie, so get to watching it as soon as possible. However, if you don’t mind it, go ahead and have a read! Please enjoy!

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                                            Chapter VII: War’s End (Part 2)

Bright rays of the sun beat down on you as you stood before the oceanfront. The wind blew through your locks and along your skin. In your hands was a net and a few fish caught in them. You ogled them with a tight squint. ‘I know this handwork-’

“_____! _____!”

Your eyes widen. “That can’t be. . .” You slowly turned around and was blessed with a beautiful sight. “Mother? Father? You’re both. . .” Tears flowed like a river as you tackled them in an overdue embrace. You couldn’t swallow the sorrow that crept over your body when you thought to have lost them.

“We’re both what? Other than waiting for you to come home?” Your father was a tall man, standing halfway over six foot. His thick dreads touched the small of his back and his salt and pepper beard filled out his face. He was a handsome man still.

“You must be thirsty, _____. Come on in and drink. You’ve caught enough fish to last us a while.” Your mother was a beauty herself. She had a clean shaven head, a strong jawline, and the legs of an Amazon.

They stood tall while you remained short. You didn’t receive the end of the tall gene pool but that didn’t make you any harder to love, even though they joked about your height all the time. The two of them loved you so much.

Your mother, Oolade, wiped your tears away as your father, Uzoma, got the net of fish from the shore. “We shall eat as kings and queens together!” He shouted. “Look at the bounty our daughter has gathered!”

“I am proud of you, my sweet _____.”

“Mother, Father, please, you are embarrassing me!” You laughed. “Kyōjurō would love nothing more than to meet you both.”

“Kyōjurō?” They both questioned in unison.

“Oh.” Your mind went blank a moment. ‘Why did I say that? Kyōjurō? Who-who is that? His name sounds familiar.’

“Never mind that. Come.” You didn’t even think twice as you followed your mother to your quaint house on the shore that your father built by hand. It was just as you remembered.

“Oolade found some wild rice to make with as well. We’re going to have a feast!”

‘What was I even doing before? I must have been daydreaming.’ There was no questioning this surreal feeling as your parents showered you with love and laughter.

Overwhelmed with a sense of unbridled joy, you thought to never leave him.

You blinked. ‘Him?’ You questioned blankly. ‘Who is this him?’

Time had passed but the scenery didn’t change. “Hey, I’m going to step outside for some air.”

“Hurry back so that you may bless the food before we feast.” Your parents’ smiles, even though forever imprinted in your mind, suddenly dulled in comparison to the image of this fiery man.

You took a deep breath and closed your eyes. You slowly opened them and saw an outlined path towards the woods. You instinctively followed it to a rip into another space. You gasped aloud as you caught a young child making their way to this shining orb floating within a bundle of sunflowers.

The child turned to you, frightened and with the needle pointing towards you. They were sweating and shaking with fear.

“What are you doing here?” 

“How did you find me!? You’re not supposed to be able to enter into your own unconsciousness!”

“It’s mine… isn’t it?” You took a step forward.

“_____? _____!” Oolade and Uzoma came running toward the border with sadness filling their eyes. “What are you doing? Come back!”

“_____, don’t leave us!”

You didn’t heed their words, but their voices wretched your heart. “You plan to do something? For what cost?”

“Destroying your core will allow me to sleep peacefully and see my family again!”

“And that’s the best way to go about it?” You ignored their calls as you pressed forward towards the child. “Your good dream will end and so shall you succumb to your pain.” Your eyes softened. “You will die a sad death. To a demon.”

“How do you know how I feel!? You just had a good dream!”

“A bittersweet dream. My parents have long since passed. They no longer live in this world. Even this cannot bring them back forever or give me peace.”

The child backed up until he was just a footstep away from your core. “Come any closer and I’ll do it!” 

You stopped your approach and knelt down, holding your arms out. “Then you choose. Live your life or succumb to an eternal slumber?”

The child had wanted a good dream of his family, to be happy, but when he saw the look on your face, the look of pain and suffering from even getting a glimpse of what life could have been with them spread over your face.

He dropped the needle and ran to you full throttle, crying his heart out as he embraced you tight around your neck.

This was the right thing to do. Even as good as the dream would be, it would hurt all the more to have it taken away.

The faux warmth of the child disappeared and your eyes fluttered open to an ungodly sight that made you want to throw up.

“What the hell!?” You stood on top of flesh. “Intestines!?”

Rengoku flashed past you by one moment and returned the next. “You’re awake, Sunflower!”

“Did the demon become a train!?”

“So it seems, yes! Kamado and Hashibira are going for the neck. Our job—”

“Is to protect the passengers at all costs.”

“Nn! You take care of this cart and I’ll do the other four!”

“Just one?”

“Your safety is of utmost importance! Aid Golden Boy and the Demon girl as needed!” He kissed you quiet before dashing off in a blaze, hushing your protests.

“That man��” you drew your Nichirin blade, “Is so…” your short dash in the cart made easy work of the disgusting, fleshy tendrils, “Annoying!” But you couldn’t argue with his command or logic. He was sound in the midst of danger.

What you did was light work, and by the looks of it, Zenitsu and Nezuko had the other three sorted as Tanjiro and Inosuke ran for the front of the train. You hummed, slightly irritated at your position. You were getting into none of the action, but you knew how fast Rengoku and Zenitsu were moving by the back and forth teetering of the carts.

‘This train could topple at any moment, especially with all of this monstrous bulk. So, there’s no telling when it’ll--’ A shrill filled the air, disorienting you as the train of muscle crumpled up and fell right off the track. If it weren’t for the demon’s flesh and that Demon Slayer footwork, people onboard would have been seriously injured.

You checked those in your assigned cart and then where Zenitsu and Nezuko were. “Are you guys alright?” 

“Mm, mm!” Nezuko nodded as you came over to the slightly slumped Zenitsu.

“Great!” You took him by the shoulders and started shaking him away. “Zenitsu? Zenitsu! Wake up!” He was still asleep, but he only incurred very few injuries as Nezuko had. “At least you two are alright. You really held your own, Nezuko. I’m a little jealous I didn’t get to help out much at all.”

Nezuko, no matter if tired or full of spunk, was just a beauty to look at. You understood why Zenitsu was so smitten with her though he feigned himself a well-groomed ladies man. She offered a soft sound as a response before she leaned up against you. 

Parts of the demon’s body slowly faded from existence, leaving now broken windows with an open view to the outside. Rengoku stood over Tanjiro, instructing him as he laid on the ground. Nezuko picked up her brother’s scent and slowly headed outside. Zenitsu followed her sleepily as you grabbed a few people and exited yourself.

Suddenly, the earth shook and dust flew everywhere as something else landed unto the field. You couldn’t believe your own eyes! The aura spiked high as it circled around the tattoo-marked Upper Moon demon. The shine in those eyes were as hungry, monstrous, and devilish as their appearance.

In the blink of an eye, he was just moments away from striking Tanjiro. “Fire Breathing! Second Form! Rising Scorching Sun!” Rengoku’s quick thinking saved him. “I don’t understand why you’d target a wounded person.”

“I thought he’d just get in the way between you and me.”

You froze. You had never seen a demon so fast like this one. It was just as scary as that time in Asakusa. The aura you ingested made you run on instinct, quelling the thoughts of fear or nervousness. 

This one looked too toxic. You’d be sick for days. Not to mention, this demon only had eyes for Rengoku.

“You and I have something to talk about? It’s our first time meeting and I already hate you.” Rengoku replied.

“Is that so?” Akaza mused. “I really hate weak humans,” in terms of Tanjiro and others, “When I look at weaklings, I just feel disgusted.”

“It looks like you and I have different moral values in regards to things.”

“I see. Then I have a wonderful proposal. How about you become a demon, too?” 

“No chance.” Rengoku declined.

“I know your strength just by looking at you. You’re a pillar, right?” Akaza’s interest in Rengoku shined through his symbolic eyes. “Your battle spirit is quite polished. You’re getting close to Supreme Territory.”

“I am the Fire Hashira, Rengoku Kyōjurō.”

“And I’m Akaza.”

They both exchanged names but withheld their stances. Akaza came to kill and eat any humans as well as convert the strongest ones into those he could. However, no matter the strength, Rengoku was defiant in every sense of the matter when it came to slaying demons and protecting the weak who could not fight for themselves.

But you weren’t out of the clear, however. “Ah, seems like I have a two for one deal.” To your chagrin, the demon noticed you next. “Why don’t you consider becoming a demon, too?” He saw your spirit as well, one with potential of being his punching bag. “As a demon, you can become stronger. That wonderful sword style of yours will keep on improving and we can fight forever! Otherwise, you’ll never reach Supreme Territory and do you know why?”

Silence.

“Because you’re human. Because you’ll grow old. Because you’ll die.” Akaza pointed his finger at Rengoku. “Become a demon, Kyōjurō. You can train for a hundred years. Two hundred years. You can become stronger.”

His face grew dark as he pointed at the likes of everyone in the vicinity, truly disgusted by what he saw before him. Rengoku looked none too pleased with you inserted into the situation. ‘Don’t worry, _____. I will protect you, the children, everyone! Nobody here will die or turn into a demon while I still stand!’ He felt overprotective over you, and found it fit to fulfill his duty not only as a demon slayer, but as a man.

Rengoku couldn’t stand that look of dread and worry filling your eyes. “Growing old and dying is the beauty of the fleeting creature called a human being. Because they grow old. Because they die. They are tremendous. Lovable. What they call ‘strength’ isn’t a word that is used in regards to the body.” He wouldn’t let Akaza spout such untrue words. “This boy isn’t weak. Don’t insult him. I’ll say it over and over again. You and I have different moral values.” His sunset eyes widen menacingly. “No matter what kind of motivation I have, I will not become a demon.”

“I see.” Akaza stanced. “Technique Deployment. Destructive Kill: Compass Needle!” Akaza prepared to fight. “If you won’t become a demon, then I’ll kill you!”

Air waves and flames lit up the area as both Rengoku and Akaza moved at blinding speeds. Pillar versus Upper Moon. You were stuck in place, unable to move. The sudden gravity of the situation skyrocketed and your body froze. Your breath shifted, becoming uneven and quick.

��DON’T MOVE!! If your wounds open, it’ll be fatal! Standby, soldier!!”

Rengoku’s serious voice brought you back, but he demanded no one interfered. Inosoke, who stood at Tanjiro’s side, felt helpless.

It was an explosion of power that erupted, and emerging from the dusty cocoon was an unscathed, healed Akaza and a battered Rengoku. “Kyōjurō…?” His blood-soaked uniform recalled his humanity, his mortality. You were in a state of distress.

Akaza praised him, and employed the idea of becoming a demon, where all his wounds, his crushed eye, and his organs would heal in moments. He’d become stronger, faster, and more powerful than before, but the answer was still no.

Rengoku raised his blade and stared on with a dazzling, one-eyed smile. “I will fulfill my duties! I won’t let anyone die here!”

“You really should become a demon so that we can fight for all eternity!”

“Full Focus Breathing. Flame Breathing. Esoterica. Ninth Style: Purgatory!”

“Technique Deployment. Destructive Kill: Obliteration Style!”

They clashed in one final blow, and the results after the dust cleared terrorized you with your unknown and worst fears.

Akaza punched through Rengoku who held his blade upright. It was but a second before he tightened his grip and slashed at Akaza’s neck which surprised the demon. Rengoku, even as death approached him, remained resilient as he caught Akaza’s other hand, tightened his innards around his arm, and dug his blade further across. As the demon screamed for release, Rengoku screamed for his defeat.

“INOSUKE, MOOOOVE!!! MOVE FOR RENGOKU-SAN!!!”

Tanjiro’s shout broke you from your shock. Opportunity to strike was now or never. At the speed they ran, they wouldn’t reach Akaza as he struggled for release as the sun was due to rise. 

‘Full Focus Breathing. Fire breathing. First form: Unknowing Fire!’

It was a split second decision that made all the difference, and thanks to Inosuke. As Akaza panicked upon seeing Inosuke preparing to jump, Akaza suddenly felt weightless below. ‘What? My legs!’

Inosuke stopped just in time, leaving the final slash to Rengoku who pushed with all of his might and brought his searing blade through Akaza’s neck.

“You sneaky bit— oh no! The sun! I have to go, I have to— AHHHH!!”

Dawn broke over the horizon and Akaza’s body disintegrated.

“Kyōjurō!” You helped him to his knees, seeing the condition that he was in. “You’re hurt. Maybe if we can get you bandaged up, we can—”

“I’m sorry, My Sunflower. My stomach won’t close. I will die very soon.” He turned and addressed Tanjiro. “Kamado, my boy. Let’s have a final chat.”

Tanjiro ran over, huffing as tears stained his cheeks. “Rengoku-san, don’t talk too much! Help will be here soon. Just hold on!”

“Just listen to me. Return to the Rengoku Estate. There should be notes about the ‘Dance of the Fire God’. My father read them  many times. I didn’t read them myself, however, so I don’t know what’s inside them. And for the both of you, tell Senjuro to pursue the path that he thinks is right, as his heart tells him to. And tell my father to take care of his body. And also...” He leaned in. “Kamado, my boy, I believe in your sister. I accept her as a member of the Demon Slayers.”

Droplets of water dripped from Tanjiro’s big eyes.

“I saw that girl protect the humans inside the train despite bleeding out. Those that protect humans and fight demons are Demon Slayers, no matter what anyone else says. Live with your chest high. You, Hashibira, Golden Boy, and her will become great pillars.” His attention finally landed on you.“My Sunflower.” He weakly raised his blood-smeared hand, touching your cheek. “Never give up. I will be watching over you.”

Rivers flowed down your desolate face. “Wait for me over the bridge when I cross. And meet me in the next life.” You found his hands and held them in yours. “I-I l-” Words became lost as you choked on every letter, unable to contain the sadness corrupting your mind and heart.

It hurt him to see you like this, and it devastated him more that he wouldn’t be able to comfort you and grow old together. “My life flashed before my eyes and my most wonderful memories were of you. Your warm smile, your touch, your praises, it makes me more determined than ever to be with you wherever we may go or be.”

The last thing he’d feel was your lips on his, stained with his blood. “I’ll never forget you, Kyōjurō!” You said with as much enthusiasm as you could. “I-I love you!”

Rengoku couldn’t help but to smile. “I love you, too, My Sunflower. Set your heart ablaze. . .”

“And move forward.”

Rengoku peered past you and Tanjiro, spotting a familiar shape. ‘Mother?’ You and Tanjiro looked back but saw nothing. But an enveloping aura past you two and surrounded Rengoku. ‘Did I do everything right? Was I able to fulfill everything I was supposed to carry out?’ 

‘You did a wonderful job.’ A smile to him, a smile to her, and his head drooped. His body rested peacefully in your arms and his fiery aura dispersed as it was no more.

‘Kyōjurō!’ You were too choked up as you sobbed loudly and ugly. Your heart ached just like it had when your parents were eaten by demons.

Your world darkened, stained in your tears and his blood. What was this victory worth now that he was gone? 

It was worth every saved life here, and you knew that. It was going to weigh on your heart how you didn’t help him sooner, but his face discouraged you. He took the brunt of Akaza’s assault and held on until the very end.

You mourned over him from that day and weeks later. No one had seen you since the Mugen Train incident. Rengoku had done so much to keep everyone safe, taking his last breath on the battlefield. It had been a hard pill to swallow, one that you had not fully been accepting of even though you were there to see him off.

Tanjiro, Inosuke, Zenitsu, and Nezuko missed seeing you around. And especially Senjuro, but you needed to separate yourself and become better. You were no use to anyone lying on your back and crying your eyes out.

With the Nichirin blade in your possession, you carried on silently with a memory of him attached at your hip. His haori? Cleaned, pressed, and framed on the wall. For as long as you lived, his legend would be immortalized. On your shoulders, you carried the burden of loss. Sometimes, it’d hurt so much, your chest would heave and you’d clutch part of your left breast, where the pain ran deep as tears stung your eyes.

You left Senjuro with a kind yet sad smile as you didn’t want to hear the ugly mutterings of his father’s distant, drunk voice. His aura dripped in a drab blue, his melancholy nature surely melting at the loss of not only his wife but now his eldest son.

You hadn’t forgotten about those you loved. You’d be back for them. - - - - - - - - - -  Chapters: I | II | III | IV | V | VI | VII (Part 1) / (Part 2) / (Part 3)

[neurodihuegent]

With season 3 coming to an end, and only two episodes left, I can wholeheartedly say this is my favorite season of Ducktales (with season one close behind). I know this isn't the most popular opinion right now, and I do think there are season 1 and 2 episodes that blow even my favorite season 3 episode out of the water (namely The Last Crash of the Sunchaser, The Shadow War Part I, The Secret(s) of Castle McDuck, Nothing Can Stop Della Duck!, and Timephoon!), so I'd like to explain why.

A lot of the main criticism of season 3 is the lack of the focus on the McDuck family/FOWL plot, along with some messy writing. Out of 22 episodes, 14 of them have plots that solely focus on our main characters, whilst the other 8 focus more on side characters/characters that were newly introduced this season. Then, out of 22 episodes, we have 12 episodes that either focus on the F.O.W.L plot, or at least give hints/foreshadowing/cliffhangers around it. Realistically speaking, this isn't bad at all for a show that was never plot driven in the first place, and with the way Ducktales is formatted, with the more emotionally driven/villain plot focused episodes occuring at the end. Early on in season one, it was hinted and progressively built off of that there would be a final stand off with Magica, but with season two, we didn't really know that Lunaris/the Moonlanders would be the arc villains until the end of Nothing Can Stop Della Duck!, and outside of What Ever Happened to Donald Duck?, we didn't have any episodes that really focused on this plot or even really hinted at it until the end. F.O.W.L is ultimately the most threatening arc villains, with them being in the shadows and the head of F.O.W.L being one of Scrooge's closest and most trusted employees, so it makes sense that the F.O.W.L arc was introduced at the end of season two, and then evenly spread out throughout season three: To the beginning to the middle of season three, we got introductions to all of the main F.O.W.L employees (Gandra's, Rockerduck's and Black Heron's happening much earlier in the show). Then with The First Adventure! we got more of an explanation of F.O.W.L's/Bradford's motives, how F.O.W.L came to be in the first place, and how Bradford came to be Scrooge's employee. During and after The First Adventure, we got more of F.O.W.L trying to beat the McDucks to Isabella Finch's missing mysteries, which will obviously be revealed in the finale. With, Beaks in the Shell!, we not only got the real reason why Gandra came to work for F.O.W.L in the first place, setting up her eventual redemption arc, but also got introduced not only to the Lost Library, but how far Bradford will really go to make sure that his plans aren't interfered with. Breaking it down like this, and analyzing it, brings the main reason why I love season 3 the way that I do: With the way the episodes are formatted and written, it's very clear that they're trying to show how dangerous F.O.W.L are, and whilst keeping their true intentions secret, because even the family themselvss aren't aware of how far F.O.W.L will go to accomplish their goals. I think that if there was a higher ratio of F.O.W.L episodes to non-F.O.W.L episodes, it would've been more so "Well, what are they waiting for?" and kind of would've killed the hype to the lead up to the big confrontation. In the F.O.W.L episodes that they're featured in, it almost always leaves us with another curveball that no one would've expected, but leaves us with more questions to be answered in our 3-part finale; However, if F.O.W.L had a more prominent role than they did this season, this easily would've gotten old quick, and would've left us with more questions than needed for this finale.

Another reason why I love season 3 the way that I do is how it's formatted completely unique to the two prior seasons: Season one and season two both had split focuses, with the beginning of season one focusing on Dewey's character development/Dewey and Webby's search for answers on Della's disappearance, then transitioning it's focus to Magica/Lena and the Shadow War!, with season two's beginning focusing more on Louie's character development, and then transitioning into Della's return/The Moonvasion. However, outside of the one-off/less plot driven episodes, season 3's main focus has solely been the eventual confrontation with F.O.W.L, and uncovering F.O.W.L to begin with. Laced into this, we also get introduced to more Disney Afternoon characters or other characters from the Duckverse that weren't introduced prior, which I loved mainly because of the nostalgic factor, but also because I feel like these episodes were some of the best written episodes of the season.

Overall, I think that while the writing of season 3, and the screentime of certain characters (namely Donald and Beakley; but Donald's lack of screentime could easily be chalked up to Disney's overprotection of sensational six characters) could've been significantly better, this season really holds a place in my heart because I really feel like the crew really took it home with the legacy concept. Other than Huey's subtle character development, Beaks in the Shell! and Astro BOYD! have both hinted that in the future, Huey will most likely either work as Gizmoduck's sidekick, or just pursue science in general. We've gotten Dewey improving his skills as a pilot, which gives us a hint to what he might be doing in the future, and I'm sure this next episode will give us what Louie may be doing in the future (which most people think will be working as a lawyer). We've also gotten Launchpad finding his place in St. Canard, B.O.Y.D having his own little redemption and becoming an official part of Team Science, Lena becoming a sorceress, Violet becoming the senior woodchuck, Donald and Daisy becoming an official couple, Goldie finally being redeemed and becoming more of a positive figure in Scrooge's life, etc. I think the focus that we've gotten on the side characters, is to give the fans who love these characters a sense of closure because we honestly don't know if we'll see them again in future adaptions.

The way this season was formatted, I really feel like it's symbolic of a bittersweet goodbye, and I can't help but appreciate and love it for that exact reason.

[9tzuyu]

the art of delicate hands – pt. i

[ wandanat. ]

College AU.

Multiple part series ;

↳ snippets of their relationship and how I perceive them.

sumary:

wanda doesn't like to talk very much, only to her brother (and sometimes her lovely redheaded girlfriend).

notes:

if anyone international is reading this, ASL is shortened for american sign language (language of the hands).

+

this is a revised and edited version from when i wrote it on ao3 in 2018.

The only person that knew was Pietro. It was her little secret, and she could only hope that no one now would find out. She knew she shouldn't be ashamed, it was nothing to be ashamed over. Unsurprisingly however, it became her biggest insecurity – years of relentless bullying ensued that.

Wanda was always anxious. When she was seven she began experiencing panic attacks. The metallic taste of blood in her mouth became familiar over time as her panic attacks worsened.

All because she was mute and didn't feel comfortable to speak to anyone, including her parents. The only person Wanda felt comfortable enough to talk to was her brother (you could say that's because they're twins).

A doctor in Sokovia mentioned to Wanda's parents that therapy may help, that it may get her to speak more than four words a week. So her parents moved her when she was 16 and hoped for the best.

Within a year and a half Wanda was able to develop a clear understanding of American Sign Language. Eight months into the move and Wanda's parents had given up on Wanda ever talking, something that she took personal. They didn't catch on to English as quick as the twins did, their native language stuck closer than expected. Pietro didn't mind learning English quickly as he wanted to fit in school, and he also didn't mind studying ASL to communicate with Wanda on a deeper level.

American high school wasn't much better than her hometown. People talked, whispered and gossiped about her in class, muttered hurtful things about her appearance and the way she carried herself; a shy, quiet, timid girl. The worst part of it was when they mocked her for using a language that was supposed to feel safe for her. Pietro always came to her rescue, shooing people away, reminding them that she's his sister. The silver haired boy had no problem fitting in, it was only when they were apart did people tease the younger brunette.

When their parents died, Wanda took the brunt of the emotional attack it had on the twins. She'd been sitting in the backseat of the car, earbuds in, with her music volume at maximum capacity. Her father had tried to tell her to turn down the music while her mother rest in the passenger seat, window down with her eyes closed. When Wanda didn't hear her father, he reached over, eyes off the road, and tapped her. The second she registered his touch a semi-truck hit her father's door. In a matter of minutes Wanda and Pietro both were left alone to fend for themselves.

Putting the blame on herself only caused her to shut down further. It took over a year for Wanda to speak to Pietro again.

But as per usual, the twins stuck together and finished high school. The only difference was that they lived in foster care, they belonged to the state, up for grabs if anyone wanted them. That came to an end six months into their stay. The foster family proposed the idea of adoption, they had no problem in taking care of the twins for the rest of the time being – or, if they wanted, every day after as well.

At twenty, Wanda and Pietro eventually both went to college and shared a house with a bundle of other people on campus. The younger sibling even found herself a girlfriend within the group, her name being Natasha Romanoff.

Natasha didn't mind at all how little Wanda talked. She was curious, of course, but even before their relationship Nat never pushed her girlfriend into anything uncomfortable. Natasha could tell Wanda always made effort though, that's what drove the brunette into allowing herself a relationship.

When the redhead would sleep, Wanda would continuously practice signing. She'd sign songs and poems, movie scripts and books, everything she possibly could to improve herself. It was a very personal, in touch form of language for her.

Wanda had been with her girlfriend a little over a year and Natasha still didn't know all the unpleasant factors that came about her life. Wanda only told her just enough to get by, and she felt immensely guilty for that. Truth was she desperately wanted to tell Natasha, she just didn't know how. She'd thought about just signing something to her and hoping she would catch on, but figured that would be too much. Anxiety spiked in her chest and in her bones, and she was tired of feeling like a liar.

With a sigh, Wanda plopped down on her bed and pulled her phone out from her back pocket. Unlocking it, she went to her text messages and scrolled to Pietro's contact. When she was sure no one else was in the house, she tapped the call button and listened to the phone ring until Pietro answered.

"You know I'm in the other room, right? You literally could've called my name." He greeted, accent heavy through the speaker.

Wanda giggled as she ran her fingers through her hair. You're safe. Speak, it's okay. She reminded herself.

"Yeah, but are you free?"

"Always."

"Can you come here? I need to ask you about something." Pietro gave out a loud, playful sigh but walked to her room, disconnecting the call on his way in. "What is it, my dear sister? What could possibly be troubling you here on this day? Is it that scruffy redhead?" He smirked arrogantly but sat down in the desk chair across from Wanda, not failing to notice how she rolled her eyes.

"She doesn't have scruffy hair and you know it. It's soft, gentle – and much less damaged than your shit show of an excuse for bleached hair."

"Whatever you say, little chaos."

Wanda groaned, "Why must you still call me that?"

"It suits you well."

There was a shared moment of silence between the two before Pietro spoke up. "What was it you wanted to ask me about?" A small frown was plastered on Wanda's face and Pietro found himself wanting to know even more now. Wanda waited another minute before finally answering. "Should I tell her? You know, about..."

A huge smile took over her brother's face. He was ecstatic that she wanted this for her girlfriend. "Of course you should! I really think she'd be interested to know more about you – y'know, since you don't ever tell her anything."

"I tell her things!" Pietro shook his head, "Does she even know your birthday?" Wanda nodded and turned herself away from him. "I just don't know how to do it. I mean it'd be kind of heavy just taking her out to dinner only to tell her my deepest, darkest secret afterwards. I'm scared she'll hate me, Pietro! And I've never even spoke. More than like, 12 sentences all at once with her!" He softened knowing how much trouble one past  had caused his little sister. "Write her a note?" He suggested, but she shook her head. "I want to tell her, not write her."

Right before he was about to speak again there was a knock at the door. The pair looked up to find Natasha standing in the doorway smiling down at the two. "Am I interrupting?"

Wanda froze while Pietro arrogantly raised his eyebrow and announced his answer. "No. We were just finished talking."

Confusion was written on Nat's face and she stood there until Wanda shook her head and muttered a small "No," giving her the signal that she could come in.

"I'll be in the other room if you need me." Pietro got up, despite Wanda's silent plea for him to stay. He gave her a thumbs up and left the room.

Natasha closed the door and laid next to Wanda, wrapping her arms around the younger woman. "You okay?" Wanda nodded in reply and Natasha knew not to push. For now she'd just keep an eye on her, reassuring her that she could talk to her if need be.

Over the next few days Wanda seemed to be doing better. She was supposed to go to a party with Nat, but opted out to study for classes instead.

"Be safe," she whispered and planted a small kiss on Natasha's lips.

Everyone else went to the same party, leaving the house to just Wanda. She sent out a group message telling everyone to text her or ring her (at the very most importance) if they needed a ride. Wanda didn't drink much anyways so she didn't mind being the designated driver of the bunch. And besides, she didn't mind having some time alone, it gave her the absence of the boys so she could study.

However, after over an hour or so of studying Wanda was beginning to feel stressed. Her nerves were building and she could feel her jaw clench.

She needed a break.

With a small sigh, she got up and connected her phone to her speaker. After scrolling and clicking on her song of choice, Wanda found herself signing the words to a Modest Mouse song.

Green eyes closed as her hands began to string along with the words of the song. It was rather fast paced, but Wanda was able to keep up fairly well thanks to years of practice. Lyrics flowed through her fingertips and in the palms of her hands, her stress levels immediately decreasing as she went on.

Unbeknownst to her, however, Natasha was standing in the doorway watching her every move. She was absolutely mesmerized by Wanda's hand motions. Her finger spelling was very fast, and Natasha was curious to know how long Wanda had known ASL.

When the song was over, Wanda stopped her music and moved herself so she could study again. She grabbed her pens, pencils and highlighters, along with her textbook while her back faced Natasha.

"I didn't know you could sign." Natasha commented. A mix of shock and uneasiness quickly took over the calm look on Wanda's face.

It wasn't until then when Tasha put two and two together. She quickly rushed over to her girlfriend, and carefully engulfed her into a hug.

"Hey, no, I think it's really cool. You don't have to worry now, your secret's safe with me." Wanda began to shake in her grasp, tears forming in her eyes. She backed out of the embrace and against the wall, pulling her knees to her chest.

"No, you're supposed to hate me, laugh at me. You're supposed to be anything but be cool with it." Natasha tilted her head, "Is that what they did to you?"

Wanda peaked out from underneath her arms, the confirmative nod sent Natasha's heart well beyond sinking. She’d never understand how people could willingly be so cruel.

"I'm here to listen, not judge." Her words softly echoed in Wanda's mind, and she watched Natasha carefully to see if she was lying. When she didn't make any remarks or snide comments, Wanda knew it was safe. Accent heavy, she began letting words slip from her mouth.

"I have really bad anxiety when it comes to talking, so I just don’t. Asl makes it easier to communicate, but growing up I was often teased for it. You’re really good at reading me without it, so I hid it from you. Guess their words still haunt me...” Wanda finished, giving Natasha a little more insight on her life.

Natasha moved closer to her girlfriend, bringing Wanda’s shaking body into her embrace. She then kissed the top of her forehead.

Wanda looked up to see Natasha thinking, her eyebrows scrunched together and she was chewing on her lip. She nudged her.

“I think it’s quite beautiful if you ask me.” Wanda cracked a smile and rest her head on Tasha’s shoulder. “Beauty comes from pain, I guess.”

But Natasha shook her head, “No, No, beauty is in the eye of the beholder.” Wanda nodded. She understood what Natasha was saying, she just didn’t believe it to be true when it came to herself. Nonetheless, she spoke the words, repeating the mantra so that maybe she could start to feel a belief in them.

“Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.”

[actuallybarb]

The Aftermath ~ Part 5

Summary: y/n goes to avengers compound, mysterio proves to be a dick even in the afterlife, y/n fixes everything sleep be damned

Pairing: peter parker x reader

Warnings: swearing, angst, fluff, mysterio is finally out of the picture god bless, trauma, marvel bs and shenanigans

Word Count: 3691

A/N: sleep deprivation and coding are not my strong suits yet i find myself writing about them way too often

                                                         /////////

Let’s just say, I am so grateful Jessica is in my life, or else I would be toast.

“How could you keep something like this from us?”

“You were forced to use your powers against your friends?”

“Why the hell didn’t you tell us?”

They had good intentions - they’re just worried. I’ve had five, almost six, years to process it, and they’re getting it all thrown at them at once.

That’s at least what my brain was trying to tell me. But the louder they got the faster my breathing shallowed out and my heart beat and shit is the room spinning?

“Y/N?”

Jess.

“Are you okay?”

“I-“ The three of them were looking at me and wow, as much as I loved Jessica, I felt like I was being suffocated. “I need some air.” I basically sprinted out of the room.

There was only one floor between us and the roof, and the couple that lived there were so old they wouldn’t reach the window by the time I was off the fire escape.

The sun was setting. When the pollution was worse, pre-blip, the sky would turn pink and purple and every color in between. Now it’s just blue. Less pollution is good. But I miss how the sky used to be.

I sat on the edge of the roof with my legs dangling over the edge, trying to get a grip on my reality, when none other than Spider-Man came swinging around and sat beside me.

“Hey, Y/N.”

“Hey Peter.”

“Are you okay?”

I brought my knees up to my chest. To tell or not to tell - the question of my life. “I just told my parents about my powers. The- they have mixed feelings.” Peter just sat there, so I took the chance and kept talking. Talking to someone who kind of gets it. “They just kept getting louder and louder. So I left.” I brought my chin down to my knees too. “Jess is down there, though, she can help calm them down.”

“Who’s Jess?”

“My foster mom. Both my parents were snapped, so were her husband and kid, so I lived with her. She used to be the only other person who knew what I could do. Now I feel like everyone does.”

“Who else knows?”

I counted in my head. “Eleven, including me.”

Peter counted too, but he was two short. “Who else? I already counted Fury.”

“My shrink. And Flash. He saw me while I was a monster.”

“You’re not a monster, Y/N.”

“Aren’t I?” I stood up and started pacing. “You saw what I did in London. That wasn’t a pack of drones, that was me. All me.”

“You’re not a monster, Y/N. You may have been the one doing the damage, but Beck forced you too. He threatened to kill you and your parents if you didn’t cooperate. You didn’t have a choice.”

“Yeah, well,” I sat down again, probably closer to Peter than was friendly, “that doesn’t help my conscience.”

“We…“ He sighed. “We can’t let Beck have a hold on us. That’s just what he wants.”

“Happy gave me a card. He told me to call him.”

Peter perked up immediately. “Have you called him yet?”

I shook my head. “Not yet. I had to tell my parents first before anything else, just in case something got out about London.”

“You told them everything?”

“I don’t like lying. I can tell when other people do it and it just pisses me off. It just makes things easier if you tell the truth.” I sighed and stood up, brushed my hands off on my pants, and stepped down from the ledge. “I’ll see you around, Peter.”

“Going back to face them?”

I smiled and shrugged. “Has to be done eventually.”

/////////

They let me call Happy, and that weekend I was allowed to stay at the Avenger’s compound. It was weird, being surrounded by adults that had been doing the whole ‘superhero’ thing for a while. Even Peter, who was the same age as me, looked so much more in his element during training.

“Are you a genius too?”

It was breakfast. I had made myself some scrambled eggs and bacon, because, according to Sam, “You have to eat protein too, Y/N, not just that sugar shit.”

I side-eyed Bucky as I took a bite of eggs. “Define ‘genius.’”

“Peter’s brain runs a mile a minute. I know you guys go to the same school, so?”

I shrugged. “I pass, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

He rolled his eyes. “You know that’s not what I meant, Y/N.”

I huffed. “I don’t know, I just am. I mean, sure, I hacked into Stark’s servers when we were in Prague, but it doesn’t seem extraordinary. The only part about me that actually feels different is the fact that I can make fire with my bare hands.”

I didn’t realize there were people listening in on our little conversation. “You hacked into Tony’s servers in Prague?”

Pepper Potts was who I wanted to be when I grow up. A complete badass. And I just ruined her perception of me in one sentence. “Uh… Yes.”

“We could never figure it out. FRIDAY got an alert, but you were untraceable. How’d you get through all of the firewalls?”

“I-“ There were more people in the kitchen now. “I don’t know.”

Pepper looked me up and down. “If you don’t mind, I’d like you to do it again. Then we can improve the system. Then we can think about adding you to our software development team.” She winked at me, then walked out of the kitchen, leaving me absolutely gobsmacked. Wow, I’d only been there a weekend and I was already picking up the old man slang.

“Damn, kid.” Bucky pat me on the back then continued eating his way through his third bowl of cereal, because, as Sam angrily said to me, “He’s a grown-ass man, Y/N, he can eat whatever shit he wants.” And then admitted, after some slight teasing, “Do you really think I could be able to tell him what to do?”

“He is your boyfriend.”

“That’s not the point.”

I wanted the weekend to last forever, but I was promised another one, where I could show Pepper my breaking and entering skills and eventually beat Wanda at poker. (She can literally read minds, it’s an unfair advantage.)

My parents, though still wary, were glad to see me in such high spirits - it didn’t happen very often, so they took advantage of it as much as possible.

But it didn’t last long. Mom and Dad sat down on the couch to catch up on This is Us on Tuesday and I went to grab my laundry, but when I got back out I dropped it in shock.

“Spider-Man’s name-“ Beck’s video cut out then flashed back. “Spider-Man’s name is Peter Parker!”

“Fuck.”

Mom was too shocked to scold me for my language.

“That’s just horrible.”

“How could Spider-Man do such a thing?”

I looked at my dad and wanted to hit him upside the head. “Dad! Peter didn’t kill Beck!”

“You heard what the video said-“

“I also know that Beck had a team of people working with him that probably knew how to use his tech as well as he did.” When he didn’t give me more than a blank stare I groaned. “They made it up! It’s all fake so they can ruin Peter’s life.” I pulled out my phone. “I have to call-“

Everyone will be trying to call Peter.

What good will that do, then?

How the fuck can we fix this?

I pressed a different contact and held my phone up to my ear, my laundry completely forgotten on the floor as I made my way up to the roof. “Pepper.”

“You saw it?”

“How could I miss it?” Pepper Potts saw right through me my first day at the compound. She knew from the get-go my feelings for Peter. That’s probably the only reason she took my call. “What do we do?”

“I have three other lines open with my lawyers and they’re looking into every bit of information they can get their hands on. Y/N,” she started, “I need you to find him. We can’t let him run off or do something extreme, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Text me when you find him, I’ll let you know what the lawyers say.”

If I was Peter Parker, where would I go?

I have no idea I barely know the guy.

Shut up, Y/N, you’re more similar than you think.

Oh. Duh. He’d be on a rooftop.

After a quick text to MJ, I figured he’d be close to May, considering he saw the whole thing from a big screen in Times Square. And, lo and behold, there he was, on the rooftop of his apartment building.

“Peter.”

“Y/N?” I hated seeing his eyes bloodshot. It was a look he donned too often. “What- How-“

I pulled him into a hug, and he just sort of… crumbled. I just sort of held him for a little bit before he let go and rubbed at his eyes.

“Y/N, I don’t know what to do.”

Great, now I have to be the problem solver.

“Have you talked to anyone yet? May, MJ, Ned?”

He shook his head. “MJ saw it with me, but I left before she could say anything.”

I nodded. “Okay. Let me- hold on.” I texted Pepper, “I got him,” and she responded back, “Bring him. Happy’s bringing May.”

“Who is it?”

“Pepper. She says we need to get to the compound.” I started to move to the edge, but Peter stayed frozen in place. “Peter?”

“What if it’s all a trick? What- what if this is all a big hallucination? What if Beck is still alive? What if everything since the trip has been fake, and that’s why everything’s been going so well with MJ, and now he’s just blowing it up in my face, and-“

“Peter!”

I’m not gonna lie, the thought had crossed my mind. How do you tell what’s actually reality when you don’t even know yourself?

But I could feel the ground beneath me. Beck couldn’t trick me in Prague, and he sure as hell wouldn’t be able to trick me now. (Mostly because he’s dead, but that’s not the point.)

“Hallucination or not, we should go.”

He shook his head again. “No, I can’t, May’s still here, and MJ, and Ned-“

“Happy is bringing May to the compound. Just call MJ and Ned, I’m sure they’ll understand.”

“I can’t just leave everyone!”

“And I can’t let you stay!” Some pigeons flew off at both of our outbursts. I sighed. Why does he always give me such a headache? “Peter, please, we have to go.” As if on cue, a helicopter came flying over us, shocking Peter out of his stupor.

“How are we getting there?”

I hadn’t thought that far ahead.

“We can take my mom’s car, she barely uses it anyway.” Peter nodded, and I sent Mom a quick text. “Can I use the car?”

“Why?”

“I need to go to the compound. Peter’s freaking out.”

...

...

...

“Sure. Keep us updated.”

“‘Course.”

Peter and I made it back to my rooftop in five minutes, then we took the elevator down to the underground garage. “Here.” I tossed him a hoodie to wear over his suit. “Keep your head down ‘til we’re out of the city, okay?” He just nodded, then curled up on the seat as the traffic of New York crept by.

He was asleep fifteen minutes into the drive. We hadn’t even left Manhattan yet and his breathing evened out. Just in time, Pepper was calling me. “Hey, Pepper.”

“Are you guys on your way?”

“Yeah, we still have a while, though.”

Peter stirred awake. “Is that Pepper?”

“Hi, Peter.”

“Is May there yet?”

“Happy said they still have about fifteen minutes. Listen, Pete, I’ve called some lawyers, and they…”

Pepper kept talking, but I felt Peter’s heart rate go up.

“Hey- Pep- We’re losing-“ I hung up.

He immediately relaxed. “Thanks.”

“No problem.”

He sat back in the chair and looked at me, which made me only want to reach out and hold the hand he had on the center console, but I couldn’t because: a) I still didn’t know him that well, and, b) that’s just weird. So I kept two hands on the wheel and my eyes straight ahead until Peter started talking.

“What else can you do?”

I scrunched my eyebrows in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“You said you can tell when people are lying. What else can you do?”

I glanced at him before the road captured my attention again. “Um,” my fingers tapped the steering wheel, “I can open metal locks. Like, if it’s metal, I know how it’s made.”

He peeked up considerably at that. “That’s so cool! Does it work with everything?”

“I mean, I guess? I haven’t tried it on much, just like locks and if my computer starts acting stupid.”

“Could you do it on Mr. Barnes arm? Or my nano-tech suit? Or-“ His face paled immediately. Was he going to burst into tears? To vomit? I couldn’t tell, but I really wanted the answer to be “no.”

“I could try it on Bucky’s arm. I’m not sure it would work, I haven’t tried something that complicated, but that’d be pretty cool.”

Peter didn’t talk much the rest of the ride. May was waiting outside to greet him, and she kept a secure arm around his waist while they followed Pepper inside the compound, Happy not far behind. I was left outside with the car.

My first instinct was to call Jess, because even though it wasn’t me directly affected, I still felt like a pound of bricks fell on my chest. But I picked up my phone and called Mom instead, because my shrink told me the relationship wouldn’t get better without some work. And she is my mom; it’s not like I don’t love her, we’re just different people now, and we have to learn each other all over again.

“Mom?”

“Hi, sweetheart. How’s everything going?”

“Not too great, if we’re being completely honest. I- I don’t know what to do.”

Mom had exactly 8 days of superhero-parenting under her belt, but I’ll be damned if she didn’t give it her best effort. “What do you usually do when you feel this way?”

Wow, she really is learning. “Something productive.”

“You did say they had a training room.”

Genius. “Yeah, I did. Thanks, Mom.”

And that’s where I was found an hour and a half later by Sam Wilson. FRIDAY had a lot of fun creating new simulations for me and it kept me distracted enough to not focus on the complete ass Quentin Beck and the primal urge I felt to pound the face of his carcass in. Not to be morbid or anything.

“You okay, kid?”

One last fireball at the bad guy and I had won my fifth round in a row. “Sure.”

“That wasn’t very convincing.”

“It wasn’t supposed to be.” My water bottle lay helplessly empty on the ground next to a small towel, both of which I picked up to avoid a tripping hazard later. “How’s it going in there?”

“They’re looking at all the different ways to get the video down and find the creator and clear Peter’s name, but FRIDAY hasn’t been able to get past the firewalls.”

I swear my neck popped my head shot up so fast. “Firewall?”

“Yeah. Wanna take a crack at it?”

I followed him out of the training room and into a huge lab I had only had the pleasure of walking past. Now I was standing in the center of technology heaven.

“Are we going to get technical with legality here?”

Sam held his hands up in surrender. “I won’t tell, do what you have to do.”

This. This was my element. Beck forced me to make an Elemental for him and tried to force me to kill hundreds of people, thinking I could do it because I could control water, earth, fire, and air. But little did he know he was creating something that dropped the ball completely in my court.

“Okay. Let’s blow the bastard up. FRIDAY, I want you to observe only.”

Then I got to work.

////////////

“Where did Y/N go?” Peter and May were still in the conference room, talking in hushed voices, while Pepper continued to talk to the lawyers, drawing up a new game plan. Happy was the only one to wonder where I went.

“She’s in the lab.”

“Did you take her in there?” Happy started to get defensive, especially about anything Tony related, but Sam just set his glass down and motioned for him to follow.

“She broke into the archives on a laptop in Prague. If anyone is going to have any luck at that video, it’s her.”

They walked along the outside of the lab. “She locked the doors the second I left. Probably doesn’t want us screwing up her process.”

Happy’s eyes crinkled around the edges as he smiled. It was almost like Tony was back. The loud music in the background, thirteen different screens open at once, fingers and brain moving faster than the eye could see.

Sam glanced over at Happy and smiled too. “It’s almost like the good ‘ole days.”

He coughed, trying to get over how choked up he was feeling. “She and Peter both have it. They— they both make it seem less- less empty.”

Sam clapped him on the shoulder. “Keep an eye on her? FRIDAY knows to let someone in if she’s crashing.”

“How does she know that?”

“It’s the same protocol Rhodey had installed for Tony.”

/////////////

Stark Industries computers are a dream to begin with. Actual Tony Stark tech? It’s like I died and went to heaven. That was probably insensitive to say, but hey, someone’s gotta appreciate the man’s work. And I will happily do so.

I didn’t come out for hours, probably days. The only time I let someone into the lab was if they were bringing me coffee, and even then it would go untouched half the time.

“Y/N.”

“Shut up I’m almost there.”

“You said that six hours ago.”

“And now I’m six hours closer.”

“This isn’t healthy.”

“Isn’t it?” I took a sip of the blessed espresso and kept typing. “Seriously, Bucky, I’m almost there, I can taste it.”

“You’ve been at it for-“

“Got it.” I saved the video to the personal system then took it down, bit by bit until it was completely erased from every hard drive on the planet. (Stark Tech can do that. It’s totally invasive but I don’t care enough to worry about the ethics of it.) “Let me follow the source.” One hundred and twenty four clicks later, “I got them.”

“Them?”

“All of Beck’s bitches.” I pushed back in the chair and let myself feel exhausted. “Can you get Pepper? She seems way more qualified to deal with this. FRIDAY?”

“Yes, Ms. Y/L/N?”

“Keep surveillance on these twelve will you? All movement needs to be tracked.”

“All movement?”

“Even when they take a piss.”

I was happy to just curl up in the chair and fall asleep, but Bucky had other ideas. He put an arm under my legs and carried me to the room I stayed in over the weekend. He was even thoughtful enough to take off my shoes before he pulled back the covers and tucked me in.

“Wait, Bucky.” He turned around and took a step forward, just within reach. I stretched my arm out and let my fingers touch his vibranium arm. “There’s a wire in your pinky that needs to be replaced soon.”

Then my arm fell and I lost all consciousness.

/////////////

Apparently I slept for fifteen hours. At least, that’s what FRIDAY told me. She also told me that my parents were at the compound, which freaked me out more than how long I slept.

I walked into the communal kitchen and was met with the afternoon sun blazing through the wall-long windows. After blinking several times I realized I was definitely not alone.

Almost everyone was there. Pepper, Happy, Sam, Bucky, Peter, May, and my parents were dispersed around the kitchen and connected living room. “‘Morning.”

Everyone’s heads turned to me. “Y/N!”

It was Peter that rushed forward and wrapped me in a hug. I have to say, I was thrilled it was him. I got a good look at his face when he pulled away and he looked a lot better. No bloodshot eyes in sight. “How are you?”

“Starving.”

I sat beside Mom at the huge island, a stack of pancakes immediately put in front of me by Sam.

“I thought you didn’t want me eating that sugar shit?” Mom pinched me in the arm for my swear, but I didn’t care, not when I could get a rise out of Samuel.

“I’ll make an exception just this once.”

With half a mouth full of pancakes I asked Pepper, “What happened?”

What was that look on her face? Pride? Relief? I couldn’t tell. “All twelve of them were arrested and are currently being tried in court.”

“And the whole Peter dilemma?” I glanced his way, but he didn’t look nervous. He looked… happy.

“Taken care of. Fury was able to pull a few strings and we’ll be able to get live news coverage of both Peter and Spider-Man at once so no one can question his identity. Spider-Man will remain anonymous. There’s still the matter of clearing Spider-Man’s name, but for now at least Peter will be safe.”

Peter looked at me with a huge smile on his face. “It’s all working out, Y/N. All thanks to you.”

I shrugged. “All I did was get past a few firewalls.”

Mom set a hand on my back and I smiled at her.

Maybe it was all working out.

tags: @eridanuswave @vampirestrawberries​

[sailorbadger]

Book Review - 6 modern female-led Robin Hood adaptations

In the past 8 months or so I have read/watched/listened to over 30 different Robin Hood adaptations. Over the summer I found myself reading almost exclusively adaptations that were written by women and centered women in the story one way or another. (I also found out that “lesbian Robin Hood” is a whole genre on its own.) I decided to write short reviews for 6 of these books since I know I have followers that probably share my enjoyment of this particular niche. 

This post includes spoiler-free reviews for the following books

Outlaw and Scarlet by Niamh Murphy

Nottingham: The True Story of Robyn Hood by Anna Burke

Hood by Jenny Elder Moke

Marian, Princess Thief by C.K. Brooke

Heart of Sherwood by Edale Lane

The rest of the post will be under the cut since this is quite long.

Despite the fact that I read other books that could technically fit this same category, I decided to focus on these six in my review because these ones are easily accessible to most of my audience (meaning that they are in English and new enough - the oldest one being from 2018 I think - so that you should be able to find them easily). 

I tried to keep these reviews relatively short and spoiler-free. That means that describing specific plot points is impossible because in most of these, the basic premise is the typical Robin Hood origin story. I tried to focus on my general feelings about the books and the characters and their relationships. 

I won’t be doing any numerical ratings. I know that the order in which I read these impacted on how I felt about them. If I had read them in a different order, I would probably feel differently about some of them. That’s why it’s difficult for me to give any real ratings. The reviews are not in any real order either, apart from my favorite being the last one.

These reviews are also about 75% serious and 25% not serious. When my friend and I started to go through all these different Robin Hood adaptations, we made a bingo card that features tropes/themes/details found in a lot of different versions of the story. I’ll leave quick comments on the reviews on how each of these did, but I won’t go too much into detail on those.

Niamh Murphy: Outlaw & Scarlet

I grouped these two books together because they are the first two parts of a series. My understanding is that the author does plan on eventually releasing more, but since Scarlet was released this year, it might take a while. If a third book does come out, I might read it, but I’m not in a hurry to reread these two.

Outlaw tells the story of how Robyn, the daughter of a baron, ends up becoming an outlaw. If you are familiar with at least a few Robin Hood adaptations, you will know how it goes. There are no big surprises, but I suppose the purpose of this story is to introduce us to the characters and set the scene for the later books. Scarlet continues Robyn’s story and introduces a new character to the story. (I won’t go too much into details on the second book to avoid spoilers, since its plot does not follow familiar beats as much as the first one.)

Besides the books on this list, I have also read/watched/listened to several other Robin Hood adaptations as well, and when it comes to plot, Outlaw lands in the “uninteresting” section. There was nothing new or exciting there, and seeing that I have spent most of the year in a Robin Hood -bubble, I was left wanting more. Scarlet was a slight improvement seeing as Outlaw was mostly a very generic Robin Hood origin story. Together they still feel like this is just the beginning of a longer story, so I hope that if a third book comes out we get into the real action.

Outlaw is marketed as a “lesbian retelling” of the Robin Hood story, but compared to some of the other titles on this list, I was left wanting more. The romance aspect is barely there, so if you’re going to pick these up for Robyn and Marian’s relationship, prepare for slow burn. 

The characters didn’t leave a huge impression on me. I do have to say that the Sheriff’s wife was interesting and I wish we had gotten more of her. Other than her, I felt that at times many of the characters could have been from any adaptation. 

Overall, there wasn’t anything really wrong with these books, but they just didn’t entertain me as much as the others. I feel that if I had read these before all the other ones on this list, I would have enjoyed them more. Outlaw and Scarlet are a good read for someone who wants a basic Robin Hood story with a lesbian lead. I still think that marketing the first book as a “lesbian retelling” is setting unrealistic expectations for some, but I hope that in the future the series really earns that title.

I completely forgot to fill out a bingo card for these two and at this point I have forgotten many of the details so unfortunately we’ll never know the result. Most of the tropes hit were so general they probably weren’t on our card anyway.

Anna Burke: Nottingham: The True Story of Robyn Hood

Out of all of the books in this list, Anna Burke’s Nottingham is perhaps the most explicit in its queerness. Although the story obviously doesn’t use modern labels, I would say that it includes representation for (at least) lesbian, bi and trans character(s). None of this feels too out-of-place, and instead Nottingham offers a (mostly) historically accurate Robin Hood tale with a queer main cast.

The plot mostly follows your typical Robin Hood -formula: After a hunting accident, Robyn becomes an outlaw, surrounds herself with loyal friends and helps those in need. This aspect of the book doesn’t offer any new ideas or challenge the existing ideas about Robin Hood as a story. However, it focuses more on the characters, so it doesn’t really need anything new. Marian especially has to come to terms with her feelings towards Robyn and women in general. I do have to say though, that the romance between Robyn and Marian happens a little fast - they only meet a few times before falling in love. [Insert joke about lesbians moving too fast here] It didn’t bother me too much, but I do wish there had been a little more buildup. 

From this list, I read this book the most recently. It may be that I was just so burned out from reading all these Robin Hood -stories but I didn’t connect with the book that well. I enjoyed it, but I wish there had been more of that fun sense of adventure I look for in these stories. 

I would recommend Nottingham to anyone who wants to read a story that manages to be historically accurate and use the Robin Hood mythos to its advantage while not shying away from its portrayal of queerness. Although it did not hold my attention as well as some of the other books, it is still written well and has a good story.

This book didn’t get a bingo unless you interpret “lähentely* which is uncomfortable for the audience” as the sex scene (there is sex in this book but nothing that explicit, I would say high T/low M in Ao3-ratings) being uncomfortable for the reader OR the third person in that scene being uncomfortable. About half of the bingo card was still filled.

*I couldn’t come up with a good translation for this word, it means something along the lines of making moves/coming onto someone/making advances, though for this bingo I use it to generally mean anything flirty/intimate/sexual/etc.

 Jenny Elder Moke: Hood

This book was the first one on this list I read. Compared to the other novels, I would say that Hood is the least like your typical Robin Hood story. The book follows Isabelle, Robin and Marian’s daughter, who has to find her father in order to save her mother. The adventure is brand new, though there are still familiar characters and the basic concept of Robin Hood is honored. This is a story about the next generation of outlaws, so if you’re looking for something that focuses on characters from the legends, you may be disappointed.

Speaking of the characters, I loved Little, Patrick and Helena. I could have just read a book where this group of young outlaws has adventures and been satisfied. Unfortunately I didn’t connect well with the main lead, Isabelle, and the love interest, Adam, felt like a very generic hot guy from a YA novel. The romance itself is practically non-existent, and honestly I could have done without it. Seriously, I had completely forgotten about that whole thing until I started writing this review. This story is more about Isabelle’s relationship with her parents, which I like. She also gets to build genuine friendships with the other characters. I just wish the book had been a little longer so that it could have spent more time developing some of these relationships.

Had I read this book when I was a teenager, I most likely would have loved it a lot more. It is YA, and at times it really shows. As far as Robin Hood stories go, I generally enjoy the “outlaws being outlaws in the forest” content the most, and unfortunately this featured surprisingly little of it. It still offered its own take on what could happen after the legends everyone knows, even if it doesn’t add much to the legends themselves.

It is important that I mention here that if Allan has a child in an adaptation, this child must be named either Allan jr. or Alana. This book fulfills this basic need for me and I am satisfied. It also checked most of the boxes on the bingo, and I almost filled the whole sheet. So somehow, despite not really following the typical Robin Hood formula, Hood managed to include all the important tropes.

If you are a teenager who enjoys Robin Hood -stories, I would definitely recommend this book. It’s not the best YA novel out there, but it’s a good standalone story. I think that for adults, this can be a good read if you are a fan of Robin Hood -stories and/or enjoy this type of YA anyway. I wasn’t sure what type of book this was when I started reading, but if you just prepare yourself for a fun adventure aimed at young teens, you can enjoy this. It’s very quick to read, I think I read it in one day.

Also, I must quote a review I saw on Storygraph (imagine this is in all caps) : “hjsxhfjsdksfjk???????????? Patrick best character no cap”

C. K. Brooke: Marian, Princess Thief

In Marian, Princess Thief, Robin Hood doesn’t exist at all. Instead the story follows Marian, who in this version is a princess, who escaped an assassination attempt and is now living in the forest as an outlaw with six other women - the genderbent versions of the Merry Men. Eventually there is a romance in this book as well, but the biggest force carrying through the book is the friendship between the women. If I had to describe the novel in just one word, I would say it’s lovable. If I had to describe it in two, I would say it’s dissappointingly heterosexual. 

Maybe the fact that I found a genre that is basically “lesbian Robin Hood” has ruined me, but how can you write a story that features seven women living in the forest as outlaws, and not one of them is queer? This is entirely a thing that bothers me personally, and the book doesn’t need queer representation to be good, but there is no reason to not include it. Headcanons can fortunately go a long way, but I’m just saying that you could easily keep everything about Scarlett’s backstory the same except make her a lesbian. (In fact, I’m 98% joking when I say that her not being a lesbian is a homophobic choice. I will elaborate on this if you ask me but I won’t go too much into it here because I would have to explain things about other adaptations as well.)

As for the straight romance, I can’t say that I was feeling it. I could see the points where I was supposed to feel something, so maybe it’s just the fact that I’m aspec myself, but I didn’t care that much about it. Still, it was refreshing to see a story where the romance doesn’t overshadow the friendships between the women, and instead they are valued just as much (if not more) as the romantic relationship. The story doesn’t dig too deeply into the characters, but I still loved all the women. (I don’t care about the male lead. But I know others who would.)

I think the biggest “problem” this book has (apart from not making Scarlett a lesbian) is that the ending feels just a little bit rushed compared to the rest of the novel. I still think that the novel achieves everything it tries to do, but I could have used one more chapter to flesh out the climax.

The bingo card wasn’t even close to being full, but you know what, Marian, Princess Thief is good enough as it is and doesn’t need to follow all the familiar tropes. Still, how hard is it to include a bird?

This was a very quick read, in fact I basically just read it all in one go. I would definitely recommend it to anyone who wants to read something lighthearted and, like me, is often disappointed by the lack of women in Robin Hood stories.

To end this, I will leave you with a translated quote from my WhatsApp commentary: “What is it that in all these Robin Hood stories these old dudes are all after these young maidens like get yourself a hot milf and leave the kids alone”

Edale Lane: Heart of Sherwood

Heart of Sherwood is my favorite Robin Hood -novel that I have read so far. It has just about everything I could want: good characters, a fun sense of adventure, political scheming, great relationships (both romantic and platonic) and a good ending. I was less than two chapters into this book when I knew that this would be a difficult one to top.

The premise of this book is very similar to Burke’s Nottingham: both follow the story of Robyn becoming an outlaw, making friends with the other Merry (Wo)Men and developing a relationship with Marian. I don’t want to compare these two stories too much, but I did prefer the more lighthearted tone of Heart of Sherwood. This was also the first book where I was actually invested in the romance. Normally in pretty much all Robin Hood adaptations, the relationship between Robin and Marian doesn’t interest me greatly; I don’t mind it, but it’s not something I have too many personal feelings about. However, only a few chapters into Heart of Sherwood I thought: “If these two don’t get a happy ending I’m going to jump out of the window.” (I won’t spoil where this threat ended up going.)

One thing I appreciate about the romance in this one is that Robyn and Marian already know each other, so I didn’t have to deal with a romance that develops too fast. The novel also had other things to offer besides being a “lesbian Robin Hood” story, so I didn’t feel like I had to enjoy the romance to enjoy the whole story. I was very invested the whole way through, and out of all the books I’ve reviewed here, this one made me the most emotional. 

As a fan of the BBC show, I do have to say that this novel had a very similar vibe; there was a good balance of action and humor. Maybe that was a part of why I enjoyed this so much. I was also able to predict exactly how certain things would end up. I kind of wish I would have been more surprised. 

This novel is well paced, it is exactly the right length for the story it’s telling and overall I can’t really find things to complain about. If I wasn’t petty, I would give this book full five stars, but because I am petty, for very personal reasons I’m giving it 4,99999… stars. As for the bingo, this one filled most of the sheet.

I’ll end this review with this random line I had shared on WhatsApp for some reason: ""Does this mean I am dead?" Alan asked in jest. - - - "Nay; same annoying jester, alive as ever, and likely wanting for a pint about now."”

Conclusion

Writing these reviews was surprisingly difficult because most of the stories follow the same formula, so commenting on anything that moves away from said formula could be considered a spoiler. Hopefully if you read this far you were still interested enough in at least one of these books and feel inspired to read them. I would happily recommend any of them, and if you want to know my more detailed thoughts on them, feel free to message me. The same applies to all the adaptations I’ve gone through. I have Thoughts that I’m dying to share. 

[yet-another-fan-girl9]

Inhuman (1)

Summary: All beings in the universe have a soulmate except for Midgardians. People can hear their soulmate in their heads. For almost five hundred and fifty years, Loki believed that he had no soulmate until 1513 when a Midgardian princess was born. Will fate be kind to them or will the universe tear them apart?

Warnings: violence, language, hella historical inaccuracies (I tried to do research but then got lazy), maybe some AOS season 2 spoilers(?)

Word Count: ~3400

A/N: Yay! The re-write is here! I changed it so now there are flashbacks and stuff and the chapters are longer! I’m also posting this chapter a day early because of reasons. Anyways, enjoy!

[New York, New York, March 2024]

‘Soulmates?’ You had never heard of the concept.

‘We are destined to be together. The universe made it so.’

You shot up in bed, a light sheen of sweat covered your body. Loki’s words replayed over and over in your head. You hadn’t heard his actual voice in so long but it was still as clear as if he was speaking to you now. It had been twelve years since you had seen him in Germany and he had tried to take over.

‘We are destined to be together.’

The words echoed in your mind. ‘Destined’ huh? Well, if you’d learned anything from the past four hundred and eighty-six years that you were not with Loki, it’s that the universe does a shit job at keeping you together. You ran your fingers through your hair, easily smoothing out the tangled mess. It was too early to think about Loki.

You slipped out of the silk sheets that covered your king-sized bed in your two-level, top floor Upper East Side penthouse. You were very proud of how far you had come. The view was amazing. You could see some of Central Park from one side and the stereotypical New York skyline from another.

As you walked out of your room, you caught your reflection in one of your full-sized mirrors. And that was definitely a nice view. When you came out of Terrigenesis almost five hundred years ago, you quickly discovered that you were now the blueprint for a perfect person. Straight, white teeth, surprisingly tameable hair, and clear, unblemished skin were some of the visually obvious changes. In addition to your perfected looks, you had increased senses, healing, strength, endurance, and your favorite, pain tolerance. Oh, and don’t forget you basically look twenty-five forever.

You checked your phone while you made breakfast in the kitchen downstairs. There were a couple of emails from your employees on their latest jobs. You opened one from Max, your right-hand man. You were reading over some job offers he had handpicked for you when you got a text from the man himself.

Bringing up some donuts!

Max was the only person from work to have access to your penthouse. He was your best friend. The two of you had met when you were at Afterlife nearly fifteen years ago. He was an Inhuman as well. All of your employees were Inhumans, using their specialties to carry out their jobs. Max had the power to change surfaces. It was a strange power, but he had learned to make it very useful. He could cause his pursuers to slip on the suddenly ice-like ground or climb up a glass skyscraper.

“Hello, bitch! I brought donuts!” Max called from the elevator.

“I’m in the kitchen!”

Max walked in holding the goods. He always wore eccentric color-coordinated outfits. Even the times you saw him in stealth mode, he had to have some lace or frill somewhere. Today he wore a mixture of neon green and pink with matching eyeliner.

“Are Cosmo and Wanda disguising themselves as your clothes?” you asked.

“Haha,” he deadpanned. “I knew you were going to say something like that. You’re so fucking funny. Soo…” He plopped the three large donut boxes onto your kitchen counter. “Have you heard of the Avenger’s new quote-unquote recruit?”

“Um, I think it’s your job to keep tabs on heroes.” You opened the nearest box and happily pulled out your favorite donut.

“Okay. Number one: I’m not speaking to you as your right-hand, right now, but as your friend.” He held up his finger. “Number two: it’s not really a job if I do it in my free time anyways. You’re paying me to do something that I do on an hourly basis.”

“You stalk the Avengers on an hourly basis?”

“No? Anyways, number three: it’s Thor’s brother. It’s your Loki.”

“What the fuck?” you choke on your donut. Max was the only person who knew you that you and Loki had a history. And that’s all he knew. Nothing about soulmates or all that shit. “What the fuck, Max? Did you try to use donuts to soften the blow? Stop laughing.”

“I-I wish I had caught that reaction on camera,” he said in between fits of giggles.

“Haha,” it was your turn to deadpan. “Fuck, man. I guess we just have to double our efforts to keep ourselves off of their radar.”

“Do you think they’ve forgiven him for New York?” Max composed himself.

“I mean, they must have if they’re letting him join the team.” You chanced another bite of your donut.

“But lots of people haven’t.”

“Lots of people still haven’t forgiven Barnes,” you pointed out. You didn’t know when or why Loki had attacked New York. That Loki was nothing like the man who you had grown to love back in the 1500s. But you were nothing like that girl either.

 “Have you chosen a new job from the list I sent you?” he changed the subject.

“No, not yet, and you have a little…” you motioned to the corner of your mouth.

Max got the hint and wiped some powder off of his mouth. You noticed the sprinkling of grey that was mixed into his curly black hair. He displayed the last fifteen years proudly while you remained unchanged. Max was the closest you’ve been to someone in a long time, and just like everyone before him, you would outlive him. But you would remember him. You remembered everyone. You remembered everything.

Right now, you thought of Agnes, your first real friend. She was your handmaiden and you had met right before everything went to shit. She had helped you cope after you underwent Terrigenesis, although you hadn’t known what it was back then. She had helped you run away and even died for you. You had only known her for nine years, but you compared everyone to her. Max held second place, right after Agnes.

“I think we should take the Senator’s offer,” Max said, jolting you out of your memories. He pulled up the offer on his iPad. “One million to off his upcoming competition.”

“Damn,” you whistled. “He’s desperate, isn’t he? Is there a deadline?”

“No, but I assume we should get it done quickly.”

“Send over the info.”

🌹

You shoved the flower into Jake Morano’s mouth. Blood from the bullet wound in his forehead trickled down until it turned the perfect, white rose red. You snapped a quick photo on your burner phone to send to the Senator as confirmation. With a huff, you looked around the apartment. Mr. Anderson had put up a fight, although it didn’t do anything to deter you and Max. A few glass awards were in pieces on the hardwood floor, family pictures were shattered, and the wall behind you held a couple of bullets from Anderson’s gun.

“All good?” Max asked from his location by the computer. He was deleting all footage of you being there. And everything else, just to be safe.

“Yep.” You walked over to him, your boots making a satisfying clicking on the ground, and proudly displayed the picture of the dead body. “Got the confirmation picture for the Senator. How’s it coming?”

“Almost… there. We’re good to go.”

The two of you left in your favorite black Lamborghini. Unfortunately, you actually had to drive places now that Gordon was dead. You followed his advice, though, and bought a plane along with four other sports cars, a helicopter, and a couple of motorcycles. You knew how to operate every single one of them. What else were you supposed to do except for establishing your contract killing empire?

🌹

Loki stood in the middle of his assigned room with his hands on his hips. It certainly was much nicer than the last prison the Avengers had kept him in. They may say it wasn’t a prison but the twenty-four-hour surveillance from Stark’s new AI said otherwise. Even though it was nicer than the shitty glass cylinder from twelve years ago, it was empty. Thor had shown Loki the few things in his room: books, photographs, and his own goddamned merchandise. 

Would Loki have his own merchandise one day? Everyone was redeemable as shown by Romanoff and Barnes. Maybe there would be plastic replicas of his helmet? No, Loki thought that was stupid. Only heroes got merchandise and heroes had to show up to events and sponsor health drinks or whatever the fuck they do. Heroes had to be nice.

Nothing good ever came from being on Midgard. Most recently, there was his father dying, although what followed was worse. Before that was the attack he had been forced to make on the city. And the first time he had ever come to Midgard had ended with disappointment and heartbreak.

Loki sighed and waved his hand to conjure green and gold accents, sheets, and blankets. At least there was color in the room now. No doubt the AI had reported that he had used his magic. He hoped it had also told them that all he did was improve the room, he didn’t need anyone talking to him at the moment.

“Good afternoon, Reindeer Games,” the AI echoed through the room. Loki glowered at the sound of Stark’s nickname. “There is a meeting in Conference Room Five that the entire team is required to attend.”

Loki hadn’t the faintest fucking idea where the conference rooms were. He left his room and caught sight of his brother and the Valkyrie. The God of Mischief followed the pair down to where the meeting was taking place. Did he really want to go? If he wanted to be part of the team he would have to. He preferred the Revengers, though. While it had lasted. It was smaller.

Everyone was sitting around the long table. Of course, Loki would be the last to arrive. Stark and Barton both glared at him when he entered. Understandable. Romanoff remained impassive, but Loki knew she would bash his head in the first chance she got. Rogers had to remain positive that Loki could be redeemed because if the Norse God could redeem himself, then so could Barnes. Bruce had warmed up to Loki on the journey to Midgard. None of the newer members of the team outright hated him, but they were still cautious around him.

Loki found himself sitting in between his brother and Bruce. Stark went up to the screen at the front and everyone fell silent.

“This is Jake Morano.” The screen turned on to show a dead man with a rose stuffed in his mouth. “He was going to run for Senator against this guy.” The screen changed. “This guy is William Anderson, a very corrupt Senator. In the last month, Morano began to gain a lot of support including a sponsor from us. Well, a sponsor from me in the name of the Avengers.”

“Are you implying that Anderson killed Morano?” Rogers asked.

“I’m saying that Anderson hired someone to kill Morano.” The screen changed again to display multiple bodies left with a rose in their mouths. “I had F.R.I.D.A.Y. do a quick search of bodies with roses found in their mouths and we found a shocking amount of similar deaths. The first ones dating back to the nineteen twenties. More recently, some of the deaths have happened at the same time on opposite sides of the globe. Deaths include, but are not limited to, shooting, stabbing, poisoning, drowning, burning, missing organs, being found stuck in a wall, and looking like a suicide. They all have a white rose soaked in blood in their mouths.”

“Are you sure it isn’t a serial killer?” Wilson questioned.

“Yeah, it’s probably not the same guy,” Romanoff pointed out. “Especially if it goes back to before Steve looked like that.”

“It’s gotta be an organization,” Barnes guessed. “Been around for a while, a couple of deaths happening at the same time, and one constant MO.”

“Loki?” Everyone looked at the God of Mischief when Stark said his name. “You’re technically a part of this team now. What’s your opinion?”

“Barnes is probably right,” Loki said after a moment’s hesitation. “The locations are all over the place and there are many different ways the victims met their demise.”

They nodded and Loki returned to silence.

“Alright, game plan.” Stark clapped his hands. “We have to get Anderson into an interrogation room. Round one is the good cops: Steve and Sam. When he doesn’t crack, and he won’t, we up the intensity. Nat and the Manchurian Candidate will do some intimidation. If he still doesn’t crack we can send in Wanda, or even Reindeer Games if she’s not comfortable, to search his mind.”

“Are all Midgardian politics like that?” Loki heard the Valkyrie ask Thor after the meeting. Thor only shrugged so she turned to Bruce.

“I mean, I haven't been here in a while but it’s always kinda been fucked up.”

Only an hour after the meeting, Anderson took out one million dollars in cash. Stark tracked him to a small cafe where he was going to, no doubt, pay the assassin. The team rallied, but of course, Loki wasn’t going. Apparently, he wasn’t ‘cleared’ yet. The only other people staying behind were the Valkyrie, Thor, and Barton due to a recent injury. 

Loki went to his room to sulk, although he told everyone he was thinking. He didn’t want to be here. Maybe he wanted to go somewhere that reminded him of home with tall buildings that reached the sky… 

🌹

"Hello, (Y/N)." Loki’s voice was as smooth as it was in your head, but it was different. The only way you could describe it was that it was solid. It felt less intimate. Like he could bless others with his words, but it was more special because he was here. 

"Loki," you breathed.

"You look more beautiful than I ever could imagine." He stepped closer.

You touched your hair self-consciously. There were multiple knots, and it probably looked like one of those bird nests the dogs always knocked out of trees. You had woken up in a hurry and your hair being trapped in the hood of your cloak probably didn't help.

Then it occurred to you that you were wearing only your nightgown, and you tightly wrapped your cloak around yourself. Loki wouldn’t hurt you, but no man has seen you in an outfit so revealing. Still, you took another step closer.

"I do not know what to say." Fortunately, your voice didn’t shake or waver as you had feared, but Loki could probably feel your nervousness.

You both took a final step closer. You reached up and cupped Loki's face in your hand which tingled slightly when you made contact. You admired his sharp features and bright blue-green eyes. Then you shivered in the cold winter air. Loki noticed and pulled you into a hug. You leaned into him and felt a shiver, a different, better shiver, shoot through your body.

“You’re real.” Your soft voice was almost lost in the biting wind. “I was so scared that I was dreaming.”

Another goddamned dream about Loki? You groaned into your pillow and pushed a few damp strands of hair away from your face. Why now, all of a sudden? Was it because he was so close? Just a few hours upstate in the Avenger’s compound.

Pushing the dream aside, you stretched and got ready for the day. You had sent the photo to the Senator, who you had learned was very fucking corrupted, and he replied with a location. That changed your plans a bit, you hadn't physically met a client in decades, but it was for the better for multiple reasons.

The first reason was that the cafe he had chosen was next to a flower shop where you got your supply of roses. The second reason was that it meant his apartment would be empty. While you went to get the money, and eventually kill Senator Anderson, Max was going to rob his house. It wasn’t something you’d usually do, but honestly, the shitty asshole deserved it.

Your lips were painted red and you wore your usual boots and a leather jacket. Your regular hair was hidden behind a pink and green wig, courtesy of Max. A baseball cap and large sunglasses further hid your appearance. Though if somebody knew your face, the hat and glasses did nothing. There were multiple knives hidden on your body as well as a handgun tucked into your waistband and a pocket pistol in your, well, pocket.

As you walked into the cafe, Izzy, the auburn-haired florist, nodded to you. She had Botanokinesis, plant manipulation, so your supply of white roses was never low. Every once in a while, Izzy would take a job but she had told you she was very happy in her shop.

You noticed the Senator immediately. He still wore a suit and the sunglasses did nothing to hide his identity. There were two young women behind the counter and you suspected that the four other ‘customers’ were too buff not to be the Senator’s security. Anderson had his back to the door which meant you would have to get past his security to get out. You zeroed in on the black briefcase on the ground by his feet.

“Senator,” you greeted and sat down across from him.

“You can’t possibly be the one I talked to,” the asshole replied. “You’re just a girl.”

“Well of course I couldn’t be,” you rolled your eyes behind your heavily tinted glasses. “My boss is too busy and smart to meet you in public.” He didn’t notice your sarcasm. You pulled out the burner phone and showed him the messages as proof. “Now, I’m also busy so if we can get this over with?”

“Sure, darling.” He put the briefcase flat on the table and pushed it towards you.

“Open it.” Even though small boobie traps wouldn’t hurt you much, it wasn’t a piece of information you wanted to give him.

Anderson sighed and complied. Then you turned it around to quickly inspect the contents. One thousand one hundred dollar bills. Hello Mr. Franklin. You nodded in satisfaction and comically rubbed your hands together to inconspicuously grab a knife that was hidden up your sleeve.

“Thank you, Senator. That will be all.”

You closed the case, stood up, and plunged your knife deep into his left carotid artery. As his security descended upon you, you pulled the knife out and his neck satisfyingly squirted blood. The Senator collapsed with his hands clutching his wound desperately. The pool of blood rapidly grew underneath him.

The two baristas screamed behind the counter and the Senator’s security drew their guns. You flipped the small table for cover as bullets pierced the cafe’s window behind you. Perfect. Just a bit more.

You pulled out the handgun from your waistband and with practiced ease, shot three of the four goons. The last one got the bloodied knife to the face. You elbowed the already damaged window and it finally broke, raining glass down on you. Ignoring the small cuts, you jumped out of the cafe through the window as a familiar red and gold suit landed in front of you. Why the fuck were the Avengers here? What about Loki?

You darted into Izzy’s shop and she played her part well, screaming that you had run out the back when you had actually gone into the side room. You listened as the Avengers followed her directions. One person, maybe it was the Black Widow, stayed behind to help calm down the seemingly hysterical Izzy. If she wasn’t so happy at her shop and she didn’t want to work directly for you, she could be a great actress.

You rolled back the rug on the ground to reveal a metal trapdoor. You entered the code to unlock it and climbed down into the darkness. Behind you, you heard the trapdoor’s magnetic lock click back into place. Two centuries ago, you had tunnels dug underneath Manhattan, Brooklyn, and Queens for easy getaways. If you went… that way, you would end up in Sandra’s souvenir shop which was a couple of blocks away from your penthouse.

With a million dollars in one hand and a handgun in the other, you walked down the concrete tunnel.

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Taglist:

@kaithehero @liliannyah​ @andreasworlsboring101 @oatballsoffury​ @aberrant-annie

[chalantness]

fic: Here, On the Edge of Hell (6/6)

Rating: M Word Count: ~14,300 (part six) Characters: Steve/Natasha Summary: mafia au. She knows her father hadn’t been lying when he said that Uncle Howard wanted her to keep an eye on Steve, but if this was simply about protection, he wouldn’t have put her on the line at all. Especially not with all of the heat Steve Rogers is getting from the other Families, which means that her uncle has another reason for Natasha to be involved.

He just won’t tell her what it is.

Read On: [ ao3 ]

A/N: I CAN'T BELIEVE IT'S FINALLY HERE! The last part of the mafia 'verse!!

I initially thought this was going to take me 1-1.5 months tops to finish, but in true Chanty fashion, it took twice that long... three months later, and we're finally at the end! I'm excited and a little nervous to get to the big reveals, and I'm warning you now that this is my first genuine attempt at writing action sequences of this kind, but I'm really happy of how this chapter and this whole story turned out and I hope you darlings are, too! I had so much fun with this 'verse, and it's definitely the closest of anything I've written to the kinds of stories I want to tell in my original works. If you liked this story overall (I know there was a lot of room for improvement!) then I think you may like the stories I've got in store as an author!

Thank you darlings for all of your support and enthusiasm!

“I must admit, I was beginning to doubt if I’d ever get the satisfaction of having a Rogers on his knees. Of course,” Anton muses, sliding both hands lazily into his pockets, “I’d always pictured it to be Joseph. Maybe Pietro. But I suppose you look enough like both of them to suffice.”

Steve clenches his jaw, eyes flickering to Wanda kneeling beside him in the middle of what seems to be an empty warehouse. Honestly, Steve wouldn’t be surprised if it’s exactly that. The restaurant he and Wanda had been about to pick up food from is near the harbor, and Steve knows that Howard Stark just bought a few shipment facilities in this area from a business going bankrupt. He mentioned they were about to break ground on this site, too, which means all of the buildings would’ve already been cleaned out and fenced off from the public, and since this place is going to be the new site for another Stark Industries building, it would make sense that Anton would have access to it.

“And you, my dear,” Anton continues, turning to Wanda, and Steve feels his entire body stiffen as Anton reaches down to grasp at Wanda’s throat, forcing her to tip her chin up to meet his stare. Her wrists are tied behind her back, probably just as tightly as Steve’s are, but her arms still wiggle as she struggles against the knot, twisting her body away from Anton as best as she can. “Unfortunately, I’ll have to get rid of you as well. If I thought you would actually stay quiet, I would’ve kept your pretty face for myself.”

Wanda narrows her eyes up at him in a glare. “I would have begged for you to kill me instead.”

“I thought you were smart enough not to show your hand.” Anton releases her throat with a shove, nearly knocking her over, and Steve grits his teeth together. “Since it seems worse than death for you, I might just change my mind. Kill your beloved brother in front of you then keep you out of sight for a while, just for my amusement.”

“I’m all for that plan,” Ivan chimes in, squatting down beside Wanda and brushing her hair from her face, glass shards from the shattered back windshield of the car still threaded through the wild strands. He grasps her chin with his fingers, flashing his teeth in a dangerous smile. “What do you think, princess? Should we have a little fun?”

“That’s enough,” Steve practically growls. “You’re not touching her.”

“Unless it’s over your dead body?” Anton guesses. “Because if that’s what you’re waiting for, it’s about to be arranged.”

“You’re not touching her, period,” Steve snaps, only barely keeping his voice from shaking, every muscle in his body going taut. He’s pissed. He’s fucking pissed, and he knows that Anton can see it in his eyes because there’s a fleeting flash of alarm in his eyes before he blinks, smug once more.

It doesn’t fool Steve, though. Anton might’ve taken his gun, and he might have Steve on his knees with his hands tied, but the man still feels threatened by him.

“You’re not in any position to be making threats,” Ivan spits out at Steve, practically sneering. “But what else would I expect? You Rogers feel like you own the fucking world. Howard barely even blinks in my direction all these years and yet, you step in and he serves his precious niece up to you on a silver platter, just because you’re Joseph’s boy.”

Steve curls his fists even tighter, somehow, almost tight enough that his fingernails practically break through his own skin. “Therein lies your problem,” Steve replies, and some small, selfish part of him relishes in the obvious annoyance flickering in Ivan’s expression at how calm his voice is, almost nonchalant. No doubt the guy thinks it only proves his belief that Steve feels like he’s entitled. “Maybe if you stopped treating women like playthings, he might start to consider you as someone worth acknowledging.”

Ivan half-shoves his hand away from Wanda, just as Anton had, and grabs the front of Steve’s shirt with his fist, hauling him onto his feet as he practically growls in his face.

Steve blinks back at him, jaw ticking, but he manages to keep his expression composed. Which of course only pisses Ivan off even more.

“You think you can just swoop in and take your daddy’s place on top?” Ivan demands. “You think you’ve got everyone fooled?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Steve hitches his mouth up ever so slightly in a smirk. “I think being head of the Family already speaks for itself. Not that you’d know what that kind of respect is like considering Howard barely considers you one of his soldiers.”

Ivan grits his teeth. “I’m the only one who isn’t too big of a coward to be scared off by Stark’s made up rules. That’s the real reason he doesn’t get in my way.”

“You’re a liability,” Steve counters. “You think my father is the only reason I get any respect? Your father is the only reason you haven’t been cut off.”

A growl rips of Ivan’s throat. “You little—”

“Calm down, boy!” Anton barks, yanking Ivan back by his jacket, and Ivan shoves Steve back before shrugging his father’s hand off of him, still gritting his teeth. “This is why you get sloppy. He’s trying to rile you up and you’re falling for it.”

Steve holds back a grunt of discomfort as his knees hit the ground again, his body very nearly swaying back from the force of Ivan’s shove, but he manages to catch his balance at the last second. Anton is in Ivan’s face now, his words coming out in a low hiss as he says something to Ivan under his breath, and Steve takes the moment of distraction to turn to Wanda once more. He hadn’t wanted to risk more than just a few quick glances, wanting to avoid drawing any more attention onto her. It’s already obvious to Anton and Ivan that the only real advantage they have over Steve is his sister, and likewise for Wanda, but actually showing that weakness is even worse.

He was worried that she might’ve been more banged up from the crash than he initially thought, and now that he has the time to look for any injuries, he notices a fresh scrape on her arm, probably from when Anton dragged her from the wreckage. But it isn’t bleeding, nor does it seem all that deep, so he won’t worry over it right now.

What does worry him, though, is the fact that Wanda is still squirming against her restraints. It’s subtle enough that Ivan and Anton probably won’t notice, but Steve does, and for a moment he thinks that maybe she’s in discomfort because of how tightly the rope could be knotted around her wrists—but then he catches a glimpse of something shifting behind her back. The slim, black metal is hidden by Wanda’s blouse at an awkward angle with the way her wrists are tied together, but he recognizes it in an instant.

Bucky’s knife.

... ...

The hotel that Yuri’s men take her to is one of the few in New York that her uncle hasn’t managed to buy out, which Natasha is willing to bet isn’t a coincidence on their part. That’s likely the only reason they were able to slip under the Family’s radar for so long, though the place itself is by no means modest, and Natasha isn’t surprised when they lead her onto the elevator reserved for the residential suites at the top. And he’d probably booked out the entire top floor, too, not simply for his men but for the sake of discretion as well – and, not for the first time, Natasha knows it’d been the right call to follow Yelena’s advice to not have Tony follow her when she was going to be grabbed.

Judging just from the number of men posted along the hallways on the way to the suite, Natasha knows her family would’ve been outgunned on their own, even with every capo and soldier available on such short notice. Having the entire Family and their men will give them the advantage.

Just as long as Natasha can hold out until they find her.

Yelena has barely glanced in her direction, her composed expression perfectly in place, and Natasha has been careful to keep her own gaze appropriately alarmed considering she was just coerced into the back of a van off of the street without any explanation. If she comes off too unaffected, they may realize that she’d been expecting this; but she can’t come off too affected, either, considering it would be just as suspicious for someone so high up in a mafia to act as if this is her first ever time in this kind of situation.

Which it isn’t, though both other times had been part of her plan, so it really didn’t matter how unaffected she appeared to be when she’d had the upper hand from the beginning. This time is far different, and if Natasha had any less of a poker face, she wouldn’t stand a chance at making Yuri believe she’s entirely in the dark.

Yelena produces a keycard from her pocket as they reach the double doors of the suite, unlocking them, and then two men draw them open from inside, revealing a large sitting room with wide, glass walls overlooking the city.

And, lounging on the couch in the center of the suite, is Yuri Petrovich.

Natasha had already known who he was before Yelena had explained their connection. He may live in a different country, but his mob has associates in New York, so the Family has always kept tabs on them. Even without that reason, her uncle would’ve insisted on it, anyway, simply because of their reputation.

And because of her, she realizes. Just as Yelena had said, whether or not Natasha truly is related to him isn’t relevant; the possibility of it alone would’ve been enough for her and her mother to be on their radar to begin with, and that would’ve been enough for Uncle Howard to view the threat of the Petrovich mob coming after them as real.

“Natasha,” he greets, his smile almost charming, and his men usher her further into the room as they close the doors behind her. “I’m glad that you can join us.”

Her lips curve into the ghosts of a smirk. “I couldn’t exactly decline the invitation.”

He waves her over with two fingers, and she takes a moment to let her gaze slide over the room. Partly to assess where his men are posted throughout the suite, a move he would’ve expected her to pull, but also to take note of where Yelena has come to stand behind the couch Yuri is seated on. Distant enough as to not draw suspicion yet close enough to have an advantage over him from behind, though it also puts her in everyone’s line of fire, so the chances of her actually being able to make the first move are slim.

Not without a distraction, at least.

Natasha walks around the couch opposite of Yuri, perching herself on the cushion, and he leans forward to grab a bottle of vodka out of a bucket of ice on the table. “Care to join me?” he asks, pouring the alcohol into two shot glasses. “I know it’s not a traditional drink to share for first meetings, but I have a feeling you and I have the same taste.”

She lets cautious curiosity flicker in her eyes when he looks at her. “That’s quite an assumption”

“Let’s just say, I recognize a kindred spirit when I see one,” he replies, sliding one of the glasses over, and she eyes him skeptically as she picks it up. “After all, we already have quite a lot in common.”

“Because I’m of Russian blood?” she asks. She knows it could be dangerous to try and coax the truth out of him like this, but the secretive, smug edge to his smirk only widens, his eyes flashing, and Natasha can tell that he finds her choice of words more ironic than suspicious. “If you know this about me, you’ll also know I was raised here.”

He hums, lifting his glass instead of replying, and Natasha tips her head back as he does to drain her shot. It’ll take more than this to get her drunk or even buzzed, but she still needs to be careful if he insists on more.

“I do know this,” Yuri finally answers, setting the vodka aside as he stares back at her. “I know quite a bit about you, in fact.”

“And I suppose the reason for that is why you’ve come all the way here to pay me a visit in person,” Natasha muses. “Or is this how you woo all the Russian girls?”

“Woo?” He shakes his head. “No, that would be rather inappropriate, though I don’t suppose Melina Stark has given you a clue as to why.”

Natasha allows her irritation to flit across her expression, her body stiffening in annoyance at his tone, though the satisfied curl of his lips tells her that she’s come off as alarmed as she’d intended. “If we have as much in common as you say, then you’ll know that as adept as I am at playing games, I don’t particularly enjoy them,” Natasha replies, letting her casual tone slip from her voice as she narrows ever so slightly. “I would hardly consider us kindred spirits simply because we’re both of Russian descent.”

Yuri raises his eyebrows slightly, almost seeming impressed by her bluntness. “Perhaps we don’t have everything in common, because I do enjoy a good game of watching others squirm. But since I admire your boldness, I’ll return it: our Russian descent isn’t all that we share, dear sister. We are blood by its very definition.”

She tilts her head, gauging his expression. It’s clear that he believes his words, just as Yelena had said, and she lets anger flit across her face. “And I should take your word?”

“If I had the time, I would’ve brought Melina here to tell you the story herself,” Yuri replies, his smirk widening as he lounges back against the couch. “But since she isn’t with us at the moment, I’ll give you the courtesy that she should’ve given you and tell you exactly why Melina Vostokoff fled to America on your father’s arm. Of course, if I’d been accused of having an affair with my best friend’s husband, I wouldn’t be too keen on sharing that story with my supposed daughter,” he adds with a shake of his head.

“An affair?” Natasha questions.

“I believe you’re intelligent, dear sister, and the talk of you within the underground of New York would support my belief,” Yuri muses. “I know you must have wondered what would’ve compelled your mother to marry a man who had been on vacation and leave her country on such an impulsive whim. Sure, it makes for quite a romantic story, but you know deep down that isn’t the truth.” Yuri leans forward again, his elbows resting on his knees as he holds Natasha’s stare, eyes flashing dangerously. “The reason that Melina acclimated so quickly to her husband’s lifestyle is because she was already familiar with it herself. It was a life she shared with her best friend Alia back in Russia.”

“Which is supposedly your mother,” Natasha guesses, keeping her voice dry and unamused. “Alia Petrovich.”

He flashes his teeth in a wide grin. “Formerly known as Natalia Romanov. Quite similar to your own name, isn’t it, Natasha?”

This time, Natasha’s surprise is genuine as she pulls back slightly. He reaches into his pocket, making Natasha’s body stiffen in alarm, but rather than a weapon, he produces a thin necklace and tosses it in her direction, and she catches it in her palm. The charm is a slim bar, engraved in script—her own name, she realizes.

“When my mother passed, this was found among her possessions. At first, I believed it was simply hers. Natasha is a variant of Natalia, after all.” He shakes his head, and there’s something in his voice, something in his eyes, that has Natasha nearly holding her breath. She isn’t simply feigning ignorance for his sake; she can feel her blood begin to hum in her veins, as if anticipating his next words. “But then I realized that it wasn’t meant for her. It was meant for you, my dear sister,” he tells her, and Natasha nearly risks a glance at Yelena, wanting to see if this is a surprise to her as well. Natasha is willing to bet that it is. “Melina never had an affair. Our mother was the one that did.”

... ...

Steve clenches and unclenches his jaw, careful to keep his anger in his expression even as he feels relief unfurl in his chest as Wanda finally slices through the knot around her wrists. She catches the rope in her fingers before it can go slack, hand closing tightly around the handle of the slim, black knife. The one that Ivan had evidently missed when he’d patted her down. Considering her arms have been drawn behind her back this whole time, Steve is guessing that she had the holster strapped under her blouse. Bucky’s knife is thin enough that it would have still been decently concealed despite the tapered fit of the material, but also, they’d been lucky that Ivan hadn’t done a thorough check.

He probably thought he hadn’t needed to; Wanda is as adept with a gun as the rest of the Family, but she isn’t typically armed.

It seems that Bucky has taken care of that himself.

“Enough,” Anton finally barks, shaking his head at Ivan before turning back to Steve. “Yet another example of how you Rogers have been a thorn in my side all these years.”

“Considering I didn’t even know who you were until a few months ago, it’s rather an impressive accomplishment to be under your skin for years,” Steve retorts. Anton may not be as reactive as Ivan, but Steve still knows how to piss Anton off. He’s pretty damn full of himself, and considering how long Joseph Rogers has known him, it’d be a definite bruise to Anton’s ego to know he hadn’t been worth mentioning, especially since Steve had already known most of the other Family members when he took his father’s place.

As long as Anton and Ivan are too focused on being pissed at Steve to notice that Wanda’s freed herself, all she’ll have to do is hold off until the right time.

Though Steve doesn’t know how easily that’ll come, if at all. It may just be Anton and Ivan inside the warehouse with them, but Steve knew he’d had a few men with him during the crash. Likely the handful of capos and soldiers loyal to him rather than to Howard, because there’s no way they’d go along with this kind of plan otherwise. It’d put their asses on the line, too, and Steve would hope that they’re sensible enough to know that both Anton and Ivan would throw them under the bus if Howard got wind of it.

Anton’s jaw ticks. “I’ve known you the least, but I’m pretty damn sure I’ll get the most enjoyment out of putting a bullet through your head.”

“Because I walked in and took the seat at the head of the Families that you’ve wanted all along?” Steve asks. “Or because I know you were the one stealing from Howard?”

It’s something Steve had a gut feeling about being true when it’d clicked into place in his mind, but the flash in Anton’s eyes is all the confirmation he needs. He manages to school his expression back into annoyance only a second later, but it’s more in vain than anything else. He knows Steve had caught his initial reaction.

And maybe that’s why he doesn’t completely deny it like Steve had still been expecting. “And what makes you say that?” Anton asks, still feigning annoyance.

“Howard is a cautious man when it comes to his legitimate businesses, and especially when it comes to Stark Industries,” Steve points out. “I can only imagine how much stricter he was when Stark Industries was getting off of the ground, and operating out of only one small building with a handful of employees should’ve meant he’d have no trouble keeping everything locked up tight. Not unless someone Howard trusted enough to give complete access without his monitoring was the one stealing,” Steve adds.

Anton’s eyes flash. “I’ve known Howard for years. He wouldn’t believe your word over mine.”

“He would if it made sense, which it does,” Steve counters. “Howard’s loyal, but not blindly loyal. And considering your son’s recklessness puts the Family’s ass in some kind of jeopardy almost every day, he’d have no problems cutting both of you out of the picture the second he gets a decent reason. Even if your secret dies with me, he’d still cut you off for trying to get rid of Pietro and Wanda, too.” This time Anton doesn’t attempt to hide his surprise, and in his peripheral, Steve catches his sister flinch, genuinely shocked.

Anton smirks, but the smugness from his eyes is gone. “Those incidents weren’t my doing,” he argues.

“Maybe not directly,” Steve counters. “It was an Asgard car spotted near both of those scenes at the time, and by every one of the Family’s busted deals and shipments, too. But if we dig just a little deeper, it’d be easy to find out that you and Ivan were the ones goading Hela into doing your dirty work.”

“She doesn’t need anyone to help fuel her crazy.”

“No, she doesn’t,” Steve agrees. “Which makes her a convenient person to pin the blame on, especially since the Family knows she has it out for my father. Dad was getting a lot closer to your secret. You knew he’d share his theories with his kids, too, so you needed a quick and permanent fix. Then my dad goes missing and you get your chance.”

Anton narrows his eyes. “You think you’ve got it all figured out, don’t you?” he questions, but there’s no real threat in his voice, and Steve knows his assumptions are right.

Before Steve can respond, though, Ivan snaps, “I’m getting sick of all this talking.” He draws his gun from the pocket inside his jacket, giving Steve a glimpse of his own gun hooked into Ivan’s holster at his hip. “Maybe we should test your theory of this secret dying with you,” he snarls. Steve simply blinks back at him, but then he catches Ivan’s gaze shift back to Wanda and Steve’s shoulders go rigid. Ivan smirks. “Or better yet, maybe we’ll start with your sister first. You won’t feel like such a smug ass then, huh?”

Ivan squats down and grasps Wanda by her neck, forcing her chin to tip up as he starts to dig his fingers into her throat—

And then a screech from outside. It’s muffled but unmistakable, and close. Maybe no more than a few dozen feet away.

Tires.

Ivan and Anton’s heads snap around toward the doors at the other end of the warehouse. “What the hell is that?” Ivan growls out, but Anton lets out a low hiss for him to shut up, one hand already reaching into his jacket for his gun as he takes a few steps closer, as if ready to head outside to check himself.

There are voices being raised from outside; the men Anton kept posted out there to keep watch start to shout over one another, their words muffled but the alarm ringing clear in their tones.

And then two harsh cracks rip through the air – gunshots – right before the sound of metal slamming together, colliding in a hard crash.

“Shit,” Ivan mutters, starting to get up, but then Wanda slips her arms out from behind her almost in a blink, knife in hand, and Ivan lets out a sudden groan as she thrusts the blade into him. He hisses, his hand going slack around his gun as he staggers back, and then Wanda is shoving him forward and sending him stumbling back into Anton as his weight knocks them both over. Another blink, and Wanda is lunging across the small distance, on her knees beside Steve and shoving him over as another shot goes off.

Steve groans, a jolt of pain shooting through his shoulder right before his side hits the ground, but he barely has a second to register it before Wanda is down on one knee in front of him, her body half-angled away from him just as Anton has gotten back onto his feet, lifting his gun to aim it in their direction.

For a fleeting second, Steve’s heart slams to stop against his ribcage—

And then Anton’s face twists into a sneer as he spits out, “You’re too much of a princess to pull that trigger,” at Wanda, and Steve’s eyes snap onto his sister. With the way he’d fallen and the way Wanda’s back is turned toward him, he hadn’t noticed the gun in her hand, pointed right back at Anton.

Ivan’s gun, Steve realizes. His gaze slides down and, sure enough, he finds Bucky’s knife still curled tightly in her other hand, only a little bit of blood actually smudged onto the blade from how quickly she’d pulled it out of Ivan’s chest.

“Go ahead, prove me right,” Anton goads. “You don’t have the balls to—”

He’s cut off as another crack rips through the air, and then he’s shouting, staggering down onto one knee, his gun falling from his hand and clattering onto the ground as he clutches at his shoulder with a hiss. Wanda shifts her body, arm swinging toward Ivan as he’s in the middle of staggering back up to his feet, and then another shot goes off and groans out, “fuck!” and clutches at his leg, his body hitting the ground once more. Wanda whirls back toward Steve, bending over him, and though the blade manages to nick his skin in her haste to slice the ropes from around his wrist, he barely notices. After getting grazed with one of Anton’s bullets, a little cut is hardly going to bother him.

Wanda is on her feet before Steve is, gun aimed at Anton once more as she gets her boot on his gun where it fell, sliding it back before he can attempt to retrieve it. Steve half-lunges across the small distance to Ivan, still clutching at his leg where Wanda shot him, and then Steve snatches his gun out of Ivan’s holster and aims it at him.

He turns his head, keeping Ivan in his peripheral as he looks at Wanda with his lips twitching at the corners. “Good aim.”

Wanda’s eyes twinkle. “I’m Clint’s best student for a reason,” she replies as the doors at the other end of the warehouse are thrown open, and then both of their gazes are whirling in that direction just as Bucky and Sam and a few officers burst through.

Steve very nearly slackens in relief, but he manages to keep his gun aimed at Ivan until one of the officers reaches him, producing a pair of handcuffs.

Wanda lowers her gun, too, just as Bucky reaches her, one hand reaching out to cup her cheek as his eyes dart over her almost wildly. A moment later, he exhales a breath, the tension ebbing from his body as he seems to confirm for himself that she isn’t hurt, and then he’s reaching down with his other hand to curl his fingers around hers where they’re still gripping the handle of the knife. His knife, stained with Ivan’s blood. His eyes glint. “Atta girl,” he murmurs, and then he’s drawing her close, slanting his lips over hers. Steve watches as Wanda’s body finally eases in relief, very nearly melting into Bucky as she sways forward, and he hooks an arm around her to keep them both steady.

Steve turns away to give them a moment, and then Sam is beside him, reaching up to touch the frayed line of his jacket where the bullet grazed him.

“Just a scratch?” Sam asks, one eyebrow arched as his lip hitches at the corner, and, despite everything, Steve breathes out a laugh.

“Barely a paper cut,” Steve returns, and Sam just shakes his head. “You guys got here pretty fast.”

Sam nods, gaze shifting onto Anton as two officers are snapping cuffs around his wrists and starting to lead him out of the warehouse. “We’ve had a tracker on Anton’s car for a few days now and we’ve been tailing him at a decent distance. The second it got cut off in the crash, our asses were on the move.”

Steve nods, but there’s something in Sam’s eyes that makes him pause. “What?” he asks, aware of the way Bucky and Wanda pull away from each other in his peripheral as Bucky tugs her closer to Steve’s side, his lips twitching into a grin.

“We’ve got something for you,” Bucky answers, nodding his head toward the doors.

Steve catches his sister’s curious gaze, exchanging a look before Bucky is gently urging her forward with a hand on the small of her back, and Steve follows the two of them out of the warehouse with Sam. There are already several patrol cars parked along the fence that’d been put up by the construction company, officers in the midst of loading Ivan and Anton and their men into the back seats, and what few pedestrians happen to be walking in the area are already starting to pause to try and see what’s happening.

It isn’t until Steve’s gaze finds a familiar car at the end of the fence, though, that he realizes why Sam and Bucky had been grinning so hard.

Dad.

... ...

Our mother.

Natasha’s fingers tighten around the necklace in her hand, so much so that she can feel the charm starting to dig into her palm, but she barely flinches. Her stare stays fixed on Yuri, searching his face for any small shift in his expression, any small twitch or tell that may give away the fact that he’s bluffing—but that smirk sits perfectly in place and the smug gleam in his eyes never wavers. Rationally, she knows that this doesn’t automatically mean he’s telling the truth. She has a pretty damn good poker face, too, and she can count on one hand the number of times someone had picked up on it when she was bluffing. Even then, they hadn’t been entirely sure if she was actually lying or not.

But she can feel her chest tightening, and her instinct tells her that something about his story makes sense.

She’s always found her parents’ story odd, and though Yelena’s explanation would’ve cleared a lot of it, Natasha knew something was still off. Something was missing. Why would her mother join a mob so that she, Joseph, and Alia could keep each other safe and yet sleep with the man her best friend married? The very same one she wanted to protect Alia from? And Natasha knows she looks like her father, like her Uncle Howard and Tony and Peter. It’s been said countless times that she has the Stark stamp to her.

Belatedly, her conversation with Steve comes back to her and how he apologized for getting upset when she hid “Sarah Rogers” from him. He told her he would’ve done the same thing, would’ve waited before telling Natasha something that could upset her because it was about her mother.

I just want to be sure, he told her.

This was what he’d been hesitant to tell her. Maybe he didn’t put together the exact truth, but he’d already suspected that her mother wasn’t her birth mother.

“I suppose you expect me to just take your word for it,” Natasha replies, managing to keep her voice steady despite the way her heart is starting to pound against her ribcage.

Yuri sits up a little straighter, lifting his eyebrows. “Perhaps I should have invited Melina to join us and tell you herself.”

Natasha lets out a light, almost nonchalant him in reply, even as her fist curls even tighter around the necklace still in her hand, and she knows she’s managed to catch him off guard by her lack of reaction to his threat because there’s a fleeting shift of uncertainty in his eyes. Then he blinks and that smug, knowing gleam is back in place.

“I’m surprised you didn’t consider it to begin with, after going through all this trouble to come here to convince me of the truth in person.” Natasha quirks an eyebrow at him. “Unless, of course, you have another reason for coming to an entirely different country to meet someone who could only supposedly be your family.”

He nearly bares his teeth in a dangerous grin. “You really don’t enjoy games, do you, dear sister?” he drawls. “It’s almost as if you’re trying to rush this along. Of course, if I were you, I would be eager to get to my date tonight as well. With Rogers, correct?” He reaches for the bottle of vodka again and then leans forward to retrieve Natasha’s shot glass, his eyes glinting as he catches her stare. “Like mother, like daughter, after all. I’m told that our mother was quite fond of Joseph Rogers. I’m sure I would’ve heard all about him if not for the way my father got particularly violent whenever Joseph Rogers was ever breathed. It’s quite tragic that he went missing a few months ago, isn’t it?”

Natasha studies his expression for a moment, and, possibly for the first time since he began speaking, she knows he’s bluffing.

His tone is suggestive, and threatening, wanting her to believe he’s in on the secret of how Joseph Rogers had gone missing, or maybe that he’d been involved somehow.

But he wouldn’t be here if he knew the truth. Even if he’s cold enough not to care about someone planning to kill his own father, Ivan dying while Yuri is overseas won’t make it easy for Yuri to take control of the mob if he makes it back to Russia. Not if there are already more than enough people that want him gone.

Maybe she doesn’t need to stall. Maybe she can distract him herself.

“Oh, you don’t expect me to believe that you listen to the rumors,” Natasha counters, letting her voice lilt in amusement—and, sure enough, there’s a flash of uncertainty in his eyes at her reaction. He slides her shot glass back over and she picks it up, letting a secretive smile curl at her lips. “But I will say this, your acting is quite convincing.”

She downs her shot without waiting for him to finish pouring his, licking her lips, and his jaw ticks. “And here I thought you don’t like playing games.”

Natasha tilts her head, arching an eyebrow. “And what game is it that you think I’m playing?”

Yuri smirks, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes this time. “I’m sure it doesn’t do well for your reputation that the head of the Families went missing at all, let alone for this long and without any leads,” he muses. “But there’s no need to keep up pretenses for me.” She simply hums as he sets the bottle of vodka down on the table between them, letting her lips curve into a smug, knowing smirk of her own, not so much as blinking when he holds her stare, and she can see exactly when he realizes that she may not be bluffing.

He blinks twice, working to keep his expression unaffected. “Alright. I’ll humor you, dear sister. If Joseph Rogers hasn’t been missing all this time, where is he?”

Natasha leans in closer to the table between them, nearly perched on the very edge of the couch. “Tell me, baby brother,” she starts, her smirk widening when she catches the way his jaw ticks, “why I should divulge that when you haven’t even admitted that you’ve come here to kill me. I’ve never even stepped foot in Russia and yet, I’m a threat to you, aren’t I?” She leans in even closer, catching the way Yelena draws closer to Yuri from behind, too, as is protective. “If it’s a choice between you and me, I’m the best bet. A mafia princess to the underground and a Stark princess to the world. I can offer them everything, but you and your father are nothing but liabilities they’re eager to cut out.”

A growl nearly rips from Yuri’s throat, his composure quickly slipping through his fingers. “You think you know everything, don’t you?”

“No,” she replies, her voice dropping to a low, staged whisper. “I only pretend to,” she says, glancing over his shoulder to catch Yelena’s gaze, and the woman gives her a barely discernable nod right before she has her gun up, firing two shots – one each for the two men standing at the doors of the suite.

Natasha doesn’t have to look back to check to see if they hit, nor does she have time to, because just as Yuri starts to turn around, Natasha’s hand wraps around the neck of the bottle of vodka and she’s swinging it hard, slamming it up into Yuri’s jaw with as much force as she can muster at such a close range.

Yuri keels over as Natasha is on her feet, twisting her body around as she flings the bottle toward the two men standing to her left. There are also two more men to her right that could have a chance to shoot at her, but as she gets a running start, she catches a glimpse of the two guys that’d been posted behind Yelena dropping to the floor as she whirls around, gun pointed, so Natasha doesn’t worry about what’s behind her as she sprints forward, dropping to the ground right as one of them manages to get their gun up. He gets a shot off, but Natasha is already sliding across the carpet, swiping her legs under the other guy – the one already staggering back from being hit with the bottle of vodka – before spinning back around and onto her feet, and then she grabs the other guy by his jacket, yanking him down and sending his head cracking against her knee.

She swipes one of their guns out of their hands and whirls around, aiming it at where Yuri had been in the same second that Yelena does—

But Yuri is already up and over the couch and bounding out the suite, the doors slamming closed behind him, and Yelena exhales a curse under her breath as she lowers her gun and catches Natasha’s gaze.

“As soon as he caught me, he knew he’d be outnumbered when it came down to the three of us,” Yelena tells her. “But if the others are still in the hallway when we leave this suite, we’ll be outnumbered. If even half of the men stayed, that’s too much heat for us to take, and there’s no other way out of this suite.”

“Well, if he makes it out of this hotel, he’ll come after both of us and my family, too,” Natasha counters.

Yelena rubs her lips together, considering this for a moment, and then she swears under her breath again. “Let’s go,” she says, and Natasha swallows lightly, crossing the room and meeting Yelena at the door. “Any plan?” she asks.

Despite herself, Natasha lets out a humorless laugh. “Try not to die?”

Yelena nearly cracks a smile. “Your plan sucks,” she retorts, and then they’re both tugging at the handles, throwing the doors open and stepping into the hallway, and Natasha whirls around to stand with her back to Yelena’s as she points her gun at—

“Mom,” Natasha breathes out, her heart nearly slamming to a stop against her ribcage as she lowers her gun. Her mother lowers her gun, too, and her composed expression dissolves into relief. Natasha’s eyes flit over her shoulder and down the hallway, her father already lowering his own gun as he makes his way over to them, and then, right in front of the door to the stairwell, Uncle Howard and Nick Fury are watching as Thor and Odin are shoving someone over the threshold and maneuvering him down the stairs.

Yuri.

Natasha nearly sways back on her feet as she feels the relief flood through her, her eyes shifting back to her mother. “You got him?” she asks, even though she already knows the answer. She still wants to hear it, though.

“Yes,” her mother tells her, her voice soft. “If you had waited a few more minutes, we would’ve saved you from all the excitement.”

“She wouldn’t be our daughter if she preferred less excitement,” her father quips, coming to stand beside them. Natasha exhales a sharp, breathy sort of laugh as her mother reaches for her, drawing her close—and though she and her parents have never been the kind to prefer hugs, it’s almost instant, the way she melts into the embrace.

... ...

Wanda must’ve seen their father a split second before Steve had, because just as Steve’s mind is starting to catch up to the fact that that’s him – that his father is here, after being gone for so months – Wanda lets out a shaky, sharp, breathy sound, and then she starts running, quickly crossing the distance to the gate at the corner of the fence as their father gets it open. She throws herself at him in a hug that quite literally knocks him back a few steps, but his arms go around her, too, as his deep laugh fills the air.

Steve takes his time making his way over, feeling himself smile as he watches his father brushes a kiss to Wanda’s hair, murmuring something to her that makes her giggle and press her face into his shoulder. Then his eyes shift, watching through the fence as Pietro gets out of their father’s car and starts heading toward their father and sister. He catches Steve’s gaze, lifting his hand in a wave, and Steve’s smile widens, relieved his brother doesn’t seem any worse for wear considering he just got out of the hospital.

“Bet you didn’t see this coming!” Pietro calls out, and their father lifts his head, his eyes wrinkling into a brighter smile when they land on Steve.

Wanda turns to look over her shoulder at him, too, her eyelashes dotted with tears she hasn’t quite shed yet. His sister’s smile is small and shaky, but beautiful and relieved and so fucking happy, and then she steps back from their father, practically ducking under his arm to squeeze Pietro in a hug the second he’s within her reach.

“Steve,” his father greets, his voice low and gruff. The two of them had never been particularly affectionate with each other, not in the same way his siblings are, but it was never something Steve held any resentment towards him for. His father raised the twins mostly on his own, while Steve didn’t even meet his father until after high school, and anytime they’ve spent together since then, they’ve had the twins as a buffer. He and his father are closer now, but there had still been some lingering space between them.

Still, somehow Steve isn’t all that surprised when his father doesn’t hesitate to grasp at Steve’s shoulder, pulling him in for a hug as well.

Steve blinks, his chest tightening, but he doesn’t miss a beat in returning his father’s embrace. It doesn’t linger quite as long as his hug with Wanda had, but his father still gives him one last sort of squeeze before pulling away, one hand still lingering on Steve’s shoulder.

And this time, Steve is surprised when he catches the cracks in his father’s usually nonchalant expression. Considering who the man is, Steve had always seen his father as formidable and unyielding. Sure, Steve knew firsthand that the man had a soft side for his children, but for the most part, his composure never wavered.

“Welcome home,” Steve tells him, his voice a little rough. “How was your trip?”

His father’s eyes glint. “Good,” he answers simply, and it should be strange, how that one word seems to make the air shift. He turns to Wanda and Pietro as Wanda blinks up at him, her eyes wide and glimmering. “It was really good,” he tells them, the meaning clear in his tone. “But I much prefer to be home.”

“I take it that means you don’t have plans to be anywhere else anytime soon?” Steve asks.

His father squeezes his shoulder firmly, his lips hitching up into a wider smile—and, for a fleeting second, Steve almost sees his own face smiling back at him, making his chest squeeze in a way he hasn’t felt since his mother had passed.

“No,” his father promises, shaking his head once. “I’m right where I need to be.”

“Well, if you ever did decide to take another vacation,” Pietro chimes in, his lips spreading into a wide grin as he glances at Steve, “we can hold down the fort.”

Wanda breathes out a laugh, her smile bright, proud, and when Steve catches his father’s stare once more, he sees the same emotion reflected in his eyes. “I’ve always known that,” he says, and Steve feels his chest squeeze again, his own smile widening because he’s starting to realize that maybe he always had, too.

... ...

Her uncle stays behind at the hotel to handle things with Nick and Odin, and though Uncle Howard asks Natasha if she wants to have a say in what they do with Yuri and his men, she promises her uncle that she won’t come up with something nearly as creative as he can. Besides, she knows that the Family likes to take their time in dealing with anyone that’s threatened one of their own, and Natasha doesn’t want to waste another ounce of her energy on Yuri if she can help it. And she’s willing to bet it will drive him crazy to be told that he’d gone through all of this effort to come after her himself when she doesn’t even want to be there to watch while the Family has their fun with him.

“I know today has been exciting and all, so I thought I’d make one of your favorites,” her father says, and it’s almost instant, the grin that pulls at Natasha’s lips when he slides over a double shot of vodka poured into a wine glass. Part of her wonders if she should find the choice of alcohol ironic, all things considered, but as she picks up the glass, swirling it around as if it were actually wine, she doesn’t think of sharing shots of vodka with Yuri in that hotel suite. Instead, she thinks about the first ever time her father had poured her vodka in a wine glass just like this, when she first moved into this apartment out of college and her parents had come over to help her get settled in.

He’d joked about it being a celebration of both of her heritages, when in reality, they simply hadn’t wanted to open every box until they found her shot glasses.

“How sentimental,” her mother notes, amusement pulling at her own smile.

Her father tips his head, considering this. “I have my moments,” he admits, reaching into his pocket, and Natasha watches as he pulls out the thin, silver necklace that she’d held earlier that night, setting it carefully on the kitchen island between them, his expression softening.

Melina picks it up gently, threading the chain through her fingers and lifting it to let the engraved bar dangle for her to read.

Natasha watches her mother, remembering the way she and Alia—Natalia—had looked in that photograph she and Steve had found among his father’s things. It had to have been taken after Joseph Rogers, Alia, and her mother had joined the mob since Alexi was in the photo, too, and yet, Alia looked content. She looked happy because she was with the people she loved most, and that was enough to make her feel as carefree as she’d looked in that photo, even if her life had been anything but that because of Ivan.

“Is there any truth to that?” Natasha asks gently, nodding at the necklace in her mother’s hand, though it’s not really a question. The expression on both of her parents’ faces is more than enough proof.

Her mother catches her gaze, her smile soft. “Yes,” she answers simply, reaching over to tuck some of Natasha’s hair behind her ear. “You’re my last piece of her.”

Natasha feels something warm tug at her chest, and then she turns to her father. “How did you all meet?”

“Because of Joseph,” her father replies. Natasha lifts her eyebrows slightly in surprise; she hadn’t expected that. “By now, I assume you and Steve both know the truth about him and Alia and your mother?” her father asks.

She nods, glancing at her mother. “We found an old picture of you with some of his things.”

Her mother’s smile widens just a little as she sets the necklace back down, untangling the chain from her fingers. “The three of us had known each other since childhood,” her mother explains. “Alia had the biggest heart and wore it on her sleeve, but that was a dangerous thing in our world. Ivan wanted her the moment he saw her, but it was clear to everyone that Joseph and I were the only ones she cared for. She always blamed herself for Ivan wanting to get rid of Joseph, and she was never the same after he left.”

“Joseph was the reason your uncle and I went to Russia in the first place,” her father adds. “He couldn’t risk going back, but when Howard and Maria were having problems and needed space, Joseph asked Howard and I to go to Russia just to check on his old friends. He never stopped worrying about them, but also, he could tell that Howard needed some objective to keep his mind busy.” Her father’s eyes shift to her mother’s, his lips quirking. “Your mother was actually the one to introduce me to Alia,” he says.

Natasha turns to her mother, her own amusement tugging at her lips. “Really?”

Her mother chuckles. “He and your uncle didn’t quite do a good job at hiding how they studied us at the bar,” her mother tells her. “I didn’t know at the time it was because of Joseph. I just knew that Alia had been having a particularly hard time lately and could use a charming stranger to comfort her.”

“We actually left Russia shortly after, but your mother tracked us down when Alia found out she was pregnant,” her father continues. “She hadn’t been engaged to Ivan by then, and your uncle and I snuck the two of them away. But Ivan was far too possessive to let Alia go, and Howard and I hadn’t been prepared to handle this kind of threat away from home.” His eyebrows furrow, the frustration of the memory flashing in his eyes. “Alexi was able to warn us that Ivan finally found her after Alia had given birth.”

“She wanted your father to take you to keep you safe.” Her mother gives her a small, wry sort of smile. “She wanted me to go with him. Ivan only wanted her. He stopped searching for Joseph because he was no longer in his way, and he wouldn’t care if I was gone, either. If she had come with us, he would’ve stopped at nothing to find her and drag her back. She didn’t want to put anyone through that, and she absolutely didn’t want you to be raised like that, always on the run, hiding. She begged us to save you.”

“The moment we brought you home, Joseph recognized her in your face,” her father says, voice soft. “Everyone says how much you look like me, but you look like her, too. You just have to know where to find it.”

Natasha feels herself smile, feels a warmth fluttering in her chest as she thinks back to the photograph they’d found among Joseph’s things. It’s a little odd to think that she hadn’t recognized her own face in Alia, even when Alia had been so much younger in that picture, but part of her liked that it hadn’t been something so obvious. Her likeness to her birth mother, just like the secret itself, was something you have to know to see—something that makes a difference but doesn’t change everything about Natasha’s life.

It doesn’t change who her mother is. It simply gives her another woman to admire.

“I wish I could’ve met her,” Natasha says quietly, and her father comes around the island, cups the back of Natasha’s neck as he brushes a kiss to her forehead.

He doesn’t say the words – neither of her parents do – but Natasha knows the feeling is mutual. She also knows that there wouldn’t have been a way for that to happen, even if Alia was still alive. Not as long as Ivan was alive, too.

A knock at the door makes her father draw away slightly, glancing at Natasha, and, despite everything, she feels her lips twitch in a grin. The only people other than her parents who have ever had her codes to the apartment before are Uncle Howard and Tony, and neither of them would’ve let themselves in at the lobby only to knock on her front door. Then her father blinks, amusement glinting in his eyes as he realizes who it could be, and she rubs her lips together to fight off a smile as he goes to answer it.

And no, she’s not at all surprised when Steve is in her kitchen a moment later, his gaze finding hers within seconds.

“Nat,” he breathes as he crosses the distance to her in a few steps, cupping her face with his hands as his eyes flit over her, checking for himself to see that she’s alright.

Then he exhales a sharp breath, his body easing in relief, and Natasha feels herself smiling as he slants his mouth over hers. The kiss is hard and deep in an instant, and she almost feels herself swaying back atop the barstool with the force of it. He sucks on her bottom lip, thumbs brushing over her cheeks, down the line of her jaw, drawing a soft noise from her throat, and then she hears someone (likely her father) clearing their throat. Steve chuckles as he eases his lips off of hers, parting their kiss and pulling back.

“I’m alright,” she reassures softly, reaching up to wrap her hands around his wrists, giving him a gentle squeeze as if in emphasis.

Over his shoulder, she catches her mother getting up from her barstool, walking toward the threshold of the kitchen – and that’s when she notices Joseph Rogers filling the doorway, reaching for her mother and pulling her into his arms in a hug.

Natasha feels her chest flutter, the warmth of relief at seeing Joseph Rogers alive and home mixing with the bittersweet twinge of knowing what he and her mother are offering each other comfort for. Natasha’s throat tightens a little, her chest tightening, and then Steve is stroking his thumbs over her cheeks in slow, soothing strokes, and her eyes flit up to his. She doesn’t have to ask to know that his father must’ve filled him in on the truth of her and Alia because she can see it in his eyes, just as she knows that the empathy there isn’t just for her. It’s for his father and for her parents, and for Alia, for the hope that they could’ve reunited one day, no matter how slim the chance.

“Come here,” Steve murmurs, pulling his hands from her face so he can wrap his arms around her, drawing her close—and she doesn’t quite realize how overwhelmed she is until her eyes are closed and her face is pressed against his chest, blocking everything else out other than his steady breaths and the soothing circles he rubs over her back.

... ...

It’s late by the time they make it back to his place, but he’s still wide awake as he lays next to Nat in bed. She’d come back with him rather than the two of them crashing at her apartment since they were already there, and he knows it’s because she wanted him to be close to Pietro, just in case. His brother is supposed to be watched for the next few days, anyway, and since Wanda and Pietro had already taken to sleeping at his brownstone rather than their own apartments for the last few days, Steve doesn’t see a point in switching things up. It’s hardly a bother to have them under his roof, and after having the place all to himself for so long, he likes that it feels less empty these days.

He starts to slip out of bed when he feels Natasha reach for him, her fingers curling around his forearm as he’s sitting up, and he smiles down at her in the dark. Even though he’s not tired, he knows she is, because she’d passed out almost as soon as her head hit the pillow. Still, part of him had expected her to wake up as soon as he moved.

She’s always been attuned to him like that.

“I’m just going to drink something warm to help me sleep,” he tells her softly, leaning over to brush his lips to her cheek, running a hand over her side through the duvet.

“Do you want me to come with you?” she asks, her voice heavy and a little raspy with sleep, and he feels his smile widen as he peers down at her in the dark. She’s practically still half asleep, but he’s not surprised at all that she still offers to get up with him. He knows she had quite a day, but she knows he did, too.

“No, it’s okay,” he reassures, sliding his lips lower, pressing a kiss to the spot along her jaw that always, always makes her shiver, and she makes this little noise from the back of her throat. “Sleep,” he murmurs against her skin, and she chuckles softly, barely above a whisper, as she curls into herself a little more and hums in reply.

He clicks his door shut softly behind him when he steps out into the hallway, quietly padding past Wanda and Pietro’s doors as he heads downstairs. He can see that the kitchen light is already on, which likely means his father is still up, and, sure enough, Steve finds him sitting at the kitchen island with a mug of tea sitting on the counter in front of him. His father has his head bent over his phone in front of him, but considering the screen is off when he lifts his head to look at Steve, he was probably just lost in thought. Steve doesn’t blame him. It’s probably the reason the man is up at all, just as Steve is, which is likely why his father doesn’t seem surprised to see him up, too.

The kettle is still hot when Steve picks it up, so he pours some in a mug and grabs a packet of chamomile tea from the box that Wanda keeps stocked in his pantry.

“So, you and Nat, huh?” his father asks once Steve is sitting in the barstool next to his, and a laugh bursts from Steve as he tears at the packet, dunking the tea bag into his mug. His father chuckles, too, shaking his head a little at himself, and maybe also at the strangeness of the moment. Not because it’s the two of them talking alone, when that hasn’t really happened much before, but because, out of all the things he could’ve asked about after the last few hours – hell, after the last few months – this is what he picks.

“Yeah,” Steve says, and maybe he should feel like an idiot for smiling so widely, but he honestly doesn’t care and he knows his father doesn’t, either.

In fact, his father’s mouth hitches as his smile widens a little, too. But his eyes soften a little as he asks, “How’s she holding up?”

Steve pauses as he considers this, toying with the string of the tea bag hanging over the rim of his mug. He thinks about the way Natasha had held onto him in her kitchen when he’d pulled her against his chest, squeezing him close but yet not quite clinging to him, either. “I think maybe it hasn’t entirely hit her just yet,” he admits, because he thinks that’s the truth. She hadn’t seemed particularly shocked when they had dinner at her apartment with their parents; she simply seemed tired, and maybe a little distracted, like she couldn’t help her thoughts pulling her away from the conversation every now and then. “But I don’t think her entire world has been knocked out of place.”

His father nods at this. Considering he’s known Natasha her whole life, he’d probably know how to interpret her reactions pretty damn well, too.

“Honestly, I didn’t think it would be,” his father tells him, rubbing a hand over his hair. “But we didn’t want to minimize how big of a secret it was to keep from her, either.”

We. As in, him and Melina and Edward, maybe even Howard and Maria, too, since Steve doubts Howard would’ve kept this from his wife this entire time.

“Why did you and Melina pretend not to have known each other from before?” Steve asks. It’s not an accusation, and he knows his father won’t take it as one, and though Steve already has an idea of the answer, he figures he might as well ask, anyway, now that all of this is out in the open.

“I think it was instinct, mostly.” His father’s smile turns a little wry as he looks at Steve. “We’d gotten pretty good at downplaying how close we were with each other and with Alia back in Russia, even before Ivan started actively threatening me. When Edward brought her to New York and I saw her again after all those years, it was like a reflex. I’d missed her—missed both of them—but there really wouldn’t be a reason for me to have known a woman who’d never stepped foot in the States before. The Family knew I was adopted, but not from where. Your grandparents kept it under lock and key because Ivan was on a manhunt, and even after he’d stopped, we didn’t want to risk any slip ups.”

Steve nods at this. “Did you ever plan on telling her, or any of us?”

“We debated on it for years,” his father admits with an exhale. “It made sense not to when you were all younger, but there were several times later on that could’ve been right that we just didn’t say anything. I don’t think it was any one thing or any one reason. But it was more about how we felt about it and about bringing it up. You all had the right to know the truth, especially when it could’ve put you in danger, just like Natasha had been today. That’s on us,” his father adds, swallowing roughly with a shake of his head.

“Dad,” Steve says, his voice low and a little rough, too. “It’s not your fault. It’s no one’s fault.”

He’s not just saying that to comfort his father, but because Steve genuinely believes it. Yeah, his father had a point; if he’d never sent Yelena to warn them before Yuri got to New York, they wouldn’t have had an edge over him.

But the truth had come out when they needed it, not when it was too late to help anyone, and it was so much more than just keeping Natasha’s birth mother or keeping his father’s past a secret from their own children. His father had to flee the only home and the only family he’d ever known at only thirteen because a man almost twice his age was threatened by his friendship with the girl he wanted, and Melina had to leave her best friend behind, knowing she would’ve likely been dead once Ivan found her. And it wasn’t just that, either. Melina must’ve been terrified of what Ivan would do to Alia for running in the first place, but Alia begged her to keep her daughter safe, and so Melina honored her plea. Even Edward, who had only known Alia for a short while, had to have been affected at leaving the mother of his child behind right after she’d given birth.

If telling the truth meant having to relive those memories, Steve would’ve been incredibly hesitant of it, too. That’s not something he or Nat, or Wanda or Pietro, would hold against their parents.

“Your mother knew, though,” his father adds after a moment, and Steve feels his heart trip in his chest as he stares back at his father. “She was the first to meet Melina.”

Steve feels his eyebrows furrow at this. He’s a few years older than Natasha, but not by much, which meant… “I thought you’d stopped seeing me and Mom by then?”

His father nods. “I had. We thought it would be safer, not just because of the Family, but also because I never knew for sure if Ivan was still looking for me. I also knew it was a lot for your mother to take in general, even if she’d never say it. She never would’ve asked to keep you away from me, but I knew she needed it to be that way, at least for a little while.” He rubs his lips together, looking Steve in the eyes as he adds, “I know that wasn’t a choice I should’ve made for her, for you. And to this day, I still wonder if it was the wrong one. I knew your mother was a tough person, tougher than both of us, but maybe I’d underestimated what she was willing to bear for me,” he admits quietly.

Steve doesn’t realize he’s holding his breath until it comes out in a sharp exhale. “You thought she wouldn’t want to handle this life?” Steve asks.

His father rubs at his jaw, seeming to contemplate this. “I wondered a lot of things. Your mother was too good for this world from the beginning, but she’d also known who I was when we met. She’d chosen to trust me, and I respected her and her choice. I loved her. But I knew it all bothered her to some extent, especially when you came along.”

Steve swallows lightly. He’d like to believe his mother could’ve handled anything, but he also knows firsthand that this world is a lot at first glance. It’s still a lot once you’re on the inside, too, but his mother had been young and had her child to think of. She genuinely loved his father, but that didn’t mean she had to love his lifestyle, too.

And he knows his mother. If she let his father convince her that keeping Steve and herself from him and the Family was for the best, it was because part of her had believed it, too. If she wanted to raise Steve in this lifestyle for whatever reason that may have been, she would’ve fought her father like hell to stay and she would’ve won, too.

Like he said: she was tougher than both of them.

“How did she meet Melina, then?” Steve asks after a moment, already feeling a smile tug at his lips. He knows without a doubt his mother probably loved Melina.

She would’ve loved Natasha, too.

“By pure chance, actually,” his father answers, his own smile widening, too, as he glances down into his tea at the memory. “Your mother recognized Melina from the photograph I had and knew of her from the stories I told her, and we happened to run into each other in Brooklyn. It was the one and only time your mother and I had approached each other since we agreed to keep our distance. And they loved each other, of course, but I knew they would. You’d think they were the childhood friends.”

Steve chuckles at this, feeling a warmth squeeze at his chest. Somehow, he could almost picture the memory perfectly.

“Your mother and Alia would’ve loved each other, too,” his father adds, his smile softening as Steve stares back at him. “And Alia would’ve loved you.”

Steve reaches over, placing a hand on his father’s shoulder, and his father lifts his hand to grip Steve’s. “I would’ve loved her, too,” Steve says, giving him a squeeze, and his father lets out a breathy laugh as he nods.

... ...

She can feel Steve’s hand at her hip, his fingers calloused yet gentle and teasing as they toy with the hem of his shirt on her. Natasha had rolled onto her back sometime during the night, her shoulder practically pressing against Steve’s chest, and she feels her lips pull into a soft smile as he inches her shirt higher up her body, making her stomach flutter just under his palm when he splays his fingers over her skin. Then he dips his head to press a kiss to her cheek, her jaw, the column of her neck, feeling her pulse thrum under his lips, and she makes a soft noise when he hand dips down, fingers slipping under the waistband of her panties and pulling them down over one hip.

“Steve,” she breathes, feeling his mouth curve into a grin against her collarbone, and then his fingers hook under the other side of her panties, too, pulling them down her legs and then off entirely.

“Good morning,” he says into her skin, and she feels her smile widen, feels him nudge her legs open as his body slides down hers. He pushes her shirt up a little higher, kisses over one of her ribs, brushes his lips against an old scar on her other hip, and then his face is pressed against the inside of one of her thighs, lips quirking into a smile.

Her eyelashes flutter open as she lifts herself up on her elbows, glancing down to where Steve is settled between her legs, pressing one into the mattress as he pulls the other over his shoulders. She can already feel her breaths coming in a little shorter and shallower, feel her heart beating a little faster, even as a slow, almost lazy sort of smirk pulls at her lips as she meets his gaze. His mouth is hitched in that crooked, boyish sort of smile she’s come to love, but there’s nothing teasing about the heavy look in his eyes.

Under the darkening arousal, she can see the pure adoration in his gaze, reflecting her own. She knows, realistically, it’s only been a few days—but she can’t really remember what it was like to wake up without Steve beside her, to fall asleep to his large, warm body curling over hers, and she doesn’t want to remember, either.

“Good morning,” she breathes, reaching down to cup his jaw, rubbing her thumb against the corner of his mouth as it widens just a little more.

Then he’s dipping down, licking into where she’s warm and already a little wet for him, and she sucks in a breath, trapping it in her chest as her eyelashes flutter. She keeps her hand on his jaw, rubbing the budding stubble there, feeling it flex with every pass of his tongue against her, every little groan and lick and nibble, and it almost makes it feel heightened, somehow. She’s not quite holding onto him, but still, it feels as if he presses in closer at the exact moment her fingers twitch to drag him in, feels as if his licks linger when his tongue slides over a particularly sensitive spot that has her hand trembling to twist into his hair. She keeps her gaze on him as her vision grows blurry and her eyelids grow heavy, and then his eyes lick up to hers, sucking at her little bundle of nerves, and her head almost falls back as her body gently arches off of the bed.

He sucks at it again, her elbow nearly sliding out from under her, and then his tongue dips down and into her, and her lips part in a soft moan. And then his lips slide back up before she can find a rhythm, teasing her, tongue flicking against her hard bud right before he sucks it again, and she twists her neck to press her face into the pillow.

Again, and again, and again he works his mouth over her, groaning with her every little shift, sending delicious vibrations everywhere as she arches and rolls her hips—

And she doesn’t know if this morning feels different because of what happened yesterday, or if they feel different, but already it feels like too much, too fast, and she practically smothers herself with his pillow to muffle her voice as she bursts apart at the seams. White-hot pleasure crashes over her, rushing through her as he holds her to him, and she twists one hand into his sheets, the other braced against his headboard as she rides out her high and he coaxes every last drop of it out of her with a long groan.

Then he eases his mouth off of her, sliding his hands gently up and down her thighs, over her hips, almost soothing her as she shudders delicately from the pleasure. He kisses up her flushed skin, his lips brushing against almost every inch of it along the way, letting her catch her breath as he settles back over her.

He presses his face into her neck as she wraps her arms around his torso, kissing her there, too, and she lightly digs her nails into the muscles in his back.

“Good morning,” he says again, drawing a breathy chuckle from her that quickly dissolves into moan as she feels him between their bodies, hard and pressing right against her little bundle of nerves. His hand curves over her hip, gripping as he presses at her entrance, and then her body arches as best as it can under his as he slides in. She sinks her nails into his back a little harder as he sinks into her a little deeper, pausing as he slips all the way, and then his other hand is braced against the mattress, his mouth slanting over hers as he starts to move, and she very nearly whimpers into the kiss as he sweeps his tongue into her mouth at the same second he snaps his hips harder against hers.

They try to be slow at first, to savor it, but within seconds their kiss quickens, and then so do their bodies as they move against each other. Her chest squeezes, her lungs starting to sting just a little bit because she needs to take a breath, but she doesn’t pull away, not yet.

Not until a few moments later, when her second orgasm bursts through her, almost taking her by surprise as she twists her lips away from his to suck in a shaky breath. Pleasure rushes through her again, a little harder and a little faster now, her lips parting in a moan that seems trapped in her chest as she shudders under the white-hot waves crashing over her. He kisses her cheek, her neck, her shoulder, groaning words into her skin that she can’t quite hear over the blood pounding in her ears, but then she feels his body growing taut above hers, his hips growing more urgent, until he stiffens and buries his face into her neck, teeth sinking into her skin as his groans out in his release.

It’s a long, few moments before Natasha feels her breaths finally start to even out, feels his body finally start to ease above her, and then his tongue darts out, licking at the indent of his teeth in her skin before he lifts his head to peer down at her.

“A girl could get used to a wake-up call like that,” she breathes out, and even though her voice is light and teasing, she knows there’s something more in her own words.

And she knows that Steve can hear it, too, because the warmth fluttering in her chest is reflected in his eyes as he smiles down at her. He replies with a teasing, “I’ll keep that in mind,” but she can hear the promise in his voice, and she’s smiling when he dips his head down to kiss her.

... ...

“Hey, soldier,” a voice whispers in his ear, warm and teasing, and Steve feels his lips twitch into a grin as Natasha slides onto the stool beside his, setting an empty glass on the bar counter. He spins his barstool to face her, rubs his lips together in vain to hide his amusement, but even if he could manage a poker face around Nat, she’d still see it in his eyes that he doesn’t find her new little joke as annoying as he sometimes pretends. Somehow, she’d decided that his father being back to take over as head of the Family meant that Steve was no more than a soldier now, or less, considering he wasn’t technically a “made” man, and honestly? Steve is far more amused by how much delight Natasha takes in her own joke than the actual joke itself. “Can I buy a man a drink?” she asks, setting her hands atop his knees to lean in and brush a kiss to his lips.

“The drinks are free,” Steve points out, arching an eyebrow, and Natasha smirks, her eyes bright with amusement.

He remembers how she’d had that same twinkle in her eyes when they first met right in this restaurant, almost at this very spot at the bar just a few months ago. The place had been closed that day, too, though rather than catching it between the lunch and dinner rush, the restaurant is closed for the rest of the night.

And technically speaking, it’s closed for them, though Steve is starting to realize that the Family will find any and every excuse to gather together and celebrate.

“Shouldn’t you two be over there?” Pietro chimes in from behind the bar, pouring more water into Natasha’s empty glass before gesturing at the dining room filled with the rest of the Family, loud with excited chatter and the sound of the kids screaming. “Of course, if Howard is retelling how he kicked Anton’s ass, I’d be hiding here, too.”

Steve breathes out a laugh. Over a month later and both Howard and Tony still manage to bring up the story of officially kicking Anton and Ivan out of the state—hell, damn near out of the country—but then again, considering Anton had been a fundamental part of Stark Industries from the ground up, Steve doubts Howard will get over it anytime soon, or ever. Even if Howard had only really tolerated Anton these last few years, knowing that he had been betrayed for so long was a hard thing to get over. Howard may be more pissed than anything else right now, but some part of him is upset, too, just as Odin and Frigga must have been upset that Hela had been behind all the ambushes.

Steve half-expected Odin to argue against banning Hela from New York, but he had practically demanded to do it himself. Odin had been furious with his daughter, but at the end of the day, she’s still his daughter, and it’s probably easier for Odin to focus on her betrayal and her recklessness more than anything else.

“It’s a good story,” Sam comments, dropping into the stool on the other side of Nat, pulling Maria between his knees as she sips on the tumbler of rum in her hand.

“You only like it because you’re in it,” Maria retorts, and Sam hides his grin against her shoulder as she rolls her eyes, her lips twitching at the corners in a smirk. “Although, it does make for quite a tale. Two cops joining in on an old-fashioned mafia shakedown and chase? I still say you should let me publish an anonymous article on it.”

Sam just chuckles, knowing there’s no genuine threat behind her words, and then something catches his eye that makes him sit up a little straighter, flashing his teeth in a smile as he asks, “And where might you two be coming from?”

Steve turns to look over his shoulder as Wanda and Bucky step out from the kitchen, his sister tucked under his best friend’s arm. He has his head bent close to hers, likely to whisper something in her ear, but he straightens up at Sam’s comment, pressing his lips together as he shakes his head. Wanda’s cheeks are flushed, and yes, maybe Steve would feel wary about that, except he already has a pretty good idea on why Bucky might’ve wanted to steal Wanda away for a little while. He’d come to Steve and his father earlier that week about wanting Wanda to move in with him, not because he had been asking for permission or anything, because in the end, whatever she wanted was what he was going to give her, even if her father and brother were wary of it. But he’d wanted their honest opinion on whether they thought it would be too much, too fast for her.

Had it been a few weeks before, maybe it would have been. Steve still remembers how his sister sat in his kitchen and admitted that she didn’t see things going further between them. Even if he didn’t care about her being a mafia princess, she’d been worried about the Family never quite accepting him. But if Sam and Bucky helping to protect Wanda hadn’t been enough to earn the Family’s good graces, the evidence that they gathered against Anton, Ivan, and Hela to prove their betrayal would have.

“Pay attention to your own girl, Wilson,” Bucky counters, brushing a kiss to Wanda’s hair as she giggles. She pauses their stride as she turns to them, stretching on her toes to whisper in his ear, and he dips his head to kiss her, quick and hard, earning a half-hearted noise of protest from Pietro that has Wanda pulling away with another giggle.

Then she glides over to Natasha, taking her hand and giving it a tug. “They’re about to start slicing and serving cake, which means we need to do a toast!”

Natasha catches Steve’s gaze as Wanda starts to pull her onto her feet, her eyes sparkling, and Steve gives her a grin, grabbing their glasses as they all head back into the main dining room. It’s louder and warmer, and little Morgan Stark and Nathaniel Barton nearly trip him over as they run by, but it only makes Steve’s grin widen.

He joins Natasha where she’s standing at the head of the long table in the middle of the room, a few dozen faces staring back at them as they take their seats. He peers down at Nat as he hands over her glass, catching the way his mother’s ring twinkles on her finger under the bright glow of the chandeliers. Then he glances around the room, finding his father sitting further down the table, smiling at him from his seat between Howard and Melina. Across from them, Peter nudges Bucky with his elbow as he and Wanda sit with him, Peter whispering something that makes Bucky hide his laugh with a cough, and on his other side, Pepper and Tony laugh as Morgan practically climbs into Sam’s lap.

It quiets down as Steve lifts his glass, curving his hand over Nat’s hip and drawing her close as he thanks them for celebrating with them tonight, asking them to raise their glass in a toast to his father coming home safe, to Pietro’s quick recovery, and to his and Nat’s engagement.

“And to Family,” he finishes, peering down at Natasha.

“To Family,” she echoes, and there are cheers and clinks of utensils against glasses of wine right before his mouth slants against hers in a kiss. Then he feels Natasha smile against his mouth just as she parts their kiss a moment later, turning his head to bring her lips near his ear. “And when exactly do you want to tell them the Family is about to get a little bigger?” she whispers, and Steve breathes out a chuckle, pressing a kiss against her neck. If he thought he could get away with touching her stomach, he would’ve.

“This is the Family we’re talking about, Nat,” he points out, drawing back to catch her bright eyes, a warmth squeezing at his chest. “They probably found out a week ago.”

[velociraptoraddict]

Part 3 Invader Zim Fanfiction Review

Part 1 and Part 2 can be found here!

Before we get started, as always, please let me know if any of the links provided don’t work, so I can correct them as soon as possible! I also welcome recommendations! So if there’s a fic that you don’t see on any of the lists, that you think I (or anyone else) should check out, please share! This Hyper-fixation Train is not slowing down and I need enablers 8D

And as a friendly reminder, anything crossed out is considered a Spoiler so read those parts at your own risks! And on to the Review!

Maneem  Mekrelmar Danem Sempadinum Scarazial and Zaygam by @hecallsmehischild

This is a six part saga totaling 242,514 words. Originally posted on Fanfiction.net on an unknown date in the early 2000s and re-uploaded to Ao3 on 05-26-2016 and marked complete on 08-18-2016 (though the total write time was estimated 7 years). There are a total of 174 chapters.

I’m going to do something a little different with this one because it is a six part series. I’m mostly going to review it as one fic with a quick rundown of the different segments. So I’ll only provide the link for “Maneem” but you should easily be able to find the rest from the there. If I review each one individually, by the time I got to “Danem” and the others, they would all have to be scratched out due to spoiling revealed plot twists from both “Maneem” and “Mekrelmar”. However, because of how long and complex this whole thing is, I am going to need to delve a bit more in to spoilers than I like just to cover the over all plot, so be warned! I will say this series was AMAZING and would probably be best read blind! There are so many exciting twists and reveals and the Author (You may recognize from the Part 2 reviews such as “Spacejerk” and “Misdirection”) as always, is able to pull you into the story, make you fall in love with these characters, and does not pull any punches when it comes to emotional drama! I teared up during the epilogue! This Author has made me cry on two different occasions now!! If you love soap operas, you’ll love this series!  

“Maneem” We start off with Zim finding out that his mission on Earth was a joke. In a state of shock, he wonders out into the streets of his neighborhood. He is not wearing his disguise and is very obviously an Alien. Dib finally gets what he’s always wanted, and Zim is arrested. Zim then goes to court (stay with me here lol), and a Judge sentences him to spend 3 months living with a host family to prove that he is not a danger to society. If he fails to do so, then he will be surrendered to the Swollen Eyeball for them to do whatever they please. And this is where we meet Della, Tom, Mikko, and Tiana, they’re original characters that play very important roles throughout the whole saga, I love them all for different reasons but Della and Mikko are definitely my favorites <3! This is a Found Family Fic. Della and Zim’s interactions are rocky at first but so sweet and wholesome later on, and Mikko’s growth from a frightened mute little girl to a spitfire fighter is done so well and I just absolutely adore her! Although, in the beginning, there is definitely a lot of headbutting, as the saga goes on these characters become Zim’s family, and they really grow close. The first half of “Maneem” is mostly Zim settling in with this new family of his, so a lot of slice-of-life fluff and drama. But soon, Dib hacks into Zim’s PAK and reveals that Zim has had a truly horrific up bringing, complete with brutal torturous training and both emotional and physical abuse. One punishment Zim had to endure during training was being exposed to a new alien species called a Morflar. Morflars are like living shadows that hunt and eat Irkens, slowly killing them in the most bone chilling way possible. Morflars play a pretty big part later on. But something else is revealed in Zim’s memories that truly gets the plot moving! After seeing something truly horrific, Dib kidnaps Zim at gunpoint and forces the alien to take him to Irk for a rescue mission. Here is where we meet Gloria (I wont say much about her due to spoilers but I really fell in love with her and her relationships with other characters by the end of this saga!). A few things happen, and “Maneem” ends shortly after a second trip to Irk for a rescue is successful. Overall, “Maneem” is a pretty quick read, and due to its age (about 12 years old) it is missing a few of the finer details that the Author’s more recent fics have. However, even in these earlier chapters, the Author does such a great job with emotion and character interactions, that you hardly notice the jumping in scenes. And the writing style really improves later in the saga! It’s just obviously different from how the Author currently writes, so there’s a noticeable difference if you read their more recent fics first, but if you read this one first, then you wont even notice any of it, and you will truly be blown away when the writing improves later on. 

“Mekrelmar” takes place about two years later, basically Dib wants revenge for what happened to Gloria, and convinces Zim to reluctantly tag along. Chaos ensues and Zim ends up being left behind on Irk, leading to a bit of torture and another rescue. Here is also where the Swollen Eyeball starts to enter the story in a major way, though they really don’t start to shine until “Danem”. The Author also does something with Gaz’s character in this series that is absolutely enjoyable and clever! I will not spoil it but it’s clever and works so well with the world the Author builds here. Even if the reveal is a little out of the blue XD

“Danem” takes place five years later, and here is where a lot of crazy stuff really starts to happen! There was actually a real-life five year gap between “Mekrelmar” and “Danem”, so not only does the writing style improve, but the Author’s ability to foreshadow really shines here! You can tell that the next four segments were all well planed out, as a lot of different twists and mysteries are introduced and slowly hinted at, before finally being answered many many chapter later! You wont be able to put it down! We start to learn a bit more about what Gaz can do. And Zim just has an All Around No Good Very Bad Time with a lot of stuff, I know I say this a lot, but this Author is so good at emotional trauma!! We also get a special surprise in the form of a familiar bond reveal, the Author does such a great job with the reveal too, it’s hinted at and you can almost guess what it is, yet it still takes you by surprise when it is confirmed! I was screaming out loud with how well done it was, and how excited I was about the implications of what the reveal would mean for the rest of the story. Mikko also continues to get some character growth and I gotta say, I really do love her X3. There’s more stuff with the Swollen Eyeball as well, which gets dark just as a heads up, there’s a bit of gore and psychological damage. It’s all very well written! We’re also introduced to another new character who plays a larger part later on, Agent Tunaghost, she’s one of the few characters who actually uses logic and is smart enough to know that everyone else needs to see a psychologist lol.  Also, trying to avoid spoilers, the Author does an absolutely amazing job at a character redemption, someone who you absolutely despise in the first two segments becomes a beloved character in this one going forward. It’s so well done! This Author really writes trauma, angst, and emotions so well. Though fair warning, there is a Character Death in this segment. Towards the end of “Danem”, I really fall in love with a particular character and their behavior towards Zim (XD man it’s really hard to say stuff without spoiling it, like I don’t even want to name the character because that will spoil stuff from the first two segments)

“Sempadinum” takes place almost immediately after “Danem”, and it is an emotional roller coaster (lol I feel like I say this a lot, but seriously the Author is sooo good with making the reader feel for these guys!). It mostly focuses on Gloria’s recovery from all the horrible stuff that’s happened to her in the past, as well as a budding platonic relationship that I truly was platonicly shipping and gushing over by the end of the saga! When you read it, you’ll understand why I’m emphasizing platonic lol, but seriously I absolutely adore these two together! Tunaghost is again the only one to actively suggest a psychologist for these poor folks, too (and she’s 100% right). Also, the Earth is in danger (cause of course it is) from the Irken Armada, and the Author has a really clever way to save it that really got me gushing over this characterxcharacter relationship lol. Overall “Sempadinum” is very well written, with great character development and exploration of their emotions and traumas. Plus there’s so much happening plot wise, that I can’t even touch on because of spoilers!! And sooo much foreshadowing shows up that isn’t answered until very far down the road, showing that the Aurthor planned everything out and did such a great job writing it all! We also start to get a few more hints on the Big Bad that first appeared in “Danem”, though we wont really see them till much later, and let me tell you, You will Never Guess the true identity of this Big Bad! But once they’re revealed, the hints laid out up to that point can be puzzled out. Lot of hindsight needed though XD

“Scarazial” takes place immediately after “Sempadinum” with a very heart wretchingly emotional wedding. We’re also introduced to Riddick, who is an absolute delight! As with a few other character introductions in this saga, Riddick starts out a bit as a jerk (though absolutely fun), trust me, you’ll love him by the end! With a few more appearances from the Big Bad, and a few other mysteries that need to be solved (that I can’t hint at cause it involves characters and spoilers from previous segments) “Scarazial” ends with Zim finally snapping and going insane, and it is really a fun/terrifying thing to watch!

“Zaygam” takes place immediately after “Scarazial”, and is the last of this six part saga. I can’t say much without spoilers other than it wraps up every loose end perfectly and the epilogue got me all chocked up! I actually had to pause reading for a few hours and I still ended up losing a few tears when I picked it back up mid-chapter! One thing I can say, there is an odd introduction of a new character, it seems a bit out of left field, and doesn’t make any sense at first (especially since it comes immediately after an April fools chapter lol), but trust me, if you keep reading to the end you will quickly fall in love with this idea that is presented, and everything else that this 6 part saga has to offer! 

Please give it a read!

13/10 Very long, but so so good! The writing, plot, and characters are so well done and the depiction of emotional trauma and ptsd is handled well. And the Character redemptions are amazing, plus the ships!!! This also has my hands down absolute favorite depiction of Red!

Between The Stars by andystarr aka @andyyoureastarr

This fic is 2,111 words. Originally posted on 01-04-2020 and so far only has one chapter.

I’ve reviewed this Author’s fics before, but this is a brand new one! And although there probably isn’t enough of it for me to truly review it, based off what is out so far and the Author’s other works I am 100% confident that I can recommend it! The Author introduces a new alien species that appears to be blood thirsty similar to the Irekns, they discover Dib post alien abduction via “the really dumb aliens who think he’s [Zim] a human and try to fuse him with stuff” from the show. Dib ends up killing his captures before his supposed “rescue” and the chapter ends on a pretty ominous note. 

?/10 Since there’s only one chapter so far I don’t want to give it a rating, but knowing the Author’s other work I’m sure it’ll have a perfect score.

Breaking Routine by GalaxyCuup aka @galaxycuup

This fic is 6,188 words. Originally posted on 12-02-2019 and last updated on 12-13-2019. It has two chapters so far.

This is another one that’s a little harder to review since it’s still so new, but the two chapters that are out so far, are so well written, and hold so much promise for the future! This is a species swap AU where Zim is human and in Hi-skool and Dib is the Irken Scientist who has come to Earth to study and research it. The Author also posts pictures IN THE CHAPTERS!! They are so good!! The characters are very well written and their interactions are fun to watch. Plus with this being a species swap, it means their personalities are still sorta there, but their cultures and up bringing are very different so they react to things differently than their canon selves would, which make it a very fascinating read and a fresh take from all the other versions of these two that I’ve seen so far. Zim is his usually hot headed self, but being a teenager it seems to get him into more trouble than he deserves, while Dib has that air of infatuation and child-like wonderment with the planet Earth and everything new around him. I’m very curious to see where the story goes from here and what these two will do if Dib’s Irken self is ever revealed.

?/10 It’s still new so I can’t quiet give it a full score, but I see a lot of potential and the unique take combined with the artwork is so good that I definitely recommend it, and look forward to reading more.

Chomp by VelociraptorAddict aka unashamed self promotion

This fic is 12,280 words. Originally posted 12-31-2019 and last updated 01-18-20. It is updated weekly and so far has 4 chapters posted.

We start off with an introduction of a new Alien species, not much is revealed about them at first besides the fact that they require to “Bond” with others in order to survive off their own planet. More is revealed little by little as the story goes unfolds. This alien is sent to Earth/Urth to gather information for an upcoming invasion, and ends up forming a Bond with a young girl to do so. This girl later moves across the country and starts going to skool with Dib. One day she makes the mistake of admitting she doesn’t believe in Bigfoot, which leads to Dib confronting her to try and convince her otherwise. However, during the conversation it is revealed that she does believe in ghosts, and Dib’s need to be validated for his belief in the paranormal, means that he quickly sees this girl as someone who will actually listen to him. So he attaches himself to her and assumes they’re friends. Unfortunately for the girl, she has a pretty big secret that she doesn’t want this potential paranormal investigator to find out, the Loughran. 

Unfortunately, it is not a secret she’s able to keep for long. Dib quickly becomes suspicious that she must be hiding something, when another new student (Zim), comes to their skool and Dib accuses him of being an Alien. The girl seems to flip between agreeing with him and denying the existences of aliens all together and Dib finds it very suspicious. When a fight breaks out at recess between Zim, the girl, and something invisible, Dib quickly and adamantly demands answers!

This part of the plot moves pretty quickly, but it is simply the set up for what’s to come.

?/10 It doesn’t feel right scoring my own fic, but I will admit the writing style itself could use a bit of improvement and it could definitely use a lot more descriptive text. However, the character interactions and dialogue portions are done well enough. And I’ve been doing enough of these fic reviews that it’s about time I put my money where my mouth is and started writing my own, right?

[skyfallensoldier]

Mobile Navigation || Rules & Mun ↓

DISCLAIMER: I just want to note here at the beginning that while I am considering this RP blog to be historically based, i.e. remaining true to the time period and overall details of John Laurens' biographical information and whatnot, I do not consider myself a historically accurate blog, not entirely. Historical fiction is a well known genre of literature and many, MANY creative liberties are taken within that genre. Think of this blog like you would if you saw an Anastasia Romanov blog. She's dead, we know she didn't survive, and she's been dead a long-ass time; so has Laurens. People still have included her in many works of fiction, even after her body was identified and it was proven she did not survive her family's massacre. I saw a romance book a couple of months ago where she survived that was recently published. Historical fiction, while a controversial thing at times, is a legitimate form of literature.

You don't have to tell me if you think John isn't acting exactly like the real man himself would have, I know that. I'm not going to call John my 'perfect sunshine boy cinnamon roll' or dismiss the privilege he was raised on due to his father, I'm aware he was a real person who had his own personality, virtues and prejudices. I won't deny that while he was certainly a progressive thinking man for the time he grew up in he definitely still had racist thoughts and actions that were indicative of his upbringing. But I'm not on here to debate modern, real life politics, or get into arguments about whether he was a good abolitionist or not. At the end of the day, this is still a hobby for me, and I'm writing for fun.

Basically, don't take it too seriously. I'm a 21st century bisexual woman writing from the POV of an 18th century (likely gay) male soldier, the way I write him is obviously not going to be a perfect representation of who he was. I know he wasn't an amazing, perfect person, but I've still chosen to write a fictionalized version of him for my own entertainment. Please try to respect that; thank you.

Mun Stuff

Name: Luna Gender: Female (She/Her or They/Them) D.o.B: July 23rd, 1996 Age: 24 Nationality: Canadian Sexuality: Bisexual Timezone: Eastern Time (US & Canada) Activity: Daily BIOGRAPHY (SORT OF)

Hello, there! You can call me Luna! I've been interested in writing ever since I first got the internet when I was 14 and discovered FanFiction.Net and now I'm an aspiring author and Roleplay enthusiast. If you include acting/talking out DnD like games with friends then I've been 'roleplaying' since the fifth grade, but I like to think there's always room for improvement. If you ever want to chat I'd love to make a new friend or plot out a roleplay, so don't be afraid to shoot me an ask or send me a private message. Just because my muse can be a jackass doesn't mean I am! I’m a huge advocate for mental health, and if you ever need someone to talk to, please don’t ever hesitate to reach out! Some of my hobbies including literature and writing (of course), digging into mythology from various cultures, practicing solitary eclectic paganism/new age spirituality, drinking tea, and collecting crystals/minerals.

Please note that for the sake of disclosure, I am considered ‘Neurodivergent’, in that I suffer from ADHD, diagnosed at about age six, and have Anxiety and Depression which are directly tied to it. This doesn’t often effect my life on here, but I sometimes have an unpredictable sleep schedule (stay up all night, sleep in late into the morning, etc). I’m usually quick to reply to threads for the most part! I work every Tuesday and Thursday from 5pm to 7pm in addition to odd jobs here and there, during which time I won’t have access to the Internet. The rest of the week I’m on and off all day basically, so you can feel free to contact me any time.

RP Style

⭐️ Please use basic spelling/grammar/punctuation when you RP with me. I'm not a drill sergeant about these kinds of things, I know that typos happen, and if you have a vision problem or such we can absolutely find a way to work around that, I also have no problem roleplaying with people whose first language is not English, so that's totally fine and I’m happy to accomodate in whatever way I can, but it does make it a little difficult to play with you if I don't know what you're trying to say. For this reason I prefer if you not use any text shorthand (lol, idk, brb, jk, etc) unless our muses are messaging each other. Using it in the tags is fine.

⭐️ I roleplay Laurens in a past-tense 3rd Person Point of View (think story-telling format), and generally I don't use icons or text formatting unless I notice my partner does, then I will try to match their style (for example if you use icons and small-text, I will try to do the same, though because formatting isn't possible on mobile, any mobile replies might take longer to be posted than if I were on my laptop). If you have any issues with how I'm writing or need me to adjust my style for any reason don't be afraid to ask.

Contact

⭐️ If you spam me with messages over and over again about something I haven't replied to, chances are I'll drop the thread. I don't mind being reminded because I know Tumblr's notifications are notoriously unreliable sometimes, and humans can forget/lose things, but if you keep poking at me after I've acknowledged you the first and second time, I won't be pleased. Things can get busy on here, or in real life, or sometimes you're just lacking muse for that particular thread, y'know? It doesn't mean I hate you and don't want to RP, I'm almost always up for plotting, but muse tends to fluctuate.

⭐️ My ‘Discord’ is available to mutuals upon request. I don't mind roleplaying on there if Tumblr is being glitchy or you're just not feeling up to formatted/heavily plotted threads, sometimes Discord is fun in that you can do immediate replies without needing the effort of putting icons and formatting into it. I also have a Kik but I never use it. I don't RP in Tumblr's IMs, that's purely for OOC interaction.

⭐️ I also occasionally stream movies/TV shows in group chats or play “in character” Cards Against Humanity game nights, Among Us, etc. If you’re interested, lemme know, I’m always looking for more people to hang out with!

Important

I have no actual triggers that I'm aware of, although snakes do creep me out (mostly shots of them coiled up or images of their pupils), but there are some things I will not roleplay personally for comfort reasons:

⭐️ Cannibalism. You can mention it, for example I won't freak out if someone tells my muse that somebody else ate a person (he might, assuming its not a Supernatural type verse), but I won't RP him engaging in cannibalism, not even in AUs (blood-drinking vampires are fine). I'm just not sure I could stomach writing about eating people. I managed to watch Hannibal, barely, but writing about it? Nah. I can handle lots of horror, gore and disturbing content but not this. Sorry.

⭐ Incest/Pedophilia. I do not SEXUALLY ship with characters under the age of 18. John is not attracted to children, and would never consider sleeping with someone much younger than him.

⭐ I will not write anything sexual with muns who are under 18 years old, even if your muse is an adult. I'll still ROLEPLAY with you if you are under 18 but probably no younger than 16 just because things tend to get explicit on my blogs and I don't want to be accused of corrupting the youth with my foul language and weird opinions, lol. Seriously though, this blog covers a lot of dark subjects and while I’m all for minors exploring that safely through writing rather than in real life, some people aren’t comfortable with interacting with under age people for legal or personal reasons, please respect that.

⭐ Necrophilia. Just... no. Vampire threads don't count, as they're undead and not 'dead dead'.

⭐ Rape. I won't write it with you. I'm okay with mentions of rape, with rape/sexual assault survivor/recovery plots, and even with one character intervening to rescue another from an attempted sexual assault (if an attempted assault does occur, it will be thoroughly tagged and under a cut). I'm fully open to discussing rape recovery/trauma plots as those are things that happen in real life, and it can be interesting to explore how a character reacts to trauma. But anything else is a no-go, sorry!

⭐ Please be aware that I write Laurens as a gay man. However! Because of the time period, violent homophobia and social stigma, he has slept with women before and may be seen flirting with or referencing relationships with women in the past. He is still gay, and still uninterested in being with women long term, he's simply closeted to all but a few individuals. So, unless your muse is Martha Manning (who Laurens DOES love in a manner, and he always will), shipping with female characters on here most likely isn't going to happen unless it's heavily plotted/developed and part of an overall plot, and you understand that it will not be a conventional sexual relationship. I'm sorry if that disappoints you but I've read Laurens as a gay male for so long I have trouble seeing him any other way.

⭐ I will not roleplay slavery plots. This is not up for debate. Roleplaying a highly fictionalized version of a long dead real person who existed during a troubling time is one thing, but I draw the line at that. For this reason, while I'll happily play with non-white muses, muses using non white faceclaims, and crossovers with characters of all sorts, I'll have to decline playing with any muse claiming to actually be writing slavery. There’s a difference between, say, roleplaying a character like Daenerys, a fictional character who was technically a slave-bride sold by her brother, and writing actual slavery from a very real, horrible time period. Slave ownership will of course be mentioned on this blog, that's unavoidable, but just like the mention of rape may happen on this blog from time to time, it will be in reference to a past event or speaking about the subject in general, not roleplaying a scene of it. Please respect this rule, I was hesitant to make this blog at first, because I know it makes some people uncomfortable, but I won't glorify such a horrible real thing that happened to so many people.

Exclusives/Mains

Just a head's up, unless I develop a bunch of chemistry with a particular portrayal of a muse I'm not likely to agree to being exclusives with anyone, unless perhaps it's a very niche or divergent character that has formed a good relationship of some sort with John and I'd have trouble interacting with other versions of that muse. For major characters I just feel it would be unfair to say no to someone who I click with in every other way, solely because I have already befriended someone else writing that character.

I will, however, discuss becoming mains with someone whom I've either developed or plotted out detailed storylines/interactions with regarding our specific portrayals of our characters. This means that I tend to reply to them quickly when I'm online, or may make little gifts (moodboards, aesthetic things, mini ficlets, whatever) for them unprompted, have a verse dedicated just to them, etc. Even if it seems like we haven't done much on Tumblr, there may be a lot of off-site development on Discord or whatnot that led to us plotting out intricate stories for our muses.

Current Mains:

Alexander Hamilton - @quillborn​

DO

⭐️ Send private messages.

⭐️ Send my character asks/starters/memes.

⭐️ Tag me in things.

⭐️ Ask to plot or ship.

⭐️ Ask for angst, fluff, etc.

⭐️ Submit things to me & my muse.

⭐️ Do crack and other ridiculous things with me!

⭐️ Like my RP threads.

⭐️ Like my personal posts.

⭐️ Comment on my personal/OOC posts (if you want to).

⭐️ Comment on my crack threads.

⭐️ Instant Message (IM) me if you'd like to talk, whether we're friends already or not!

DON'T

⭐️ Send hateful messages to me about other people and especially my mutuals; doesn't count if it's about the muse and not the person playing them, however. Also, if I’ve got beef with someone for whatever reason, don’t harass them/send hate to them on my behalf, please. I don’t condone anonymous abuse, attacking others, or harassment. I’m a big girl and I can take care of myself, I promise.

⭐️ Introduce yourself with ‘wanna ship?’ For one, I prefer if we’ve at least started a roleplay together, or have spoken OOC. Auto shipping doesn’t always work out and I hate promising people something only to realize there’s zero chemistry, because then I feel like I’m letting them down.

⭐️ Come into my inbox with just ‘wanna rp?’ and that’s it. Please at least have some idea of what you want to roleplay, it’s not very fun when someone approaches you to RP but then doesn’t offer up any suggestions at all. Remember, you are always free to send me memes, whether we’re mutuals or not, and hit me up for whatever plot you think might interest me! I want to hear about it!

⭐️ Spam me with "reminder" messages if I've already acknowledged you the first few times.

⭐️ Reblog my RP threads if you're not a participant in them.

⭐️ Send me anonymous OOC hate. Hate for Laurens is fine, it's just another form of roleplay.

⭐️ Kill off my character or severely injure/maim my character without permission or having plotted something involving that with me first.

⭐️ Follow me if you're a porn blog. I don't mind blogs that post NSFW content, or smut a lot, etc. I mean blogs that aren't for RP and are literally just a normal looking blog until you click on it and the header and first twenty posts are hardcore nudity and porn. I hate those things.

⭐️ Shame my ships.

⭐️ Complain about my tagging. I put my smut under a 'read more' without exception and tag them as "NSFW //" with two dashes. Things that are not necessarily graphic but still have sexual undertones go under "Suggestive //". I use these tags to avoid attracting attention from porn blogs and porn bots that track certain key words, as such I do not tag my content with "Smut" or trigger words such as "dick, oral, anal, nudity, etc", please block my NSFW and Suggestive tags if you're uncomfortable. Triggery subjects (mentions of rape, animal abuse, torture, mental illness) will be tagged under the name of said trigger with a space and two dashes, example: "Self Harm //", “Suicidal Ideation //” or "PTSD //".

⭐️ Godmod my character. If you’re not sure what is/isn’t okay, come talk to me! I don’t bite! If you’re looking for an example of god mod behavior, here: “X lunged at Laurens, taking him by surprise, and hit him square in the nose, causing blood to spurt.” It might not seem like a big deal but it means that you decided how your character’s actions affected my muse, and not only that, didn’t give him a chance to dodge or anything. Not cool.

⭐️ Ship with me without permission (sending in shippy asks is A-Ok if you're interested in exploring a ship between our muses, I'm talking about things like claiming that our muses are in a relationship without discussing it with me, referencing dates or sexual acts that never happened, etc. I ship mainly with chemistry otherwise things get boring fast.

⭐️ Assume/act like our characters know each other/are closely connected (friends/family/lovers) if we've never discussed it unless it is established in canon/history. This especially goes for original characters. I'm open to Laurens forming deep relationships with OCs obviously, but those have to be developed in character, not just assumed from the first interaction.

⭐️ Attempt to roleplay with me if you are not a roleplay blog/or if you're just trying to RP as "yourself." I don't do Character X Reader imagines stuff. I don't RP with 'fan' accounts, only RP blogs. You can still send asks so long as you're not trying to initiate an RP scenario. For example, asking Laurens what his hobbies are, asking for a blessing etc? That's fine. Spamming me with different actions "you" are talking to Laurens is weird. Stop that. I will also not RP with blogs that claim to roleplay as real life people, such as Markiplier, that's super creepy. This does NOT apply to "historical fiction" roleplay (obviously since that's what this blog is), which is considered its own genre of literature. I'm talking about the above where people will 'roleplay' as real life, currently alive people like YouTube celebrities and ship them with their friends, even if they've made it clear that they're uncomfortable with it. 

⭐️ Get angry at me for doing something you don't like if you don't even have a rules page for me to go by. It's not fair; you can't expect your partners to just read your mind and magically know how you feel. If something bothers you let me know, I’ll make a note about it so I avoid it during our interactions!

⭐️ Use me as a meme resource blog without ever interacting with me. I don't require "reblog karma" for you to follow me, partners are more than welcome to reblog from me, but if we never interact and I just occasionally see you reblog fifteen posts from my meme tag and then disappear again I'm not gonna be happy. Go to the source or to an archived blog no longer getting notifications, please!

⭐️ Reblog my Meta/Headcanons. If they're from a different blog it's fine but the ones I've personally written are for MY portrayal of Laurens. I work hard on most of my stuff and I'd prefer if you didn't reblog it, not because you aren't allowed to have the same headcanon ideas as me, but because then it ends up getting liked or reblogged by lots of other people, spamming my notifications, etc.

OCs & Multimuses

I love OCs and multi-muse blogs (I have my own multimuse sideblog over at @historyremembers, which has other 18th century characters including the Hamilton children and some OCs), so feel free to interact! That being said, please have an about page of some sort on your blog. I can't follow back blogs that have absolutely no information available regarding their character(s). I don't RP with OC children of Laurens. This is nothing personal, but I'm fairly certain he was gay in real life and prefer to play him that way, and he only had one child - who he never even got to meet - in real life, so it just wouldn't make sense to me for him to have other kids running around unless he'd adopted some. If you're a multimuse, I may not follow you back if I'm only familiar with two of your muses if you have a blog of fifteen characters, simply because I'd prefer to keep my dash clean and only have characters/fandoms I'm familiar with on it. I'll still RP with you if you have a character I'm interested in! I just might not follow back if the majority of your characters I do not know, I apologize for this.

If you’ve made it to the end of this, congrats! I know it couldn’t be easy (my ADHD brain was frustrated trying to just write all this up) but it’s necessary so there’s not misunderstandings on what I am/am not willing to RP. I won’t ask for a password since I trust most people to have the courtesy to at least skim the rules of those they want to RP with. 

Have a nice day!

[pandemonshq]

Welcome, Nicky, please grab your stake on your way to your tumblr to play Draco Malfoy here at Pandemons. I think it’s no surprise to you that we adore your Draco: the marriage of convenience that still highlights the importance of family that every “good” Malfoy has, the Vampire Hunting, the fact that he’s still himself after all these years. ..

And, of course, your request for Alexander Skarsgård --present Fc and Austin Butler--past FC have been accepted.

Nicky’s application is being posted early due to her work on the game to get it up and running, and the relevance of Draco to the larger game plot. While Nicky is not a mod, her assistance made this game possible.

Out of Character Information

Name: Nicky Preferred Pronouns: she/her Age: over thirty O_o Timezone: EST Activity Level: Medium. I co-admin and participate in another roleplay, so depending on what is going on there in conjunction with the regular inconveniences of real life I may not have time to post responses every day, but I have absolutely no concerns that I will struggle to meet and indeed should regularly exceed the minimum requirement. I usually find Draco quite easy to write!

In Character Information

Character's Name: Draco Lucius Malfoy Bloodstatus: pure-blood Birthday: June 5, 1980

Gender and Sexuality: Transgender male, panromantic sex-positive asexual

Gender: 

Draco was six when he informed his parents that he was going to grow-up to be a wizard like daddy, not a witch like mummy. It took them a little time to be certain that their child really understood and meant what he was saying, but once they were convinced, his parents sprang into action to support their son: Lucius didn’t just contact the Daily Prophet to have an adjustment to Draco’s birth announcement printed, he took out a full-page ad. Narcissa sat her little boy down and poured-over lists of constellations with him to find what his new name would be (not that it took Draco long to select his -- “I can be a dragon? I want that one!”). They threw-away and purchased an entire new wardrobe for him (although it had never been the ribbons to which Draco had objected) and anyone who wasn’t quick enough to adjust to Draco’s new name got a painful hex for their lethargy (including Abraxas, once). It wasn’t so much acceptance that Draco got from his parents as adoration -- in all aspects. He was perfect; he could do no wrong. 

It wasn’t until he arrived at Hogwarts that Draco discovered that not everyone saw him through such idealized spectacles -- nor thought gender was as simple and straightforward a thing as the contents of a cauldron. For Draco, gender might as well have been synonymous with genitals, and swallowing a weekly dose of potion was all it took for him to go from girl to boy. The matter was closed...only it wasn’t. There were some people who thought the subject had far more nuance than that (one of the few subject on which he didn’t need losing a war to improve, at least) and then there were those who thought it had far less; who thought that there was no such thing as change. For the most part, they seemed to have come by those ideas from Muggle sources, which made both them and their words easy to dismiss -- mostly. Even a boy with as much blistering self-confidence (arrogance) as Draco is apt to find adolescence an uncertain, confusing time, and he was no exception; some barbs hurt even when you’re certain you don’t care. Having his dueling prowess questioned, his fashion-choices derided, his Quidditch skills discounted…all the things that, to Draco, meant masculinity. Not that witches couldn’t be great duelists or Quidditch players or fashion-plates, too; but Draco’s ideas of how to be a man were all modeled on his father. So to excel at “being a wizard” meant, for him, excelling at all the things at which Lucius excelled. (He was also always rather touchy about his name. He’d picked it himself, after all. It was the best name. His mother had said so!)

These days, Draco is far too used to simply being taken for a wizard to fret; it’s not as though he regularly goes around socializing with backwards-Muggle-thinkers, is it? (Not that all Mudb--Muggle-borns are backwards-thinkers! Some of them have done quite well at getting over their upbringing, and are quite indistinguishable from other wix now! He’s not bigoted anymore, you know!) He no longer focuses on mimicking his father in order to be a “proper” wizard -- in part because he’s grown more comfortable with himself as he grew-up, in part because exposure to the world beyond the immediate circle of his parents taught him that there’s more than one way to be a wizard, in part because an ex-Death Eater has more difficult things with which to grapple...and in part because the pedestal on which Lucius once stood in his son’s eyes has sagged a bit. Now instead of trying to trace anyone else’s footsteps, Draco is simply himself -- and learning to live with that was hard because of his choices and his mistakes, not his gender. Having anyone question his masculinity now on the basis that he takes a periodic dose of the Attisgalli Corrective Draught to maintain a physical form that suits his inner self would be less outrageous than baffling.

*NOTE: Draco is likely to express things about gender in outdated terminology because of his unfamiliarity with the Muggle world. However if this would make anyone uncomfortable please let me know (on-anon is fine!) because I will happily compromise a fiddly little bit of world building for the sake of my fellow players’ comfort!

Sexuality: 

Perhaps the one area in which Draco actually disappointed his father: he’s just not interested in sex. He doesn’t have anything against it; it’s just not something that motivates him, not something he thinks about unless someone else brings it up first. (Sort of like beets. He has no objection to eating them, and sometimes they can be genuinely delicious, but he’s never gone out of his way for a serving of beets.) That disinterest is what killed his relationship with Pansy (well, that and the fact that Draco had no idea they were dating in Pansy’s mind!) because all her offers and innuendos passed right over his head; he tends to take physical affection on face value and flirtation registers to him as simple banter. Lucius “blames” himself, lamenting that it was his distraction and absence at a crucial stage of his son’s development that left Draco’s “interests stunted.” Draco doesn’t understand the fuss; he’s perfectly happy the way he is and, frankly, given the vast drop in social popularity that the Malfoys faced after the war, it’s probably just as well that his interests are “stunted” because his prospects certainly were.

Former Hogwarts House: Slytherin -- sorted nearly the second the hat touched his head because of course he was, he was Draco Lucius Malfoy, last heir to both the Malfoy and Black families, and the scion of two of the purest lines in all of magical Britain and absolutely guaranteed to do great things!

Infection:

( No. Although I think it would be a fun potential plot to have him be infected either temporarily or permanently later! Actually I feel like “temporary infections” should be a regular effect of his vampire slaying efforts, since he’s likely to be exposed through that! )

Faceclaim: Alexander Skarsgård--present. Austin Butler--past.

Short HeadCanon Topics (please provide at least one paragraph per topic)

Occupation (title and one paragraph explanation): 

None...technically. Malfoys don’t need jobs, after all, so it should surprise no one that Draco hasn’t got one -- and it’s not as though he’s in a position where he can dabble in politics the way his father (and his father, and his father) did, is he? No, Draco has no job, only hobbies...

Or some might say, obsessions. One, actually: vampires. Draco Malfoy is a vampire hunter, possibly the first proper vampire hunter in over a hundred years. There hadn’t been a need for any in ages; vampires and wix had learned to co-exist long ago. Vampires had never really been accepted as ordinary people -- but they’d been fashionably exotic creatures, not scorned like half-giants or distrusted like goblins. The Malfoys in particular had been happy to socialize with (and take the money of) vampires, particularly back in the day; after Voldemort’s firstrise it became less acceptable for pure-blood wix to associate with any groups of non-wix unless they were serving the Dark Lord as well -- and vampires never did. Even as werewolves let themselves be courted and giants agreed to be bought, vampires kept their distance. So the Malfoys drifted away from them...

Until now. Until Astoria’s infection.

At first, Draco’s sole focus was in curing her -- and he hasn’t abandoned that hope. But as time passed and all his best efforts came to naught, those hopes have dwindled to a sort of cold, shriveled desperation. He still brews-up the occasional draught; still pieces-together scraps of old spells in hopes that something, some day, will save her...but that’s not his sole focus any longer. For a long time after the war, none of the Malfoys looked beyond the gates of the manor to the world outside -- but Scorpius is out there, now. He’s attending Hogwarts, moving through the world. Someday he’s going to grow-up and want to find a place for himself beyond the manor’s walls -- and like Lucius before him, Draco is determined to make that world as safe as possible for his child. Unlike Lucius, it’s not the tenuous (and perhaps somewhat exaggerated) threat of Muggles that Draco hopes to stem: it’s vampires, and the ever-increasing rate of infection among the magical world.

For a long time, he’s been fighting this quiet war alone in the dark. Who was he going to turn to for help, after all? Certainly not the Ministry of Magic! If Draco Malfoy walked in their doors talking about the dangers of a group of non-wix, he’d be lucky to just be ushered-away with a lecture on prejudice! No, he’s had to do this by himself -- but maybe not for much longer? Maybe things have finally gotten bad enough for someone else to notice...but will they want Draco’s help, expert though he has become on the subject? Maybe it’s still better for him to go this alone.

Marital Status/Ships: 

(tl;dr - Draco loves Astoria but they aren’t together like that and fidelity isn’t a requirement of their marriage anyway; someone else would have to make the first several dozen moves before he would notice being flirted at, though! READ MORE)

Married to Astoria Greengrass. One might think it would be difficult for a lesbian witch to be married to a panro-ace wizard, but their marriage was never about romance. Yes, Draco very much considers Astoria someone he loves -- but what kind of love? Even he wouldn’t be able to answer that question, especially not these days. Astoria’s current state of vampiric infection makes her...strange. The guilt of not being able to cure her eats away at him too, and affects his every interaction with her. He’s an expert potioneer; why can’t he fix this? She’s his wife, why can’t he save her? His parents managed to keep each other (more or less) safe throughout two wars and a volatile Dark Lord; how could he be so inferior as to be unable to save his spouse from some stupid infection? An infection over which his mother initially wanted Astoria banished from the home, incidentally -- marking one of the few times when Draco has actually vehemently disagreed with Narcissa Malfoy. (One of the others was when he took the Dark Mark; he hopes that this doesn’t turn out like that but sometimes on the worst days, he wonders if his mother was right and keeping Astoria at home is dangerous -- possibly for their son!?) But infected or not, unclean or not, Draco knows he will always love Astoria.

That doesn’t mean he’s sleeping with her, though -- or that he wouldn’t sleep with someone else. Fidelity was never considered an integral part of a successful marriage in his social circles; indeed, a couple that spends so much time in one another’s beds as his parents do is the oddity rather than the norm. (Not that the two of them, especially Lucius, haven’t visited a number of other beds in their time, sometimes apart and sometimes together -- but Draco never found it nearly as entertaining as some of his friends back at Hogwarts did to talk about that.) A dalliance or even a love affair -- or a dozen -- on either his part or Astoria’s wouldn’t impact how Draco thinks about his wife or their marriage at all. Why would it? If he wasn’t something of a social pariah, he probably would have had a dozen little affairs by now -- but it’s not like he cares enough to miss the lack either (only even thinks about it when his father starts lamenting Draco’s lack of interesting experiences). It’s just the sort of thing one expects, that’s all. Of course, these days Draco’s a bit preoccupied, and hunting down vampires doesn’t leave a lot of time for dalliances...but if that leaves his bed a bit cold, it’s not something he’s ever noticed. 

MultiParagraph or Multi Point Topics

Family: 

Nothing matters more to Draco. Growing up, he idolized his parents and thought them perfect; his father was Draco’s model for idealized wizarding masculinity and Draco was determined to follow in his footsteps in every way. Even now, having been brought (quite painfully) face-to-face with their flaws and failings, he still adores and admires them. Not only did they always dote on him (maybe more than they should have) but during the war they proved over and over that they were each of them willing to die for his sake without hesitation -- something that was more than enough to erase any potential resentment he might have felt at having been forced into such misery by their choices. Yes, these days he knows that there are things they were wrong about -- but he still trusts their judgement in most areas, still values their opinion. Still loves them. They made it through a war together on the strength of that love; in these dark days, he still draws comfort from it.

The most important person in Draco’s life today isn’t his parents, though, or even his wife; it’s Scorpius, his precious son and only child. Growing-up in a house with four doting adults and little in the way of child companions meant that Scorpius’s childhood was never lonely but also did little to prepare him for peer socialization. He was always precociously clever; these days he qualifies as an unabashed swot and a distinct introvert. While he has the customary Malfoy sharp silver tongue, he substitutes defensive insecurity for swagger and brittle pride for arrogance. His recent appointment to Chaser on his house team has helped him build a few tentative bridges to his housemates, but his closest friends remain fellow Slytherin Albus Potter and Albus’s cousin, Rose Granger-Weasley. They aren’t the friends that Draco would have chosen for his son, but he has come to appreciate them deeply for the support and affection they offer Scorpius. (Even if Draco still tries to have as little to do with their families as possible.) 

Draco’s affection for his son was always torn in two directions: wanting to give him anything and everything that would make him happy, and wanting to raise Scorpius to be a better person than he ever was himself. The latter did result in more than a few lectures (much more than a few) but that didn’t mean Draco wasn’t still an indulgent parent and Scorpius did indeed receive just about anything he ever asked for, materially. Draco would give his son everything he wanted, if he could -- but even his best efforts can’t cure Scorpius’s mother.

Scorpius was only four when Astoria was infected; when Astoria changed. Sometimes she still seems like herself (less and less each year, though -- or is that just in Draco’s head?) and they can all pretend that everything is fine; others...well. Draco has explained to Scorpius many times that the things his mother thinks she sees aren’t real. (Probably.) That he shouldn’t listen to them, worry about them. And Scorpius says he understands...but Scorpius was four and she’s his mum. While he doesn’t tell his father, he secretly believes every word that comes from his mother’s mouth. He thinks of her less as a Seer and more of a prophet, different from everyone else’s mother yes -- but special-different, not worse. He doesn’t talk about those thoughts to anyone, even Albus and Rose (maybe it would be better if he did; maybe someone could explain things to him better now that he’s older) but instead he nods seriously at all his father’s admonishments and his grandparents’ words of caution...and then goes and listens to his mother anyway.

It probably won’t lead to disaster. His mother would never hurt him, after all -- never tell him anything she’s seen that might lead him to do something dangerous. Not on purpose, anyway.

Childhood/Hogwarts: 

(I’m going to go short on this part because A: I’ve rambled far more than I should have elsewhere and B: we know a lot of this from the books already, so if there’s any part of this I can get away with truncating to compensate for the rest, it’s this!)

Draco was a bully and a bigot and a brat; there’s no denying this. He was spoiled absolutely rotten, and it showed. He also genuinely loved his parents, and they loved him back, although perhaps not always in the most healthy of ways (see: aforementioned spoiling). He had a very good childhood, although school wasn’t as great as he’d expected -- for one thing, stupid Harry Potter didn’t want to be his friend even though he was clearly the coolest person in the whole castle, and for another this horrible Mudblood kept outscoring him in everything. (Potter even managed to out-cheat him at Quidditch every time!) But otherwise, everything was more or less okay -- until the Dark Lord came back, and it all fell apart. Draco went from being a pampered little prince to sobbing in the loo with only a dead girl for company; his two best friends stopped believing in him; Harry Potter nearly killed him; he nearly killed a lot of other people; and then when his favorite teacher finally got appointed headmaster it still didn’t make things better. In the end, despite all of Draco’s efforts he really accomplished nothing. He didn’t decide the outcome of the war; all he did was lose a friend and somehow make it out alive with his parents by the skin of their collective teeth, forgotten and ignored by everyone around them. In the end, he came to nothing and had to count himself lucky for it.

Post Hogwarts: (TW: brief mention of self harm, addiction! Also mentions of other characters that may-or-may-not be considered “game canon” based on discussion with whomever eventually comes to play said characters!) 

Draco knows he’s luckier than he deserves, him and his parents. By rights, all three of them should probably be in Azkaban...but they aren’t. The trials they faced at the end of the war were long, grueling, and humiliating (crying in front of the entire Wizengamot is not an experience that Draco recommends to anyone) and the worst part was that Draco spent the entire process certain that he was going to Azkaban; he only made the effort of testifying with as much honesty and detail as he did because he hoped that his mother, the only one of them not to take the Dark Mark, might be spared incarceration if both he and his father told all they knew. His parents were doing the same thing, largely in hopes of sparing their son from Azkaban -- but fortunately for the Malfoys, what they knew far outweighed what they’d actually done...mostly because they hadn’t actually accomplished much. (If Lucius’s crimes from the first war had been included, things might have gone differently…) Draco failed at just about everything he tried, Lucius had spent most of the war either locked-away or wandless at the Dark Lord’s side, and Narcissa had been “protected” from having to take much action by the combination of her husband’s shame and her sister’s enthusiasm. And then, of course, there was Harry Potter -- surprising witness for the defense. There was no love lost between Draco and his very first enemy, but Harry nonetheless spoke-up for the Malfoys: Narcissa had lied to the Dark Lord, Draco had kept quiet when he recognized them, and Harry had seen through Voldemort’s own eyes that they had not been willing servants -- not by the end, anyway. Somehow, all of that had been enough to spare them…

At least from prison. Public opinion was another matter, so the Malfoys murmured their gratitude, paid their fines, and slunk away behind the walls of their mournful manor, all three of them -- and the house -- much reduced in pride and splendor. Draco spent the next few years wallowing in guilt and nightmares, repeatedly failing to carve the Dark Mark out of his arm, and worrying his parents. Highlights include: a short but bitter confrontation with Gregory Goyle at Vincent Crabbe’s tombstone (not that there was a body to bury, but tradition had to be maintained), a bewildering letter from Pansy regretfully breaking-up with him for the sake of her own future chances (had they been dating?), and a lengthy addiction to Dreamless Sleep Potion (he hadn’t even known you could get addicted to Dreamless Sleep, let alone that repeated doses made it toxic! At least he learned something interesting about potions in the process…). The last thing anyone expected was a wedding to brighten things up, but then again people -- Draco included --  had always underestimated Astoria Greengrass.

Draco, in fact, barely knew who she was -- just the little sister of one of Pansy’s friends whom he knew dimly from school. She certainly made an impression, though, going from introduction to proposal in less than five minutes. It wasn’t romance she was pitching, of course, but a more traditional sort of marriage -- an arrangement of convenience. Draco needed an heir to the family line, she wanted the comforts of wealth and the resources to pursue her interests somewhere no one would bother her (and with access to the right kind of supplies and resources, so she could avoid repeating her Aunt Pandora’s unfortunate fate). The Malfoys needed a dose of respectability, and the Greengrasses were solid middle class pure-bloods who had never been accused of more than peripheral brushes with the Dark Arts. They both stood to gain -- and outliers like Draco’s parents notwithstanding, wasn’t that what all successful marriages were really based on? Certainly in the world in which Draco had been socialized, they were; his parents had always been viewed with bemused confusion for how deeply besotted they were with one another. Marrying Astoria wasn’t an act of passion or romance -- but it made sense. What didn’t make sense to Draco was how easy it was to fall into friendship with the stubborn witch -- but he wasn’t going to complain.

He was happy, which wasn’t something he’d ever expected to feel again after the age of sixteen. And they had a son. Scorpius was the best thing that ever happened to Draco, far better than he deserved -- but he wasn’t going to complain about that, either. One of the many painful lessons he’d learned over the course of his lifetime of mistakes was how to be happy with what he had, and he couldn’t imagine anything better than Scorpius anyway. It wasn’t the sort of “perfect life” he’d anticipated when he was young and foolish -- but it was good.

Until it wasn’t. When Astoria’s magical tinkering left her infected with vampirism ten years ago, the happy illusion of a happily-ever-after fell apart. Draco dove into research, trying to brew a cure -- but nothing worked. He dug deeper, delving into all the family’s information on their pre-Voldemort vampiric connections and then branching-out, calling in the few family favors people were still willing to (or too scared not to) repay and exploring every shabby shop that dealt with the Dark Arts that he could find. He didn’t discover a cure; he did discover that Astoria wasn’t the only recent case of vampiric infection.

Current: 

Draco Malfoy never set out to save anyone but his own family. Unfortunately for Draco’s selfish nature, one of the things he’s learned over the last ten years is that the only way to save Astoria may involve sticking his neck out for other people, too. (Or maybe that’s just the excuse he gives himself. Maybe his pursuit of the vampires who are infecting his world, his home, is more about vengeance than salvation at this point.) That dosen’t mean it’s something that comes naturally to him, or something he likes.

Case in point: he hasn’t bothered to try and convince the wider Wizarding World that they ought to be worried, proactive -- because frankly if he did, who would listen? No, better to keep it to himself because that way at least no one is trying to stop him. Not that such a quest can be a solitary pursuit: one needs resources, information, occasionally even “allies” of a sort (mostly the sort that can be bought with money and favors, not loyalty). Fortunately Draco still has money and the one thing the Malfoy name can still buy aside from gold is favors and connections with those who walk the edges of the Dark Arts (and lower). Not that most of those favors or connections are as open-armed as they once were (turning your back on a Dark Lord and helping to testify against all your old friends so they go to prison while you go free doesn’t do much to endear oneself to anyone) but Draco doesn’t really care if people are grudging or reluctant or downright insulting so long as they do or give him what he needs. This mission isn’t about saving his reputation or restoring the family name; those wistful daydreams evaporated ten years ago. Now he doesn’t even waste time on the hope that Scorpius may be able to redeem their name enough to make a future for himself that isn’t overshadowed by the family’s past; these days, just keeping things from falling apart further is all he can ask.

Of course, he’s doing more than just sitting at home trying to hold his family together. Yes, he spends as much as he can with them -- his son, especially, although that happens less these days now that Scorpius is off at school for months at a time -- but he’s got his mission, too, which can keep him out of the house for days at a time (especially now that Scorpius is at Hogwarts, although with his parents living in the other wing of the manor even when Scorpius was young and Astoria was having a particularly bad day he didn’t have to worry about leaving them alone). There’s nowhere Draco won’t go in his pursuit both of the horrible creatures that are spreading this infection and the knowledge he seeks to cure it -- although it’s certainly easier to get around Knockturn Alley than the halls of the Ministry of Magic, for a Malfoy! He hesitates to involve his son, but on rare occasion he may even ask Scorpius to check something for him in the Hogwarts library, but doing so leaves him sickened at the thought that someone might see and wonder why so he ignores that resource perhaps more often than he should. There’s nothing else he won’t do in his quest, however...even knowing that he ought to be more prudent. It would be awful if the Department of Magical Law Enforcement were to turn suspicious eyes on him, after all -- but he can’t just do nothing, can he?

And maybe, deep down, there’s part of him who still thinks he can get away with it. After all, no matter how repentant he is -- how much he’s changed, how much the way the world views him has changed -- he is still, at heart, Draco Malfoy.

Plots:

#1. The Potters and the Weasleys -- and everyone else whom Draco called “enemy” (or “blood-traitor” or “filthy mudblood” etc) for his entire childhood. Where do they stand now? What happens when they have to work together? When they have to take his word for the things he knows, the expertise he’s accumulated? When he’s the one who knows how to save somebody, not them? When he’s the one fighting the “forces of darkness” while they sat back in ignorant safety as the world quietly shattered around them? Will they be practical about it, will they trust him? Will they be gracious or stubborn, convinced that there are some Marks that can’t be washed away? Will he be an ass? (Almost definitely -- but to what level?)  There’s likely been very little interaction between Draco and most of these people over the last twenty years -- but does that mean the mental scars have softened? How much infected blood does it take to clear away all the blood under the bridge that’s flowed between all of them? I’m looking forward to Draco having to face all the people he’s been avoiding -- and for them to have to (or refuse to) face the fact that this time, he might be on the right side...or is he? In a world where vampirism is becoming more and more common, at what point does a vampire hunter stop being a protector and start becoming the monster? Is Draco once again going to find himself -- this time with the best of intentions -- labeled the bad guy?

#2. Luna Lovegood. She’s more than just “another member of the D.A.” to Draco; she’s the girl who was locked-up in the cellar of his home for months, the girl he was forced more than once to torture. He never thought much about Loony Lovegood before then (she was easy to make fun of, sure, and he’d do so if the opportunity walked in front of him, but she wasn’t someone he was interested enough in to go out of his way to bully her -- he had better targets for that!) but she’s featured regularly in his guilty nightmares ever since. The fact that he later married her cousin just made things more convoluted -- although thankfully the Greengrasses and the Lovegoods had never really had anything to do with one another… Basically: I would love to explore some kind of dynamic with Draco and Luna! Has he been successfully avoiding her since 1998? Did Astoria invite her estranged family to the wedding? Do they run into each other in the shops sometimes -- Draco trying to turn invisible, Luna waving politely? Maybe he tried to apologize once and Luna made him squirm by shrugging it off -- oh well it’s not like you wanted to do it, is it? I could tell that quite well, you’re not a very good liar are you? Anyway, why would I blame you for what Voldemort made you do to me? That doesn’t seem sensible at all...why are you making that face? Have you swallowed a wrackspurt? -- and now every time he sees her, he tries to run the other way out of fears that she’ll be nice. Or maybe she’s not nice. Luna doesn’t seem the grudge-holding sort...but if anything were going to teach her how, surely the Cruciatus Curse would do it! Maybe she doesn’t wave; maybe she scowls until he slithers away, cringing in impotent repentance. Maybe he even tried investing in The Quibbler -- paying to restore the damage the Death Eaters and Hermione had done to the printing press and her father’s home -- as recompense, and Luna threw the money back in his face...or maybe he now, quite unintentionally, owns a “share” of The Quibbler. Something that Pansy and Blaise would probably never stop laughing about if they knew… I don’t know, there are so many options for what direction to take things with the two of them! I’d love to explore ANY.

#3: Infection. This one’s more just for “me” but I love the idea of still-rather-bigoted Draco Malfoy having to cope not just with the fact that his wife has been infected with vampirism (something he mostly did with a lot of denial and cognitive dissonance tbh) but himself, too. In his “career” as a vampire hunter, he must have encountered a few instances of contamination -- nothing permanent, nothing where the blood went both ways -- but temporary infections? Oh, certainly! I expect the first time absolutely tore him to shreds, emotionally. He’s Draco Malfoy. He’s the purest of the pure. How could he be infected? Inconceivable, insupportable! He’d never recover, never be the same -- only he did recover. And then what choice did he have but to keep going? Each time, I think he’s more sickened by the facts than he is by the symptoms themselves; by the fact that he’s been tainted by something impure. And each time he picks himself back up after and keeps going -- but eventually the toll is going to tell. (Either that, or he’ll have to come to terms with the fact that all blood-purity is nonsense, not just the idea that Muggle-borns have “lesser” magic.) Whether this breaks him down or builds him up better, I’m interested to explore this painful process of involuntary self-discovery!

Other:

Attisgalli Corrective Draught -- a gender reassignment potion designed for use by the entire Potterverse fandom. Offered here both as extra detail on what potion Draco takes, and for anyone else who might want to make use of it either as-is or as inspiration for their own creations!

+Fashion Headcanon: The featureless black school robes and ubiquitous pointed hats were a blessing to Draco, although he didn’t realize it at first; he’d grown-up used to his father’s flamboyant style of dress, and the dullness of the Hogwarts student body was wearying...until he started to realize that there were some wix who didn’t think it suitable for a wizard to dress like that. His father didn’t, wouldn’t have, cared; Draco found it a more troubling perspective. (Of course broad-shouldered, boisterous, assigned-male-at-birth Lucius’s masculinity had never been doubted by anyone; even those who despised him or dismissed him as a vain and foppish fool never thought he wasn’t a wizard.) The plain black robes were easier...safer. They didn’t require any thought; didn’t have room for any self-expression that might make a statement. On the one hand, Draco wanted to swagger into a room like his father would have, peacock feathers trailing from his shoulders and glittering gemstones in his hair, grinning in arrogant superiority...but on the other, he didn’t want to be teased for being too girly. (Not after discovering that that was a thing some people said about things.) His fourth year at school was the hardest: starting your very first day of classes by being turned into a ferret and humiliated in front of half the student body would have shaken anyone’s confidence. The fact that things were unsettled at home didn’t help; his father was more distracted than Draco had ever seen him before, and mother was little better, both of them fretting over the impending return of the Dark Lord and trying (and succeeding, then) to keep their son from thinking that would be anything but a good thing. Maybe if Draco had been more open with his parents about his emotional struggles...but he was at a stage of trying to seem grown-up. To prove they didn’t need to baby him anymore. (To prove that he was ready to help the Dark Lord, too.) So he kept quiet...and had them send him a different, plainer set of dress robes for the Yule Ball instead of the flamboyant, Lucius-approved concoction of dripping blue silk and pearl beading that he’d meant to wear initially. Draco felt safer in the plain (but impeccable!) black -- a feeling that never went away. Even today he prefers understated elegance, dark colors that don’t draw the eye; prefers clothing that is protective in its coverage -- high collars and tall boots (the sole concession he makes to modern fashions is to allow the skirts of his robes to sometimes lift enough to show calves and even knees, albeit always suitably clad in hose or tights or trousers; he’s not a barbarian) and of course: long sleeves. No one outside the family has seen past Draco’s wrists in over twenty years and, if Draco has his way, no one ever will.

[sirenfromthelostcity]

The Most Pt. 1

A/N: Okay so this is my first ever John Wick fic! In a nutshell, it’s basically like a mentor X student AU. I don’t know why but i couldn’t get that idea out of my head and i really wanted to write it, so here! It’s called The Most bc it reminds me of the song with the same title from Miley Cryrus’s new EP. I wouldn’t say the fic is inspired by the song, not entirely at least, but idk to me it just vibes with it (if that makes any sense? i feel like once the second part is out it might make more sense?). This fic is intended to have a second part so that shall also be posted shortly as i have another mini John Wick fic i wanna start and i also want to write the second part to my short Spider-Man fic. I’m so excited about this story y’all! I hope you all enjoy it! As always, feedback is always appreciated. Without further ado, enjoy! :))))

Words: 2.7k+

Today marks the fourth and a half year that you’ve been under John Wick’s tutelage. Only six more months left and John will have had completed his marker. Initially, John was rather reluctant to be your instructor but the marker held by your father gave him no other choice but to abide by your father’s request to turn you into a formidable assassin. Who better to teach you than the infamous John Wick himself?

In the beginning of your training journey, John didn’t bother to hide his reluctance in your father’s request. This made things rather difficult until one day you decided to confront him about his behavior. He was in his study, probably searching for a way to get out of having to train you, when you knocked to let your presence be known then proceeded to enter.

“Evening, Mr. Wick, call me crazy, but I’m getting an inkling that you don’t want to train me.”

He scoffed.

“Believe me, I get it. I bet you’d really rather not have me intercepting with your lonesome peace and quiet but the bottom line is that I have to do this too and I have to learn it all to be as good as you. Maybe not exactly as good as you, but good enough to have me not die immediately as that would be, despite your current opinion of me, quite upsetting.”

He silently glared at you for a long minute, still not very much pleased with his current situation, “Why do you want to do this?”

“Want, who said anything about want? You may be bound by a marker, Mr. Wick, but I’m bound by my family to learn and master everything that there is to know about how to thrive in this lifestyle to survive in it.”

The room remained uncomfortably silent for sometime but you still didn’t falter in your stance.

“Before me who did you train with?” he asked.

“Well I was being trained in Krav Maga by Gabriel Avdeyev for some time but he and my family had a falling out and-–”

“I heard,” he sighed. “.... Based on the results of your initial assessment you have a lot to improve on. For starters, the way you initiate your attacks are okay but they will need to be refined or you will be killed. Get some rest. Tomorrow at dawn we will continue your training.”

Despite knowing John couldn’t actually purposely hurt or kill you, he was still very intimidating and the confrontation was rather hard to execute. But, it paid off.

Training with the notorious John Wick also meant living with him and sometimes that involved taking care of each other. Along with being a good fighter and shooter, John also stressed that one needs to know how to properly patch themselves up. He’s given you medical lessons before but to really teach you, one night he decided to not go to his usually doctor for a patch up but to go directly to you instead and see what you’ve retained from your lessons. When that great idea struck him it was in the middle of the night and he gave you quite a fright when he went into your room all bloody. You almost shot him with the gun you had hidden under your pillow if it weren’t for his quick reflexes which actually made you feel really impressed considering he was critically injured.

“Are you serious, John?” you asked, rather irked at being abruptly awoken at three in the morning.

“No, I’m bleeding. Now get up, this is part of your training. Time to see how much you’ve retained from those medical lessons,” he grunted as another pang of pain struck his lower abdomen.

You promptly threw your covers over your body and got out of bed before leading him to the bathroom where the first aid kit was kept. After finding the source of his bleeding you unbuttoned his shirt and got to work. Under the circumstances, seeing John shirtless wasn’t at all awkward. However, ogling his exposed chest was the last thing on you mind considering how he was bleeding an awful lot from his lower abdomen.

“Jesus what did they nick you with? This looks really bad,” you comment as you inspect the wound.

“Broken bottle of champagne. Try to avoid those in the future, they can be pretty tricky to fix.”

“Yeah, no shit,” you proceeded to clean the wound and remove any stray traces of glass, subconsciously taking quick glances at him whenever he winced. “Do you need anything for the pain?”

“Do you happen to have bourbon in any of these cabinets?”

“No, but I wouldn’t really recommend that considering how alcohol consumption can actually thin your blood out and make you bleed more.”

“But it does help with the pain.”

“Mmmmm, I’d still wager more on the pills designed specifically for that.”

John huffed. At this point you’re finally starting to stitch up his wound but his pained grunts make it a little difficult to focus.

“Are you okay?”

“Don’t worry, it’s nothing I’m not used to.”

“That’s so sad, John,” you paused to briefly glance at him. “Also super broody. We get it, you’re a badass.”

“A bad ass? That seems rude,” he sarcastically replied.

“Oh, my god, you’re actually joking with me for the second time this night. Don’t think I missed that dad joke earlier with the ‘No, I’m bleeding,’” you imitated his gruff voice and lightly laughed. “Good one, John.”

The small smile subconsciously remained on your face for a few seconds longer and John couldn’t help but admire how nicely it adorned your face. You caught him vaguely looking at you but simply assumed blood loss had something to do with the way he was looking at you. He turned away before you could even question your hypothesis.

“Well, we’re all done now. With the abdomen wound at least,” you noticed he’s also bleeding from his head and move to inspect it but his hands reached out and gently grabbed your wrists.

“It’s alright, (Y/N), I can take care of the rest, you’ve done good with the ugliest of them.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, John, I’m here now and I’ve got this for you.”

Never one to waste words, John remained silent which you took as a go ahead.

Thankfully the injuries on his head were nothing more than a few small cuts. At least on that night they were. Some nights John would come back with much rougher cuts, clearly showing that whoever he had fought had certainly put up a good fight but not quite good enough to best John Wick. Still, not only did cleaning his injuries provide you with insights to his battles, it helped you both establish a sense of trust between you two.  

After that night, rather than go to his usual doctor John began going straight to you for his patch ups. Could he have chosen to start going to you simply because it’s quicker than stopping by The Continental first and then home? Possibly. The reason for him basically appointing you as his patch up doc never really came up but you didn’t really care. By then your affection and attachment to John was beginning to grow so you didn’t mind being the one to help him feel better after a difficult job. Not to mention that tending to his wounds meant having a good excuse to touch him. Not while overstepping your boundaries, of course, but sometimes it was just nice to be able to be able to grab his hands without it being weird. Tending to the cuts on his face was something you always saved for last. It was your chance to really admire his facial features up close while simultaneously healing it. Sometimes you were so gentle with him that he actually managed to doze off and you were able to tell when it happened because he’d look so relaxed and serene. When you had to wake him up, although you didn’t want to but you knew he’d sleep much more comfortably in his bed than in a stiff chair, he’d always apologize for falling asleep which in effect often lead you both to joke about it. However, you swear that you caught him blushing the first few times it happened and when it did it just felt so, human…

You and John have really come a long way in terms of tolerating each other and actually bonding together. You both truly did. Because John is your instructor and you are over a decade younger than him, your relationship with him was purely professional. However, after about two years of training with him, your feelings for him continued to evolve into a much more stronger and different kind of admiration.

Are you in love with The Baba Yaga?

The answer to that would be a very strong perhaps. When you and John were briefed on the deal of the marker, you were supposed to learn about weapons training, fighting forms, assassination techniques, melee weapons training, etc. You were to learn how to become a proficient and deadly assassin, such as John, not about love or anything else that might be considered a weakness.

You hardly ever give yourself the chance to ponder on your feelings for John, much less at the possibility that he could possess the same feelings of affection towards you. It’s not as if you believe that the less you think or talk about it the less real it is, you aren’t that naive. You’ve simply decided long ago that you’re not going to act on your feelings for John. Love or anything remotely close to that is just not in the cards for people like you and John. At least that’s what you keep repeating to yourself.

Still, with your training nearing to an end you’ve been feeling really glum about it. Training with the notorious John Wick hasn’t been easy but living with and falling in love with the real man behind the legend was so foolishly easy. John is an extremely proficient killer, that much is true, but he is also a man. John is a man with dry humor, a latent love for the simpler things in life, a fun penchant for stunt driving and cars, kind and gentle eyes, and, surprisingly but also not really, a man of a very chivalrous nature. Despite the initial turbulence in your mentor-student relationship, you and John inevitably became good friends which really allowed you to see him under a different light. He often took you out to nice dinners claiming that he wanted a change of scenery from an uneventful day or simply because you did very well while training. Either way you enjoyed your outings with him and also simply appreciated being in an entirely different place, not being reminded of the person you’re supposed to become. However whenever you got injured while training to become that person, John would actually help patch you up. Although he’s taught you how to do so yourself, John would claim the medical lessons were mainly for when you are by yourself and have no one to help you and he’d remind you that he’s there with you now. Which is pretty similar to what you’ve told him the first time you helped patch him up now that you think of it. For an assassin who’s extremely well known for his brutal techniques and merciless takedowns, it astounded you to learn that the same man can also be so gentle. You’re not even officially leaving yet but you already know just how badly you’re going to miss John Wick.

In spite of yourself choosing to not focus on a particular set of feelings held for a particular person, today your brain can’t help but do the exact opposite. Today, John decided to focus more on Brazilian Jui-Jitsu. Little to your knowledge, John actually enjoys training you in this fighting form because these techniques allow a weaker or smaller attacker to successfully overpower a stronger opponent by manipulating the human body and redirecting it’s force. Therefore, if you do it right, you could use the opponent's strength against them and take them down. Usually you do very well in this form of martial arts but today John is able to tell you’re not fully there with him. Although John is very good at Brazilian Jui-Jitsu you’re level of skill is practically on par with his as well and you’re current struggle to beat him is alerting him.

Currently, John has you in locked in a rear choke hold on the ground, with one arm wrapped around your neck, his other arm around your free arm, and one leg wrapped around your other arm preventing you from breaking free. You struggle for a few seconds, realizing there’s no use, he’s already one this match, and grunt in frustration. John loosens his grip around you but doesn’t fully release you yet, he brings his lips close to your ear, “What’s wrong?”

The feel of his breath on your skin sends shivers down your spine, yet you quickly and physically swat those thoughts to the side and shake your head, “Right now you have me in a choke hold and I can’t get out of it, John. I don’t know about you but this seems like a pretty big issue for me.”

John instantly releases his grip on you and rises up, he’s about to lend you a hand to get up as well but you’ve already beaten him to that.

“That’s not what I meant, (Y/N). Tell me, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” you insist. “What makes you think something’s wrong?”

“For starters, I’ve been kicking your ass in this all day when I know I’ve taught you better than that. And for another, you just seem very distracted today.”  

John is as perceptive as he is deadly, which is why you don’t bother lying to him again and instead insist on continuing to train.

You look down for a second before looking up, making sure to avoid his concerned gaze, “Look, John, do you mind if we just call it in for the day?”

“Something is wrong,” he states.

“John,” you impatiently groan.   

“Why won’t you just tell me what the issue is?”

“Because there’s nothing you can do about it!” you snap and instantly regret it, rubbing at your temples. “Okay, I did not mean to say it like that. I’m sorry. I just need to cool off right now, John…”

This time you don’t wait for permission and simply walk away, however, John doesn’t try to stop you either. Not because he doesn’t care, quite the contrary in fact. Concerned and confused, John intently watches you head towards your room. He begins to trail after you but halts in his steps deciding that right now the  best option would be to give you your space. Still, John can’t help but wonder about what could possibly be troubling your mind so much and why you refuse to speak of it.

He glances one last time in the direction you previously walked in before heading towards the kitchen and serving himself a shot of bourbon.

“You can’t do anything about it!” your words replay in his mind.

“She’ll tell me when she’s ready,” he mentally tells himself. “We’ll figure it out then.”

John downs two more shots, currently finding it difficult to dwindle his concern and thoughts of you, before taking off in the direction of his room. He encounters the door to your bedroom on his way and halts at the entrance. He balls his hand into a fist and raises it to knock on your door but slowly brings it down and proceeds to head to his room. After finally entering his room, he gives your door one last glance before closing his door and retreating to his room for the remainder of the day.

[whoareyouandwhyshouldicare]

To all my fellow LoVe shippers who are feeling down I have one thing to say.

I can’t make the last 8 minute of season 4 disappear but I can recommend some really great LoVe fanfiction that will make you feel at least a little bit better. So without further ado here are a few of my favorite LoVe fics!

A Hard Habit to Break  by  mskatej   Nothing gets Veronica over her failed relationships better than Logan Echolls.    

...And Long For You  by  AbsolutelyIris It was moments like those Veronica wished she could be like Lilly- storm into his house and curse and yell and damn him to hell before demanding he fuck her...and like with Lilly, he would gladly, if reluctantly, do so.      

 “Any Love Is Good Love, Baby”  by wily_one24   Apparently, Hollywood was wrong, the devil did not wear Prada, the devil wore butch black boots and tiny little skirts.                                

The Best (and Only) Kept Secret in Neptune  by  vixleonard Even when they hated each other, Logan and Veronica just couldn't stay away from each other.                     

The Burdened Vessel  by  vixleonard   Veronica needs a favor only Logan can help her with.              

Every Belt That Ever Hit Someone (Is Still Made to Hold Something Up)  by igrockspock   Logan doesn't get any votes for Most Changed at the ten-year reunion, which is bullshit when you think about it.  In the past ten  years, everything in his life has changed.  He's joined the Navy, dated a pop star, and figured out that Dick Casablancas can occasionally behave like a real human being.  Only one thing hasn't changed: he's still in love with Veronica Mars.  Oh, and he's suspected of murdering his girlfriend.

"Fear and Loathing in Neptune"   by wily_one24 Veronica Mars was going to get herself laid. Series  Part 1 of Any Love  

A Fine and Endless Cycle  by kartography A freshman year at Hearst and the cyclical nature of love                                         

Fireworks by AliLamba Veronica is technically not a virgin, and awkward results ensue. An AU version of LoVe's first time.                

For the Sake of a Friend by jacedesbff   What if Logan and Veronica were involved in a secret relationship throughout the events of Season 1?     

The Game of Trust  by Kantayra of Yore (Kantayra)   This time Veronica really did trust him, and she knew how to prove it...    

Getcha, Getcha, Getcha, Getcha  by  Kantayra of Yore (Kantayra) Veronica and Logan prank each other. Really, it's shameless the way they flirt...  

Give Me The Ocean  by scandalpants   Post Season 3 AU.  Veronica decides what she really wants.  Spoiler: it's not Piz.                                              

Home Is Where The Heart Is by: lv63   AU preseries and forward, begins in season 1. this story is all about veronica and her friends. angst, mystery, humor and romance, LoVe and MaDi. summary in prologue. 

I Hate You Because by: SilverLining2k6   Mid 1X3 - Meet John Smith.    Logan, Veronica, a pool, snark, and a made up drinking game.

i knew you were trouble when you walked in  by youcallitwinter   And, it's just—  Logan had always been her intense high-school romance, sure. But she had, somewhere along the way, in some secret corner of her mind, convinced herself that was all he was; a high-school romance. Explosive, powerful, passionate, and bound to burn itself out eventually

(Im)Perfection  by  AbsolutelyIris The only real mistake is the one from which we learn nothing.                

In a World by: my shangri-la   A/U! Exploring the 'what ifs' that could have happened if Lilly Kane hadn't been murdered, and her secrets – and others – had come out anyway. Pairings: Lilly/Logan, past Duncan/Veronica, eventual Logan/Veronica. (Story begins with Lilly as a senior, the rest are juniors.)

In the kind of world where we belong  by  Anonymous  There was always something missing.  A Lilly Kane sized hole in both their hearts.  Instead of going to see Aaron Echolls on October 3rd Lilly decides to comfort a friend and their lives change forever.A very smutty OT3 take on what might have happened if Lilly had lived.

Kid Things  by sowell   5 years after graduation, Logan comes back to Neptune to ask Veronica for help.                      

King of Mars  by: HGRising   AU. In which everyone has a story to tell but not everyone gets the chance. And, things make more sense from a different perspective. Ever wonder why Veronica Mars was Lilly Kane's best friend? There's redemption for some and condemnation for others when the secrets come out. And everyone's got a good one.

Landmine  by  AbsolutelyIris It needed to be forgotten, and quick.             

The Long Way Home  by  AbsolutelyIris   "We should take the long way home." 

Matching Pink Bikinis  by  Anonymous Veronica and Lilly wear matching pink bikinis to Logan's for a pool day.  This is pure threesome smut, folks.                

Pink Lemonade (Logan/Veronica/Lilly)  On a trip to Honolulu, Lilly manages to bring Veronica out of her pink, frosty shell. Spoilers/Warnings: This is a threesome fic and therefore includes some femslash.        

Playing Hide and Seek With the Truth by: jenwin23   Continuation of the Truth series. The kids go back to school. Old issues remain while more secrets will be revealed, relationships will change and lives will crumble.

The Real Thing by: Josielynn   AU. Logan and Lilly are off again/on again. Duncan is dating Meg. Veronica was never friends with Lilly. Logan sees Veronica in her soccer uniform and wants to date her.

Scotch on the Rocks (A FanFic Tribute)  by kmd0107   A long time ago...there was an incredibly hot LoVeLy trilogy fic (Pink Lemonade & Sex on the Beach) started over on Live Journal that never got its third part.  This is a tribute to what that might have been.   Logan POV of the evolving sexual and emotional relationship between himself, Veronica, and Lilly.              

Scourging Fire, Blazing Soul  by Nerdyesque   What if Veronica didn't grow up with the 09ers, but came into their lives prior to Lilly's death? How would her presence affect Duncan, Lilly, Logan, the Kanes, and the Echolls? Also, who is Veronica without Keith Mars' loving protection?      

Sex on the Beach (Logan/Veronica/Lilly) NC-17 Lilly's chapter in my Drinks Series. Nobody wants to talk about what happened in Hawaii, and it's driving Lilly crazy. How could she possibly make what happened less awkward? By making it happen again, of course!        

Some Truths Hurt by: jenwin23 Jumping off point: V gets Duncan's journal in Echolls' Family Xmas. AU from there but many canon events happen too. All characters in the VM-verse make an appearance, but it is a LoVe story. In script format-but give it a try, it's well written.

The Third Kane by: Mac-alicious   Lilly, Duncan and Veronica Kane rule the social scene in Neptune. The three are loyal and inseparable. They once believed there was nothing that could come between them. They didn't count on Logan Echolls.

Time, Make It Go Faster Or Just Rewind  by  kmd0107  Logan being ‘the real-Logan’ is so familiar that she almost can’t help but give in to it, even if it’s just a one night pass.   She’ll embrace this moment out of time and the walls and armor can go back up tomorrow.AU from 1x4 Wrath of Con              

Truths Too Big to be Told  by: jenwin23 Sequel to Some Truths Hurt. It's summer time and more than the weather is hot. Neptune is embroiled in class warfare, Veronica is looking into the mystery of another dead girl, the fallout from Lilly's case continues, and more secrets will be revealed.

I’m also throwing in some of my favorite MaDi (Mac and Dick) fics because Dick needs a hug too.

The ABCs of Mac and Dick by: jenwin23   The ABC challenge with Mac and Dick. Created for Madi lover at VM Santa 2010 at livejournal. Cross-posted. In letter order, not in chronological order.

Bodycount by: BIFF1   Cassidy and Mac meet a little earlier and a little blood-lust gives him an entirely different problem when it comes to forming a real relationship with Mac. AU with MAJOR season two SPOILERS! Mac/Cass, Mac/Dick, Mac/Cass/Dick

Casablancas Kryptonite By: BIFF1   "You just don't get it. She's like kryptonite or something." Dick looked at his brother and thought about those blue eyes that cut and the way her mouth twisted around insults. Yeah maybe she was kyptonite. Casablancas kyptonite because isn't he just as weak.

Casual? By: BIFF1   It's just sex. Casual sex. no attachments, just good hot sex. But that was the summer and now school is about to start up again and Veronica's back from Virginia and can tell that something is up. They can stop, no problem...

The Charm Bracelet by: DalWriter   Future Fic. Who Knew Prince Charming Would be Dick Casablancas? Mac reminisces as she looks at a charm bracelet Dick gave her.

Commitment Buffers by: BIFF1   Dick and Mac live with Logan and Veronica in their attempt to have some sort of commitment buffer between them. Only problem with the arrangement is that Mac and Dick tolerate each other at best which is a big improvement as far as their concerned. However living in such close quarters may prove difficult when it becomes obvious that they may actually sort of like each other.

Dark Day by: BIFF1   It's Cassidy Casablancas' birthday and the two people closest to him are falling apart. She just wants to hide away from the world for the rest of the week, just drink and cry and be with someone who gets it and no one gets it more than Dick. Not as angsty as it sounds, promise. Now complete with happy ending!

Electrify by: BIFF1   A guilt trip from Logan has landed Dick in a crowded tent with Mac. With a lightening storm raging outside he can't sleep and it appears neither can she.

Rendezvous by: BIFF1   A collection of one-shots. In which Dick and Mac are forced together by fate or friends and hook up. Because I apparently really like writing them hooking up.

Secret Santa By: BIFF1   Saw this homemade sweater from hell prompt from VMficRec. It's a November challenge but I couldn't help myself. Just some fun when Mac pulls Dick's name for Secret Santa. She figures a six pack and porn until he makes a big deal about not wanting anything handmade. She can't really help herself, she spends the month knitting Dick a sweater.

[luckylq-blog]

Imagine when the rust wears off and his shooting

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[douchebagbrainwaves]

STARTUPS AND IMAGES

Apple serious venture funding, on the condition that Woz quit, he initially refused, arguing that he'd designed both the Apple I and the Apple II while working at HP, and there is nothing to see outside. Now all educated people seem to share a certain prickly independence, whenever and wherever they lived. And the Internet makes copies easy to distribute. The other side may even break the deal; if they do that, they'll usually seize on some technicality or claim you misled them, rather than admitting they changed their minds.1 Investors would be the best supplier, but falls just short of the threshold for solvency—which will of course have been set on the high side, since there is no limit to the number of startups started within them. Believe it or not, the two senses of the word. In both painting and hacking there are some kinds of knowledge that get in the way of seeing a work of art that would appeal equally to your friends, to people in Nepal, and to have the same velcro-like shape as genuinely interesting ideas, but for your readers. You might come up with that kind of works. Six weeks is fast. Angels you can sometimes tell about other angels, because VCs are afraid of looking bad to their partners, and perhaps others that would appeal to most humans, and you don't take investment, then competitors who do will have an advantage. To them the company is worth more.2 There are two problems with this, though.

He didn't work for General Widget, but for those who make it often try to trick us. Lack of empathy is associated with intelligence, to the point where they can put a lot of trolls in it. It doesn't even have y.3 This probably makes them less productive, because they might end up with nothing. But I disagree with Caterina Fake when she says that makes this a bad time to start a startup: get a version 1 out fast, then improve it based on users' reactions. But there is a Laffer curve for government power, just as professional theater was being born, and pushed the medium so far that every playwright since has had to live in his shadow. Don't be Evil?

Especially if other parents are doing it. Instead of making one $2 million investment, make five $400k investments.4 If you turned it over, it said Inside Macintosh. Hewlett-Packard, wouldn't let him do it at a low enough valuation. It's probably a combination of factors. Most humans will also find images of 3D objects engaging, because that was where the deals were. It was a new one, and instead of physical knobs it had buttons and an LED display. So startup hubs like Silicon Valley benefit from something like the marketplace effect, but shifted in time: startups are there because startups were there. I thought I was ready to question everything I knew. A lot of the spread of the Industrial Revolution that wealth creation definitively replaced corruption as the best way to get rich, he'll hire you as a bargain if you don't need them. I'm optimistic we will. The median visitor will arrive with their finger poised on the Back button.

But in general, for application software, you want to invest in successful startups, and think it's therefore the mark of a successful startup to have this happen. Yes, he may have extensive business experience.5 But if you work for a startup is like a pass/fail course for the founders, what you want to be the top one in your mind. Children of kings and great magnates were the first to grow up out of touch with the world. Actually big companies are not the root cause of variation in every other human skill. Your Hopes Up. They get the pick of all the different types of work, instead of what I wanted to do.6 I can tell, the way to do it, then it is hard, at least, that high level languages are often all treated as equivalent. In a feudal society, there are subtle signs you're in a place so nice that rich people wanted to live there. Another is to stand close. The final contributing factor is the culture of a large organization.

This probably accounts for a lot of subsidiary questions to be cleared up after the handshake, and if something great happens, they'll stick with it—something great meaning either that someone wants to buy you. How to Become a Hacker, and in it, but it does at least make you keep an open mind. If so, now's the time. Really? I've seen grinds to a halt when they start to think for themselves. It was more like the high school trick of breaking up with someone before they can break up with you. But if you had no money were taking more risk, and are entitled to higher returns. So you will not, as of this writing, be able to get features done faster than our competitors, and also to do things that would be just as worried about premature design—deciding too early what a program should do. Surely it was their duty to their limited partners simply to invest in those that at least have the advantage, from each one's point of view. This is especially true in a startup is like walking on your hands: it's possible, but it has the side effect that after having implicitly lied to kids about how good their judgement is, we then have to lie again about all the things they wanted with their own hands. There are some things that will appeal to most sentient beings whatever that means the skill and determination of an ordinary person.

Data is by definition easy to copy.7 So you have to do things I knew she was about to do anyway. Investors have different risk profiles from founders. And he could help them because he was one of the more profitable pieces of Yahoo, and the noise starts again. Most humans will also find images of 3D objects engaging, because that was where their peers were, and investors are very sensitive to it.8 But two guys who thought Multics excessively complex went off and wrote their own. Another much less subtle influence is brand. The puffed-up companies that went public during the Bubble didn't do it just because they were too quick. And since the ability and desire to create it vary from person to person, it's not made equally. If you don't yet have any traffic, they fall back on number 2, what other investors think. Most deals, for investment or acquisition, happen in two phases.9

Notes

All he's committed to is following the evidence wherever it leads. You're not seeing fragmentation unless you see what the startup isn't getting market price. This is the only way to see what they're capable of. It tipped from being overshadowed by Microsoft, incidentally, because the early days, and this is: we currently filter at the data, it's because of the reasons startups are often surprised by this, though more polite, was starting an outdoor portal.

Stone, op. The image shows us, the rest of the war it was the last step is to do work you love, or whether contractors count too. Scheme: define foo n lambda i set! Successful founders are effective.

Good investors don't lead startups on; their reputations are too valuable.

This is the converse: that the founders of Google to do it.

They don't make wealth a zero-sum game. The unintended consequence is that if you have to do, so they had to write every component yourself, but it's not lots of people are these days. One way to be some things it's a seller's market. These were the case of Bayes' Rule.

Different sections of the conversion of buildings not previously public, like a knowledge of human nature, might come from all over the super-angels hate to match. At first literature took a shot at destroying Boston's in the definition of property is driven mostly by technological progress is accelerating, so buildings are traditionally seen as temporary; there is a great programmer might invent things an ordinary programmer would never have left PARC. Why Are We Getting a Divorce? Well, almost.

Though they were friendlier to developers than Apple is now. Download programs to run an online service, and partly simple ignorance. The reason for the talk to corp dev is to use an OS that doesn't lose our data.

In part because Steve Jobs doesn't use. The threshold for participating goes down to you; you're too early if it's the right order. Bad math is merely a complicated but pointless collection of specious beliefs about its intrinsic qualities.

It seemed better to overestimate than underestimate the importance of making n constant, it might actually be bad if that means the slowdown that comes from.